Chapter 18 - The Meeting on Michigan Avenue
In November, Chicago experienced its first light snowfall of the season. White flakes dusted the stone facades of Michigan Avenue, sparkling under the golden streetlights of the Magnificent Mile.
I walked out of an executive dinner at a high-end restaurant near the Water Tower, wrapped in my cashmere coat, holding a leather portfolio containing signed contracts for a secondary municipal project.
My sleek Audi was parked near the valet curb.
As I waited for the valet to bring my keys, a figure stepped out from the shadows near the entrance of a nearby coffee shop.
It was Jason.
He wore an old denim jacket over a faded sweater, shivering slightly in the cold wind. He held a paper coffee cup in his raw, un-gloved hands. He looked so thin, so diminished, that if I hadn't spent eight years waking up beside him, I might not have recognized him at all.
He stopped ten feet away from me, his eyes wide, filled with a complex, painful mixture of deep shame, grief, and awe.
"Lauren..." Jason rasped, his breath forming a pale cloud in the freezing air.
I stopped, holding my portfolio against my side. I didn't reach into my purse for protection. I didn't panic. I stood under the warm glow of the hotel entrance lights, looking at him with the quiet, detached composure one might offer a distant acquaintance from a past life.
"Hello, Jason," I said smoothly.
Jason looked down at my designer boots, then up at my tailored coat, and finally at my face—a face that held no anger, no malice, and zero vulnerability.
"I saw the newspaper article last week," Jason choked out, his voice trembling from the cold. "The cover story on the Cultural Center. You... you looked incredible."
"Thank you," I replied politely. "My team worked very hard on it."
Jason swallowed hard, stepping a foot closer, his hands shaking so violently his coffee spilled slightly onto the pavement.
"I lost the Ford Explorer last month, Lauren," he whispered, tears welling in his red-rimmed eyes. "The repossession team took it from the parking lot at Midwest Freight. I take the bus to work now. I live in a basement unit in Elgin."
I listened to him, but my heart didn't twitch. The instinct to fix his problems, to cushion his falls, to manage his pride—an instinct I had carried for eight years—was entirely dead.
"I hope you're adjusting, Jason," I said softly.
"I was so stupid, Lauren," Jason sobbed, dropping his head as tears spilled onto his jacket. "I had everything. I had a brilliant wife who loved me, a beautiful home, a future... and I threw it all in the trash because I wanted my mother to think I was a big man. I would give anything... anything... to go back to that Tuesday night and shut my mouth."
I looked at the man who had once been my husband.
"You can't go back, Jason," I told him, my voice gentle but unyielding as granite. "And even if you could, that Tuesday night didn't create your choices. It just revealed who you were when you thought you didn't need me anymore."
The valet pulled my Audi up to the curb, stepping out and holding the driver's side door open.
"Your car, Mrs. Mitchell," the valet smiled politely.
"Thank you," I said.
I took my keys, tipped the valet, and turned back to Jason one last time.
"Live a good life, Jason," I said quietly. "Learn to build something of your own."
May you like
I stepped into the heated leather interior of my car, closed the heavy door, and pulled smoothly onto Michigan Avenue, leaving Jason standing alone under the falling snow, watching my red taillights vanish into the Chicago night.
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