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I watch as his shoulders match mine. He glances up at the ceiling before he looks at me. Another sad smile is all I get for a moment.
“Of course you did. That’s who you are,” he says with a nod. “I understand why you did. Honestly, it didn’t really sit right with me, my asking you to keep her from him. Not when it was just jealousy that made me say it.”
We sit there, our coffees getting cold, the air still and silent between us. This feels like an end. Like a goodbye.
“He should meet her,” he starts, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “She made me a man. Maybe she’ll do the same for him.”
Without another word, he stands. I can’t look at him as he walks away.
And when the door closes behind him, I let out a sob.
I hurt a good man.
It’s something I don’t think I’ll ever get over.
I reach out for my phone, unable to see clearly through my tears. But somehow, I find Abraham’s name in my phone, and I call him.
He picks up on the third ring.
“We need to talk,” I tell him, trying to hide the tears in my voice.
“Where are you?” he asks me, the sound of voices around him fading as I assume he finds a quiet space to talk.
“Home.” I don’t have to tell him where “home” is, having received four checks from him over the years to this address.
“I’ll be there in a half-hour,” he tells me, and I hang up, unable to keep my tears in check.
I burned down my life. I ripped apart my family.
And even before then, I aimed to hurt Abraham just because he’d hurt me. Often, I wondered how he felt when he woke up and saw I was gone. I wondered how many times he called my name before he realized I was gone. I wondered if he debated on trying to call or text before deciding it was best to leave us in the past.
Had he lost himself in this the way I had? The way I continue to do so, even though we had such a short love affair.
I think we know when things are meant to be, even when they’re fleeting.
We let ourselves lose our minds in it a little.
