THE END OF THIRTY-EIGHT YEARS
I forgot how to breathe.
“Who is she?”
Richard stared at the table.
“How long?”
He said nothing.
“Do I know her?”
“Maggie, please.”
“Please what? Please don’t ask questions about the woman who destroyed my marriage?”
He flinched but still would not answer.
I asked whether he loved her.
He swallowed hard.
“I don’t know what love means anymore.”
Those words ended something inside me.
Within two weeks, I moved into Claire’s guest room. Within three months, lawyers were involved. Richard never fought me over anything.
He gave me the house. He gave me most of our savings. He agreed that I should keep my pension untouched and signed over his share of a small cabin inherited from his uncle.
My lawyer said, “This is one of the most favorable settlements I’ve ever seen.”
I thought it was guilt.
On the day the divorce became final, we stood outside the courthouse beneath a gray sky.
He looked older than he had six months earlier. His shoulders were thinner, and deep lines had appeared around his mouth.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“You already said that.”
“I know.”
“You threw away thirty-eight years.”
His eyes filled with tears, but he looked away.
“I hope one day you’ll have a peaceful life.”
“You should have thought of that before.”
Then I walked away.
I did not look back.
