Chapter 16 David
Isaw her before she saw me.
Emma, sitting at a table near the window, laughing at something the man across from her said. She was wearing a dark blue dress I'd never seen before, her hair down and loose around her shoulders. She looked happy and relaxed. Beautiful too.
And she was on a date.
I stood in the doorway of Marcello's for longer than I should have, frozen, my brain trying to catch up with what my eyes were seeing.
Emma. On a date. With someone who wasn't me.
Of course she was. Of course. She'd moved on. Built a life. Why wouldn't she be dating?
But knowing it and seeing it were two very different things.
Marcus appeared at my elbow. "You coming in or are we eating on the sidewalk?"
I forced myself to move, scanning the restaurant for where Marcus was sitting. The bar. Good. Far enough away that I wouldn't be hovering over Emma's table like some pathetic ghost.
Then Emma looked up and our eyes met.
For a second, I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Just stood there like an idiot, staring at my ex-wife who was clearly in the middle of a date with someone else.
Do something. Say something. Don't just stand here.
I smiled. Small, polite. The kind of smile you'd give an acquaintance you ran into unexpectedly. Then I nodded and turned toward the bar before I could see her reaction.
"You good?" Marcus asked as I slid onto the barstool next to him.
"Yeah. Fine." I picked up the menu without really seeing it. "What's good here?"
Marcus studied my face for a moment, then let it go. "Everything. But the carbonara is ridiculous."
I nodded and pretended to read the menu while my heart hammered in my chest.
Emma was here. Twenty feet away. On a date with a guy who looked.
.. nice. Tall, dark hair, good smile. The kind of guy who probably had his shit together.
Who didn't have a past that included cheating on his wife and torpedoing his career and spending a year drinking himself into oblivion before finally getting help.
The kind of guy Emma deserved.
The bartender appeared. "What can I get you?"
"Soda water with lime," I said automatically.
Marcus ordered a beer and the carbonara. I ordered the same pasta, even though I wasn't hungry anymore.
"So," Marcus said once the bartender left. "Want to tell me why you look like someone just punched you in the stomach?"
"I'm fine."
"David." He gave me a look. "I've known you for two years. You're not fine. What's going on?"
I glanced toward Emma's table. She was focused on her date, laughing at something he'd said. Her date said something else, and she nodded, smiling.
"That's my ex-wife," I said quietly.
Marcus followed my gaze, then looked back at me. "Ah."
"Yeah."
"You want to leave?"
"No." I took a sip of my soda water. "No, it's fine. She's allowed to have dinner. I'm allowed to have dinner. It's a public restaurant."
"True." Marcus picked at the label on his beer bottle. "But it's also okay if you're not fine with it."
I thought about that. "I'm not going to lie… it's not fun seeing her with someone else. But that's my problem, not hers. She's moved on. I'm happy for her."
"Are you?"
"I'm trying to be." I turned to face Marcus, deliberately putting my back to Emma's table. "Three years ago, I would have gone over there. Made it awkward. Made it about me. I'm not doing that."
"Growth," Marcus said, raising his beer. "Uncomfortable as hell, but growth."
I smiled slightly. "My therapist would be proud."
"She would." Marcus set down his beer. "For what it's worth, you're doing the right thing."
The food arrived. I ate mechanically, tasting nothing, making conversation with Marcus about his bar, about a case I was working on, about anything that wasn't Emma or the fact that my chest felt like someone had reached in and squeezed.
I was happy for her. I was. She deserved happiness, deserved someone good, deserved to move forward with her life.
But knowing that didn't make it hurt less.
Marcus was telling me about some drama with his suppliers when I saw movement in my peripheral vision. Emma and her date, walking toward the exit.
They had to pass the bar to get to the door.
I glanced up as they approached. Emma's eyes met mine for a brief second. I nodded again… just acknowledgement, nothing more. Her date nodded back too, polite but probably having no idea who I was.
And then they were gone.
I turned back to Marcus. He was watching me with that careful expression therapists probably taught their patients to recognize: concern without pity.
"I'm okay," I said.
"I know you are." He pushed his plate aside. "But it's also okay if you're not."
I finished my soda water and set the glass down. "She looked happy."
"She did."
"Good." I meant it. "That's good."
We finished dinner. Marcus told me about the woman he'd been seeing, asked about Maria's case, made me laugh with a story about a drunk customer who'd tried to pay for his tab with a handful of lottery tickets.
Normal things, good things. It was the kind of evening I'd have had with a friend regardless of whether I'd run into my ex-wife or not.
When we left, I walked Marcus to his car.
"Thanks for dinner," I said. "And for, you know. Not making it weird."
"That's what friends are for." He unlocked his car, then paused. "You going home?"
"Yeah. Got an early morning tomorrow."
"You going to be okay tonight?"
I knew what he was really asking. Three years sober, but he knew the bad nights were the ones where old patterns tried to resurface. When the whiskey bottle in the cabinet would start calling your name.
"I'll be fine," I said. "I'll call Dr. Reeves if I'm not."
"Good man." Marcus clapped me on the shoulder. "We'll do this again soon. Without the surprise ex-wife appearance."
I smiled. "That would be nice."
I walked back to my apartment. It was only six blocks, and the night was cool and clear. Good weather for thinking. For processing.
Emma was dating. Really, actively dating.
Not just casually seeing someone. That guy had looked comfortable with her, like they'd been out a few times already. Like this was going somewhere. And, the more I thought of it… wasn’t he the same guy I’d seen her with all those years ago, just months after the divorce?
God, I was... what? Jealous? Yes. Hurt? Absolutely. But also, and this was the part that surprised me, genuinely glad.
Because three years ago, right after I'd signed the divorce papers and lost my job and hit what Dr. Reeves called "rock bottom," I'd been terrified that I'd broken Emma permanently. That I'd damaged her so badly she'd never trust anyone again, never open herself up to love again, never be happy.
And here she was. Happy. Moving on. Dating someone who looked like a genuinely good guy.
I hadn't broken her and, against all odds, she'd healed and rebuilt. She'd become even stronger than she'd been before.
And I had nothing to do with it.
That should have made me feel worse. Should have highlighted my irrelevance in her life, my complete removal from her story.
Instead, it made me feel... lighter. Like maybe I could finally forgive myself for some small part of what I'd done. Because she was okay. More than okay.
My apartment was dark when I got home. I flipped on the lights, dropped my keys on the counter, poured myself a glass of water.
I pulled out my phone and opened my notes app. The list I'd been keeping for three years, the one Dr. Reeves had me update every week.
Things I'm grateful for:
My practice (small but honest)
My sobriety (three years, no slip-ups)
My health
Marcus and the few friends I made
My parents (still talking to me, even after everything)
A second chance to become someone better
Emma is happy
I added that last one and stared at it for a long moment.
Then I put my phone away and went to bed.
Tomorrow I had three client consultations and paperwork for Maria's hearing.
One day at a time.