When he arrived, he told me he and Vanessa had separated.
“The marriage license was filed,” he explained. “So I can’t simply walk away. But I met with an attorney.”
We sat together at the kitchen table.
“Are you sure?”
He gave a humorless smile.
“No. I’m heartbroken. Embarrassed. Angry. Confused. But I’m sure I can’t build a life with someone who needs me to prove love by abandoning people.”
Vanessa called me once during that period.
I nearly ignored the call, but curiosity won.
“Margaret,” she said in a polished, fragile voice. “I think we should talk woman to woman.”
I stood near the kitchen window, watching rain move down the glass.
“What would you like to say?”
She inhaled.
“I was under a lot of stress. Weddings bring out emotions. I made a poor choice.”
“A poor choice is ordering the wrong flowers,” I replied. “You arranged public humiliation.”
