“I am sorry for inviting you for that reason.”

I believed he meant it.

That did not make the past disappear, but it was different from the old Tristan, who could spend an hour explaining why he hadn’t meant anything hurtful without once considering the hurt itself.

“Thank you for saying it,” I replied.

We parted without further ceremony.

There was no kiss, no invitation to dinner, no hint that restoring the children’s relationship with their father meant restoring my marriage.

I had built a life of my own, and that life was not available as a consolation prize for someone else’s regret.