“My mother told me something the doctors said.”
I didn’t ask.
He continued anyway.
“There’s a chance I may never be able to have children.”
He looked toward the window.
“And to think the baby we lost might have been my only chance to become a father.”
I said nothing.
“I suppose this is what I deserve.”
“I don’t know, Ethan.”
I pulled the signed documents toward me.
“I don’t want to think about punishment anymore. I just want this to end.”
When our assets were divided, Ethan was more generous than I expected.
Beyond what we had originally agreed upon, he insisted on giving me significant financial compensation.
“I can’t give you back the years,” he said. “Or everything you gave up.”
We signed the final papers.
When I walked out of the hospital, I felt something I hadn’t experienced in years.
Lightness.
A few days later, I bought my plane ticket.
My mother was the first person I called.
“Are you scared?”
I looked at the open suitcases around my bedroom.
“Terrified.”
“Then be terrified and do it anyway.”
I laughed.
Before closing the final suitcase, I found the handbag Ethan had given me after our anniversary.
The same bag he had bought for Vanessa.
I took it out.
Looked at it for a moment.
Then decided to give it away.
I didn’t want to carry anything from a version of my life that had already ended.
There was only one truth Ethan would never know.
