Chapter 2

We went to that trendy new spot downtown that everyone had been raving about. We decided to treat ourselves and went to a fancy steakhouse.

The restaurant was absolutely slammed. The whole place was just thrumming with energy, people laughing and talking.

Between the lively atmosphere and the incredible smell, I actually started to feel a little better.

As I watched my kids, I thought about the next three years of high school, the pressure, and the stress. I had to try.

I said, "Emerson, Emma, I want you to know, even though your father and I are getting a divorce, we both love you. That will never, ever change."

I wasn't trying to be a saint or make excuses for Camilo.

But as a parent, you have a responsibility. I couldn't let our failure cast a shadow over their lives, and I couldn't let them be tainted by the bitterness and regret that was consuming me.

"Mad at him? Please," Emma scoffed, taking a huge bite of a loaded baked potato. "I've got way too much on my plate. I need to study, work on my look, and basically become a campus legend. I don't have time for daddy issues."

I glanced nervously at Emerson.

He took a bite of salad and smiled at me, replying, "I'm not mad either. Honestly, I don't really care. Mom, you need to be more like us, you know?"

The flickering candlelight of the restaurant cast their faces in shifting shadows, making them hard to read.

At that moment, I realized with a jolt that they weren't children anymore. They had grown up in ways I hadn't even noticed.

"Yeah," I whispered. "I know."

I looked at them and nodded with all the conviction I could muster. At that moment, I wasn't just making a promise to them. I was making one to myself as well.

Emma snapped me out of my thoughts. "Mom, here," she said, spooning a generous helping of creamed spinach onto my side plate. "This is your favorite."

"She likes the mac and cheese better," Emerson argued, adding a scoop of the gooey, baked pasta next to the spinach.

"Thanks, my loves," I said with a watery smile. I took a big spoonful of the creamy spinach, followed immediately by a forkful of the gooey mac and cheese.

With every bite, the sadness that had been choking me all day began to recede. It was still there, but it wasn't all-consuming anymore.

I woke up before dawn the next morning.

The space beside me in the bed was cold and empty, a stark reminder that Camilo was gone. We divorced.

Yesterday, with the kids, I had felt a flicker of hope.

But a lonely night had brought the grief crashing back, a physical weight that made my chest ache.

I knew it was pathetic to be this broken.

You can't hold onto someone who is determined to leave.

But I was not some fearless heroine in a novel, not some powerhouse CEO who could bend the world to her will.

I was just a flawed, fragile housewife. Camilo was my husband, and he was the first half of my life. He was the man I had poured every ounce of my love into.

The suddenness of his betrayal and the brutal way he had excised himself from my life made it impossible not to feel it.

A soft knock came at my door. "Mom? Are you awake?" It was Emma.

"I'm awake," I called out.

I rubbed my swollen eyes and opened the door.

Emma stood there, a vision in the dim morning light, holding a beautiful dress.

She grinned, saying, "Mom, Emerson and I bought this for you. We want you to wear it to the courthouse today."

"What?"

I stared at the dress. It was a long-sleeved white dress with delicate lace trim and a cinched waist. It was elegant, graceful, and utterly terrifying.

"It's so beautiful," I whispered. "I don't think I can pull it off."

"Of course you can! My mom is the most beautiful woman in the world!" she exclaimed.

She took my hand and led me into the walk-in closet with excitement, advising, "Hurry, get dressed! After this, I'm doing your makeup."

For a long time now, I had been hiding from my own reflection. I avoided mirrors and never bothered with makeup or nice clothes. It was easier than confronting the tired, aging woman staring back at me.

But I couldn't bear to disappoint my daughter. "Okay," I agreed, nodding.

When I was finally ready, I stood before the full-length mirror and gasped. The woman staring back at me had soft curves and an elegant posture.

Yes, there were fine lines around her eyes, but they crinkled with a gentle wisdom. There was a grace to her that only comes from weathering storms.

Maybe, I thought, I was not as old or as plain as I believed. With a little effort, I could actually be beautiful.

Emerson appeared beside me, his reflection smiling in the mirror. "Mom," he said, his eyes shining. "You look amazing."

My own eyes began to burn. I pulled both of my children into a fierce hug, my voice choked with emotion. "Thank you."

Emma hugged me back tightly, saying, "If you really want to thank us, you'll take us on a vacation. High school is about to start. This is our last chance to go wild for the next three years!"

Without hesitation, I agreed, "Deal. You pick the place. Anywhere you want to go."