That was the dangerous part.
I still loved her.
Even standing beside forty-three boxes.
Even knowing where she had been.
Even after hearing her say she slept with him.
Love did not disappear just because trust should.
That was the hardest thing about the entire divorce.
I had spent years believing if love remained, the marriage had to remain too.
Now I understood those were separate questions.
Lauren stepped toward me.
“I made a horrible mistake.”
I nodded.
“Yes.”
“I was confused.”
“Yes.”
“I felt trapped.”
“I know.”
“I thought Blake understood me.”
“Maybe he does.”
“He doesn't.”
There it was.
I looked at her.
“What happened?”
She looked away.
“Nothing.”
“Lauren.”
“He isn't leaving his wife permanently.”
I almost laughed.
“Recently separated.”
“They're trying again.”
Of course.
Blake had not left his wife for Lauren.
He had stepped out of a damaged marriage with a willing coworker and returned when the fantasy collided with reality.
Lauren's face crumpled.
“I know what you're thinking.”
“I doubt it.”
“You think I came back because he rejected me.”
“Did he?”
She did not answer.
That was answer enough.
I felt something inside me close.
Not because Lauren had chosen Blake.
Because I had spent a week wondering whether she would ever choose me freely.
Now she had returned only after discovering the alternative was temporary.
“You were always coming back here, weren't you?”
She looked confused.
“What?”
“The whole week.”
“I didn't know.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“You did.”
“Don't tell me what I knew.”
“You took one overnight bag.”
Her mouth opened.
Stopped.
“You didn't pack your life. You didn't move your important documents. You didn't take jewelry. You didn't even take enough clothes for seven days.”
“That doesn't mean anything.”
“It means this house was always your safety net.”
Her eyes filled again.
“You are my husband.”
“And Blake was what?”
She flinched.
“A mistake.”
“Friday night, you called him freedom.”
“I was wrong.”
“And you believed if you were wrong, I'd still be here.”
“Because I thought you loved me.”
That sentence hurt worse than almost everything before it.
“I did.”
“Did?”
“I still do.”
Lauren stared.
“Then don't do this.”
I almost smiled at the tragic simplicity.
“That is exactly the problem.”
“What problem?”
“You think love means there is no boundary you can cross that changes the outcome.”
“I said I'm sorry.”
“You're sorry now.”
“That matters.”
“Yes.”
“It doesn't matter enough?”
“Not enough to rebuild the same marriage.”
She covered her mouth.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Cars passed at the far end of Mercer Street.
A dog barked somewhere behind the neighboring houses.
Ordinary Friday evening.
Lauren looked at the boxes.
“Where am I supposed to go?”
I had anticipated that.
“Maya recommended I not make housing decisions for you. But your mother said you could stay with her.”