“What?”
“That if I admitted how lonely I was without her, then everything I still had somehow wasn’t enough.”
Ethan nodded.
Then asked, “Do you regret marrying Vanessa?”
I thought about it.
“Yes.”
He looked surprised by how quickly I answered.
“But I don’t regret wanting companionship.”
“That part wasn’t wrong.”
I needed years to understand that distinction.
Loneliness had not made me foolish.
Wanting love at seventy-four was not ridiculous.
Trusting someone was not shameful.
What nearly destroyed me was allowing fear of being alone again to silence questions I should have asked.
Vanessa would tease my memory.
I laughed.
She would take control of another account.
I thanked her.
She would say my children were disrespectful.
I defended her.
Every compromise seemed small enough to excuse.
Until I was standing on the edge of becoming a guest inside my own life.
The following spring, I hosted a much smaller dinner at Ravenswood Estate.
No grand ballroom.
No lawyers.
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