Opposite Directions

After the divorce, I left New Harbor with Ethan.

Not immediately as lovers.

Not dramatically.

Just away.

Away from WeiTech.

Away from Victor.

Away from the apartment where I had mistaken performance for love.

Away from everyone who wanted to watch my pain and call it justice.

Ethan did not rush me.

That was perhaps why I stayed.

Five years later, we returned to New Harbor with our son.

A small boy with Ethan’s eyes and my stubborn mouth.

One afternoon, I stopped at a red light on Wenford Road.

A black car pulled up beside mine.

The driver’s window lowered.

Victor.

He looked older.

Not ruined.

Not thriving either.

Just smaller.

For a few seconds, neither of us spoke.

There was nothing left to say.

The light turned green.

Victor drove left.

I drove right.

Our cars moved in opposite directions, swallowed by different roads.

That was the last time I saw him.

And for the first time, I did not look back.