Fair.
“I’m sorry I stopped writing without trying one more channel.”
He shook his head.
“You wrote for years.”
“I still wonder.”
“That isn’t your responsibility.”
“Maybe not.”
“But I’m sorry I told our son you knew he existed without explaining uncertainty when he got older.”
“He wasn’t ready.”
“I know.”
“I’m sorry I let anger make you simpler in my head than you were.”
He looked down.
“That helped you survive.”
“Still.”
Then:
“I’m sorry part of me enjoyed watching you realize what you lost.”
He looked at me.
“I deserved some of that.”
“Maybe.”
“But I don’t want to live there.”
We sat in silence.
Our son snored.
The movie credits rolled.
No kiss.
That would have been cheap.
Healing is not a reward scene.
Three years after the wedding, my former husband asked me to dinner.
I assumed co-parenting issue.
He said:
“Not about him.”
I knew immediately.
“No.”
He smiled sadly.
“Okay.”
That irritated me.
“What?”
“You asked.”
“Yes.”
“I answered.”
“Yes.”
“Why do you look relieved?”
“Because I was terrified.”
I laughed.
He continued:
“Can I ask again someday?”
“No.”
His face fell.
Then I said:
“If I want you to, I’ll tell you.”
He nodded.
“Fair.”
Six months later, I told him.
One dinner.
Not reconciliation.
Not “getting back together.”
A first date between two people who happened to share an enormous past.
We chose a restaurant neither had visited during marriage.
That mattered.
He arrived early.
I arrived late deliberately.
Petty.
He knew.
Did not mention.
We talked about books.
Work.
Music.
Almost no son.
Almost no mother.
At end he said:
“This was nice.”
I said:
“It was.”
“Again?”
“Maybe.”
He smiled.
“Goodnight.”
No kiss.
Second date, kiss.
Terrible.
We laughed.
Third better.
Dating your ex-husband after a seven-year paternity lie is exactly as emotionally deranged as it sounds.
Every good moment triggered suspicion.
Every familiar gesture carried history.
He reached for my coat and I remembered his mother choosing one for me.
He suggested restaurant and I wondered who recommended.
He missed a call and I wondered who.
Therapy.
Lots.
We stopped dating twice.
Restarted once.