now

Here’s what he dreamed of: a wedding, not theirs, but a final child’s, a daughter’s, and he would look into her eyes, not his daughter’s, but his wife’s, and, without saying a word, both would know, exactly, what each other was thinking: we made it. It wasn’t easy. It wasn’t always pretty. But we stuck with it. It was, he thought, the way it should end, or the way a new beginning should begin. She, however, his wife, had other ideas, a few years ago, none of which included him. So much for that dream, he knows, now. A little sad, now. More than a little, now and then. But it is what it is, he tells himself. It was what it was, he tells himself. She is who she always was, he knows, now. Now. Now.