Won’t allow it.
Everything suddenly became painfully clear. He wasn’t worried about our family. He was worried about control. I closed the laptop, went into the bathroom, locked the door, and sat on the edge of the tub. I looked at myself in the mirror—a tired mother in an oversized T-shirt, hair tied up in a rushed bun.
But for the first time in years, I saw the truth clearly. I wasn’t being loved. I was being contained.
That night, after the kids were asleep, I emailed Rhea:
“I want the job. If the offer still stands.”
She replied almost immediately:
“Yes. The contract is still valid.”
The next day, Delta watched the kids while I met with a lawyer. I opened my own bank account. I called my mother, Rynn. She didn’t ask many questions. She just said, “What do you need from me?”
A week later, I placed the divorce papers on the coffee table. When he came home, he laughed and told me I was nothing without him.
I answered calmly:
“Maybe. But this is still happening.”
The next morning, I dropped Lauch and Sky off at daycare, then drove to the training center. The building was big, bright, full of people who knew where they were going.
Rhea smiled at me and said,
“Ready, Coach?”
For the first time in a long while, I stood tall.
I wasn’t just someone’s wife.
Not just someone’s mother.
