My daughter gasped. “Did you have a sword?”
“A toothbrush,” Daniel said.
The kids howled.
For a few minutes, the car felt light.
Then we turned onto Elaine’s street.
Ryan’s truck was already in the driveway.
Beside it sat Lucille’s white convertible.
My stomach dropped so sharply I almost missed the brake.
Ryan’s truck was already in the driveway.
Daniel noticed.
He didn’t say, “Relax.”
He didn’t say, “You’ve got this.”
He only waited until I parked, then asked, “Ready?”
I wasn’t.
But I took a deep breath.
“Yes.”
I wasn’t.
***
Elaine’s backyard looked exactly the same as it did every July.
The pool flashed blue under the sun.
Red, white, and blue streamers twisted from the fence.
Kids ran barefoot across the grass while someone yelled at them to slow down.
The grill smoked near the patio, and the table was crowded with ribs, deviled eggs, watermelon, and cupcakes with tiny flags stuck in the frosting.
The pool flashed blue under the sun.
For one breath, I almost believed I could survive it.
Then I saw Ryan.
He stood by the grill with one hand on Lucille’s waist.
She wore a red swimsuit under a sheer white cover-up. Her hair fell in perfect waves. She looked cool in the heat, untouched by sweat, motherhood, or humiliation.
I almost believed I could survive it.
Ryan had not seen me yet.
He was laughing at something his brother said.
He looked comfortable inside the life he had taken from me.
Then he turned.
His eyes found Daniel first.
Then me.
His smile shifted.
His eyes found Daniel first.
