Anger, sadness, disbelief—they all surged through me. How could she just walk away? Leave her baby behind? Leave me?
And yet… there she was. No longer the woman I remembered, but someone shaped by her own years of pain and survival.
But I realized something crucial: I didn’t want her back.
I didn’t want to reopen old wounds. I didn’t want to explain her reappearance to Noah. I didn’t want to risk unraveling the stable life we’d built. What I wanted—needed—was closure.
Through tears, she whispered, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do.”
I nodded, feeling the last thread between us snap. “I understand,” I said softly.
Then I turned and walked away.
Each step released the past’s grip. Fifteen years of chasing a ghost, wondering what if, finally ended. Now I had an answer. Now I could move on.
Not away from her—but toward peace.
For myself. For my son. For the life we had rebuilt—without her.