“I guess that’s it, then.” I fold the letter and slide it back into the envelope.

The weather outside fits my mood. Gray. Gloomy. Cold.

I move to the pantry and hide the letter somewhere no one else will find it—in the plastic canister under the bag of flour. With the airtight lid sealed, I push the container back into place while the tears stream down my face. Avoidance can only last for so long. I know, I’ve tried to use that tactic for dealing with problems far too long in my life. That method has never worked before, and I have too much to lose to use that approach again now.

The front door opens and slams shut a second later. “Mom, I’m home, and Wes’s with me. We’re going down the street to play video games at Alan’s house. We’ll be back later.”

Heavy footsteps stomp up the stairs and back down again.

“Bye, Mom. Love you,” Kyle calls out before he leaves.

“I love you too, baby,” I reply. But he’s already gone.

I remember my senior year of high school, and I desperately want Kyle’s to be different. Better. The best year of his life. He’ll have enough problems to overcome in his life soon enough. While he’s still with me, I’ll do everything in my power to make his last year of childhood perfect.

As perfect as possible under the circumstances.

I have nine months before he leaves for college—from December until August. Nine months until all our lives change forevermore. My boy will be a man, and he will be focused on his own future. His own goals. His own path. His childhood will be over, and a new chapter will begin.

After I wipe the tears from my cheeks, I move back to my place at the door, staring out the solid sheet of glass at the snow-covered ground. Our Vermont winter started earlier than usual this year. The last few years, we’ve barely seen a dusting of snow in early December, but now the grass is already covered with at least an inch of the pure white precipitation.

“Grace?” Blake, my husband, walks in from the garage. He sounds tired after a long day at work.

“In the kitchen,” I answer absently without turning around.

He walks into the room and lays his briefcase on the table. He releases a loud huff, and I visualize him running his fingers through his black hair. He’s nervous and agitated, but he doesn’t want to just blurt out what he has to say. I know Blake better than anyone—he would rather start a fight and tell me in a fit of anger than simply man up and come out with it.

“Did you work today?” His tone is already accusatory. He’s preparing, setting up the fight he thinks is inevitable.

“No, I had some things to take care of, so I took the day off.”

“And you couldn’t cook dinner since you were already home?”

I turn to face him with a smile in place. “Of course I did. The food is holding warm in the oven. I’ll make you a plate if you want to eat now.”

His face falls, disappointment marring his normally handsome features. His attempt at starting a petty disagreement that would then escalate out of control didn’t work. Under normal circumstances, I’d meet his ire with plenty of my own, and our shouting match would end in a silent standoff while we each wait for the other to give in first. As a nurse, I work just as hard, if not harder, than he does as a pharmaceutical representative. But that’s not my response today—today, I’ll react very differently for the sake of my son.

“I can do it myself after I change clothes,” he mutters.

“Blake, have a seat. We need to talk,” I say before he has a chance to leave the room.

The deer in the headlights expression on his face says it all. He’s afraid of what I want to talk about. He doesn’t get to be the one to lower the boom on me. I’m turning the tables and taking control of the situation. For the first time in the last several years, we’re going to face our problems head on.

---

I rehearsed my speech all the way home. My lines are solid, and my argument is sound. Grace has to see my reasoning and agree with me. The time has come and gone for us to be together any longer. Our marriage has become stagnant and cumbersome. The invisible millstone around my neck has weighed me down me for a long time. She has to feel the same way. The love we used to share is gone, and I don’t see any way we can get it back. Too much time has passed, and we’ve allowed too much distance to come between us, even though we live in the same house.

The time to make a clean break is now. We both know it’s true. We both feel it. The passion is gone, and we’re more like roommates than lovers or a couple. After I pull into the driveway, I watch our son Kyle leave with his friend Wes. They’re headed down the street to another friend’s house, no doubt to play video games for hours or enjoy a little street hockey. Now is my chance to put an end to the charade we’ve been living in, moving through each day like detached zombies. Grace and I will be alone and can use the privacy to work out the details of an agreement.

I’m going to tell her I want a divorce.

When I walk in and see her standing at the sliding glass door at the back of the house, my plans to spring my request on her fly right out the window. A knife stabs my heart, twisting inside until it nearly steals my breath. The reasons that stop me today are the same ones that have stopped me every day for the last six months. She hasn’t done one thing wrong to justify my actions.

She’s the same woman I fell in love with eighteen years ago when I was only nineteen. But then again, she’s not the same at all. We’ve both changed, and time has separated us instead of brought us closer. But I don’t want to hurt her. I don’t want to be the reason she cries. Guilt eats me alive because I know I have to tell her now—it’s literally now or never.

It’s not just guilt, though. It’s knowing, deep down, I’ll never stop loving her, and I’ll never truly have the connection we once had again with another living soul. But I don’t feel wanted or needed here—by her or by my son. The useless third wheel I’ve become has driven me to the point where I think it would be best if I just disappeared from their lives altogether. The words are on the tip of my tongue, and the bitterness makes it impossible to swallow.

Then she shocks me with her demand. “Blake, have a seat. We need to talk.”

Nothing good ever comes from those words. They’re always followed by bad news. I know, because I planned to use the same phrase to get her attention and set the tone for our conversation.

My mind churns as I slide into the chair, and she sits across the table from me. Maybe she’s about to ask me for a divorce, knowing we fell out of step with each other long ago. Maybe it’s another mundane detail about the house I’ve forgotten to handle. Maybe an overdue bill I neglected to pay. This is what my life has been reduced to, and whether it hurts her or not, I don’t think I can take it one more day without imploding.

“I know about Tammy.”

Her voice is so calm and collected, I question for a second if I imagined her words.

“And I know you’ve been planning to ask me for a divorce for some time now so you can be free to run away with her. You think if you leave all your responsibilities behind, you can be the carefree teenager you were before we married.”

I’ve never been stunned speechless. But I have no words—nothing will come out of my slack-jawed mouth. My lips refuse to move in my defense. My mind screams at me to lie—to hold on to my last shred of pride and decency as a man…a husband…a father. But my tongue refuses to cooperate.

“We married so young. The adjustment was hard on both of us. Then six months later, we had Kyle, and he took all our attention and time. Raising him took precedence over everything in our lives. Surviving day after day took all our energy. Now that we’ve reached the point where he’s no longer dependent on us, we’ve forgotten how to be a couple.

“Then you found someone else, and our relationship never had a chance. So you think Tammy makes you happy, and she makes you feel like a man again. You have a chance at a new life with her, to regain your vitality and feel alive again.”

She pierces me with her assessing gaze, making me feel like an insect under a microscope. She knows me too well—she always has. Listening to her use many of the very words I’d planned to say makes me realize how clichéd they all sound.

“Grace,” I start, finally finding my voice.

“Don’t.” Her voice is firm and resolute. Whatever else she has to say, she has already made up her mind to follow through. That’s one thing I can say about my wife. Once her mind is set, there’s no changing it.

“Don’t tell me that you’re sorry. That it just has to be this way. That we both know it’s best. You listen to me, Blake Hardy, and you listen well. A divorce is not what’s best right now. This is Kyle’s senior year of high school, and he deserves the best we can give him. Your running off with your little whore is nowhere in the same realm as what’s best for him.

“I’ve given this a lot of thought. If you disagree, and insist on fucking up what should be the best year your son has in school, know that I’ll use every conceivable means to destroy you. You’ll be left with nothing. But if you agree and abide by all the rules, you can have your divorce, along with everything we have.”

“Everything?” I can’t even form an intelligent response. She has thoroughly stunned me.

“The house, the furniture, savings, retirement accounts—whatever you want. This is for Kyle, not for me. He leaves for college in nine months. Surely you can survive being married to me for that much longer.”

My curiosity is piqued. Why would she even suggest this after finding out about Tammy? What is she up to?

“What are your terms?”

---

Earlier this morning, my best friend came over to be my sounding board. Leigh Brydon has been in my life for as long as I can remember. We started in elementary school together and finished nursing school together. If anyone will be in my corner, it’s her. My mind was made up as far as my plan, but I needed her support more than anything. She thought of things I didn’t, but I knew I’d never be able to pull this off without her help, without her support, without her guidance.

“Blake is cheating on me,” I blurted out.

She stopped moving, her hand halfway to her mouth with the cup of coffee I’d just poured. “You’re sure?”

“Without a doubt. I hired a private investigator to follow him and get the details on the other woman.”

“That son of a bitch!” She slammed her mug down on the table, ignoring the hot java that splashed on her hand. “You need help castrating him? I have gardening shears. Then we can go after her. Bet he’ll think twice about her after we fucking scalp her.”

God, I loved my best friend more in that moment that the rest of the previous decades I’ve known her.

“Let me guess,” she continued her rant. “She’s in her twenties. No kids. Flat stomach. Perky breasts. And no real-life experiences to jade her.”

“Wow, Leigh, sounds like you’ve met Tammy George before.”

“So the whore’s name is Tammy George, huh? We can find her house and take the bitch down.”

I laughed—and I needed that laugh more than Leigh knew. “No need. I know where she lives, where she works, and what she drives. I probably know more about her now than Blake does.”

“How long have you known about this?” She was suddenly serious, and she’d finally realized I wasn’t freaking out like she was.

“For about two months now. He’s been seeing her for about six months, though.”

“And you haven’t killed him yet? Or even confronted him? Or slashed her tires?” Leigh’s shocked face was almost comical. Except, the only reason she wore that expression was because my life was falling to pieces. “I would’ve already killed Alex in his sleep if it were me.”

“When I first found out, I planned on ambushing them on one of their dates. Making a scene. Destroying their careers—since they work together. Then destroying their cars. But I stopped myself for Kyle’s sake. I have to consider how this will hurt my son.”

“I know that look, Grace. You’ve come up with some crazy plan I’m not going to like at all, haven’t you?”

“Yes. You’ll hate it. But I need you, Leigh. I need you in my corner, reminding me that everything I do is for my son. You know how strained my relationship with my parents is. They’ve never forgiven me for getting pregnant in high school and marrying Blake. I don’t want to give them more ammunition to make our lives hell. This is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but I have to see it through.”

Leigh took a long sip of her coffee then met my gaze directly. “All right. Let’s hear this brilliant plan of yours. You know I’m always in your corner, and I will do whatever you need me to do to get you through this. Don’t think for one second that I’m doing it for that motherfucker you’re married to, though.”

“I’m not doing it for him either. This is for Kyle.” Then I shared my plan, step by step.

---

I swallow down the bile rising in my throat and prepare myself to present my solution to Blake. I’m finding it hard to look at him without ripping him to shreds. I want to scream and cry and freak the fuck out on him before I tell him to get out and never come back. I want to light all of his clothes on fire and laugh maniacally while I watch them burn to ashes. Then my eyes float to the senior portrait of Kyle we had made just before Blake’s sordid affair started, and my focus is immediately back on my son.

“Number one, you’re going to be the father you used to be to Kyle. You will spend time with him having fun. No bitching, no complaining, no paying more attention to your phone than to your son. Take him to concerts. Go camping. Go snowboarding with him. I don’t care what you two do—whatever he wants to do—but don’t let him feel like he’s second to anything or anyone outside of this house.”

Blake narrows his eyes slightly, draws his brows down, and tilts his head. I can see the gears turning in his mind as he tries to work out the next step my plan because the first stipulation is too easy.

“Okay. Spend time focused on Kyle. Got it. What’s number two?”

“Number two, you’re going to be the husband you used to be whenever Kyle is around. You’ll show interest in me, my day, what I want. You’ll sit next to me when we watch TV. You’ll eat dinner at the table with us. You’ll show Kyle every day what a real, loving husband looks like. He looks up to you. I will not let you ruin his chances for a happy marriage by setting an example of a shitty husband now.”

“So we’ll pretend we’re still madly in love when Kyle’s here.” His question is more of a statement, and the pain it causes knocks the breath out of me.

“Yes. We’ll both have to pretend we can stand the sight and touch of each other,” I retort. My arrow hits the bull’s-eye. He winces, visibly wounded from my remark. “Kyle and his girlfriend were here the other evening…when you weren’t…and I noticed him treating her with the same disregard you show me. They had a fight about it, and I talked to him after he took her home. You’re already rubbing off on him.”

Blake takes a few seconds to consider my words, the weight of the world on his shoulders showing in the lines on his face. He closes his eyes briefly, inhales deeply, then releases it with a resigned huff. “I guess if you can do it, I can do it. And number three?”