The meal wasn’t perfect.
He overcooked the vegetables.
Burned one side of the chicken.
And somehow managed to get flour on the kitchen floor despite not using any flour.
But we ate together.
At the table.
Without an argument.
When we finished, Derek picked up the plates.
“I’ll clean up.”
I watched him carry them to the sink.
Such a small thing.
And yet, for years, I’d been expected to arrange everything.
I realized how much I had missed ordinary cooperation.
Not grand romantic gestures.
Not expensive vacations.
Just two adults working together.
But rebuilding trust wasn’t simple.
There were days when Derek became defensive.
Times when Patricia called and he felt guilty.
Moments when our old habits threatened to return.
During one counseling session, I admitted I still thought about the way he’d smiled when he told me to support myself.
“I can’t forget it,” I said.
Derek looked down.