Two hours later, we’re at Garfield’s sitting at a table across from each other, sipping coffee. It’s surreal looking at this woman who I was married to in another life. I shouldn’t be here. She was the one who walked out. But I can’t help myself. Despite everything that happened between us in the end, I have to admit she had always been there when I needed her. And as I keep reminding myself, I had everything to do with how things ended. Maybe it’s the passage of time and the situation I find myself in that’s tempering me, I don’t know.
Suddenly I find myself wanting to tell her about our children who will never be born, the places we went, camping trips we took the kids on in the early years. So many memories that’ll never happen. Then I wonder if we’ll continue to be friends in this new
