Months later, Mark asked me to meet him for coffee.
I almost refused.
Then I went.
He looked older.
Probably so did I.
He said he was in therapy.
Then:
“The affair is over.”
I looked at him.
“What happened?”
He stared into his coffee.
“Turns out guilt and secrecy were most of what we had in common.”
I said nothing.
“I destroyed everything.”
“You damaged a lot.”
“I want my son back.”
“That’s between you and Daniel.”
“Can you talk to him?”
“No.”
“Carol.”
I shook my head.
“For thirty-one years, I cleaned up uncomfortable things because I wanted this family intact.”
He looked at me.
“I’m not doing it anymore.”
He nodded.
Then asked:
“Do you hate me?”
I thought about it.
“No.”
He looked surprised.
“I hate what you did.”
Then:
“But hating you every day would keep you too involved in my life.”
That was the closest thing to closure I ever gave him.
