We never saw Arthur again. He never called. Never tried to explain. Maybe he knew there was nothing left to say.
Eventually, Rowan moved into her own place. She started therapy. Took a solo trip to Colorado. And one evening, over coffee at my kitchen table, she said, “I don’t know what comes next—but at least I know who I am again.”
I smiled.
“You always did,” I told her. “You just lost sight of it for a while.”
She reached across the table and squeezed my hand.
And for the first time in a long time, I truly believed we were going to be okay.
If this happened to you, what would you do? We’d love to hear your thoughts in the Facebook comments.
