It all fit well. It wrapped everything up nicely. It made logical sense. The characters were true and had exhibited growth over the past six years (painfully spelled out during the one hour opening). But I didn't cry.
I approached her as I was leaving. She was taking laundry out, matching black socks. She put the socks down and gave me a hug, and I kissed her on the cheek.
See? Truth is always sadder than fiction, no matter how well written.