97. StreetHe had nothing to feel guilty about, he thought. Things happen. Times change.

People change.

He walked down the street, trying to clear his head, but the argument replayed over and over in his mind, no matter how fast he walked. He couldn’t outrun it while he carried it with him.

He wanted out. He was tired of fighting. He was tired of throwing good energy after bad. He wanted to try something new, something that felt like it could grow instead of just fighting to survive. He wanted to be excited again. Was that so bad? We only get so many trips around the sun.

It would be better for everyone, he thought. He was being brave, actually, no matter what names he had been called earlier. He was being the one with the guts to call it, to say what was actually going on, rather than pretend everything was fine. He did it so that they both could be free to do something that would make them happier in the long run. A little short-term pain, sure, but from a long-term perspective, it was the right thing to do.

As he walked, it started to sprinkle. He realized he was a mile away from his car, which was parked back by the shop. It hadn’t looked like rain when he started his walk, but the clouds were dark and threatened a downpour.

This is not an omen, he thought, turning around to head back for shelter.