Two months later, they sat across from each other in their lawyer’s office, signing papers that ended half a century of shared life. When it was done, the lawyer—who had known them for years—suggested dinner at the restaurant where Charles had proposed fifty-one years ago.
Rose agreed out of politeness. Charles agreed because he still loved her.
Charles smiled. “Remember this song?”
Rose nodded but didn’t smile.
He ordered for both of them—just as he always had. “Small salad for you, grilled salmon for me. The lights here are bright—you still need to be careful with your eyes.”
Rose froze. Her chest tightened.
There it was again—that quiet control she’d mistaken for care. “You don’t get to decide for me anymore, Charles,” she said, voice trembling.
“Rose, I wasn’t—”
“I can order my own salad.”Continue reading…
