Chapter 18
One evening, he sent a picture of us standing in front of the Grand Canyon twenty years earlier.
Sophie had been four.
Adam was still small enough to fall asleep against Daniel's shoulder.
In the photograph, I was smiling into the camera while Daniel's arm rested around my waist.
Beneath it, he wrote:
“Remember how happy we were?”
I studied the image for a long time.
We had been happy that day.
It was a real memory.
I wasn't going to erase every good thing because of how the marriage ended.
But neither would I let one beautiful photograph replace years of conversations we had never managed to have.
I replied:
“Yes. I remember. I'm grateful for those years. But remembering them doesn't change what happened afterward.”
He didn't answer.
Two days later, he asked whether we could meet with a marriage counselor.
I thought carefully before replying.
Then I called him.
“Daniel, I think counseling would be good for you.”
He sounded hopeful.
“For us?”
“For you. And I'm going to continue seeing my own therapist.”
He went quiet.
“I thought maybe we could try together.”
“I understand.”
“But you don't want to.”
“No.”
He sighed.
“Are you seeing Michael?”
I closed my eyes.
There it was again.
The question beneath every other question.
“Daniel, Michael is my friend.”
“Are you sure that's all?”
I took a slow breath.
“I am sure that my relationship with Michael is not something you get to manage.”
He didn't speak.
“And if that ever changes, it won't change my decision about our divorce.”
That was the last time he asked.
At least directly.
Rachel contacted me once more.
It was almost a month after the hotel encounter.
She sent a brief message asking whether I'd be willing to speak over the phone.
I nearly declined.
Then curiosity got the better of me.
When I answered, she sounded nervous.
“Claire, I don't want to make you uncomfortable.”
“Then tell me why you're calling.”
She took a breath.
“Daniel and I aren't together anymore.”
I sat down.
“I'm sorry to hear that.”
“Are you?”
I considered lying.
“No,” I said. “Not particularly. But I don't enjoy knowing that someone is hurting.”
She let out a small breath.
“I deserved that.”
I didn't respond.
“He told me he wanted to repair things with you,” she continued. “Then when you wouldn't take him back, he started talking about how confused he was.”