She reached across the table, but I moved my hand away. I'm sorry, she whispered. I believe you're sorry about how things turned out. I don't know if you're sorry you did them. Her hand fell back into her lap.
I stood, carried my cup to the sink, and left the room. There was no dramatic argument and no final confession. Just two people sitting on opposite sides of a table, finally unable to pretend they were still living in the same marriage. The next morning, Patricia called. Julia's attorney had responded, and the divorce would proceed through the formal process.
There would be discussions about the accounts, the house, and the division of our assets. I thanked Patricia and hung up. For the first time in days, I felt that things were moving in the right direction. Not because Julia was suffering, because I was no longer waiting for her to decide whether our marriage deserved to survive. I had already made that decision, and now it was time to finish what she had started.
The divorce took several months to finalize. There were financial records to review, property to value, and disagreements that required Patricia to negotiate with Julia's attorney. I kept every document organized and followed her advice. I didn't try to punish Julia through the settlement, but I refused to ignore the money she had moved from our joint savings. Some of it was accounted for during the proceedings.
The rest became part of the financial negotiations between our attorneys. I let the legal process determine what was fair instead of trying to settle everything through arguments at home. Julia moved into the apartment she had arranged with Colin before the divorce was finalized. I stayed in our house while the lawyers worked through the details. We spoke when necessary, but our conversations became shorter and more formal.
The woman who had shared my life for 24 years was now someone I communicated with about paperwork, property, and dates. One afternoon, she came by to collect the last of her belongings. I was in the living room when she carried a box down the stairs. She stopped near the front door and looked around. I never thought we'd end up here," she said.
"No, neither did I." She set the box down. "Do you ever think about what might have happened if you'd handled things differently?" I looked at her for a moment. "Of course I do.
I think about what might have happened if you'd told me the truth 8 months ago. I think about whether we could have separated without all this damage. But those are questions about choices we didn't make. I wasn't happy, Jeremy. I understand that now.
She seemed to be waiting for me to say something else. Perhaps that I was sorry or that I wished she would stay. I couldn't offer either. Did you ever love me? She asked.
It was the first time she had asked me that directly since returning. Yes, I said. For a long time, I did. Her eyes filled. And now, now I remember the good years, but I also remember the lies.