Chapter 14
The words hung between us.
Four months earlier, they might have brought me to my knees.
Now they simply made me sad.
“You've already lost the marriage we had,” I said.
He inhaled sharply.
“That doesn't mean we can't rebuild it.”
I leaned against the counter.
“Where's Rachel?”
Silence.
“Daniel?”
“She left this morning.”
I looked out the kitchen window.
The garden beds were overgrown.
Weeds had pushed through the stone border.
I'd been meaning to clear them for weeks.
“Did she leave because you told her you wanted to reconcile with me?”
He hesitated.
“It's complicated.”
“No. It isn't. I'm asking a simple question.”
Finally, he said, “She said she needed to think about things.”
I nodded to myself.
“And now you're calling me.”
“Claire, that's not fair.”
“Daniel, you can't keep moving between us whenever one relationship becomes uncomfortable.”
“That's not what I'm doing.”
“Then what are you doing?”
His voice cracked.
“I realized last night that I still love you.”
I sat down.
Somewhere beneath the exhaustion, those words reached a place in me that was still tender.
I had loved Daniel for almost thirty years.
I couldn't erase that simply because he had betrayed me.
But love wasn't the same as trust.
And missing the past wasn't the same as wanting to return to it.
“Daniel,” I said, “when you walked into that hotel, were you thinking about reconciling with me?”
He didn't answer.
“You were holding Rachel's hand. You were planning a weekend with her. You were perfectly content with your decision until you saw me laughing beside another man.”
“That made me realize—”
“It made you afraid.”
He went quiet.
“You saw the possibility that I might move on, and suddenly you wanted what you'd already walked away from.”
“That's not all of it.”
“Maybe not,” I admitted. “But it's part of it.”
His breathing sounded uneven.
“I don't know how to fix this.”
For years, hearing Daniel say he didn't know how to fix something would have sent me searching for solutions.
I'd research counselors.
I'd make appointments.
I'd rearrange my schedule.
I'd find the right words.
This time, I didn't.
“Then you need to figure out why you're asking me to do that work for you,” I said.
He was silent.
Finally, I told him something I should have said months earlier.
“I've contacted an attorney.”
The silence changed.
“An attorney?”
“Yes.”