Chapter 20
I smiled politely, the same customer service smile I’d perfected for difficult
patrons. “Ethan, it’s been over for a long time.”
His shoulders tensed beneath his expensive coat, his head dropping lower, eyes fixed on my desk.
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“I kept our place exactly as you left it,” he said quietly. “Your coffee mug still on the kitchen counter. Your books still on the nightstand. Your shampoo still in the shower. I thought eventually you’d come back for your things, at least.”
He glanced up, and I was shocked to see the raw vulnerability in his eyes. “I slept on your side of the bed,” he continued. “It smelled like you for weeks. When it stopped smelling like you, I started using your perfume on the pillows.” I didn’t know what to say to this. The image was both pathetic and disturbing- Ethan alone in our bed, clinging to the ghost of me.
“I finally moved out three months ago,” he said. “Couldn’t take it anymore. The emptiness.”
I thought of my tiny San Diego apartment, how quickly I’d made it mine, how easily I’d left it behind when the time came. I’d never once looked back at the
brownstone we’d shared, never longed for a single item I’d left behind.
“Every corner of that place held memories,” he said, pacing my small office now. “Some bad, yeah, but some… some I didn’t expect.”
He paused, turning to face me. “I remembered how you’d fall asleep on the couch waiting for me, no matter how late I got home from work. How your reading glasses would be crooked on your nose, whatever book you were reading fallen on your chest.”
I remembered those nights too–how desperately I’d tried to stay awake, knowing if I was asleep when he came home, he’d be angry. How I’d force my eyes open. until they burned, just to avoid his cold disappointment.
“I always carried you to bed,” he said softly. “Did you know that?”
I hadn’t known. I’d always assumed I’d woken up and stumbled to bed half–asleep. “I’d stand there after, just watching you breathe,” he continued. “Your hair spread
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out on the pillow, your face so peaceful.”
He swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing. “So many times, I was just inches from kissing you. One small movement, that’s all it would have taken.”
But he never closed that distance, not once.
His head was bowed so low I could see the tension in his neck muscles, the short hair revealing a vulnerability I’d never noticed before.
“I was scared,” he admitted, his voice cracking. “If I let myself love you, what would I have left? Being angry was easier. It was the only thing that felt real to me. I didn’t know who I’d be without it.
He quickly wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, but not before I saw the tear track down his cheek..
“I blamed you for everything wrong in my life,” he said, meeting my gaze directly now. “My dad’s death. Having to switch schools. Losing Kate. It was easier than facing my own failures, my own inability to move forward.”
He took a single step toward my desk, just one, but stopped when he saw me
tense.
“Then you left, and I realized I wasn’t the person I thought I was. I wasn’t even the person my father would have wanted me to be.”
I’d heard similar words from addicts in recovery–that moment of clarity when they finally saw the wreckage they’d created. But I wasn’t Ethan’s sponsor or his
therapist. His redemption wasn’t my responsibility.
“I’m glad you’ve had these realizations,” I said evenly. “But they don’t have anything to do with me.”
He looked at me desperately, hope and desolation warring in his expression. “Could we try again? Not marriage, not even dating. Just coffee. Conversation. Let me show you I can be better. Let me learn how to…” he trailed off, searching for
words.
“How to actually love me?” I finished for him.
He nodded, a flicker of hope lighting his eyes.
I shook my head slowly, definitively. “No, Ethan. I don’t have feelings for your anymore.”
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The hope died, replaced by something close to panic. “You can learn to love me again. I can-”
“It doesn’t work like that,” I cut him off. “Look, I just want us to be strangers who happen to know each other’s names. The kind who might nod if we run into each.
other, that’s it.”
The finality of my words seemed to physically impact him. He staggered slightly, one hand reaching for the edge of my desk to steady himself.
“I understand,” he said finally, straightening up and smoothing his coat with trembling hands. “I’ll leave you alone.”
As he reached for the door handle, he paused. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. Not just for the dinner, or the divorce, but for all of it. Every day I made you feel small. Every time I chose anger over kindness. I’m sorry for all of it.”
I nodded once, acknowledging his words without accepting them. “Goodbye,
Ethan.”
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