Two weeks later, Daniel and I met at a coffee shop near the river.
Neutral territory.
A public place.
No Linda.
No Robert.
No Megan.
He looked tired. His shirt was wrinkled, and dark circles marked the skin beneath his eyes. For a moment, I felt the familiar pull of sympathy. Then I remembered all the nights I had stayed awake calculating bills while he slept peacefully beside me.
He sat across from me.
“I miss you,” he said.
I believed him.
But missing someone was not the same as respecting them.
“I miss who I thought we were,” I replied.
He swallowed. “I handled it badly.”
“You handled it honestly.”
He looked confused.
I continued.
“You told me what you believed. My parents were mine. Your family was ours. My money was separate when I needed partnership, but shared when your family needed rescue.”
He rubbed his hands together. “I know it looks that way.”
“It doesn’t look that way. It is that way.”
Daniel looked out the window. “Mom says you’re trying to divide me from my family.”
“Your mother says that because unity was profitable.”
His eyes flashed. “That’s harsh.”
“It’s accurate.”
He leaned back, defensive and wounded. “So what now? You want a divorce?”
I had not wanted to say the word first.
But when he did, I did not flinch.
