I was halfway through my day on Monday when I realized I hadn’t thought about Michael at all. Then, of course, I could only think of him.

April, 2014: He drove me to the airport in New Jersey. His hand was on my thigh with my fingers woven between his. The weekend we’d spent together in Atlantic City had brought us closer, a notion I’d thought impossible before. I hated leaving him, but we had plans to see each other on his return trip home from his conference. He handed me a twenty dollar bill, knowing that I rarely carry cash, for tipping the airport staff. I objected, saying that I would stop at an ATM.

“We’re in this together. This is what couples do,” he said as he folded the twenty in my hand.

I remember the warmth in those words. I remember feeling whole.

It’s been three months since his lies caught up with him — and with me. At the time I didn’t realize the significance of, “I need to go and manage this.” I didn’t know that ‘managing this’ meant deleting all of our emails, texts, shared pictures and placing all of my gifts to him in a garbage bag.

I didn’t know that he had already chosen; I was still dumbfounded that he had a choice to make at all.

He’d chosen, even in the car on the way to the airport that April day on the Jersey turnpike. He’d chosen every time he said, “I will love you forever.” He knew his words would stay longer than he could. He knew the whole time. From the moment we met, to our last lunch, he knew we would end this way.

Monday, at 2:47 PM, I remembered to think of him. My thoughts were as kind as he deserved.