I dated eventually too.
Nothing dramatic.
A few dinners.
One relationship that lasted six months.
Another that ended after two.
I became much more direct.
If I felt neglected, I said so.
If I wanted reassurance, I asked.
If something crossed a boundary, I named it.
I discovered that communication feels much less romantic than mind-reading and works approximately a thousand times better.
The strangest conversation happened almost three years after the divorce.
Liam called.
I had not spoken to him since the months after the party.
"Evanthy?"
"Hi."
"Is this a bad time?"
"No."
He hesitated.
"I'm getting married."
I was genuinely surprised.
"Congratulations."
"Thanks."
"I wanted to tell you something before the wedding."
I almost laughed.
"That sounds ominous."
"It's not."
He explained that he and Simon had slowly rebuilt a limited friendship.
Not what it was.
But something.
Simon had been invited to the wedding.
I felt strangely relieved.
Liam continued:
"I've thought about that night a lot."
"So have I."
"I used to blame the alcohol."
"Then the game."
"Then Jessica."
"Then you."
He paused.
"The truth is I knew Simon didn't want it."
"I saw his face."
"I did it anyway."
"I wanted to say again that I'm sorry."
I closed my eyes.
"For a long time, I blamed you too."
"I know."
"I needed you to be the reason because if you were the reason, I was just reacting."
"Yeah."
"Turns out we were both adults."
"Unfortunately."
He laughed.
Then I did.
When the call ended, I felt something close.
Not reopen.
Close.
Years later, June asked me what happened.
She was fourteen.
Smart enough to know adults had edited her childhood.
We were driving home from soccer practice.
"Mom."
"Yeah?"
"Did you cheat on Dad?"
The question hit hard even though I had known it would come someday.
"Why are you asking?"
"Aunt Dara said something once."
"Years ago."
"I remembered."
I pulled into a parking lot.
Turned off the car.
I was not going to answer while driving.
"I kissed Liam at a party while your dad and I were married."
June stared.
"Uncle Liam?"
We had stopped calling him Uncle Liam years earlier, but the old title returned automatically.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"It was a party dare."
Her eyes narrowed.
"That's stupid."
"Yes."
"Did you love him?"
"No."
"Did you have an affair?"
"No."
"Then why did you and Dad get divorced?"
There it was.
The answer I had needed years to understand.