Sarah looked at peace.
Not happy like in the movies.
Truly at peace.
“I never wanted to keep you away from the kids,” she told me.
“I just wanted to escape the pain.”
I nodded in silence.
“Forgive me,” I whispered.
This time, I expected nothing in return.
Sarah watched the kids chasing pigeons before answering.
“I forgive some things.”
“Others still hurt.”
“And some just need distance.”
I understood.
We walked together through the historic district.
No longer as husband and wife.
But not with hatred either.
Sarah held our daughter by the hand.
I held our son by the hand.
And as the church bells rang out over Charleston, I finally understood something.
Not all stories end with two people getting back together.
Some end with a woman recovering herself.
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With a man facing the ruins he created.
And with two kids finally growing up alongside parents who stopped pretending.
