7. The Final Confrontation

Six months after the divorce, I ran into Ryan at a coffee shop in downtown Denver. He saw me before I saw him. “Emily?” he said, approaching cautiously. He looked thinner. Lost. A little tormented. “I heard… you’re doing well,” he said. “Better than well.” I smiled politely. “I’m doing fine.” He swallowed. “Look, Em, about what happened… I was under stress. Work was bad, I was drinking too much, I…” “It’s okay,” I said gently. “You don’t have to explain.” “But I should.” His voice cracked. “I made a mistake. I pushed away the only person who really cared about me.”

I searched his eyes. I saw regret, but not love. And no growth. “I hope you find peace, Ryan,” I said gently. “But I’m not coming back.” He exhaled shakily. “Are you seeing anyone?” “No.” “Are you rich?” he blurted out. I blinked. He blushed. “I mean, you look different. Happier. People talk.” I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to. He looked at me, waiting. Finally, he said, “Whoever helped you… must be very lucky.” I smiled. “He was.” I walked past him, stepping out into the sunlight, feeling whole for the first time in years.