“I regret allowing pain to drive me toward destruction,” Sarah admitted. “I do not regret making sure my home never became Rita’s reward.”
Victor rested his elbows on his knees.
“I don’t even know who you are anymore.”
Sarah looked directly at him.
“That is the tragic truth, Victor. You never bothered to find out.”
He began to cry.
Not silently.
Heavy, ragged sobs shook his entire body.
“Sarah… I’m so sorry. For Rita. For the house. For saying those things about you. For all those years I treated what you did for me as if it meant nothing.”
Sarah slowly extended her frail hand.
Victor grabbed it with both of his.
“I forgive you,” she said quietly.
“I don’t deserve it.”
“Forgiveness isn’t always about what the other person deserves,” Sarah whispered. “Sometimes it’s simply refusing to carry hatred with you when you leave.”
“Let me fix this,” he begged. “Tell me what to do.”
“You cannot repair a twenty-two-year marriage in a single afternoon.”
“Then tell me how to make it right.”
“Take your anti-rejection medication on time.”
Victor let out a broken laugh.
“Sarah…”
“I’m serious,” she said firmly. “Eight in the morning. Eight at night. Not 8:10. Your life depends on small, boring, repetitive routines.”
“Like me,” he whispered, tears pouring down his face. “According to me.”
“Like me,” Sarah said softly. “According to you.”
Victor looked down at her hand.
The same hand that had graded thousands of school papers.
Cooked his meals.
Managed their household.
Held his when he was sick.
Signed the organ-donation consent form that had kept him alive.
“Where is your wedding ring?”
“I left it on your watch at the hospital.”
Victor reached into his coat pocket.
He had carried the gold band with him.
He placed it gently on Sarah’s blanket.
“Keep it,” she said.
“Why?”
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