THE FLIGHT BACK HOME IS LONG. I can’t focus long enough to read a book or watch a movie on my tablet. I don’t eat a thing. I doze off once or twice, and I rearrange the photos on my phone in folders. There’s a young mother and baby boy sitting next to me, but thankfully he’s an angel. Big brown eyes study me curiously, and I shoot him a few smiles. He usually grins in return. He is precious, and reminds me of Emma when she was this age. That seems like an eternity ago now.

My mind is full of Eli. I just can’t wrap my head around the fact that we’ll never see each other again, never speak to each other again. I play my ‘sad love songs’ mix on my phone — Adele’s heartbreaking voice brings me back there, to Copenhagen. I remember our time together, but not the big things, not the boat tour or the walks in town, not Nyhavn… none of that. I only remember the small moments; him painting my toe nails, stealing potato wedges, teaching me how to ride his scooter, cooking together, playing Scrabble, kissing up high in the sky at Tivoli Gardens, watching movies, and cuddling with Floyd on his big comfy bed. I also remember the things that make my heart ache the most; the feel of his mouth on my skin and his arms around me, his soft words in my ear, and those amazing eyes.

When we finally land, I’m completely spent. I follow the crowd to baggage claim. I wait patiently and watch people scramble to get their bags. I’m tired but I’m in no hurry. I still feel numb.

I catch a glimpse of Emma and Theo, and my heart skips — I’ve missed them so much. They run in my direction, huge smiles all around. I bend to take them in my arms. I hold them tightly and never want to let them go. As great as my week was, nothing beats this — nothing beats being with my kids. My eyes fill with tears as I realize how much they’ve missed me. I’ve been so selfish, I now realize. “I’m never leaving you again.”

“Did you have fun?” Emma asks. “Do you have lots of pictures?”

“Did you bring us souvenirs and treats?” Theo is quick to ask.

John laughs. “Theo, that’s a bit rude.”

I pinch Theo’s sweet little cheeks. “Let me look at you.” He looks more and more like his father every day.

John plants a soft kiss on my cheek. “Welcome back.”

He grabs my suitcase and before long, we’re on our way to our car. The kids are curious and want to know everything.

When we get home, we order some Chinese take-out, and I tell them all about my trip — not everything about my trip, obviously. I leave out all the small moments, the special moments. I pretty much leave Eli out of it — it’s like he was never even there. The kids are still young, and not the age to ask, so what about that friend you were with? What’s his deal? Thank god I don’t have teenagers on my hands.

I tell them about the beautiful colors of Nyhavn, Tivoli Gardens, the Little Mermaid, Christiania, Paper Island, the stunning architecture, and the food. I also go on about all the cool bistros, and the shopping. I show them photos from a special folder I’ve put together — basically I’ve removed all photos of Eli — they don’t need to see him, and neither does John. I know John and I are never going to speak about this trip again. We’ll pretend it never happened. And the kids will vaguely remember the time when Mommy went on a trip all by herself to Denmark to take some pictures she could use as inspiration for her paintings.

The kids are ecstatic when I dig out their treats; chocolate frogs, bags of chips, refrigerator magnets, keychains, and a Little Mermaid for Emma, identical to the one Eli gave me but smaller. I also give Emma the colorful purse. For Theo, I have the toy car and the old watch I bought in Christiania. John gets the flask and a small Daim chocolate bar.

I save the best for last. They go kind of crazy when I pull out the giant Daim bar. “Sorry, the wrapping’s a little ruined… I got caught in the rain.”

“That doesn’t seem very fair,” John jokes. “They get the big one, and I get this tiny one.”

I reach for the chocolate bar, and swipe it out of his hand. “Well, if you don’t want it, I’ll have it.”

He laughs as he fights me for it. It’s a bit of a struggle, but he gets it back. Then, he surprises me with another kiss on the cheek.

I sleep in the guest room. I tell John I’m exhausted, and want a good night’s sleep.

Corrie is actually early today, arrived here even before I did — I’m typically the first one here. “Dish, girl,” she quips. I bet it’s because she’s itching to get all the juicy details about my trip. In her defense, I haven’t given her much via text.

I can’t help but smile. They’re all sitting around me, eagerly anticipating my words. I tell them about everything, show them all my pictures. They don’t seem to care about the gorgeous buildings and boats of Nyhavn, or the twinkling lights of Tivoli Gardens. They drool over photos of Eli, and awe over photos of Floyd. Their mouths water over the food selfies I took every night at dinner. When I tell them that Eli cooked all those delicious looking meals, Corrie trills, “That’s it. You need to move over there with him,” she says. “Bring the kids. John? John who?”

The girls laugh but I don’t think it’s funny at all. I’m putting on a brave face, but they have no idea how hard this is for me. The pictures don’t convey how close Eli and I got. We got under each other’s skin, and that doesn’t just go away. So as much as I tell them the sex was great, they’ll never understand that it was so much more.

“So about the sex,” Kayla says with a smirk. “Can you elaborate a bit more?”

I laugh. “God, I want to so badly, Kayla, but I don’t think it would be fair to Eli.”

“Oh, c’mon,” Corrie breaks in. “He won’t know. He’s all the way in Denmark. You’ll never see him again. Don’t leave us hanging, girl.”

I smirk. “Sorry… I can’t.”

Maeve chimes in. “Let it go,” she says to Corrie. “I think it’s disrespectful to Eli to talk about it.”

Corrie rolls her eyes. “Yes, Mother Teresa.”

“Just tell us this,” Kayla asks. “Was it romantic, or dirty?”

I shake my head — they just won’t let this go. A playful smile traces my lips and I feel myself blush. “Both.”

“Was he kinky?” Corrie asks. “I love kinky men.”

I smile. “Well, that’s nice to know, Corrie, but… I’m not saying anymore.”

“Okay, last question,” she says. “How many times?”

I smile wide. “I… I don’t know. I lost count.”

They all cheer and hoot, even Maeve. The customers sitting next to us shift their heads, and I turn crimson.

The first week back home is fine. It doesn’t hit me straight away.

This is the end of a chapter, as Eli said, and I’ve turned the page. It wouldn’t be fair to John and the kids to dwell on the past, to dwell on Eli and not give them my full attention. I’m busy with the usual routine and catching up with laundry and cleaning. The refrigerator is almost bare, and I replenish it. I bake muffins and make bread. I try not to think about Eli, but he creeps up in my brain at the oddest times. I tell myself that if I keep busy, I won’t think about him too much.

I can’t hang the elephant painting in my studio — it hurts too much. Nor can I put the paperweight or the little mermaid on my desk, as I’d planned. I hide the painting in the storage closet in my loft, and I store the mermaid and paperweight in a box, and keep it next to the painting. They’ll always be there… memories that I can’t handle. Perhaps one day, I’ll be able to look at them again, and not hurt.

I copy all the trip photos onto a USB storage key, and store it safely in a box on my bookshelf. There’s always the cloud too — they’ll live there forever. It hurts when I erase all the photos from my phone, but I know that if I don’t do it, I’ll be too tempted to look at them, and I’ll never move on, never forget him.

“Tonight, it’s just the two of us,” John says. He raises his glass of wine. “To us.”

“To us,” I echo, raising my glass to his.

We’re tucked in a cozy corner of our favorite restaurant. It’s a Tuesday night and very quiet. A fire burns in the corner — it’s electric, but still a nice touch. The decor is modern, tasteful and soothing; crisp linens and neutral colors. It’s so quiet here, and it’s so unlike home, where toys, socks, and books litter the floors, where there’s always too much clutter, no matter how often I attempt to purge and organize.

I dig an artisan cracker into the melted brie between us. “It’s nice to have a quiet night, once in a while,” I say, “and it’s nice to not have to cook.”

He smiles. “We should do this more often.”

“Yes,” I agree.

Conversation has been stilted ever since the trip, but he seems to be trying. It’s completely understandable. How is a man supposed to deal with something like this? His wife goes off for a week, and he knows she’s been with a man she cares about. And she’s probably still thinking about him.

“I’m moving on,” I tell him. “I’m focusing on us and our family.”

“Me too,” he says.

“I really want this to work,” I go on. “Eli is the past. You’re the future.” I think this might be the first time that I’ve uttered Eli’s name since I came back. I just want John to know that I’m trying too. He’s not alone in this.

He smiles. “Thank you.” He gazes down at his plate and goes quiet. I’m not sure if he’s hurt or just plain sad, but the joy I used to see in his eyes long ago, is gone.

Our entrées arrive; filet mignon, potatoes and salad for him, and scallops and pasta for me. We dig into our meals without a word. It tastes as delicious as I remember — this is one of my favorite meals here. I tend to always order the same thing. There’s something to be said about familiarity, about knowing what’s ahead. There’s a comfort in that.

We indulge in dessert and coffee, and take a long walk downtown because the night is gorgeous. All in all, it’s a wonderful date.

When we get home, the kids are fast asleep. John quickly pays Anna. She thanks us, and is out the door in a flash.

John shoots me that look. That look that tells me he wants me. We’ve been together so long, we communicate with looks only. I know his ‘I’m mildly irked’ look, his ‘I’m right’ look, his ‘I’m exhausted’ look, and his “I don’t want to talk’ look, and so many others. And I definitely know his ‘I want you’ look.

We’ve been sleeping in the same bed again for a week now, but we haven’t made love. We haven’t actually had sex since before Valentine’s Day, since a few days before I found out about Amanda. I try not think about her now. She’s gone. I try not to think about Eli either. He’s gone too.