Read.
First page.
Second.
Her hand began shaking.
“This could be nothing.”
“It could.”
I said.
She looked at me sharply.
I continued.
“It could become serious.”
“It could resolve.”
“I don't know.”
“That isn't why we're divorcing.”
Fiona stared at me.
“Then why bring Rosalind here?”
There was the question I had asked myself for two weeks.
I answered honestly.
“Part of me wanted you to understand that you were not the only person at this table with information.”
“That sounds like revenge.”
“Yes.”
Rosalind looked at me.
I continued.
“Part of it probably was.”
Fiona looked stunned by the admission.
“I’m not going to pretend I’m morally pure because I didn't yell.”
“I was hurt.”
“I wanted you to feel the floor move.”
“I arranged for Rosalind to come because I thought you needed to hear something from someone who still wanted to protect you.”
“And because I wanted one moment where you didn't control the information.”
That was not flattering.
It was true.
Fiona looked away.
The waiter approached.
Saw our faces.
Stopped.
“I can come back.”
“Yes.”
I said.
He disappeared immediately.
Rosalind reached for Fiona’s hand.
Fiona pulled away.
“You knew.”
Her voice was quiet.
“For six months.”
Rosalind began crying.
“Yes.”
“You judged me while pretending everything was normal.”
“I was trying to make you stop.”
“You should have told him.”
“I know.”
“You should have told me about this.”
“I learned about this two weeks ago.”
“From Declan.”
“Yes.”
Fiona laughed bitterly.
“So everybody prepared except me.”
I said:
“You prepared a two-year affair.”
She looked at me.
That ended the argument.
We sat quietly.
Eventually Fiona asked:
“What happens now?”
“Tonight?”
“The marriage.”
“I’ll have my attorney send yours information.”
“You already hired an attorney.”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Five weeks ago.”
Fiona looked as though I had slapped her.
“You really were done before tonight.”
“Yes.”
She stared at the candle.
“You didn't even give me the chance to ask you to stay.”
I almost could not believe the sentence.
“You came here to leave me.”
“I know.”
“Then why does my willingness to let you go hurt you?”
Fiona opened her mouth.
Nothing came.
That answer took months for her to understand.
People sometimes want to leave while still needing proof they could have stayed.
My acceptance removed something from Fiona’s narrative.
She had imagined herself choosing.
Instead, she discovered I had choices too.
We left separately.
Rosalind drove Fiona.
I walked to the parking structure.
Sat in my car twenty minutes.
That was when I finally cried.
Not dramatically.
No screaming.
No hitting the steering wheel.
Tears simply started.
I leaned back and let them.
For six weeks, I had handled the situation as information.
Attorney.
Documents.
Dates.