He is living with another woman.”
“That wasn’t what I said.”
“He chose her.”
“Maybe.”
I looked at him. Michael shrugged. “People can choose something and still resent losing what they threw away.”
I stayed silent. Four months had already shown me Daniel wanted his freedom while preferring mine to remain postponed forever.
Fifteen minutes later, my phone vibrated. Daniel wanted to know:
Who are you with?
I showed Michael. He offered increasingly ridiculous responses.
“Tell him Brad Pitt.”
“No.”
“George Clooney.”
“No.”
“Your parole officer.”
I put the phone aside. Five minutes later another message appeared:
Claire. I asked you a question.
The punctuation was familiar after twenty-seven years. That sharp period meant he still assumed I answered to him. He could arrive with another woman and somehow expect an accounting of my companions. I preserved both messages, sent screenshots to Melissa, and silenced my phone.
Saturday morning, with
