We met at a small café halfway between our offices, neutral ground, and he looked older than I remembered, his certainty finally worn thin by consequences he could no longer delegate.
“I didn’t think you’d leave for good,” he admitted, stirring untouched coffee,
“I thought you’d cool off.”
I met his eyes calmly and said,
“I didn’t leave because I was angry. I left because I was done pretending.”
He didn’t argue.
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