Her eyes widened.
"Did you say sorry?"
The question was so simple that I nearly cried.
"Not properly."
"Why?"
I laughed once through tears.
"I don't know."
June went back to coloring.
"You should."
Six-year-olds have very little tolerance for ego.
That night I sat alone in the kitchen.
No wine.
No social media.
No sister on the phone telling me I was right.
I thought about Simon at the party.
His hand on my arm.
Don't.
I thought about how I pulled away.
About the cheers.
About Liam's chest under my hands.
About Simon's empty chair.
Then I imagined the situation reversed.
Simon standing in a room.
His friends daring him to kiss Jessica.
Me saying quietly:
Please don't.
Simon laughing.
Calling me boring.
Kissing her anyway.
Everyone cheering.
Then telling me afterward:
It meant nothing.
You're insecure.
I'd maybe do it again.
If you paid more attention to me, maybe I wouldn't care about someone else's attention.
The image made me physically sick.
I had performed the thought experiment before.
But I always changed details to protect myself.
I imagined a quick peck.
A different woman.
No public laughter.
No explicit objection.
That night, I finally made the scenario equivalent.
And I understood.
Not everything.
Enough.
I called Simon.
He answered after four rings.
"Is June okay?"
"She's asleep."
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
A pause.
"Then why are you calling?"
"I owe you an apology."
Silence.
I almost lost courage.
Then I forced myself forward.
"I kissed Liam after you asked me not to."
"I embarrassed you."
"When you told me you were hurt, I defended myself instead of listening."
"I called you insecure."
"I blamed your distance in our marriage for what I chose."
"I said I might do it again."
"I posted about having no regrets because I wanted people on my side."
"I lied about counseling."
"And I said things in front of June that made her think you caused everything."
My voice broke.
"I'm sorry."
Simon was quiet for so long I thought the call had dropped.
Then:
"Thank you."
That was all.
I had expected more.
Forgiveness.
Relief.
Maybe an invitation home.
Instead:
Thank you.
My ego almost flared again.
Then I understood.
An apology does not create an obligation for the injured person to repair the consequences immediately.
"I don't expect anything," I said.
"I know."
Another silence.
"Is it too late?"
Simon's breathing changed.