I laughed, high on accomplishment, and said words that would later haunt me.
“See? I climbed the ladder. You took the easy road and became a nobody.”
The sentence landed between us like something fragile shattering.
For a moment, I thought she might finally break. But she didn’t. She smiled, small and tired, and said, “I’m proud of you.”
Then she walked away.
We didn’t speak for three months.
I told myself she needed space. That she was upset but would get over it. I had a new job, a new city, a new life unfolding in front of me. Guilt surfaced occasionally, but I pushed it aside. She had always been strong. I assumed she always would be.
When work finally brought me back to town for a conference, I decided to visit her. No warning. I imagined an awkward conversation, maybe some tension, maybe forgiveness. Nothing I couldn’t handle.
