Twelve years later, it happened by accident. I was at a grocery store after work, distracted, thinking about dinner and homework and whether we were out of milk again. I turned the corner of an aisle and nearly collided with a man pushing a cart. We both froze.
Adam. He looked… smaller. Older. His hair was thinning, his shoulders slumped. The confidence he once carried like armor was gone. He stared at me like he’d seen a ghost.
“Allison,” he said hoarsely.
My chest tightened—but not with longing. With clarity.
“Adam,” I replied calmly.
He glanced behind me, then back at my face. “I—I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”
“That was your choice,” I said.
His eyes filled with something like regret. “I made a mistake.”
I almost laughed. Before I could respond, a woman approached, holding a stack of papers. “Adam,” she snapped. “Did you sign these yet? We’re already late.” She noticed me, frowned. “Who’s this?”
He hesitated. “My ex-wife.”
