The Distance Between Us

Claire returned to the United States two weeks later.

She did not ask to see Ethan.

She asked to see me.

My first answer was no.

Then she sent a message that changed my mind.

There is something I wrote to you in Zurich and never sent. I think you should have it.

We met in a quiet café three blocks from the hospital. Natalie sat at another table pretending not to watch us.

Claire looked thinner than I remembered from old photographs. Her hair had been cut short after treatment, and there were shadows under her eyes.

She did not look like the woman who stole my husband.

She looked like a person who had survived something difficult and made choices she regretted.

"Thank you for coming," she said.

"I haven't decided whether I should have."

"Fair."

She slid a folded sheet of paper across the table.

"I printed it from my drafts folder. The metadata is on the second page. I wrote it four months ago."

I unfolded it.

Rachel,

You don't know me well, and I suspect you have every reason not to trust my intentions. Ethan has been here much longer than I expected. I have asked him to go home. I need you to know that.

I stopped reading.

"Why didn't you send this?"

"Because Ethan found me writing it."

I looked up.

"He read it?"

"Part of it. He didn't take my phone or threaten me. He just asked me not to send it."

"And you listened."

"Yes."

The word was quiet.

"Why?"

Claire looked down at her hands.

"Because I was afraid. Treatment had failed once. I had just been told the next option might work, but there were no guarantees. Ethan was familiar. He knew how to talk to doctors. He knew my history. He knew Simon."

"So you wanted him there."

"Yes."

At least she did not hide from it.

"Even though you knew I was pregnant."

"Yes."

Anger rose, but it was different from the anger I felt toward Ethan.

"Then don't tell me you were innocent."

"I'm not."

Claire met my eyes.

"I didn't ask him to leave his wife. I didn't ask him to kiss me. But I accepted more of him than I should have. I benefited from his dishonesty because it made my worst months less lonely."

I looked back at the letter.

The final paragraph was worse.

If he has told you that I cannot survive without him, that is not true. I am scared, but I am not helpless. Whatever is happening between you, please do not let my illness become the reason you stop asking him for what you need.

I put the paper down.

"You knew."

"Not everything. But I knew enough to realize he was using me as a reason not to face home."

"And you still didn't send it."

"No."

We sat in silence.

Finally, I asked, "Do you love him?"

Claire did not flinch.

"I loved him once. During treatment, some of that came back. But what came back was tied to fear and history. I don't want a life with him."

"Does he know that?"

"He does now."

"You spoke to him?"

"Once, after I landed. I told him not to contact me again unless it concerned legal records or repayment of the medical money."

"Repayment?"

"I am returning what I can. The clinic refunded part of the foundation payment after my coverage appeal went through. I instructed them to send it to the original account."

That surprised me.

"You don't have to do that for me."

"I'm not doing it to buy forgiveness. I'm doing it because the money wasn't his alone to give."

For the first time, I saw the line between remorse and repair.

Remorse said, I feel terrible.

Repair said, I am going to correct what I can even if you never absolve me.

Ethan was beginning to learn that lesson too.

I folded the letter and put it in my bag.

"I don't forgive you yet."

Claire nodded.

"I didn't come expecting it."

"I may never."