A pause. “Are you sure?”
“It’s just pasta, Diane.”
She stayed for dinner. Cooper talked non-stop about a documentary he had watched on dinosaurs, completely oblivious to the tension hanging between Diane and me. Diane listened intently, just as she always did, and I couldn’t help but notice how natural it felt — how comfortable she looked in my space again. For a moment, it was as if nothing had changed.
After dinner, Cooper asked if Diane could stay to watch a movie. I looked at her, and then she looked at me. We exchanged a glance, one that carried more weight than I realized.
“It’s up to your dad,” she said, her voice soft.
“It’s fine,” I said, giving in. Why not? It was just a movie, right?
We sat on the couch, Cooper nestled between us as we watched The Incredibles. Cooper fell asleep about forty minutes from the end, just like he used to when he was younger, his head resting against Diane’s shoulder. That was the moment when everything seemed to slip back into place, like I could still hear the echoes of our old life. The life where we were a family, a unit, a team.
But things were different now. Things had changed.
The Night That Changed Everything
After the movie ended, I glanced over at Diane. She was looking down at Cooper, her expression soft and unguarded. For a moment, she looked like she used to — the woman I had married. The woman I had loved. But then, something shifted, and I saw a sadness in her eyes that I couldn’t explain. It wasn’t just sadness, though. It was something else — something deeper. Something unresolved.
“I should go,” she said quietly, as if waking from a dream.
“It’s almost ten,” I said. “And it’s forty minutes back to Durham.”
“I’m fine,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Diane,” I said, my tone firm, but not unkind. “The couch folds out. You know where the extra blankets are. It doesn’t make sense to drive forty minutes at ten o’clock when you have to be back here at nine tomorrow morning anyway.”
She hesitated for a moment, her eyes searching my face. Something passed across her expression — uncertainty, maybe regret. Then, she finally nodded. “Okay,” she said, her voice quiet.
I set up the pull-out couch in the living room, found the extra blankets in the hall closet, and left them on the armrest without making it a big deal. I kissed Cooper goodnight, careful not to disturb him, and then went to my room.
