Chapter 10
Exhaustion.
And a strange kind of freedom.
“Thank you,” I said.
Daniel looked startled.
“That's it?”
“What else would you like me to say?”
He shook his head.
“I don't know.”
Neither did I.
Not yet.
Then his phone rang.
Rachel.
He glanced at it but didn't answer.
I looked at the screen.
“She's calling you.”
“I can call her back.”
“Daniel.”
He met my eyes.
“Don't do to her what you did to me.”
That seemed to land harder than anything else I'd said.
He stood slowly.
“I'll talk to you tomorrow.”
“No,” I replied. “You can email me about anything related to the separation. If it's about Sophie or Adam, of course we can communicate. But we're not doing this anymore.”
He frowned.
“Doing what?”
“You coming to me whenever you feel unsettled and expecting me to make everything better.”
I picked up my purse.
“That's not my job now.”
He looked at me as though I'd spoken in a language he didn't understand.
Then he asked, almost helplessly, “Are you really okay without me?”
I thought about the last four months.
The terrible first weeks.
The silence in the house.
The nights I'd lain awake wondering whether I had somehow failed at being a wife.
The embarrassment of answering questions from neighbors who suddenly knew more about my marriage than I did.
The anger.
The grief.
The small, unexpected relief of making decisions without asking whether Daniel would approve.
“I wasn't,” I admitted.
His expression softened.
“But I'm getting there.”
I stood.
And walked toward the bar.
Michael was sitting near the window, reading something on his phone.
When he saw me, he set it aside.
“How'd it go?”
I sat beside him.
“Like twenty-seven years of marriage compressed into fifteen very uncomfortable minutes.”
He winced.
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It was.”
He signaled the bartender.
“Tea?”
I smiled.
“You remember.”
“Claire, you drank peppermint tea after every argument with your mother from the age of twelve until we graduated high school.”
I laughed.
And the sound surprised me.
It came easily.
No effort.
No obligation.
Just laughter.
Michael watched me for a moment.
Then he asked, “You all right?”
I considered giving the automatic answer.
I'm fine.
But I didn't.
“I'm sad,” I said.
He nodded.
“Of course you are.”
“And relieved.”
“That too.”
“And a little embarrassed that I spent four months wondering whether Daniel missed me.”