I looked toward the hills.
“How long?”
“Seven years.”
I closed my eyes.
Seven years.
It wasn’t my victory.
It was simply the consequence of his choices.
“What about Joyce?”
“Charged as well.”
“Tyler?”
“Cooperating.”
I nodded.
“And Norah?”
“She’s moved out of state.”
I was quiet.
Then Daniel asked,
“Are you okay?”
I smiled.
“Yes.”
For the first time, I didn’t have to pretend.
Six months later, I received a package.
No return address.
Inside was a photograph.
Ryan and I.
Our wedding day.
We were young.
Twenty-one and twenty-two.
His arm was around my waist.
I was laughing.
We looked happy.
For a moment, I stared at the photograph and remembered everything.
Our first apartment.
Our first Christmas.
The night he proposed.
The first house.
The first company.
The years we spent building something I believed was ours.
Then I turned the photograph over.
There was a sentence written on the back.
