For a moment I remembered us as young adults in the small apartment, arguing over whose turn it was to cook while she graded tutoring assignments at the table.

I had thought the life we’d planned was an obstacle.

She had understood that it was a life.

I did not ask whether she had forgiven me.

I knew forgiveness might mean something different to her than to me, and she owed me no declaration.

When the awards began, I applauded students whose names I had never heard.

I recognized, with a quiet embarrassment, how much better the room felt when I wasn’t measuring every event against my own reputation.

PART 24: Not a Reunion