“It will be a good day,” I repeated. “Everything will go fine, and you will feel better for doing it. For being there.”

I turned from a reflection that seemed to say, “You’re lying,” and picked up my car keys. The clock struck ten; I needed to leave now if I didn’t want to be late.

The even was fifteen minutes away. I knew the building, went on a date there once with someone I barely remember. This would be a new vibe though, new scenery. New people …

Parking wasn’t hard to find. Nothing delayed me from entering the warehouse where the annual Survivors of Domestic Violence event happened. I was brave for doing this, I told myself. It takes strength to face this, and to give back in this way.

The first face I saw through the door was hers. She was here, not as a volunteer but as a participant. My hands clenched as I looked at her, sitting with her face in the opposite direction, looking sad. The nerve of her, when I wore the bruises of our relationship.

I turned and left. I wished her a good event.