“I made mistakes.”
“Mistakes are forgetting anniversaries.”
He didn’t answer.
“Mistakes are buying the wrong flowers.”
Still silence.
“A year and a half with another woman isn’t a mistake.”
His breathing grew uneven.
Then he asked the question he really wanted answered.
“What do you want?”
I looked out my office window at the city below.
Freedom.
Peace.
Self-respect.
But I kept my answer simple.
“What should have happened from the beginning.”
“And that’s what?”
