I Thought the Cruise Would Help Me Forget My Divorce, Then a Stranger Reached Into His Pocket and Changed Everything

“I don’t think we’re meant to grow old together.”

That’s what my husband said to me on a Thursday night in October, standing in our kitchen with his coat still on.

I was at the stove stirring a pot of chili. His favorite. The kind with the extra beans and the little bit of cinnamon that he always said made it taste like Sunday afternoons at his grandmother’s house. I had the radio on. I was humming.

I didn’t even turn around at first.

“What did you say, honey?”

He didn’t repeat it. Instead, I heard paper. A soft rustle. Then the light thump of something being set down on the kitchen table.

I turned around.

Greg was standing by the table with his hands in his coat pockets. There was a thick manila envelope lying next to the salt shaker. He wasn’t looking at me. He was looking at the envelope.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Papers,” he said.

“What papers?”

He finally looked up. His eyes were red around the edges.

“Divorce papers, Claire.”

I laughed.