A truth.
“What did Daniel make you feel?” I asked.
“Important.”
“Did you love him?”
Laura was quiet long enough that I thought the call had dropped.
Then:
“I don't know.”
“Did you love him or love who you became around him?”
The television in our house changed channels in the background.
Six seconds.
Maybe seven.
“I don't think I've ever known the difference.”
It was the most honest thing she had said to me in years.
It did not save us.
Honesty does not automatically repair damage simply because it arrives late.
But it mattered.
I told her the rest needed to go through counsel.
She did not argue.
Before we hung up, she said, “I opened your present.”
I closed my eyes.
“The watch?”
“Yes.”
Another pause.
“It's like his.”
“I know.”
“How did you remember that?”
“I remember a lot.”
Laura began crying again.
I ended the call gently.
Friday's meeting took place at Vanessa Crane's office in Preston Center.
Glass walls.
Orchids.
Quiet carpet.
The kind of place where even conflict looked expensive.
Laura sat opposite me.
No makeup beyond what was necessary.
No necklace.
Only her wedding band.
She turned it around her finger repeatedly.
Daniel was not there.
He had withdrawn from the proposed operating agreement by email Wednesday morning.
Three sentences.
Changed market conditions.