the kitchen at eight in the morning.
He had been home all night.
He made coffee and asked whether I wanted to take a walk with him after breakfast.
I looked up from my book.
“That sounds nice.”
He smiled.
Then he hesitated.
“Claire?”
“Yes?”
“I know I can’t change what happened. But I’m grateful you’re giving us the chance to find out what comes next.”
I closed my book.
“I’m giving myself that chance, too.”
He nodded.
And for once, he understood what I meant.
I wasn’t staying because
