“I owe you an apology,” she said.
I didn’t answer immediately.
She looked uncomfortable.
“I was cruel.”
“Yes.”
“I thought I was being funny.”
“You weren’t.”
She nodded.
“I know.”
Then her voice softened.
“I think maybe I was jealous.”
That surprised me.
“Jealous?”
“You seemed happy.”
She looked down.
“And I realized I hadn’t felt that way in a long time.”
For the first time, I saw her not as the woman who had mocked me, but as someone struggling with her own unhappiness.
I didn’t excuse what she had done.
But I forgave her.
Three months later, Henry invited our families to dinner.
Halfway through dessert, he suddenly stood.
My heart began pounding because I knew that look.
He walked around the table, lowered himself onto one knee, and pulled out the same velvet box.
Melissa gasped.
Henry looked up at me.
“Nine months ago, I met a woman at a swimming pool who reminded me life wasn’t over.”
