MY PERIOD FINALLY COMES the next day — three days late. I spend the day watching reality TV and eating ice cream. John cocks a brow when he walks past once or twice. I don’t care what he thinks — yes, I’ve given up on life.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“I’m fine,” I tell him. “I have cramps, and I’m having a lazy day. Is that against the law?”

He’s just had his workout, and is sipping one of his green kale smoothies — he’s so perfect and together, it makes me sick. “I can’t believe you watch that trash,” he says.

I scowl at him, and he doesn’t dare say another word.

The thing is that I’m not really watching — it’s just noise. My mind is full of so many other things — my life, my marriage, my kids, the future… and Eli. This whole pregnancy scare really shook me, and it’s making me think harder than ever before.

My life just doesn’t feel right anymore.

Emma and Theo’s faces are precious. Both of them are smiling so wide, their faces are practically broken in two. I smile, tears in my eyes.

Emma sets the breakfast tray down on my lap. “We made you toast with butter and raspberry jam, like you like.”

“And scrambly eggs, orange juice, and coffee,” Theo adds.

John, who is standing behind them, smiles down at me. “Happy Mother’s Day.”

“Happy Mother’s Day,” the kids echo.

I feign a smile. “Thank you.” I’m sitting up, leaning back on our upholstered silk headboard, tucked under a thick duvet. “This looks delicious,” I say and dig in, but I’m not hungry at all.

I used to love Mother’s Day — a long time ago. When I was a kid, I used to love making things for my mother; pretty boxes, bookmarks, jewelry, and all kinds of crafts. I’d put so much effort into these gifts; every detail was executed perfectly, and my teachers would always marvel at the final products, which were so much better than my classmates’ — I suppose that was the artistic side of me coming to fruition. My sister and I would get so excited, quarreling over who got to carry the breakfast tray to Momma’s bedroom.

When I finally had children of my own, I loved being spoiled and fussed over; breakfast in bed, opening gifts, a nice dinner at my favorite restaurant, and a whole day to just be lazy. What’s not to love?

The year my mother died four days before Mother’s Day, was the first Mother’s Day in my life I didn’t enjoy. It was a horrible day. There were no celebrations since we had to travel to my hometown, and deal with the wake and funeral arrangements. John and the kids did get me a few gifts which I opened hastily.

Ever since, I’ve hated this day. I miss my mother. Not too many people understand what it’s like to lose a mother. I wasn’t ready to lose her. And the way it happened, so unexpectedly, and four days before Mother’s Day. We hadn’t spoken for about two weeks, and I’d planned to bury the hatchet on Mother’s Day — it was the perfect excuse to call her. I’d even ordered flowers to be delivered that day.

I never cancelled the flowers — I just couldn’t bear it. The flower company left a message the Monday following Mother’s Day to let me know that the flowers could not be delivered. They were very sorry, offered apologies, and credited my Visa account. They never mentioned my mother’s passing. I imagined the flower delivery man knocking on her door, only to be told by a neighbor about her recent death.

I’d told Eli all about my mother, but never did tell him when it had happened. I wonder if Eli hates this day as much as I do. I so desperately want to talk to him, it aches. It physically aches. I miss him as much as I miss my mother. I can’t go on like this.

I spend much of the day in bed, attempting to read, but I keep reading the same paragraphs over and over. I just can’t focus. John tells me it’s a beautiful day, and suggests we go for a walk. He makes a lunch of canned soup, toasted bagels with butter, and cut up apples. For dinner, we venture to one of my favorite restaurants, a Mexican place. The restaurant is packed and loud. The conversation is stilted, and by the time we leave, I have a throbbing headache.

And all the while, all through the day, I think about Eli. I miss him, and desperately want to talk to him. This day is so damn hard.

John takes care of the kids’ baths while I soak in my own. The door is locked and the lights are turned off. My iPhone is singing in the background; the ‘sad love songs’ mix again. A single candle lights the room. I cry quietly.

I cry because I’ve finally come to a realization. It’s so clear and definite, like all the important decisions in my life have been: when I decided to go to Brown, when I accepted John’s proposal, when I moved here with him, when we bought our house, when we started a family, when I set out to go to Copenhagen. All these decisions were made without a single doubt, without hesitation. My instincts led the way.

Again, I know this with absolute certainty...

My marriage is over.  

This has nothing to do with Eli. How could I have fallen so deeply for someone if I were happy in my marriage? It would have never happened if I were happy. I was searching for someone, and Eli came along at just the right time. Why was I so thrilled at the thought of having his baby? Because it offered me an excuse to make a bold move and leave John. Why wasn’t I really upset when I discovered John’s infidelity? I was angry, but not necessarily heartbroken. Because a small part of me wanted him to choose her, and be the one to leave. Why wasn’t I really shattered? Just numb. Because I don’t love him anymore. And perhaps that’s because I can feel that he doesn’t love me anymore either. Why would he betray me if he did? Why would he fall for Amanda if he were happy in our relationship? He wasn’t. He hasn’t been for a long time.

Our marriage is over.

The first crack was not three months ago when I discovered John’s affair. It wasn’t even when the affair began, or when I first met Eli. The first crack tore through our marriage months, perhaps years ago, so small, almost invisible. Day after day, more cracks invisible to the eye twisted and broke into each other. The more we grew apart, the more our marriage cracked. Neither one of us noticed the cracks, neither one of us saw it coming. Until one day, it all shattered.

Everything has changed.

I check the clock. It’s nine-thirty. “This is still my day, right?” I ask John after we’ve put the kids to bed.

He cocks a brow. “Sure.”

“I want a sleepover at Kayla’s,” I announce cheerfully.

He studies me curiously. “Um… sure…”

“Can you wake the kids, and take them to school tomorrow morning?” I ask. “Make their school lunches, make sure they have a decent breakfast, brush their teeth, and have all their stuff?”

“Uh…” He stammers. “I don’t know, Gabbie...”

“Make sure Emma wears her boots, not her shoes… what?!” I stop abruptly. “Did you just say ‘I don’t know’?”

“You know how I like to sleep late. I can’t write when I’m tired, and I’ll be useless if I don’t get enough sleep.”

My mouth drops to the floor. “Are you kidding me right now?”

“Well, I suppose for one time…” he says. “Why do you want to hang out at Kayla’s on a Sunday night, anyway?”

“Never you mind,” I say. “God, I never ask for anything…”

“I said yes,” he scoffs. “I gave you permission.”

My mouth, which had settled back in position, drops again. “Oh… you give me permission, do you? Wow, lucky me. Well, thank you, Master Moore.” I’ve never been so snarky, and it feels so damn good.

I hastily pack an overnight bag, slip on my jacket and boots, and wave a hand on my way out. “See ya.”

I zoom out of our driveway, a heady mix of emotions swirling around in my head. I’m angry. I’m happy. I’m scared. I’m free.

When I arrive at Kayla’s, she’s surprised to see me. It’s ten o’clock on a Sunday night, and I’m wearing sweats, my hair is still wet, and I’m lugging an overnight bag over my shoulder. I probably look like a drowned rat.

Curiosity traces her features. “Come in.”

“I’m leaving John,” I tell her, straight to the point. “It’s over.”

Her eyes grow wide. “No way… what happened?”

I take a seat on the sofa. “Well, aside from his affair?” I say sarcastically. “And the fact that I’m in love with someone else?”

She smirks, and takes a seat next to me.

“I’ve just realized that our marriage was over a long time ago,” I explain. “It’s why we’ve both been unfaithful, why we’ve both fallen for other people.”

She wraps an arm around my shoulder and draws me in closer. She doesn’t offer me tea this time — this is beyond tea.

“This isn’t about Eli,” I tell her. “He was just a victim in all this. I broke his heart.”

“You didn’t mean to,” she says. “I know you… you couldn’t hurt a soul.”

I cry again – I’m a total mess. “I… I’m s-sorry.” My voice cracks. “I can’t stop crying.”

“I know,” she says softly. “Heartbreak hurts.”

I lay my head on her lap, and she strokes my hair without a word. We stay like that for the longest time, until she breaks the silence. “Maybe you and Eli… maybe you two could work.”

I smile. “No.” I sniff. “It would never work. He lives and works in Copenhagen, and I live here with my kids. It was magical and I’ll never forget him, but it wasn’t real, was it? You were right.”

“No,” she argues. “I was wrong. He was real. You two were real.”

“I don’t know about real, but we were definitely good together.”

“Maybe you two could be friends,” she suggests. “You should send him a message.”

“I think he’s blocked me on all his accounts.”

“Really?!”

“I asked him to… I didn’t want the temptation.”

“Wow.”

“It’s fine,” I say. “I might become a nun,” I joke.

“You’d make a terrible nun,” she points out. “You wouldn’t be caught dead in black. I’ve never seen you wear black.”

“True,” I agree. “I do like color. But seriously,” I add. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be interested in dating again. I just want to focus on my kids and my art, and hang out with you gals.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

We fall into silence again. She strokes my hair quietly and I stare at her cat, Mitzy, who is sleeping cozily on the arm chair.

“You know… if I thought this was a bad decision, I’d tell you,” she says out of the blue. “But my instincts...”

“Do you even like John?” I ask.

“Well, I don’t know him well,” she says. “But no, not especially. He’s a good-looking man so I see the appeal but…”

I sit up abruptly. “But what?!” All this time, have my friends hated my husband?

“I don’t know… I can’t quite put my finger on it… he just seems a bit, I don’t know, cold? Too sure of himself? Forget I said anything, okay? It doesn’t matter anymore.”

She’s right. It doesn’t. “You’re not wrong,” I say, and flop back down on her lap. “Your sister is a family law attorney, right?” I ask. “Do you think she could take me on?”

“She will if I ask,” she says. “She’s a great lawyer, and she loves representing women in divorces. I think it’s to do with her own divorce. God, that relationship was a hot mess. This is why I never want a serious relationship. I think I’d become a nun too, but I love sex too much.”

I laugh. “And you love color too. What would you do with all your colorful wedges and sandals?”

“Donate them to you.”

“In that case, I seriously think you should become a nun.”

“I keep thinking about the kids,” I tell her. “They’re the reason I’ve never even gone there… divorce, I mean. I was miserable, but I was cool with that as long as the kids were happy.”

“They can still be happy,” Kayla points out. “It will take a lot of adjustment and it won’t be easy, but they can be happy. But only if you and John handle it right. That’s crucial.”

“You really think so?”

“Yeah… I’m not just saying that. Take my sister, for example. That whole family was miserable, and then about a year post divorce, they’re all much happier. I can see it in their eyes.”

“How ‘bout my eyes?” I ask. “Could you see that I was miserable?”

“Yes,” she says, “but something changed last fall. I thought you and John had rediscovered each other or something.”

“Last fall was when I met Eli.”

I know,” she says softly. “I know that now.”

Of course she knows. Kayla knows everything.