Her hand, the way Clara held it out to me. There was no contained emotion. There was nothing.
That was what threw me off.
For years I thought that if we ever crossed paths like this again, there would be something. Anything. Tension, discomfort, reproach. Some sign that what we were still existed in some awkward corner of her memory. But no.
She looked at me as one looks at someone who no longer weighs. And that gesture, so simple, was more forceful than any words.
The coffee was served when I got to the kitchen, steaming, perfect. I sat down and took a sip without really tasting it. My mind was still in that room, at that moment when I saw her walk towards the stage with a confidence that I did not recognize as that of the woman who was my wife.
Not because I wasn't able to. But beca
