Owen nodded.
His hand moved toward his phone, then stopped.
“Okay. Tell me if you want help booking it.”
Valerie’s expression softened.
“I will.”
She booked the room herself.
Owen flew home that evening.
I stayed two more nights because Valerie asked me to.
We ate dinner.
We walked along the beach.
On my final morning, Valerie said, “I thought Russell meant I was moving forward.”
I looked at her.
“And now?”
She smiled.
“I think ordering dessert alone might count too.”
Months later, Valerie booked another trip.
By herself.
Owen drove her to the airport.
This time, when she lifted her suitcase from the trunk, nobody was helping her escape anything.
She had chosen the destination herself.
Owen cleared his throat.
“Do you want me to check the hotel reviews one more time?”
Valerie slowly turned toward him.
Owen raised both hands.
“Right. You’re sixty-three.”
She smiled.
“And very capable of surviving dinner with strangers.”
Then she kissed his cheek, took her suitcase, and walked inside alone
