looked away.
That answer finally killed the last ghost of the man I had loved.
Adam continued quietly.
“I went to Denver. I stayed with someone I knew. I took contract work. I kept telling myself I would call when I got myself together.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Shame.”
I shook my head.
“Shame doesn’t stop a phone from working.”
“I know.”
“No, Adam. Cowardice stopped you.”
He accepted that.
“I thought every month made it harder. Then every year made it impossible.”
“You know what happened every year you were deciding it was too awkward to call?”
He looked at me.
“Your children had birthdays.”
His eyes filled.
“Amara learned to walk.”
I continued.
“Andy split his chin when he was four and needed stitches. Ashton had pneumonia in kindergarten. They lost teeth. Learned to read. Learned to swim. Had nightmares. Won awards. Failed tests. Made friends. Lost
