Tall shelves.
Tall shelves.
Reading tables.
Warm lamps.
A small coffee counter in the back.
Above one doorway hung a handwritten sign:
EVERYONE DESERVES A SECOND CHAPTER.
I pointed.
“That’s subtle.”
Karen smiled.
“I gave up on subtle.”
“Good.”
We stood facing each other.
Months of unsaid things filled the space between us.
“Divorce is final Friday,” she said.
“I know.”
“Michael is getting remarried.”
“I heard.”
“I’m not sad about that.”
“I didn’t think you were.”
“I’m sad about twenty-two years.”
“That’s different.”
“Yes.”
She took a breath.
“I used to think healing meant eventually deciding none of it mattered.”
“And now?”
“Now I think it means accepting that it mattered without letting it own everything that comes after.”
I smiled.
“You should put that on a cereal box.”
She laughed.
Then her eyes softened.
“Why are you here, Alex?”
This time I didn’t hide.
