“It reminded me there was once somebody who loved me before life became complicated.”
His eyes settled on me.
“I couldn’t throw away the happiest version of myself.”
The words remained suspended in the room.
Then Stormy surprised us.
She turned toward Jordan.
“I think we should give them a minute.”
Jordan agreed immediately.
Neither of them joked or made the moment uncomfortable.
They quietly went onto the back porch and closed the glass door.
For the first time in twenty-two years, Richard and I were alone.
The silence did not feel uncomfortable.
It was simply crowded with everything we had not said.
Richard glanced around my kitchen with a faint smile.
I laughed quietly.
He reached into his jacket and removed a worn leather wallet.
From a concealed pocket, he carefully pulled out a photograph.
Its edges had softened after years of handling.
He offered it to me.
“I think this belongs to both of us.”
The picture had been taken during our junior year.
We were sitting on the steps outside the Boston Public Library, sharing one pretzel because neither of us had enough money for lunch.
Someone had photographed us laughing at a joke neither of us could now remember.
On the back, in my handwriting, were the words:
“Someday we’ll tell our kids how broke we were.”
A tear slipped down my face before I noticed I was crying.
“I couldn’t throw away proof that I’d once been loved like that.”
I smiled through the tears.
“You were an idiot.”
He laughed softly.
“I know.”
I shook my head.
“You really were.”
“I know.”
“You should’ve trusted me.”
“I should have.”
“I wanted to.”
His voice cracked.
“I was just too young to understand that protecting someone isn’t the same as deciding for them.”
I folded the photograph with care.
“I hated you.”
“I spent years thinking I wasn’t enough.”
Pain crossed his face.
“Doron…”
“I wondered what was wrong with me.”
“There was never anything wrong with you.”
I studied him for a long time.
“The sad part is…” I managed a sorrowful smile. “…we lost the same 22 years.”
He nodded once.
“Yes.”
Neither of us pretended the lost years could be recovered.
The sliding door opened.
Stormy leaned inside.
“Are we interrupting?”
I quickly wiped my cheeks.
“No.”
“You both look like you’ve been crying.”
Jordan smiled.
“I figured that part was unavoidable.”
Stormy came over and linked her arm through mine.
“Can I ask one question?”
“Anything.”
Her expression softened.
“If you two hadn’t broken up…” She glanced between us. “…I wouldn’t exist, would I?”
Richard chuckled.
“Probably not.”
“Well…”
She turned toward Jordan.
“I’m glad you two figured your lives out exactly the way you did.”
Jordan laughed.
“So am I.”
For the first time that night, the space between Richard and me held no regret.
Only gratitude.
Not for what had been taken from us, but for what life had created despite it.
During the months that followed, Stormy and Jordan continued seeing each other.
Richard and I met for coffee several times.
We were not trying to recreate the past.
We were simply refusing to deny that it had once mattered.
Nearly six months after Jordan met Stormy on the subway, the four of us spent a Sunday afternoon walking through Boston Common.
Stormy stole half of them before they’d taken ten steps.
Richard looked at me with a smile.
“Some things never change.”
“What?”
“The girl always steals the boy’s food.”
“I taught her well.”
