Chương 13
“Maybe that was part of the problem.”
Ryan lowered his hands.
“What?”
“You acted like permanent meant safe.”
He frowned.
“For you.”
Emily searched for the words.
“Like once we were engaged, you could push more.”
“That’s not how I saw it.”
“I know.”
She looked directly at him.
“That doesn’t mean it wasn’t happening.”
Ryan sat back.
His first instinct showed clearly in his face.
Defend.
Explain.
Correct.
He opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
After several seconds, he nodded.
“Okay.”
Emily almost smiled sadly.
“That word still scares me.”
Ryan looked confused.
“Okay?”
“The way you used to say it.”
Understanding moved across his face.
He looked down.
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
The café had thinned around them.
Students gathered backpacks and abandoned cups.
Outside, early evening had turned the windows dark enough to reflect the room.
Ryan checked the time.
“We’ve been here almost two hours.”
Emily had not noticed.
“I should go.”
Ryan nodded.
He stood when she did but stayed behind the table.
Emily put the envelope into her purse.
“Can I ask one thing?”
He hesitated.
“Sure.”
“If I keep going to counseling, if I do everything I’m supposed to do, is there a chance?”
Emily closed her eyes for half a second.
There was the question she had feared.
She could offer hope and gain time.
She could shut the door and gain certainty.
Neither answer felt honest.
“I don’t know.”
Ryan’s face tightened.
She continued.
“And you can’t make getting me back the grade that tells you whether you changed.”
He looked at her.
“If I don’t come back, the work still has to count.”
Ryan swallowed.
“Yeah.”
Emily adjusted the strap of her purse.
“I’m not saying never.”
Hope flashed across his face despite himself.
She hated causing it.
“I’m also not saying wait for me.”
The hope dimmed.
Ryan nodded once.
“I understand.”
Emily believed that he understood the words.
Whether he could live inside them was another question.
She walked toward the door.
“Emily.”
She stopped but did not turn immediately.
Ryan remained beside the table.
His hands were at his sides.
“I’m sorry I threw that rag at you.”
Emily looked back.
He continued.
“I’m sorry I made you small before that.”
Her throat tightened.
There was nothing useful to say.
So she nodded and left.
Outside, cold air filled her lungs.
She walked three blocks before getting into her car because she needed the movement.
When she finally sat behind the wheel, she cried.
Not because she had decided to return.
Not because she had decided to leave forever.
She cried because Ryan had finally spoken to her like someone who could walk away, and she wished he had learned to do it before she did.
For three days after the coffee shop, Emily kept expecting herself to change her mind.
She expected Ryan’s apology to grow larger in memory until it became enough.
She expected missing him to become unbearable.
Instead, ordinary life kept arriving.
Patients needed exercises.
Megan needed someone to split the electric bill.
Ohio State needed vaccination records, transcripts, proof of insurance, and money Emily did not yet have.
The practical weight of January gave her something more useful than certainty.
It gave her direction.
On Tuesday, she met with the nursing program’s financial aid adviser during her lunch break.
The numbers were ugly but survivable.
She could use federal loans, keep one weekend shift at the clinic, and spend most of the emergency savings she had once hidden in an old shoe.
When the adviser asked whether she had a spouse whose income needed to be included, Emily hesitated.
“Yes.”
The word sounded strange.
She explained they were separated.
The adviser nodded without curiosity and told her which documents the school would need.
Emily appreciated the lack of drama.
Her marriage had become paperwork to a stranger.
Somehow that made it easier to face.
That evening, she emailed Ryan about finances.
We need to separate the wedding gift account before school starts.
He replied twenty minutes later.
Okay.
Tell me what you think is fair.
Emily stared at the message.
There was roughly twelve thousand dollars in the account, most of it gifts from relatives who had assumed the money would help build a shared home.
She wanted half.
Then she thought about the canceled apartment deposit Ryan had paid before they decided to stay with Linda.
She thought about wedding expenses.
She thought about fairness and how quickly fairness became arithmetic when people were angry.
I want to go through it together with statements, she wrote.
Not tonight.
Maybe this weekend.
Ryan replied:
That makes sense.
No argument.
No accusation.
No attempt to make her feel greedy.
The ease of it almost made her suspicious.
On Friday, Emily drove to Linda’s house while Ryan was at work to collect the rest of her belongings.
Linda had offered to leave.
Emily told her she did not need to.
The house looked unchanged.
That was the first thing that unsettled her.
The same wreath hung on the front door.
The same shoes sat beneath the coat rack.
The same clock ticked above the microwave.
For one ridiculous second, Emily expected the dirty rag to still be on the kitchen counter.
It was gone.
Linda stood near the sink wearing jeans and an old cardigan.
“I put your books in boxes.”
“I asked you not to pack my things.”
“I know.”
Linda winced.
“I only did the books because the shelf was going to collapse.”
Emily looked toward the living room.
The shelf did lean badly.
“Fine.”
“I left everything else.”
“Thank you.”
They went upstairs together.
Emily’s side of the closet was exactly as she had left it.
Her wedding dress still hung from the door.
She stared at the white garment bag.
Linda followed her gaze.
“What are you going to do with it?”
“I have no idea.”
“You could sell it.”
“Maybe.”
May you like
Linda touched the sleeve of her cardigan.
“I still have mine.”
