“I can’t believe it’s been five years,” Emily said.
“I can’t either.”
“It feels like a lifetime ago.”
“It was a lifetime ago. You’re a completely different person now.”
She looked at me.
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
We sat in comfortable silence for a while.
Then Emily said, “Do you ever think about that night? The dinner?”
“Every day.”
“Me too.”
“Does it still scare you?”
She thought about it.
“No,” she said finally. “Not anymore. Now it just reminds me how strong I am.”
I reached over and squeezed her hand.
“You’re the strongest person I know.”
She smiled.
“I learned from the best.”
We sat there until the sky started to lighten, talking about everything and nothing, the way mothers and daughters do when they’ve survived something together.
And when the first rays of sun broke over the horizon, Emily stood and stretched.
“I should go,” she said. “Daniel’s probably wondering where I am.”
“Go,” I said. “Be happy.”
She leaned down and kissed the top of my head.
“I already am.”
I watched her walk down the driveway to the car where her husband was waiting.
She turned back once and waved.
I waved back.
And then she was gone.
Driving off into her new life.
