I waited by the lecture hall for Julian's class to end.

This place was familiar. All of Julian's open lectures were held here.

During the first year of our marriage, whenever I had time, I'd come wait for him here.

Julian and I weren't compatible.

Why had it taken me so long to admit it?

Sunset streamed through the windows. The last student had left.

I watched Julian slowly gather his notes. Students still lingered by the door, hoping for a word with him—but he waved them off.

He saw me before I was ready.

"Claire?"

He looked genuinely surprised. And for one unguarded second, something softened in his expression—something that reminded me of the boy who'd waited outside my dorm with hot chocolate on exam nights.

Then the wall went back up.

"Are you here about the papers?"

"I signed them." I held out the envelope.

He took it. Didn't open it.

"I came to return your key, too." I placed it on the lectern between us.

The late-afternoon light made everything golden—his hands, the polished wood, the thin band of dust floating in the air.

"Remember when you proposed?" I asked suddenly.

He looked at me. Really looked. For the first time in what felt like years.

"In this hall," he said. "After your graduation ceremony."

"You were so nervous you called me by my full legal name."

"Claire Elizabeth Ashford, will you marry me." A ghost of a smile. "You laughed so hard you almost dropped the ring."

"And you said—"

"I said I'd spend the rest of my life making sure you never stopped laughing."

We stood in the silence of that broken promise.

"Goodbye, Julian."

He didn't say it back. Just stood there holding the envelope like it weighed a hundred pounds.

I walked out into the autumn air, and for the first time, the weight on my chest felt a little lighter.