“I should have.”
“You keep deciding things for me.”
Thomas nodded slowly.
“You’re right.”
That mattered more than an excuse would have.
He didn’t defend himself.
He didn’t call his silence noble.
He simply accepted what it had cost me.
“I was a coward when I was 34,” he said. “I told myself I was protecting you. Maybe part of me was. But I was also protecting myself from having to fight them.”
I looked at him for a long time.
“And now?”
Thomas glanced toward the suitcase.
“Now I was packing.”
My heart sank.
“To leave?”
“Yes.”
I stood again.
Then he added, “With you, if you’d have me.”
I stared.
Thomas gave the smallest smile.
The dimples appeared.
At 79, I knew better than to confuse regret with destiny.
I also knew forgiveness was not the same as forgetting.
So I did not promise forever.
I did not pretend 50 years could be repaired in one afternoon.
I held out my hand.
“Start by turning your phone back on.”
Thomas laughed through his tears.
“Fair.”
“And no more disappearing.”
“Never again.”
I squeezed his hand.
For most of my life, I had thought our story ended because Thomas stopped choosing me.
