Not because the gesture erased the lies, but because it was one small instance of Connor letting an object stop being a symbol of status.

That evening I opened the drawer containing our wedding photograph.

I held it in my hands for a while, studying how much hope lived in our faces.

I still wished we had made different choices.

I still wished he had reached for my hand in that hallway rather than Bridgett’s.

But wishing could not change the past.

I returned the photograph to the drawer and closed it without resentment.

I was surprised to find that I could remember happy years without wanting to undo the ending.