That detail took me instantly back to the beach.
Our last photo as friends.
She did not reach for me.
“Thank you for coming.”
I nodded.
We talked for forty minutes.
About Emily.
About my house.
About Susan’s mother.
About nothing.
Then, finally, she said, “I miss you.”
I believed her.
“I miss who I thought we were.”
She cried.
“So do I.”
That answer mattered.
She did not demand that I restore the old friendship.
She understood it no longer existed.
When we stood to leave, Susan glanced toward my phone on the table.
For a second, I knew exactly what she was thinking.
Another picture.
She did not ask.
I picked up the phone myself.
Then put it into my purse.
“Not yet.”
Susan nodded.
“Okay.”
I walked away.
Not triumphant.
Not healed completely.
But no longer trapped inside the version of my life Michael and Susan had curated for me.
