Then he surprised me.

“I’ve been thinking about us.”

I set down my cup.

“We had good years,” he said.

“Maybe we gave up too quickly.”

I remembered the kitchen island, his demand for everything, and the way he had spoken about Tommy as though our child were a thing he could decline to accept.

I also remembered birthdays and quiet Sundays, vacations where we laughed, and the early days when he had still brought me tea when I worked late.

“Those years mattered,” I said.