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“You’re not a married woman.”

“I still love Damiano.” My voice breaks. “He’s still my husband.”

Chiara goes quiet.

I can practically see her turning the words over in her head before she speaks.

“I know it feels like that in here.” She places her hand over my heart. “I know he’s still your husband in here. But Nora, technically, you’ve been single for sixteen months.”

I shake my head.

“I will never leave Damiano.”

“No.” Her voice softens. “But sweetie... even if it wasn’t his choice, he left you.”

I jerk away from her.

“Fuck you!”

Chiara squares her shoulders.

“This is reality, Nora. I’m sorry that this is your reality. God knows I’d travel to heaven myself and drag him back here for you if I could.”

My face crumples.

“But I can’t.” Her own eyes fill with tears. “You can’t. Nobody can. You don’t have a living husband anymore.”

I stare at her.

A living husband.

I don’t have a living husband.

Damiano is...

He’s...

Dead.

A broken cry tears out of me and my knees give out.

Chiara catches me and comes down with me, pulling me into her arms as we sit on the hotel room floor.

I cry.

God, I cry.

Because somehow I’ve known this every second of every day for the last sixteen months and still, right now, it feels like I’m hearing it for the first time.

I don’t have a husband anymore. I had one, the best one, and I loved him with everything I had. I still love him with everything I have, but he’s gone.

Chiara holds me while I break all over again.

I don’t know how long we sit there, but it’s long enough that my wet hair starts drying against my shoulders and eventually there are no tears left.

Chiara helps me stand and we climb into bed.

Neither of us says anything for a while.