I continued. “For leaving without really looking at what was happening. For not being present. For letting my own grief become an excuse to disappear. But that’s not why I’m here.”
“Then
why?”
I looked at her.
“Because when I saw you in that hallway, I realized the divorce ended a legal marriage, not what you mean to me.”
Her eyes glistened.
“That’s a dangerous thing to say the night before surgery.”
“I know.”
“You can’t promise a future because you’re scared of losing the past.”
“I’m not promising a future.”
“Then what are you promising?”
I leaned forward slightly.
“Tomorrow morning, I’ll be here. When you wake up, if they let me, I’ll be here. After that, I’ll ask again.”
Her lips pressed together.
A tear slipped down her cheek.
She wiped it away quickly, almost angrily.
“I was so angry with you,” she whispered.
