That evening, I took it home.
Paul was in the kitchen.
I handed it to him without explaining.
He read it.
His eyes lingered on the first two words.
Then he looked at me.
“How does that feel?”
I considered the question.
“Happy.”
Then I added quietly, “And sad.”
Paul nodded.
He understood.
He reached toward my hand.
Then, remembering the distance I had asked for, he stopped before touching me.
For several seconds, his hand rested between us.
This time, I was the one who closed the distance.
I slipped my fingers into his.
Because loving Lily did not mean losing Maggie again.
And forgiving Paul did not mean pretending he had never hurt me.
Healing wasn’t replacement.
It wasn’t forgetting.
It was learning that love could continue without erasing what came before.
Maggie was still gone.
No reunion, apology, or new relationship would ever change that.
