Tori wipes at her cheeks, then lifts her chin. There’s something steadier there now. Resolute.
“I have decided,” she says.
We all still.
“That’s kind of why I came tonight.” She lets out a shaky breath. “I accepted a job in Omaha. I’m leaving.”
“Wow,” Kate breathes.
Tori nods. “I know if I stay, they’ll just guilt me into going back.” Her mouth twists. “So, it’s better this way. A clean break.” She pauses. “From all of them.”
There’s silence for half a second.
Then Jackie smiles. “That’s incredibly brave.”
Trish reaches for Tori’s other hand. “When?”
“Two weeks,” Tori says. “I’ve already signed the lease.”
Kate lets out a low whistle. “Damn. Look at you, making power moves.”
The meeting shifts after that.
The heaviness doesn’t disappear, but it rearranges itself, less grief, more logistics. Movers. Start dates. Who knows someone in Omaha. What kind of winter coat she’ll need.
I listen, but part of my mind drifts.
I forget sometimes that not all cheaters take the steps Patrick did. Not all of them get sober. Not all of them go to therapy, sit in uncomfortable chairs, and dismantle themselves piece by piece because the alternative is losing everything.
And I don’t know why, but it irks me that everyone in this room is a woman.
And it’s not because women don’t cheat, I know they do, but because when men are cheated on, they don’t exactly flock to support groups to unpack the emotional labor of forgiving it.
I did ask Harvey if he wanted to come. I told him it wasn’t just about forgiveness, that it was about working through the wreckage so you come out the other side stronger, and all the better for it.
He said no. Said he wasn’t about to sit in a circle crying about his wife being a liar. Respectfully, of course.
He’s still heartbroken, so I gave him a pass.
But as I look around this room, at women who stayed, women who left, women who are still deciding, I realize something I hadn’t fully named before:
Choosing yourself isn’t weakness. And choosing to rebuild isn’t either.
Both take courage.
And a lot of it.
Patrick
Hearing the keys jingle in the lock, I straighten unsure of where to stand.
“Hello?” Lore calls out as she steps into the dim kitchen, putting down her purse.
“Patrick?” She looks up, surprised. “When did you get back?”
I don’t answer. I just cross the space between us and pull her into my arms.
She melts into me instantly, like she was waiting for it too, her cheek fitting against my chest the way it always has. I kiss the top of her head and breathe her in.
