He arrived early, a habit he had always reserved for appointments that mattered to him.

He looked exhausted.

He had lost the easy confidence I remembered from our early years, though I resisted the impulse to measure his suffering against mine.

“The paperwork is almost finished,” he said.

“Yes.”

He stirred his coffee without drinking it.

“I know you think I never loved you.”

“I don’t know what you felt.