After lunch, I drove through the neighborhood where Delaney and I had lived together. The house had sold quickly, bought by a young couple who'd probably never heard of prenuptial agreements and believed that love was enough to protect them from the complexities of modern marriage. I found myself thinking about Delaney more than I cared to admit. Not with longing or regret, but with a kind of anthropological curiosity.
What had she been thinking? What had she expected to happen? I got my answers sooner than expected. The coffee shop was crowded, filled with the usual mix of students, professionals, and people who'd made caffeine consumption into a lifestyle choice.
I was waiting for my order when I saw her. Delaney sat alone at a corner table, staring at her phone with a kind of intensity that suggested she was avoiding eye contact with the world around her. She looked different, thinner, more angular, dressed in clothes that suggested retail employment rather than boutique shopping. She saw me before I could decide whether to approach her.
"David?" she said softly. "Delaney," I replied. "Can you... would you mind sitting for a minute?" she asked hesitantly. "I promise I'm not going to cause a scene."
I sat across from her, noting the changes that six months had wrought. The confident woman who'd destroyed our marriage had been replaced by someone who'd learned that actions have consequences. "How are you?" I asked. "Surviving," she answered with a weak smile.
"Working retail at Nordstrom, living in a studio apartment, learning how to live on a budget. I guess you were right about one thing. I am surviving." "That's good," I said simply.
"Is it?" she asked. "I'm not sure survival is the same thing as living." She stirred her coffee absently, not meeting my eyes. "I heard about your practice."
"The expansion, the new clients. I'm glad you're doing well." "Thank you," I replied. "I also heard about Lucas Cain," she continued.
"Sexual harassment lawsuit. Turns out he has a pattern of targeting married women, especially ones married to professionals who might cause problems." She looked up at me then, her eyes clearer than I'd seen them in years. "I wasn't special."
"I was just another conquest in a very predictable pattern." "I'm sorry," I said, and meant it. "Are you?" she asked. "Really?"