Passing, Never Touching
Language: en
It was the fifth year of Alan’s second marriage. The child his new wife bore him was already in kindergarten. I, however, remained unchanged. Every day, I squeezed onto the subway, busy working overtime until ten at night. There was no grand return after the divorce, no sweet redemption by a wealthy second lead. All I had left was the fact that Alan and I lived in the same city, yet had never crossed paths again. That day, I emerged from the subway station, numb as usual. The first thing I saw was Alan’s car, parked by the side of the road.