***
That same morning, after Monica left, I laced up an old pair of sneakers I hadn’t touched in three years. I walked four blocks before I had to stop and catch my breath. I cried on a stranger’s curb. Then I walked back home.
The following morning, I walked five blocks, and the one after, six!
Monica didn’t push.
***
By the second month, I’d joined a small gym.
The woman at the front desk didn’t ask why I was starting at an older age. She just handed me a towel and pointed to the treadmills. I swapped leftover coffee for water and started cooking healthier meals, like salmon, salads, and eggs with peppers, instead of eating dry toast over the sink.
I got a haircut that I chose myself. Shoulder-length, with a little sweep across the forehead. When the stylist turned the chair around, I almost didn’t recognize the woman in the mirror, but this time, it was for the right reason!
She just handed me a towel.
***
Howard started texting around month four.
“Hope you’re doing okay. Saw your car at the dentist’s office.”
I didn’t answer.
Then one night, a longer message came through.
“I just wanted to say I appreciate everything you’ve ever done for me.”
I read it twice. Then I deleted it, considered blocking him, and went to bed.
I didn’t answer.
***
Steve called me on a Sunday.
“Mom, I’ve been thinking. Have you considered talking to Dad? Just talking. For the family.”
I held the phone tightly to my ear.
“Steve, honey. Do you know what your father said to me the day he left?”
“Mom, people say all sorts of things in the heat of the moment.”
“Well, there was no ‘heat’ when he said what he did. And I’m done with him.”
There was a long pause.
“Have you considered talking to Dad?”
“Fine, I understand. I love you, Mom. I just wanted things to feel normal again,” my son added.
“I know. I love you too. But normal is what broke me.”
I hung up and cried for an hour. Not because I was wrong, but because being right cost something.
***
I bought a new skin cream, which I kept on my nightstand. Lipstick for my purse. Clothes that fit the woman I was becoming. I didn’t become 25 again. I became myself.
“I just wanted things to feel normal again.”
***
The setback came in the cereal aisle.
I was reaching for the oatmeal when I heard my name. It was Diane, a woman Howard and I used to have dinner with years ago.
“Jane, oh my goodness, you look wonderful!”
“Thank you, Diane.”
She lowered her voice as if she were doing me a favor.
“I just want you to know, I saw Howard and his new woman last weekend. They seem to be doing well. I thought you’d want to know.”
The setback came in the cereal aisle.
I smiled the way you do when something inside you is folding in half.
“That’s nice, Diane.”
“She’s younger, polished, and always smiling as if life had never asked her to choose between sleep and laundry.”
I got to my car before the tears came.
***
Monica found me on the couch that night with a half-eaten container of yogurt and red eyes.
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“What happened?”
I told her about Diane. About how stupid I felt for letting one sentence undo six months of work.
I got to my car before the tears came.
My daughter sat down next to me and took my hand.
“Mom, you aren’t doing this for him. You’re doing it for yourself. Don’t give up on yourself.”
I squeezed her fingers and nodded.
The following morning, I laced up my shoes and walked my longest route yet.
***
Time passed the way it does when you stop measuring yourself by someone else’s clock. Birthdays. Seasons. A promotion at the dental office I almost didn’t apply for. One morning, somewhere in the second year after Howard’s departure, I realized I’d walked seven miles without noticing!
“Don’t give up on yourself.”
***
Then Monica handed me a cream-colored envelope across the kitchen table and said, almost too casually, “Mom, for my 25th birthday, I’m hosting a dinner. Dad’s coming. And he’s bringing Paige.”
***
My daughter’s birthday dinner was held at a small Italian restaurant she’d loved since high school. I arrived alone, wearing a deep green dress I’d picked out myself, with my hair done the way I liked it.
“He’s bringing Paige.”
Monica hugged me at the door.
“You look incredible, Mom!”
“Thanks! I feel incredible,” I said, and meant it.
***
We were halfway through the appetizers when the door opened. Howard walked in with Paige on his arm, already scanning the room with that practiced half-smile. Then he saw me and stopped so suddenly that Paige bumped into his shoulder.
