Logan opened his mouth.

And I watched a man I had been married to for thirteen years hunt for a sentence, in a diner, for what the waitress later told Clara felt like a very long time.

He never found one.

“Okay,” I said, and picked up my bag.

“Thank you.

Genuinely.

Because now I get to leave without spending the next ten years wondering.”

He came after me at the door — and this is the part that still makes me laugh, in a bad way, four years on — with a folder.