The next Saturday morning, I was enjoying breakfast on my patio when I heard a knock at the door.
I opened it.
Gary stood
there holding a bouquet of roses.
For one ridiculous second, I almost laughed.
Twenty-two years of marriage, and he had never once brought me flowers without being reminded.
Now, suddenly, he had discovered the florist.
“Debbie,” he said quietly. “Can we talk?”
I glanced at the roses.
“Those are pretty.”
He smiled hopefully.
“I remembered you liked them.”
“I do.”
I took the flowers from him.
Then I stepped back.
“Thank you. Goodbye, Gary.”
His smile vanished.
“Wait. That’s it?”
“What were you expecting?”
“A conversation.”
“About what?”
“Us.”
I
looked at him.
“There is no ‘us’ anymore.”
He swallowed.
“I know I hurt you.”
“Yes.”
“I know I made a terrible mistake.”
“Yes.”
“I’ve been thinking about everything. About the years we had. About Emily. About our home.”
