Neither had I the first time I’d visited.
Elaine invited us into her office.
She pulled up Sienna’s old academic record.
Several credits still counted.
Others didn’t.
The program had changed.
The software had changed even more.
There would be refresher work.
Portfolio updates.
At least a few semesters, depending on the course load.
No shortcut.
No magical restart button.
Just an open door.
Sienna barely looked at the screen.
She kept staring at me.
Finally, she asked, “Why did you come here 14 months ago?”
Elaine glanced between us.
“I’ll give you two a minute.”
She stepped outside.
Sienna waited.
“So?”
I leaned back.
“Because a man named Derek carried a cardboard box past my office.”
She frowned.
“What?”
“He worked with me for 11 years.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“Everything.”
For the first time since she’d arrived pounding on my door, Sienna stopped arguing.
So I told her about the day I first wondered whether the life we’d built together had quietly become a trap for both of us.
“Derek got laid off during restructuring,” I said. “Same position for 11 years. Two kids. Mortgage. Wife hadn’t worked since their youngest was born.”
Sienna lowered herself into the chair across from me.
“I watched him carry that box out, and all I could think was, what happens to you if that becomes me?”
Her eyes sharpened.
“So you decided I needed a career?”
“No. I decided we’d built your entire security around my paycheck.”
She looked away.
“I tried bringing up school six months ago,” I added. “You asked if we were having money problems. When I said no, you asked why you’d bother.”
I rubbed my palms together.
“I should’ve kept talking. Instead, I did what I always do. I tried to solve it myself.”
Sienna looked down at the folder.
“You should’ve told me.”
“Yes.”
She seemed surprised that I agreed.
Then I said, “And you should’ve stayed long enough for me to tell you I’d lost one job, not my ability to be your husband.”
Neither of us spoke for a while.
Outside, students crossed the courtyard carrying backpacks and coffee.
Finally, Sienna asked, “Are we broke?”
There it was.
The question she’d apparently been carrying for three days.
“No.”
Relief crossed her face before she could hide it.
“We have savings. Severance. I told you that the night I came home.”
Sienna frowned.
“You did?”
“I did.” I held her gaze. “You heard I’d lost my job and decided I’d lost my value.”
She looked down again.
We left the college and drove to the diner where we’d had our first date.
Halfway through our coffee, Sienna suddenly laughed.
“My card paid that night.”
“Mine declined,” I admitted.
“You were so embarrassed.”
“You told me I’d get the next one.”
Her smile faded.
After a long silence, she asked, “When did I become this person?”
I looked into my coffee.
“Probably around the same time I started being proud that you needed me for everything.”
Sienna wiped beneath one eye.
“Do you want me to come home?”
“No.”
She flinched.
“I don’t know if I want our marriage to end,” I confessed. “But I can’t let you come home because you found out we’re financially okay.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Figure out whether you would’ve come back if the account had been empty.”
She couldn’t answer.
—
Two weeks later, Sienna asked me to meet her at the diner again.
She’d enrolled in one refresher design course.
When the check arrived, I reached for it automatically.
So did she.
Our hands stopped above it.
Sienna took the bill.
“I’ve got this one.”
I let go.
She gave me a faint smile.
“You can get the next one.” Then she caught herself. “If there is one.”
—
Outside, we walked toward separate cars.
“Good luck with your interview tomorrow,” she said.
“Thanks.”
She hesitated.
“Do you want me to call afterward?”
I thought about it.
“Yeah.”
Through the diner window, our two empty coffee cups sat on opposite sides of the booth.
Between them was the paid check.
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