“Ethan, can we please go inside?”
“We can talk here.”
Her expression changed.
“On the porch?”
“For now.”
“This is humiliating.”
I almost answered too quickly.
Then stopped.
“I haven't invited anyone.”
“My boxes are outside.”
“Under a covered porch.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do.”
She turned.
Saw the silver package.
Her face softened.
Just slightly.
It was almost painful to watch.
She recognized the wrapping.
Lauren knew luxury retail packaging better than most people knew family members.
“What is that?”
I said nothing.
She stepped closer.
Picked it up.
The old Lauren appeared for a second.
Curious.
Hopeful.
She looked at me.
“Ethan.”
I still said nothing.
“You bought me something?”
“It was already bought.”
She misheard what I meant.
A little smile appeared.
Relief.
There he is, the smile seemed to say.
The Ethan I know.
The Ethan who hurts and then fixes.
The Ethan who always forgives.
She untied the ribbon.
Slowly.
Opened the silver paper.
Then the red leather box.
Her breath caught.
“Oh my God.”
She knew the watch.
Of course.
She had tried it on in Manhattan three months earlier.
“Ethan.”
She looked up.
For one terrible second, I saw gratitude.
Then she found the card.
She opened it.
Read the sentence.
Her smile disappeared.
The color drained from her face.
Her fingers began trembling.
She read it again.
You were right about one thing, Lauren: security isn't the same as happiness, so I'm giving you the freedom you chose.
She looked up.
“What did you do?”
I heard the fear.
Not fear of me.
Fear of consequence.
“I filed for divorce.”
The package almost slipped from her hands.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“You didn't.”
“I did.”
“When?”
“Tuesday.”
Her eyes widened.
“While I was gone.”
“Yes.”
“You filed without talking to me.”
I stared at her.
“You went to sleep with another man without talking to me.”
“I did talk to you.”
“You announced it.”
“Because every conversation becomes you trying to manage my decision.”
“Lauren.”
I kept my voice low.
“We discussed counseling. We discussed Blake. We discussed boundaries. You decided none of those conversations mattered enough to stop you.”
She put the watch back into its box.
“I came home.”
“That does not erase leaving.”
“I made a mistake.”
I had imagined those words all week.
I thought hearing them would soften me.
They did.