Chapter 22
He continued.
"I cleaned them up. Then I bought more."
"For yourself?"
"Maybe."
He leaned against the counter.
"Maybe because I wanted to prove I could remember."
There was no answer that would not be too much or too little.
So I simply nodded.
The strongest grief is sometimes the grief with no villain in the room.
Lauren was gone.
The affair was over.
Adrian was sorry.
I was healing.
And still, there was no way back.
A week later, we received an offer on the condo.
A young married couple.
Thirty-two and thirty-three.
First child expected in autumn.
They loved the marina.
The wife apparently stood in the living room during the showing and cried because of the view.
Our agent told us this as if it were charming.
It was.
It also felt like being replaced by our own beginning.
Adrian called me that evening.
"They offered three percent under asking."
"I saw."
"What do you think?"
"Take it."
"So quickly?"
"I don't care about squeezing every dollar out of the place."
He was quiet.
"Neither do I."
We accepted.
Closing was scheduled for six weeks later.
During those weeks, the divorce agreement was finalized.
No dramatic courtroom.
No secret accounts.
No hidden properties.
Just two people dividing what they had built.
Retirement accounts.
Savings.
Furniture.
The condo proceeds.
Adrian kept his car.
I kept mine.
He took the espresso machine.
I took my mother's baking dishes.
We argued once about a set of expensive knives before both realizing neither of us cared enough to continue.
The most difficult item on the mediation list was not worth money.
Our wedding photographs.
"Do you want them?" the mediator asked.
Adrian said yes.
I said no.
He looked at me.
I added, "I'm not saying throw them away. I just don't need them right now."
He took them.
The morning we signed the final divorce documents, Adrian and I walked out of the mediator's office together.
He looked at the envelope in his hand.
"So that's it."
"Almost."
The final court processing would take several weeks.
But emotionally, yes.
That was it.
He looked at me.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"If I hadn't sent that text about Lauren coming over, would you have left?"
I thought of the apartment lease already signed.
The towels in Emily's garage.
The kettle.
The lamp.
"Yes."
"When?"
"I don't know."
"So the message didn't cause it."