EPILOGUE: Have You Eaten?
We got remarried two years later, in a small ceremony at a courthouse in the same county where we’d signed the divorce papers. It seemed fitting. Same hallway, same marble floors, same clerk with the same cheerful stamp.
Dana cried the whole time. Spencer served as my witness, still complaining about his scar.
Rachel wore a simple cream dress, her hair grown out to her shoulders, a little gray at the temples that she refused to dye.
After the ceremony, we walked out into the sunlight on the courthouse steps.
“We folded and filed five years once,” she said, squeezing my hand. “I like this version better.”
“Me too.”
“Do you want to know something?”
“Always.”
She leaned close and whispered, “I’m still going to ask if you’ve eaten. For the rest of your life.”
I laughed, and my eyes stung, and I kissed her right there on the steps with the flag snapping overhead and strangers clapping politely on their way to pay parking tickets.
For two years I had believed the end of a marriage was something you could sign and walk away from.
I was wrong.
Sometimes the end is only the part where you finally learn how to ask the question you should have asked all along.
Rachel, how are you?
And then stay long enough to hear the answer.
THE END
Note: This story is a work of fiction inspired by real events. Names, characters, and details have been altered. Any resemblance is coincidental. The author and publisher disclaim accuracy, liability, and responsibility for interpretations or reliance. All images are for illustration purposes only.
