The doorbell rang on a grey October afternoon that I will never forget.

I was in my cozy kitchen, the scent of cinnamon tea in the air, when the sound echoed through my little home in Sandusky, Ohio.

I set down my favorite mug, a chipped thing my daughter Emily had painted as a child, and smoothed my cardigan before walking to the front door.

I expected my neighbor, Mrs. Henderson, who often stopped by for a chat.

Instead, when I opened that door, my whole past crashed into the present.

There he stood. Robert.

My ex-husband.

He looked older, so much older.

His hair, once a thick brown, was now fully grey and thinning.

Deep lines were etched around his mouth, and