Some lessons arrive gift-wrapped in another woman’s loss, and people still do not recognize them until much later.
So I just said, “Congratulations. You can have him without having to hide anymore.”
Then I turned and walked away before either of them could answer.
I booked the next flight home from an airport bar with shaking hands and mascara running down my face.
The bartender said the drinks were on him. God bless people like that.
On the plane home, I sat by the window and watched the lights of the city fall away beneath me.
My reflection in the glass looked ghostly and strange. I kept waiting to feel rage, or hysteria, or the urge to call him and scream until my throat bled.
Instead, I felt hollow.
Like something had been carved out, and the air was rushing through where it used to live.
I got home after midnight.
