We met at a small café. She looked nothing like I expected—no arrogance, just a nervous woman twisting her fingers. She apologized before I sat down. Daniel had told her we were long divorced, that I had my own life and income, and that he was still helping Leo and me out of kindness. He had made it sound generous. The day before, a mutual acquaintance mentioned how he had left us with nothing. She asked him. He tried to lie. She pushed until he admitted it, then kicked him out that same night. She could not look at a man like that. All the anger I had carried toward her began to shift into something I had not expected. Understanding.

She placed a thick envelope on the table. Everything he had spent on her. The gifts she could return, she had sold. The rest she had added from her own savings. I said I could not take it. She said I could. It had never been meant for her, and she wanted nothing tied to him. It would not fix everything, but maybe it could help us start over. I thought of Leo, the empty apartment, the nights on the floor. My fingers closed around the envelope. When I got home he was drawing on the mattress. He asked if something good had happened. I looked around the bare rooms, and for the first time they did not feel quite so empty. The person who broke us thought he had taken everything. In the end, the person I expected the least gave us a chance to rebuild.