Page 132 of Happy After All

“Thank you.” I don’t know what else to say.

I forgive youseems ... well, not true. I’m angry. He wronged me at a time when I needed him to do right by me more than I had ever needed anything. Whether it makes sense or not, I never felt like he was failing only me. He was failing our daughter too. Maybe that part isn’t fair, but it hurt me then, so badly. Forgiveness is too simple for what I feel.

Still, I can appreciate the apology.

“I didn’t treat you well enough,” he says. “I couldn’t understand what you were going through because I didn’t want to. It hurt too much. I was in denial. Of everything. And you weren’t. You deserved better.”

I did.

I did deserve better, though I don’t need him to tell me that.

I never expected to get an apology from Christopher Weaver even once in my whole life, and I like it.

But I don’tneedit.

The simple truth is, he’s not my problem. He’s not going to be in my life. I feel completely fine wishing him well and never having anything to do with him ever again. Not in a hateful way.

I just ... I don’t need him.

I don’t want him.

He’s not the thing that still hurts. He’s not the great loss.

He’s not the love of my life.

“I didn’t really break up with you,” I say. “I ran away. I regret running away. Though, I don’t regret where I ended up. I’m really happy. I hope you’re really happy.”

“I am,” he says.

“Good. I don’t think we ever could have made each other happy.”

“That’s probably true.” Though he looks confused by that. I realize it’s the confusion of the partner who was getting more than he was giving.

I’m not even that mad about it.

“I’m glad you’re here,” I say. “Because I think not having closure on it, not even ... an apology, or just getting to stand in front of you when I don’t feel like I’m falling apart, was keeping me stuck. I just feel like I can let it go now.”

I can let him go. I can let that life go.

It doesn’t mean letting go of Emma. It doesn’t have to.

“This place is pretty amazing,” he says, looking around.

“Oh, I love it,” I say. “I love it here.”

I love my life. That’s the bottom line. I realize he didn’t ask me if I was behind him getting hired. I don’t feel the need to tell him that I wasn’t. It just doesn’t matter.

“Well. I ... Take care,” I say.

There’s a song about this. About the strangeness of when a person you used to be intimate with becomes somebody that you used to know. When it doesn’t even feel intense enough for anger.

For longing.

Whatever was left of my feelings for him blows away on the wind.

I turn, and I see Nathan.

He’s the only thing that matters.

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