Where the Light Enters

An unusual way to heal a broken heart

- By KIMBERLY ELKINS, Brooklyn, New York

On that August night 15 years ago, I raised my glass to Gino, the handsome lawyer I'd been dating since moving from New York to Boston to research my novel. “Here's to our six-month anniversary,” I said with what I hoped was an alluring smile. He looked nervous, a little sweaty, unlike his usual composed self.

Wait, was he going to propose? As a long-divorced woman this side of 40, I wasn't desperate to remarry, but if I were going to make that leap again, it would be with Gino. He was kind and smart and made me laugh.

But instead of lifting his glass, Gino set it down. “I'm sorry, but I don't think this is going to work.”

“What isn't going to work?”

“This,” he said, gesturing. “You and me.”

I looked around the crowded restaurant—the cozy Italian trattoria where we'd had our first date—and wondered what would happen if I completely lost it. I tried to keep the wobble out of my voice. “But you said you loved me.”

Gino took a big gulp of champagne. “I do love you,” he said. “But I'm not in love with you.”

That's when the waterworks came— loud, wrenching, strangers-turning-to- look, tears-dripping-into-my-linguine sobs. Of all the nights to be wearing three coats of mascara! How would a wailing, raccoon-eyed mess ever convince the man of my dreams that I was the one?

Gino reached for my hand just as the waiter appeared, probably worried that I'd start throwing dishes. For a moment, I thought my beloved was going to take it all back and tell me he'd never leave me. But what he said was, “Check, please.”