James found himself offering advice, connections, encouragement, not out of obligation, but genuine excitement for her vision. You're different from most men I meet here, she observed one afternoon. You actually listen instead of just waiting for your turn to talk. Bad habit from my marriage, James said. Riley, I got very good at listening to what wasn't being said.
Sounds exhausting. It was. Elena didn't pry, didn't push for details. She simply accepted the information and moved on, respecting his boundaries in a way that felt revolutionary. Their friendship, and James was careful to keep it firmly in that category, became one of the highlights of his week.
Meanwhile, the messages from her, his ex-wife, he forced himself to think, had stopped. Her social media, which he occasionally checked in moments of weakness, showed a woman trying too hard to prove she was thriving, posed photos with friends who looked uncomfortable. Cryptic quotes about self-discovery and growth. The comments were supportive but hollow, the kind of encouragement people give when they don't know what else to say. One evening, 6 months after arriving in Singapore, James was working late when his phone rang.
An unknown number with a US area code. His old city. He almost didn't answer. James, it's Marcus, your lawyer. Marcus?
Hey, is something wrong? Not wrong. Exactly. I got a call today from your ex-wife's attorney. She wants to meet with you.
Says she has something important to discuss. James felt his stomach tighten. We're divorced. Assets are settled. What could she possibly?
She wouldn't say, but she's willing to fly to Singapore. Her attorney implied she wants I don't know. Closure, maybe. Or to apologize. Tell her no.
James Marcus, I mean it. We're done. If she needs closure, she can find it in therapy. I'm not her emotional support system anymore. A pause.
Okay, I'll relay that. But James, she sounded desperate. Whatever she wants to say, it's eating her up. After hanging up, James sat in the dark office, the city lights glittering below. He thought about the man he'd been, the one who would have dropped everything to ease her distress, who would have seen her desperation as proof that she needed him.
That man was gone. In his place was someone who understood that her feelings were not his responsibility, that closure was something you gave yourself, not something you extracted from others. He texted Elena, "Random question. Do you think people deserve second chances? " Her response came quickly.
Depends. Second chance to do what? Hurt you again? No. To grow and become better people?