The real one.
The one where we had slowly stopped seeing each other.
The one where I had become lonely.
The one where Theo had become convinced that I was already planning to leave.
Eventually, we met for dinner.
It was the same restaurant where Theo had once forgotten our anniversary.
I remembered sitting there alone that night, watching the minutes pass while my food went cold.
Now he was sitting across from me.
Healthy.
Alive.
And finally willing to talk.
Theo looked at me and admitted why he had asked for the divorce.
“I thought you deserved the chance to choose me freely,” he said.
I looked down at my hands.
Then I admitted something I had never said aloud.
During his treatment, being needed had made me feel loved again.
And somewhere along the way, I had confused the two.
Being needed wasn’t the same as being loved.
Being someone’s caregiver wasn’t the same as being someone’s partner.
And surviving something together didn’t automatically mean the marriage had been repaired.
Cancer had forced us to fight for Theo’s life.
But it hadn’t automatically taught us how to fight for our marriage.
We didn’t rush back into marriage.
We didn’t pretend the previous eleven years hadn’t happened.
We didn’t promise that love alone would magically repair everything.
Instead, we made a different decision.
We started dating again.
We continued counseling.
We talked before resentment became silence.
