Richard stood on the porch, water dripping from the brim of his hat. He looked older. Smaller. The swagger was gone, replaced by a stoop in his shoulders.
I opened the door but blocked the threshold.
“Eleanor,” he said hoarsely.
“Richard.”
“Can I come in? It’s pouring.”
“No,” I said. “You can say what you need to say from there.”
He flinched. “I made a mistake, El. A terrible mistake.”
“Which one?” I asked, leaning against the doorframe. “The affair? The thirty years of lying? Or the fact that you thought you could parade your infidelity in front of me like a trophy?”
“I don’t know why I did it like that,” he admitted, looking down at his muddy shoes. “I think… I think I just got tired of hiding. I wanted to force the issue.”
“You were tired?” I shook my head, marveling at his selfishness even now. “Richard, I was tired for decades. Tired of wondering why you were distant. Tired of pretending everything was perfect.”
He looked up, his eyes wet. “I lost everything, Eleanor. Marissa is gone. The girls won’t talk to me. The club suspended my membership. I’m alone.”
“You didn’t lose everything,” I corrected him gently. “You threw it away. You gambled it, and the house won.”
He took a step forward, reaching for my hand. “Is there… is there any chance? We have history. Fifty years. Can you forgive me?”
I looked at him. I searched my heart for anger, for hatred, for love. I found none of it. Just a vast, cool indifference.
“I have already forgiven you,” I said.
His face lit up with hope. “You have?”
“Yes,” I said. “Because forgiveness is for me, Richard. Not for you. I won’t carry the weight of your sins for the rest of my life.”
“So… we can try again?”
“No,” I said. “Reconciliation requires two people willing to rebuild a foundation. I rebuilt myself the moment I walked out that door. I’m not going back to the ruins.”
I stepped back.
“Goodbye, Richard.”
I closed the door. I locked the deadbolt. Click.
I waited for him to pound on the wood. I waited for him to yell.
But there was only silence, and then the sound of a car engine starting and fading into the distance.
Epilogue: The Sunrise
Six months later, the divorce was finalized.
The settlement was substantial. The forensic accountants had done their job well. I had enough to buy the cottage outright, with plenty left over to ensure my granddaughters’ college funds were secure—and entirely in their names, untouchable by their grandfather.
I stood on the porch, a mug of hot tea in my hand, watching the sunrise paint the ocean in shades of pink and orange.
I was seventy-four years old.
By societal standards, my life was supposed to be winding down. I was supposed to be a widow or a doting wife, knitting in a rocker.
Instead, I was starting over.
