Chapter 26
Her hair was pinned back.
She had the kindest eyes I had ever known.
I brushed a fingertip over the frame.
“I came for this.”
Vincent looked at the photograph.
His expression changed.
“I should have been there at her funeral.”
I swallowed.
“Yes.”
“I’ve thought about that day a lot.”
I didn’t speak.
He continued.
“The business problem I was handling could have waited.”
I looked at him sharply.
For years, he had told me it couldn’t.
That the timing had been impossible.
That people were depending on him.
That he had no choice.
Now he looked directly at me.
“I told myself I was needed elsewhere.”
His voice broke.
“But the truth is that I didn’t know how to stop acting as though every business problem was more important than the people I loved.”
I held my mother’s photograph tighter.
“I needed you,” I whispered.
He nodded.
“I know.”
Tears filled my eyes.
I had spent so long wanting him to acknowledge that particular wound.
The flowers had been beautiful.
The security had been excellent.
The car had been waiting.
But none of those things had held my hand beside the grave.
Vincent looked at the photograph.
“I’m sorry.”
I took a breath.
Then I said, “I forgive you for that day.”
His face crumpled slightly.
But before he could speak, I continued.
“That doesn’t mean it didn’t change something in me.”
He nodded.
“I understand.”
I looked at him for a long moment.
“I hope you do.”
We returned to the foyer.
My box was small.
I could carry it easily.
Vincent opened the front door.
Outside, afternoon sunlight fell across the stone steps.
For a moment, I stood beneath the entrance where we had said goodbye the morning after he asked for the divorce.
It seemed like a lifetime ago.
“Mara?”
I turned.
Vincent looked nervous.
I had never seen him look nervous around me before the divorce.
Now it seemed to happen every time we met.
“Are you happy?” he asked.
I considered the question.
My life was not perfect.
I was exhausted often.
My return to medicine remained demanding, and there were still professional milestones ahead.
Some evenings, the apartment felt lonely.
Some mornings, I missed the comfort of waking beside someone familiar.
I still grieved my marriage occasionally.
Sometimes, I heard a song from our wedding and had to turn it off.
Sometimes, I dreamed about the years when Vincent and I were happy.