I’m free. I don’t understand. I know you don’t.
That’s exactly the problem. I stood up, leaving my untouched latte on the table. Ryan looked up at me with expression of someone watching his entire world collapse.
Wait. Please. Don’t leave like this.
I’m not leaving, Ryan. I left months ago. You just finally noticed.
I walked toward the door, then turned back one last time. For what it’s worth, I hope you learn to be happy with the life you chose. But you’ll have to learn it without me.
Outside, the savanna evening was soft and warm. I walked slowly back to my apartment, past the squares filled with Spanish moss and the sound of jazz drifting from restaurant patios. Somewhere behind me, Ryan was probably still sitting at that table, trying to process the fact that his safety net was never coming back.
Tomorrow, I would start planning my next adventure. Maybe Italy. Maybe Colorado.
Maybe somewhere I’d never imagined going when I was too busy being someone’s mother to be myself. The woman who had spent 30 years accepting leftovers was gone forever. In her place was someone who had finally learned that she deserved a seat at the table, or better yet, a table of her own.