The days after my confession were heavy. She didn’t speak much. Meals were quiet, and the house felt cold despite the summer heat. I tried to give her space, afraid that every word I said might make things worse.
Yet even in that silence, I could feel her grief — the way she moved slowly, how her hands trembled when she washed the dishes, the sadness in her eyes when she thought I wasn’t looking.
Then, one morning, something changed.
She greeted me with a soft smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes, but was gentle all the same. That evening, she cooked my favorite meal — roasted chicken with herbs and mashed potatoes, just like she used to when we were newly married.
Over the next few weeks, she began leaving small notes on my desk:
“Drive safely today.”
“Dinner’s at seven.”“I love you.”
At first, I didn’t know what to make of it. Her calmness frightened me more than anger ever could. Was this forgiveness? Or was it a goodbye disguised as kindness?
The Appointments
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