Our Story Ends Here

After parting ways with my best friend, I headed straight to the restaurant.

The moment I walked in, I spotted Joe Watson and Carol Chaney at a table in the corner by the window, deep in conversation.

He leaned toward her as he spoke. "I already got tickets to next week's Impressionist exhibition. They'll be showing an original painting by Jacques Valcourt, just like you wanted."

Carol caught me watching and smiled before lightly poking Joe's arm with her fork.

He followed her gaze, and the smile vanished from his face. His brow creased as he stood and strode toward me.

He demanded, "Did you follow me here? I told you I was busy. Why would you come all this way just to make a scene? Carol and I are discussing something important, so go home before you embarrass yourself.

"We'll celebrate our anniversary another time. Just get something to eat on your own tonight."

Before I could respond, Joe turned and went back to their table.

"Carol, the crème caramel is their specialty. You said you like sweets. Want to try it?"

I stood there watching them lean in over the menu, their heads almost touching. Without realizing it, I tightened my grip on the divorce papers inside my bag.

The edge of the papers dug into my palm. I managed a bitter smile and shook my head.

I had thought we could at least end things with some dignity tonight and say a proper goodbye to the eight years we had shared. But Joe couldn't even be bothered to keep up appearances.

My heart already felt heavy, and the rest of me was growing weaker by the minute.

I didn't let myself dwell on it. Instead, I went to the table I had reserved and ordered a whole spread of my favorite foods.

Whenever Joe and I ate together, I always ordered around his preferences. He hated cilantro, spicy food, and anything too sweet. For eight years, I never forgot.

Yet when I asked him to name something I liked to eat, he thought for a long moment before finally saying, "You're not picky."

But he remembered everything Carol liked, right down to strawberry lollipops, dried mango, and iced vanilla lattes with half the usual syrup.

That night, I ordered all my favorite dishes, none of which Joe liked. The Cajun shrimp was so spicy it made my eyes water.

For the first time, I realized how much better a meal could taste when I ate alone.

I stayed from sunset until the city lights came on, watching one group after another come and go at the surrounding tables.

When I left, Joe and Carol were still talking. She was laughing so hard she doubled over, and the tenderness in his eyes was impossible to miss.

I knew that look. Joe used to look at me the same way when we first got together.

Back then, a single wildflower by the side of the road could keep us talking for hours. We would start with how seeds spread, move on to photosynthesis, and somehow end up talking about human growth and development.

We never ran out of things to say. We were always on the same wavelength.

But now? We couldn't talk for more than a minute without ending up in a fight. Even worse, every argument somehow came back to Carol, his childhood sweetheart.

Three months earlier, we had finished renovating our second house. For once, we made it through furniture shopping without arguing. We even talked about the life we would have there.