Chapter 1

At my fiftieth birthday dinner, my husband David Carter raised his glass and said, "The only thing my wife's ever been good at is cooking."

The whole room burst out laughing.

I set down my fork and stood up. "Then go find someone who cooks better. I want a divorce."

The room went dead silent.

In thirty-three years of marriage, this was the first time I'd ever shut someone up at the dinner table.

The truth was, I'd been done holding it in for a long time.

I was done tolerating David's constant criticism, done accepting my son Michael's entitlement, done putting up with his wife's endless meddling, and done listening to everyone tell me what I "should" do.

For thirty-three years, I had turned myself into an unpaid maid and a ghost in my own home.

David said I'd lost my mind.

I looked him straight in the eye. "Yeah, I have. I've gone crazy enough to finally want to live for myself."

At fifty years old, I was done being the perfect wife and devoted mother.

I wanted to wear a red dress. I wanted to go dancing. I wanted to learn to paint.

On the first day of my fifty, I was going to become myself.

*****

The living room was packed with my children, my grandchildren, and a few old neighbors from down the street.

The coffee table was covered with cake and fruit, and the TV was on, but nobody was watching it. Everyone was too busy talking.

I had my apron on and kept running back and forth between the kitchen and the dining room.

A pot of beef stew simmered on the stove, a casserole was warming in the oven, and the counter was still lined with half a dozen dishes waiting to be brought out.

"Mom, when are we cutting the cake?" My daughter, Emily Carter, poked her head through the doorway.

I said, "Almost ready. Two more dishes to go."

"Grandma, I want a Coke!" my grandson, Robert, hollered from the living room.

"Coming." I wiped my hands on my apron and went to grab a Coke. As I passed through the living room, I caught David bragging to our neighbor, Joseph Wilson.

David said, "The only thing my wife's ever been good at is cooking."

Joseph laughed, "You're a lucky man."

"Damn right. Over thirty years together, and she's never had to work a single day. Not bad, huh?"

My steps slowed for a second, but I didn't say anything. I handed the Coke to Robert.

"Grandma, I want the piece with the strawberry on it!" Robert said.

"Sure, sure." I ducked back into the kitchen.

I heard him. I heard every word.

"Over thirty years, and she's never had to work a single day." He'd been saying that for over thirty years, as if it were some gift he had given me.

As if waking up at five every morning to cook, do the laundry, raise the kids, take care of his parents, run to the grocery store, mop the floors, help with homework, and look after Robert didn't count as work.

As if the only thing that qualified as "work" was walking out the front door and bringing home a paycheck.

I set the last dish on the table and untied my apron.

"Come on, birthday girl, sit right here." Emily pulled me to the head of the table.

I sat down and looked at the spread of food, then at the whole family gathered around. Something stirred inside me, but I couldn't quite name what it was.

"Mom, make a wish." Emily finished placing the candles.

I stared at the number on the cake. I froze for a second.

I was fifty years old.

"Hurry up, the candles are melting." Robert nudged me.

I closed my eyes.

What was I supposed to wish for?

Every year before this, it had always been the same. "Keep the family safe." "Keep the kids healthy." "Let my husband's career take off."

But this year, I thought about it, and all I wanted was one day to live for myself. Just one.

I opened my eyes and blew out the candles.

"Yay!" Everyone clapped.

"Cut the cake, cut the cake!" Robert was already bouncing in his seat.

I picked up the knife, but before I could cut, David spoke up.

"Hold on, hold on. Let me say a few words first." David stood and raised his glass. "Today's my wife's fiftieth birthday, so I want to say something."

All eyes turned to him.

"This wife of mine has been with me for thirty-three years, and she's got no real talents to speak of." He grinned. "But I'll give her this—she kept me fed for thirty-three years without me ever lifting a finger."

The room burst into laughter.

He added with a smirk, "So here's my advice, guys. When you're looking for a wife, don't worry about finding someone ambitious. Just find one who can cook."

My grip tightened around the cake knife.

"Cheers!" He raised his glass.

"Cheers!" The whole room roared with laughter.

I watched them laugh. I looked at David, then at Michael, then at Emily, and at their kids.

Every single one of them was laughing. Not one person saw anything wrong with what he'd said.

"Come on, Mom. Cut the cake." Emily nudged me.

I didn't move.

"Mom?"

I set the cake knife down and stood up.

The whole room went silent, and every pair of eyes landed on me.

"Jennifer? What's wrong?" David held his glass of wine, looking completely clueless.

I looked him in the eyes.

Thirty-three years had passed. I married him when I was seventeen, and now I was fifty.

Thirty-three years added up to more than twelve thousand days, and I had spent every single one of them waking up at five in the morning and not lying down until eleven at night.

I gave him two children, took care of his parents until the day they died, and helped him raise Robert. Not a single day in all those years had been mine.

"I—" My voice trembled when I opened my mouth, but I drew a breath and steadied it. "I want a divorce."

The words came out quietly, but everyone in the room heard them.

The living room went so silent you could hear the clock ticking on the wall.

"What'd you just say?" David set his glass down and frowned. "You had too much to drink?"

"I haven't been drinking," I said. "I want a divorce."

"Mom!" Emily shot to her feet, the color draining from her face. "What are you talking about?"

"Grandma, what's a divorce?" Robert looked up and asked.

But nobody answered him.