I took a slow breath.
“Why now?” I asked.
Claire looked at the bench before answering.
“She told me about this place in her last letter three years ago. I only got it this year. I haven’t been home due to work for the past two years. Until this year. Today is her birthday. I took a chance, hoping I’d find you here. But I also came for me.”
I glanced down at the letter again, then back at her.
Nothing about this was easy to take in.
But it all fit too well to ignore.
Still, I wasn’t ready.
Not yet.
“She told me about this place.”
“I need time,” I said.
Claire nodded.
She reached into her bag again and handed me a small piece of paper.
“My number,” she said.
I took it and slipped it into my jacket. I nodded once, then turned and walked away.
But even as I left the park, I knew something had changed.
And somehow my wife had planned it long before I ever saw it coming.
“I need time.”
***
I didn’t call her that night or the next day.
I kept the piece of paper in my jacket, then moved it to the kitchen drawer, where I kept things I didn’t know what to do with.
For two days, I told myself I needed time.
By the third day, I knew I was avoiding it.
***
That morning, I took the letter back out and read it again.
I didn’t call her that night.
I thought back through our life together.
All the moments that felt complete and the conversations we had.
And then I started noticing the gaps. Small things I never questioned.
Times she’d say she was visiting a friend, or when she stepped out for a few hours.
At the time, I never pushed.
We trusted each other.
That had always been enough.
I started noticing the gaps.
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