Robbed of Grace

There she was, across the aisle at the supermarket, inspecting a bunch of overripe bananas like they held the secret to eternal youth. My heart skipped a beat. No, make that two beats. It had been ten years since I last saw her, and she looked exactly the same, only now she was wearing a wedding ring on her left hand that glinted under the fluorescent lights. The ring. The one thing I wished I could have given her.

Her name was Grace, and once upon a time, I had planned to make her my wife. We were young, broke, and madly in love. I had introduced her to my family as “the one,” and everyone had loved her—especially my mother, who had already started knitting tiny booties in anticipation of our future offspring. But life happened. Misunderstandings piled up like laundry in a bachelor’s apartment. Eventually, she married someone else, and I married Mary, a woman whose greatest virtue was that she could tolerate my obsession with football.

But now, here she was, Grace—in my supermarket, in my town, on my Tuesday. Was this fate? Was the universe throwing me a bone after ten years of wondering what could have been? I adjusted my shirt, sucked in my stomach, and rolled my shopping cart toward her with all the confidence of a man who had spent the last decade wondering if his hairline was receding.

“Grace?” I said, stopping just short of the bananas. My voice cracked slightly, but I recovered by pretending to cough.

She turned, and for a moment, it was like we were back in college, arguing about which side of the bed we’d sleep on if we ever got married. She smiled. “Oh my goodness, David! It’s been forever!”

Forever was right. She had the same radiant smile, but now there were faint laugh lines around her eyes. It made her even more beautiful.

“What brings you here?” I asked, trying to sound casual, like I hadn’t just Googled “spontaneous ways to rekindle old flames” last week.

“Oh, just shopping for the kids,” she said, motioning toward a cart filled with cereal boxes, juice boxes, and everything else that screamed “responsible parent.”

Kids? Of course. She had married someone else. She had a whole other life. Meanwhile, the most exciting part of my week was arguing with Mary over whether we should buy the cheap detergent or the one that “smelled like lavender dreams.”

“And you?” she asked, her voice as warm as a blanket on a cold night. “How’s Mary?”

Ah, Mary. My wife, my partner, my… well, let’s just say she wasn’t the “let’s make pancakes at midnight” kind of woman.

Also Read: Across the Bridge

“She’s good,” I said, nodding like a bobblehead. “She’s, uh, really into yoga these days. Very bendy.”

Grace’s laugh was exactly as I remembered—melodic, infectious, and slightly too loud for a public space. “That’s wonderful. And what about you? Still dreaming of becoming a novelist?”

Ouch. That one stung. Ten years ago, I’d told her I was going to write the next great Kenyan novel. Today, the only thing I’d written was a strongly worded email to my boss about the coffee machine being broken.

“Oh, you know,” I said, scratching the back of my head. “I’m more of an idea guy these days. Lots of brainstorming. Lots of… thinking.”

She nodded politely, and for a moment, there was silence. The kind of silence that carries the weight of a thousand unsaid things. Then I saw it again—the ring. The one on her finger. The one I’d always imagined giving her. It was simple but elegant, just like Grace herself.

“So,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant. “Your husband must have great taste. That’s a beautiful ring.”

Her smile faltered for just a moment, and then she looked down at her hand. “Oh, this? It’s actually not my wedding ring.”

“Oh?” My ears perked up like a dog hearing the word “treat.”

“Yeah,” she said, twirling it absentmindedly. “My husband and I… well, we separated a while ago. This is just a ring I bought for myself. You know, to remind me that I don’t need anyone to complete me.”

Was that a crack in the universe I just heard? A sliver of hope? My mind raced. Could this be my second chance? Could Grace and I finally have the happy ending we were robbed of ten years ago?

“That’s… inspiring,” I said, desperately trying to hide the stupid grin forming on my face. “You’ve always been strong like that.”

She smiled again, and this time it reached her eyes. “Thanks, David. It means a lot coming from you.”

We stood there for a moment, two people who had once been everything to each other, now just two shoppers in a supermarket aisle. She glanced at her cart, then back at me.

“Well, I should get going,” she said, though she didn’t move.

“Yeah, of course,” I said, though I didn’t want her to leave. “It was great seeing you.”

As she walked away, I felt a pang of regret. Should I have said more? Asked her out for coffee. Told her that I still thought about her every time I heard that stupid love song we used to dance to?

But then, just as she was about to turn the corner, she looked back. “Hey, David?”

“Yeah?” I said, my heart pounding.

“You should write that novel. I’d love to read it one day.”

And just like that, she was gone. But this time, she left me with something more than memories. She left me with hope. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough to start again.

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