She looked like everything I wasn’t.
I was thirty-nine, exhausted, trying to keep our children’s lives from falling apart while working, paying bills, and pretending everything was normal.
Meanwhile, Chloe was posting pictures from the life my husband had apparently always wanted.
The divorce was ugly.
Daniel blamed our marriage.
He said we had “grown apart.”
He said I was too focused on the children.
He said he needed excitement.
At one point, he actually told me, “I spent half my life being responsible. I want to enjoy the other half.”
I wanted to ask him when exactly he had decided that being a husband and father counted as a punishment.
But I didn’t.
I signed the papers.
I moved forward.
Or at least I tried.
For two years, I heard occasional updates through mutual friends.
“They travel all the time.”
“They look happy.”
“Daniel bought Chloe a new car.”
“They just bought a huge house.”
Every update hurt.
I never admitted that.
Instead, I smiled and said, “Good for them.”
Then, almost exactly two years after Daniel left, my phone rang at 1:57 in the morning.
I almost ignored it.
Then I saw the name.
Chloe.
I stared at the screen for several seconds.
