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  “It’s only been a few days, Ev. No one expects you to ever forget her. But you would be doing her a dishonor by not living. She’s watching you. She knows you mourn her.”

  “She does?” I question, desperately wanting confirmation that somewhere, somehow she still exists.

  “Yes, she does. I’m not going to lie to you. The pain will never go away. But you can choose to let that pain engulf your life or you can build your life from the pain.”

  I sigh heavily. She always makes sense and it’s aggravating. “Why do you have to be so smart?”

  She laughs as she lifts my chin. “I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know deep down inside. You’ve just forgotten. Now, are you going to build or are you going to bury?”

  “I want to bury, but I know you won’t let me.”

  “That’s not true. You have your own hand. I can’t hold your cards. I’m too busy holding mine. You need to fold ‘em or play ‘em. Your choice. It’s always your choice.”

  I feel myself teeter-tottering between her words and my heart. “I want to build. I want to play my cards, but they’re shitty cards and I want a new hand.”

  “I think you’ve been holding your cards upside down, child. From where I stand, they’re pretty damn good. You just need to play them better.”

  I turn to face the mirror and I stare at Gram’s reflection next to mine. “Tell me what to do. I just want someone to tell me what to do!”

  “No one is going to tell you. You need to tell you! What do you want?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Yes you do. Reach down deep into your heart. What do you want?”

  “I want to be happy,” I tell Grandma Kay’s reflection.

  “Don’t tell me,” she says, pushing me forward toward the mirror. “Tell her! Tell yourself!”

  I stare at my reflection. I look older than I remember. This last week has aged me.

  “Tell her what you want,” she shouts.

  “Jeez. You’re so pushy!” I snap.

  “There’s the spunk I love!”

  I sigh and laugh at the same time. I stare at myself in the mirror. This feels really stupid, but I know she’s not going to let me go back to bed until I talk to myself, so I do it.

  “I want to be happy,” I whisper.

  “What else?” she asks.

  “I want my baby back, but I know that’s not going to happen. I want this pain in my chest to stay, but I also wish it would go away.” I take a lingering breath. “I want to stop hating myself. I want to be a better mom, and I want someone to love me. Not pretend to love me, but really love me. Is that too much to ask?”

  “Keep going,” she encourages as she releases my arms and backs out of my mirror view.

  I stare at my reflection blankly as the emotional toll of my life threatens to burst through. “I want to like me again. I want to feel beautiful. I wanna be a nurse. God, I really wanna be a nurse.” I grab hold of the edges of the sink as my chest constricts and I dig deeper.

  “I want to help people. I want to save people. I want to be smart. I want to feel alive inside. I’ve been dead for years, and I want to live. I want to be able to support myself and the kids. I want to be someone they can be proud of. I want to take them away from this hell and teach them to live a life of love. I want to start over. I want to be free of the hold Mike has on me. I want to feel better about myself. I want to be enough. Not for the kids. Not for Mike or any man. I just want to be enough… for me.”

  I feel her arms encase me from behind. “Yes!” she shouts with her fist in the air. “You got it! You need to be enough for you! If you love yourself, the rest will follow.”

  I nod my head and swallow hard. Deep down in my gut, I know she’s right. I know what I want. I just need to figure out how to dig myself out of my hole.

  I turn to face her, resting my butt on the sink. I lift my eyes to hers. “I’m scared.”

  “I’d be more worried if you weren’t.”

  I smile wryly at her and give myself permission to not crawl back into bed. To try to live. It’s not much, but it’s a start.

  GWEN ARRANGED FOR a free consultation with an attorney while the kids were in school. I know what my rights are and what I am entitled to. I know the kids will most likely stay with me because I am their primary caregiver, but it doesn’t make this conversation with Mike any easier.

  “I want a divorce.”

  He stares at me blankly for a moment before his brows furrow, and I see the anger building as his expression changes. “You want a divorce?” He laughs as he rubs his hand over his chin. “You do realize you’re going to lose the kids. They’re coming with me.”

  I take a deep breath and keep my eyes lowered to the floor. I hate this, but I also know it has to happen. “No. The kids will stay with me.”

  “I’m the one who makes the money. I’m the one who pays for what they need.”

  “And I’m the one who gives them what they need.”

  “Bullshit, Everly. We both know you’re a lousy mother. You think you’re going to punish me by taking them from me, but you’re the one who’s losing in this situation. I’ll make sure you get nothing.”

  “I don’t want anything.” I try not to let his words affect me as I lift my eyes to his. I want him to understand. “I’m not trying to hurt you. I know you’re angry, Mike, but this is best for all of us. We haven’t been happy for years. Aren’t you tired of being miserable with me?”

  He stops pacing and stares at me for a moment. I think he can see that I’m not just trying to get a rise out of him. “You’re serious?” he questions.

  I nod my head and release a deep breath. His anger seems to dissipate in front of my eyes.

  “This is ridiculous. You’re taking this too far. I mean, I know I’ve made some mistakes, but I also know you love me. Can’t you just let this go? Haven’t you punished me enough?”

  I stare into his concerned expression and try to understand his motivation for trying to stay together. For a moment, I consider he might love me. Then I remember all the years of fighting and sadness. How many times can you try to fix something before you admit it just won’t work? “Mike, we’re broken. I understand wanting to try to put us back together, but it just can’t be done. There are just too many pieces that don’t fit together anymore.”

  “You’re what’s broken. It’s always been you. I’m willing to try, but you just want to throw it all away.”

  From what I know, he’s been praying to get away from me for years, and now, when I’m ready to set him free, he suddenly wants to give us another shot? Before having this conversation, I mentally prepared myself for the mood swings, mind games, and mental abuse he might use as weapons to control me. I know him, and I’m familiar with his arsenal. Something changed when I lost her and when I heard the truth. I’m oddly calm and prepared. I’ve been in denial for years about our marriage. It’s time he stops lying to me and I stop lying to myself.

  “Mike, just stop fighting this. You’ve been pretending with me for so many years that you don’t know how to stop. Was I angry with you for the lies? Yes. Am I still angry? Maybe. But right now I don’t want to fight. I just want to move forward.”

  “How can you do this to the kids?”

  I sigh.

  “Don’t you know what this will do to them? Can’t you think about someone besides yourself for once in your life?”

  Classic. I remind myself he’s pulling at straws. He’s trying to guilt me into second-guessing my decision. “I am thinking about what’s best for the kids. We’re barely together as it is, and when we are, we fight in front of them. I want them to have healthy, satisfying, loving relationships someday. They will live what they learn. All we’ve managed to teach them is how to fight.”

  “You’re so full of shit!” he yells in my face as he stands and walks the length of the room. “You’re a shitty mother and I’m going to take them away from you.”

  I take a deep, ste
adying breath. I’m thankful that Gwen role-played this out with me beforehand. The practice is keeping me sane. “Mike, I know you’re really angry and upset. I understand. It’s what you do. You say horrible things you don’t mean and then you regret it later. I know you love the kids. I’d never keep them from you. Never. They love you and they need you. Just like they love and need me.”

  Mike clears his throat and shoots me a glare of disgust. He begins to speak then stops himself, pacing once more.

  I continue. “You can try to tell me you were in this for love, but I know the facts. Your mother slipped up and confirmed to me that they did give you an ultimatum. You did tell me the truth that day, and honestly, it was about time.”

  Mike’s eyes bulge and he fumbles for words.

  “Don’t be angry with her. I’m not. She’s your mom. She just wants what’s best for you. I’m not going to lie. It hurt. It still hurts, but I won’t let it destroy me. Not anymore.”

  Mike sits on the edge of the coffee table and reaches tentatively for my hands. I let him. “I do love you, Everly. I know I haven’t been the best husband, and I know I’ve said some awful things to you, but I will always love you.”

  I try my best not to get emotional, but those unexpected words cut me to the core. I still love him. I hate him, but I also love him. This is so hard.

  He lifts my chin and stares into my eyes. I know he can see how emotional I am, and I think I see a glimmer of sadness in him as well. I want to believe he loved me. That everything wasn’t a lie. He leans forward and lightly presses his lips to mine. I close my eyes and try to remember a time when his kiss made me feel happy, loved, and wanted. Right now his kiss is simply a kiss goodbye.

  He tries to deepen the kiss, and I pull back. I will never let him have any part of me again. I shake my head no.

  “Let me show you how I feel, baby. Let me make love to you.”

  “I can’t,” I respond. “I could easily say it’s only medical, but it’s more than that, Mike. You and I both know it. Sex solves nothing between us. That ship has sailed, and the sooner we both let it go, the sooner we can both move on.”

  Our conversation continues for several hours with more yelling and blaming before understanding and tears. At the end, we somehow manage to agree that the kids need to come first, and that we can part amicably, as the friends we used to be.

  After he leaves, the pain I feel is unbearable. I tell myself it’s for the best, but it really hurts. I feel more afraid than I’ve ever been before. Even more than when I first found out I was pregnant. I thought I’d feel better, but right now I don’t, and I start to second-guess myself and my decisions. He said he loved me. Does he? Am I making the biggest mistake of my life?

  IT’S BEEN TWO nights since we agreed to file for divorce. I wait as patiently as possible for him to come home, back to what used to be our home. We’re supposed to tell the kids together. Instead of us all talking, I end up putting them to bed when he never shows up. Inside, I’m grateful I didn’t mention he was coming so that I don’t have to explain his absence.

  I make lunches and wonder where he is this time. He knew it was an important night.

  Why would he do this?

  I decide to go to bed. I set Mike up in the guest room. We agreed he could come back to ease the transition for the kids and to help prepare the house for sale. But for some reason, he blew me off. I remind myself that he hasn’t shown up for most of the marriage and that I shouldn’t be surprised.

  At midnight, I hear the garage door. I haven’t been able to sleep, and I’ve been tossing and turning for over an hour. He knows he’s supposed to sleep in the guest room. We discussed it, but as he stumbles up the stairs and into my room, it becomes clear he needs a reminder.

  “Hey, baby. You waitin’ for me?” he slurs.

  I sit up and turn on the light. I can see he’s drunk and I shake my head. “You’re in the guest room, Mike,” I say, pointing my finger next door. “Remember?”

  “You weren’t serious, were you?”

  “Yes, I’m dead serious.”

  “Aw, baby, let’s just make love and forget this. What do you say?” He half saunters, half stumbles toward me and falls into my chest. I push him up and away. He’s heavy when he’s drunk.

  I feel his mouth on me and his hand trying to lift my shirt. “No, Mike! Stop.” I push him back and he smiles at me, lunging toward my face. Something snaps inside me. Maybe it’s fear, maybe it’s frustration, or maybe it’s just the final straw. He continues to lean into me, and as soon as I push hard enough to get him off of me but still within my reach, I slap him in the face. He grabs his cheek in shock. He lifts himself off the bed and stumbles backwards, trying to regain control when he backs into the dresser.

  “Whoa! Bitch! I didn’t want you anyway. You were a lousy lay.”

  I shake my head and purse my lips as he stumbles his way to the guest room. I hear him moan as he falls into bed.

  Although I feel the tears threaten as I replay his hurtful words in my head, I’m comforted in knowing that leaving him is the right thing to do. I won’t let him hurt me anymore.

  Six months later

  MIKE APOLOGIZED PROFUSELY for his behavior that night he came home, and we moved forward, although I never forgot the sting of his final blow. It took us three months to sell the house. The kids were really worried about having to change schools, and I was struggling with finding a place for us to stay that I could afford. Gwen came to the rescue. She insisted it was payback for all the times I was there for her through the years. She only lives ten minutes away and offered to let us stay with her until I got on my feet. She and Mike agreed to get along for the sake of the kids.

  Mike has seen them more since the divorce than he did while we were married. We went through mediation to save money, and Mike was fair in splitting all of our assets and in giving me child support and alimony. He seemed angry at first, but it turned out his freedom was far more important than fighting in court. When I was fair in agreeing to visitation, he was fair in agreeing to allow me custody. It turns out we get along much better when we don’t speak. We text about the kids, and I rarely see him at pick-up or drop-off. It’s what I need. Seeing him either fills me with regret, anger, or a combination of both.

  Sometimes at night, after spending my day in class or clinicals, then studying and taking care of the kids, the loneliness overwhelms me. Even though Mike and I had a shitty marriage, I still miss his presence at times. At least, I miss the Mike I thought I knew. Then I remember all the bad times and that feeling inches away. The truth is I don’t miss him; I miss the idea of him and the idea of having someone to love.

  One weekend when Mike has the kids, Gwen gives me a look. I haven’t seen it in a while and I’m not sure if I’m reading her right. “What?” I ask her as I munch on a bag of Cheetos and flip through romance books on her Kindle, looking for my next glimmer of hope.

  “Let’s do something.”

  “Like what?” I ask. “You wanna get a pizza?”

  “Does my ass look like I need a pizza?” She turns her backside to me and sticks out her rear end as far as it will go.

  I take another Cheeto and pop it in my mouth before I toss the bag on the couch, stand, and turn my ass to face hers. “Does mine?”

  We stand there laughing for a minute with our asses facing each other in comparison. She always says she has a lot of weight to lose, but I know if it were a contest she would have far less than me. I think she looks great, but we are our own worst critics.

  “What I meant was let’s get out of here and go somewhere. Anywhere! I’m tired of staring at these walls. Let’s go out for a drink!”

  “You mean like, to a bar?” I question in horror.

  “Yeah, a bar!” She laughs. “It’ll be fun.”

  “I don’t know if I’m ready for that!” I shriek.

  “Come on, Ev! All you’ve done since the divorce is bury your head in your books and take care of the kids!”r />
  “It’s all I want to do!” School is a needed distraction. I applied for a grant for single mothers who want to return to school. The money has really helped with the cost. Classes are a lot harder than I remembered, but there is something about being back in that environment that lights a fire inside me. I forgot how much I love to learn.

  Gwen sighs and plops down on the couch. She grabs the remote and curls her legs underneath her. I see the sadness in her expression as she leans her head on her hand and sighs loudly. If it’s meant to make me feel guilty, it’s working. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. A diaper commercial causes me to lift my gaze toward the television. For months I cried every time I passed by a baby, or saw a baby, or even a baby item. It’s taken me months to be able to watch one without tearing up, but slowly, I’ve found some peace with her loss.

  I consider how long I’ve been sitting around feeling sorry for myself and burying my head in my books to avoid moving forward with my life. Gwen has been my rock. Surely, I can do this for her. “One. Just one drink,” I say, holding up my finger so she’s clear there will not be two.

  “Really?” She gasps as she bolts upward. Both Roscoe and Wookie fly off the couch in fear and curl up on the floor together. They’ve formed a bond very similar to Gwen and mine. It’s pretty darn cute.

  “What are we going to wear?” I ask with concern.

  “Let’s go see if we have anything other than yoga pants.”

  I follow her up the stairs. She leaps two at a time in excitement. I’m out of breath by the time I reach the top. “You mean I can’t wear yoga pants?” I manage to huff out.

  “No. Real clothes tonight!”

  “Yoga pants are my real clothes!”

  Gwen and I haven’t played dress-up in years. She blasts some Fall Out Boy as we search through our closets for something that makes us look cute and disguises our flaws. An hour later she settles on a blue little number and heels, and I settle on something black that allows me to hide my rolls.