“Maggie, please.”
“Please what? Please don’t ask questions about the woman who destroyed my marriage?”
He flinched but still would not answer.
I asked whether he loved her.
He swallowed hard.
“I don’t know what love means anymore.”
Those words ended something inside me.
Within two weeks, I moved into Claire’s guest room. Within three months, lawyers were involved. Richard never fought me over anything.
He gave me the house. He gave me most of our savings. He agreed that I should keep my pension untouched and signed over his share of a small cabin inherited from his uncle.
My lawyer said, “This is one of the most favorable settlements I’ve ever seen.”
I thought it was guilt.
On the day the divorce became final, we stood outside the courthouse beneath a gray sky.
He looked older than he had six months earlier. His shoulders were thinner, and deep lines had appeared around his mouth.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“You already said that.”
“I know.”
“You threw away thirty-eight years.”
His eyes filled with tears, but he looked away.
“I hope one day you’ll have a peaceful life.”
“You should have thought of that before.”
Then I walked away.
I did not look back.
FIVE YEARS WITHOUT HIM
The first year after the divorce was the hardest.
I had spent nearly four decades being part of an “us.” Suddenly, every decision belonged only to me.
I hated the empty side of the bed and the mail addressed only to Margaret Turner. Songs from college could still make my hands shake.
Our children tried not to take sides. Michael rarely spoke about his father. Claire visited him occasionally, and the grandchildren saw him a few times a year.
Richard never came to events when I was there. He never called.
Eventually, I learned to build a life around the silence.
I retired from teaching. I joined a book club. I repainted the house yellow because Richard had always preferred blue. I traveled to Arizona with two friends and stood at the edge of the Grand Canyon, surprised that the world could still make me feel small in a good way.
I was not happy every day, but I was no longer drowning.
Then, five years after our divorce, the hospital called.
A calm voice told me Richard had suffered a fatal heart attack. He had died before the ambulance reached the emergency room.
