We walked to the car.
Owen sat behind the steering wheel but didn’t start the engine.
For a long time, he stared at the theater.
Then he lowered his forehead onto the steering wheel and cried.
I had seen Owen cry only a few times during our marriage.
This was different.
It felt like something that had been locked inside him for decades finally had somewhere to go.
I put a hand on his back.
Eventually he sat upright.
“The parking lot,” he said.
“What about it?”
“This is the
