He agreed to meet her.

That surprised her.

The location was neutral — a coffee shop two blocks from the building where his company's administrative offices were registered.

His mother's name above the door, in a manner of speaking.

She had driven past it once, early in the marriage, and he had pointed it out without ceremony, the way you point out a landmark that has always been there.

She arrived first.

She chose a table near the window and ordered nothing.

He came in at twelve minutes past the hour.

He was wearing a dark jacket, no tie.

He looked the same as he always had, which bothered her in a way she hadn't anticipated.

He sat down across from her.

Neither of them spoke immediately.

A waitress came.

He ordered coffee.

She ordered the same.

The waitress left.

"Thank you for coming," she said.

"You asked," he said.

"So I came."

She looked at the table.

"I've been trying to figure out what to say to you for the last two days.

I had a version of this conversation where I told you that you went too far.

That the documentation, the photographs, bringing Diane — that it was excessive."

"And now?"

"Now I think that version was just me looking for a way to still be angry at you." She looked up.

"I'm not angry at you."

He didn't respond.

"I want to tell you that I knew what I was doing when I married you," she said.

"I want to be honest about that.

I thought the company was in your name.

I thought a divorce after two or three years would be straightforward.

I had it mapped out." She paused.

"I didn't think about what it would cost you.

I told myself it wouldn't cost you anything because you had so much.

That was a lie I told myself so I didn't have to think about it."

He was looking at her steadily.

She couldn't tell what he was feeling.

"I'm not asking you to forgive me," she said.

"I'm not asking you to withdraw anything.

I'm going to sign the agreement.

I just needed you to hear me say that I know what I did.

Not in a courtroom.

Not in a document.

Here."

The coffees arrived.

Neither of them touched them.

"Diane told me you asked if it could stop," she said.

"Before I filed."

Something moved across his face.

"She shouldn't have told you that."

"Maybe not." She wrapped her hands around the cup.

"Why did you ask?"

He was quiet for a moment.

"Because I spent three years hoping I was wrong about you," he said.

"I wasn't wrong.

But I kept hoping anyway.

It's a hard thing to stop doing."

She felt something in her chest that she didn't have a name for.

Not guilt exactly.

Something older and quieter.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"I know that doesn't fix anything."

"No," he said.

"It doesn't."

They sat in silence for a moment.

Outside, the street moved past the window.

Ordinary people, ordinary afternoon.

"Is there anything you want to ask me?" she said.

He thought about it.

"No," he said finally.

"I think I already know everything I need to know."

He stood up.

He reached into his jacket and left a note on the table for the coffees.

"Take care of yourself," he said.

And then he walked out.

She sat at the table for a long time after he left.

She drank the coffee.

It had gone slightly cold.

Then she took out her phone and called Patrick.

"I'm ready," she said.

"I'll sign it today."