The morning I saw the blood on that sheet, I thought I’d hurt her somehow. I spent a whole month believing that. I was wrong about what it meant, and I didn’t find out the truth until a hospital in Miami called my phone.

I’m still not sure I know how to tell this part right. My throat does this thing when I get to it.

Let me back up.

Sarah and I were married eight years. We didn’t blow it up over cheating or some big screaming match. It just died slow. Long days, longer silences, dumb fights about nothing. One morning we signed papers, shook hands like two coworkers, and that was it.

I stayed in Chicago, buried in a construction company. She moved down to Florida, hospitality work. I’d hear about her through mutual friends. That she was doing okay. That she seemed calmer now. That she didn’t talk much about the old life.

And honestly? I didn’t ask. I told myself that was healthy.

Three years went by like that.

Then work sent me to Miami to scout some land for a resort. Two days, in and out. I checked into a hotel on the strip, dropped my bag, and went out walking just to clear my head. The air was thick and warm, bars spilling music onto the sidewalk, tourists everywhere taking pictures.

I ducked into a little bar. Nothing fancy. Low lights, the kind of place you sit in just to sit.

I ordered a beer. And then I looked up.

She was right there at the bar.

I knew it was her before she even turned around. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear. That stiff posture she got when she was thinking too hard about something.

Eight years of marriage and I’d have known the back of her head in the dark.

When she turned and saw me, her mouth just dropped open.

“Charles?”

We stood there staring at each other like idiots. Three years folded up into nothing.

We ended up at the same table. At first it was careful, both of us picking our words. She asked about work. I asked about hers. We laughed about this trip to Wisconsin where everything went wrong, about a dog we almost adopted and fought about for a week.

And here’s the thing that got me. It was still so easy to talk to her. Like no time had passed at all.

Around midnight she said she knew my hotel. Then she said let’s walk on the beach a little. And me, the guy who spent three years swearing up and down he was over her, I said yeah. Okay.

I’m not proud of how fast I said yes.