I looked past her shoulder toward the dark window where the ship’s lights reflected off the ocean swell.

For the first time since October, the cold weight sitting behind my ribs loosened enough for me to take a full breath without the sharp bite of anger.

Maybe Greg had not traded our twenty-two years together for cold indifference or a fresh start.

Maybe he was simply a tired man who had panicked under the pressure of business trouble and run away to hide his embarrassment in a tiny rented room above a dry cleaner.

“He looked so tired when he handed me that envelope,” I murmured, staring into my teacup.