Chapter 3 - The Coastal Divide
The rain in Oregon was relentless, a cold drizzle that matched the heavy guilt settling in my stomach as my rental car approached her new town.
I parked across the street from the storefront I had seen in the photographs, which now bore a freshly painted sign reading "The Rosemary Bakery."
Through the fogged glass, I watched my wife kneading dough, flour dusting her cheek just like it did on Sunday mornings in our old apartment.
I gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white, rehearsing a thousand different speeches that all sounded pathetically hollow.
Before I could step out of the car, a tall man wearing a flannel shirt and a tool belt walked into the bakery.
Rebecca looked up at him, and a bright, genuine smile illuminated her face, a smile I had not seen directed at me in over two years.
He handed her a cup of coffee, leaned over the counter, and wiped a smudge of flour from her nose with casual intimacy.
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My heart shattered against my ribs as I realized I had not just lost her to my ambition, but I had lost the right to even try again.
I sat in the cold car for hours, torturing myself by watching her build a new life that completely excluded me.
