Owen grinned.
“Stubborn?”
“Extremely.”
“Wonder where we got that.”
“Certainly not from me.”
They laughed.
And for the first time since seeing Daniel, I could breathe again.
Thirteen years earlier, our marriage had ended on a Thursday.
I remembered the day because it had rained.
The twins were three years old, and Owen had spent the afternoon refusing to wear anything except a red raincoat with yellow ducks.
Daniel came home at six carrying a suitcase.
He placed it beside the front door without looking at me.
I was standing in the kitchen, stirring tomato soup.
“Business trip?” I asked.
He didn't answer immediately.
Then he said, “Claire, we need to talk.”
There are sentences that divide a life into before and after.
That was one of them.
He told me he wasn't happy.
That he had been feeling trapped.
That we had married too young and wanted different things.
