At work, my manager offered me a new responsibility.
Our organization was updating its scheduling and vendor-management systems.
The project would involve coordinating departments, reviewing existing procedures, and helping staff adapt to new processes.
It wasn’t a glamorous assignment.
But it was exactly the kind of work I enjoyed.
For months, I’d been distracted by my marriage.
Now I found myself concentrating again.
I attended meetings.
Prepared reports.
Trained colleagues.
And discovered that I still had plenty of professional ambition.
One afternoon, my manager stopped beside my desk.
“Corrine, this project is going really well.”
I smiled.
“Thank you.”
She continued.
“Have you considered applying for the operations supervisor position when it opens?”
I looked up.
“Me?”
She laughed.
“Yes, you.”
For a moment, I felt strangely embarrassed.
I’d spent so much time wondering whether Desmond still valued me that I’d forgotten other people could recognize my abilities without hesitation.
I smiled.
“I’ll think about it.”
That evening, I called Maribel.
She answered immediately.
“How was work?”
I smiled.
“Good. Actually, really good.”
I told her about the position.
She sounded delighted.
“Corrine, you should apply.”
I laughed.
“Maybe.”
She became quiet.
Then said, “You know, you don’t have to keep making your life smaller just because somebody else couldn’t appreciate it.”
I looked toward my apartment window.
The park lights were beginning to glow.
For a moment, I felt tears gathering.
Then I smiled.
“I know.”
And for the first time, I believed it.
About a month after I left, Desmond asked whether we could meet.
He wanted to speak in person.
I discussed it with Andrea, then agreed to a short conversation at a café near my office.
I chose a public place because I wanted the discussion to remain calm and focused.
I also told Desmond that meeting didn’t mean I was reconsidering the separation.
He said he understood.
When I arrived, he was already waiting.
He looked tired.
His hair was untidy.
There were shadows beneath his eyes.
For a moment, I remembered the man who used to leave handwritten notes beside my coffee cup.
My heart ached.
Then I sat down.
“Hello, Desmond.”
He looked up.
“Corrine.”
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then he said, “Thank you for coming.”
I nodded.
“What did you want to discuss?”
He looked down at his coffee.
“Blythe and I aren’t together anymore.”
I remained quiet.
He waited.
Then looked toward me.
“That’s all?”
I studied him.
“What would you like me to say?”
He sighed.
“I thought you’d be relieved.”
I took a slow breath.
“Desmond, I never wanted you to be unhappy.”
He looked up.
“I wanted you to be honest with me.”
His shoulders dropped.
“I know.”
There was a long silence.
Then he began explaining.
He’d romanticized his relationship with Blythe.
Spent years remembering the happy parts.
The early dates.
The trips.
The excitement of being young and imagining a future that hadn’t yet become complicated.
When she returned, he’d mistaken those memories for evidence that he’d made a terrible mistake by letting her go.
He said he’d convinced himself that seeing her again would answer some question he’d carried for years.
I listened.
Then asked, “What question?”
He rubbed his hands together.
“Whether she was the person I was supposed to end up with.”
I felt something tighten in my chest.
“And what did you discover?”
He looked toward the window.
“That I was chasing a memory.”
I nodded slowly.
He continued.
“We’re different people now. The things we wanted when we were younger aren’t necessarily what we want today.”
He looked at me.
“And I kept comparing real life with something I never actually had to live.”
I listened.
For a moment, I felt sadness for him.
Then I remembered the dinner table.
The untouched food.
His keys in his hand.
The way he’d told me he needed to find out.
He looked down.
“Coming home and finding you gone was a shock.”
I took a slow breath.
“Why?”
He seemed surprised.
“What do you mean?”
“Why were you shocked that I’d left?”
He looked uncomfortable.
“I thought you’d be angry.”
I waited.
“Maybe we’d spend a few days apart. Then we’d talk.”
I nodded.
“And what did you expect me to do during those days?”
He hesitated.
“Think things through.”
I looked directly at him.
“While you spent time with Blythe?”
He lowered his eyes.
I continued.
“Did you expect me to make dinner, water the plants, and wait for you to decide whether you wanted your wife?”
He didn’t answer.
I took a slow breath.
“Because that’s what it felt like.”
His eyes filled.
“I didn’t think about it that way.”
I nodded.
“I know.”
The silence between us grew heavy.
Then Desmond said, “I thought you loved me enough to forgive me.”
I looked at him.