“And I want you to understand something. I’m not choosing you because Michael rejected me. I’m choosing you because, after everything that happened, I finally understand that I am allowed to choose my own life.”
I brought her hand to my lips and kissed her knuckles.
“Then let’s choose it.”
She smiled.
And when I walked her to her car that night, she kissed me.
Our first real kiss was nothing like the dramatic scenes in movies.
There was no music.
No cheering crowd.
No sudden certainty that every problem had disappeared.
There was just Karen, her hand against my cheek, and the quiet realization that we had finally stopped running from something we both wanted.
When we separated, she smiled.
“Well.”
“Well,” I echoed.
“That took long enough.”
“Your son is very demanding.”
She laughed.
Then she kissed me again.
And for the first time, I didn’t feel guilty about wanting her.
