Page 53 of After Everything
They had to pass the bar to get to the door.
I glanced up as they approached. Emma's eyes met mine for a brief second. I nodded again… just acknowledgement, nothing more. Her date nodded back too, polite but probably having no idea who I was.
And then they were gone.
I turned back to Marcus. He was watching me with that careful expression therapists probably taught their patients to recognize: concern without pity.
"I'm okay," I said.
"I know you are." He pushed his plate aside. "But it's also okay if you're not."
I finished my soda water and set the glass down. "She looked happy."
"She did."
"Good." I meant it. "That's good."
We finished dinner. Marcus told me about the woman he'd been seeing, asked about Maria's case, made me laugh with a storyabout a drunk customer who'd tried to pay for his tab with a handful of lottery tickets.
Normal things, good things. It was the kind of evening I'd have had with a friend regardless of whether I'd run into my ex-wife or not.
When we left, I walked Marcus to his car.
"Thanks for dinner," I said. "And for, you know. Not making it weird."
"That's what friends are for." He unlocked his car, then paused. "You going home?"
"Yeah. Got an early morning tomorrow."
"You going to be okay tonight?"
I knew what he was really asking. Three years sober, but he knew the bad nights were the ones where old patterns tried to resurface. When the whiskey bottle in the cabinet would start calling your name.
"I'll be fine," I said. "I'll call Dr. Reeves if I'm not."
"Good man." Marcus clapped me on the shoulder. "We'll do this again soon. Without the surprise ex-wife appearance."
I smiled. "That would be nice."
I walked back to my apartment. It was only six blocks, and the night was cool and clear. Good weather for thinking. For processing.
Emma was dating. Really, actively dating. Not just casually seeing someone. That guy had looked comfortable with her, like they'd been out a few times already. Like this was going somewhere. And, the more I thought of it… wasn’t he the same guy I’d seen her with all those years ago, just months after the divorce?
God, I was... what? Jealous? Yes. Hurt? Absolutely. But also, and this was the part that surprised me, genuinely glad.
Because three years ago, right after I'd signed the divorce papers and lost my job and hit what Dr. Reeves called "rock bottom," I'd been terrified that I'd broken Emma permanently. That I'd damaged her so badly she'd never trust anyone again, never open herself up to love again, never be happy.
And here she was. Happy. Moving on.Dating someone who looked like a genuinely good guy.
I hadn't broken her and, against all odds, she'd healed and rebuilt. She'd become even stronger than she'd been before.
And I had nothing to do with it.
That should have made me feel worse. Should have highlighted my irrelevance in her life, my complete removal from her story.
Instead, it made me feel... lighter. Like maybe I could finally forgive myself for some small part of what I'd done. Because she was okay. More than okay.
My apartment was dark when I got home. I flipped on the lights, dropped my keys on the counter, poured myself a glass of water.
