Chapter 13 - THE MAN WHO DIDN'T ASK WHAT I OWNED
I met Thomas Bennett at a community arts fundraiser.
He was an architect specializing in historic building restoration.
He wore a charcoal suit that looked slightly uncomfortable.
And he spent most of the evening discussing the ceiling.
Not the investors.
Not the donors.
The ceiling.
I found him staring upward.
“Something wrong?”
He smiled.
“Actually, something wonderful.”
I followed his gaze.
He pointed toward the decorative plasterwork.
“That's original. Most people assume it's a reproduction.”
I laughed.
“You sound like my father.”
Thomas looked at me.
“Was he an architect?”
“No. A hotel owner.”
He smiled.
“Then he probably understood buildings better than most architects.”
We talked for nearly an hour.
He asked about my interests.
My work.
My favorite books.
He didn't ask how much money I had.
Didn't mention Adrian.
Didn't seem interested in the gossip surrounding my divorce.
At the end of the evening, he asked:
“Would you like to get coffee sometime?”
I hesitated.
Then smiled.
“Yes.”
We dated slowly.
Thomas respected my independence.
He never treated my work as an inconvenience.
He didn't assume my schedule should revolve around his.
One evening, I told him about the night I discovered Adrian's affair.
Thomas listened.
Then said:
“That must have been terrible.”
I nodded.
“It was.”
He didn't offer a speech about how everything happened for a reason.
He didn't tell me I was lucky to have escaped.
May you like
He simply took my hand.
For the first time in years, I felt no pressure to become smaller so someone else could feel important.
