A week later, he came to my apartment with flowers and a folded letter in his coat pocket.
The next morning, Daniel sent me a written timeline of what Nathan had told him and when. Then I got a lawyer. With her help, I requested every record I was legally entitled to: payments from my accounts, correspondence that named me, and documents tied to the complaint.
For the first time in years, I stopped trying to understand my ex-husband through love and started understanding him through evidence.
A week later, he came to my apartment with flowers and a folded letter in his coat pocket.
When I opened the door, he looked wrecked.
That hurt less than it should have. By then, I was too clear-eyed to be surprised.
“Please,” he said. “Just let me explain everything properly.”
“Did your lawyer tell you to come?”
His silence answered before he did.
That hurt less than it should have. By then, I was already desensitized.
“I know how this looks,” he said.
“No,” I said. “You know how it is.”
Without warning, he started crying.
He flinched.
“I loved you.”
“I think you did,” I said. “But not more than you loved what I made possible.”
Without warning, he started crying. To his credit, he didn’t put on a massive show, but I still couldn’t feel much pity.
I kept one hand on the door.
