He came home a week later.
He walked in like nothing had happened. He wore a somber expression, holding a bouquet of white lilies—Emily’s favorite. In his other hand, a brand-new designer teddy bear, still with the tag on.
Too late. Too fake.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “Things got… complicated. The meetings ran long. I couldn’t get away.”
I looked at him for a long moment. I didn’t yell. I didn’t cry.
Instead, I said, “I understand.”
He looked relieved.
He thought I was letting it go.
