The Art of Starting Over

face a mask of calm composure, just as it had been for their entire marriage. He watched the slow rise and fall of her chest, a rhythm he knew better than his own. He was tired, so tired of a life l

or the first time in his memory. "Tell Daniel... I've always loved him." The name hit him like a physical blow. Daniel. Her colleague from decades ago. All the polite distance, the self

ming, hovered over him. His mother. It was 1987. He had been reborn. The memories of his eighty-year life were sharp and painful, a brand on h

oice a reedy squeak. "I

etie. You're just a baby." But Ethan was resolute. The memory of Olivia's

eautiful, a good family, and already on track to be a Major in the Army. You two have been engaged since you were children. What' s not to like?" He would just stare at his plate, the food tasting like ash

a was laughing, a real, unguarded laugh that he had rarely seen directed at him in sixty years of marriage. She handed Daniel a cold drink, her movements efficient and caring. It was a

k to that familiar, stoic calm he knew so well. "Ethan," she said, her voice even. "I was hoping I'd

m, then dropped to her side. An awkward silence stretched. He saw a flicker of confusion

should keep our distance, Oliv

long, suffocating nightmare. He had been so blind, so foolishly dedicated to a woman who saw him as nothing more than a duty. He had believed her quiet nature was just h