“Yes.”

Another pause. Then, “Maybe that’s not the worst thing.” It wasn’t.

After I moved, Sophie visited often. We cooked because we wanted to, not because anyone expected us to. She still saw Daniel, but their relationship changed; she refused to carry messages between us and told him plainly that forgiveness would require honesty, not self-pity.

Chapter 12 — Eighty-Seven

The first Thanksgiving after the divorce, I invited eight people to my new house. Sophie. Two coworkers. My neighbor and her husband. A woman from my walking group.

Tanya, who at first declined because she avoided socializing with clients, until I reminded her I was no longer one. And an older widower from down the street who brought cornbread and apologized four times for how it looked.

Everyone contributed something. Sophie made the sweet potatoes. My neighbor brought pie. Tanya arrived with wine. The widower carved the turkey because he’d worked in a restaurant during college and believed that qualified him forever.