Chapter 2

"Mom, why are you just standing there? Hurry and help me find another T-shirt. I can't wear this one," Max yelled.

Jude wasted no time barking out his orders to me. "Alright, quit spacing out and help Max. I've got an early meeting tomorrow. I'm heading to bed."

With that, he swung around and disappeared into the bedroom, as if all the chaos in the living room and my humiliation didn't concern him in the slightest.

I stared at Max's anxious face, listening to Jude's footsteps fade away.

Then I remembered the harsh conversation on Jude's phone.

A wave of absurdity and anger I'd never felt before crashed through my chest.

I took a deep breath, but instead of rushing to the closet to help Max like I always did, I just stood there.

I kept my cool and looked straight at Max. "Max, you're the one who always puts your clothes away. You should be the one who knows best where they are.

"I have no idea which shirt is suitable. It's up to you to pick one."

Max was stunned, not expecting me to refuse him.

He'd gotten used to me swooping in to fix everything the moment he started whining.

"But Mom, I seriously have no clue how to do this," Max whined.

"That's okay. Nobody starts out knowing everything. You'll learn," I said.

I placed the clothes I'd just folded into the wardrobe, adding, "I didn't magically know how to do this either. I had to learn, same as you.

"Or, you can just tell Miss Bridges and your classmates tomorrow that your shirt is basically a big hug from your mom. Sure, it's not perfect, but it's filled with love and it keeps you warm.

"Trust me, people who think for themselves aren't gonna mock you over a few uneven stitches. Real confidence is about looking past stuff like that."

I tossed in a bit of Violet's advice, and Max just stared at me, totally stunned, like he barely recognized who I was.

I didn't pay him any more mind and kept folding the rest of the laundry.

My knuckles went white from folding so tightly, but oddly enough, I felt a surprising rush of satisfaction.

It seemed saying no really wasn't all that hard.

*****

The next morning, for the first time ever, I didn't bother getting up early to make breakfast.

Jude walked over to the dining table out of habit. When he saw it was empty, he paused in surprise. "Where's breakfast?"

I was lounging in the rocking chair on the balcony, flipping through an old, dusty foreign novel.

Without looking up, I replied, "Oh, I forgot. You guys can figure it out yourselves. There's bread and milk in the fridge, or you can just go out and buy something."

Jude scowled. "Ellen, what's gotten into you? Max is about to be late for school."

I put down my book and looked at him. "He's ten years old, not a baby.

"You're his dad. You can make breakfast for him—or take him out to eat.

"Why do I have to be the one who feeds him?"

Jude was stumped by my question.

Unable to argue back, he just muttered, "You're impossible!"

Then, clearly annoyed, he turned to Max. "Come on, let's go get some KFC."

Max was sulking about missing breakfast, but as soon as he heard "KFC," his mood did a complete 180—he cheered up in a flash.

Before heading out the door, he shot me a smug grin, like he was saying, "See? Dad's taking me out for something good, and you're not invited."

I watched the two of them leave, and instead of all that sadness I thought I'd feel, it actually felt kind of freeing.

See? Turned out, they'd be just fine without me.

They even got to enjoy some junk food and seemed pretty happy about it.

I made myself a cup of coffee and toasted two slices of bread.

I finally got to enjoy a peaceful morning—something I hadn't had in ages.

Then I picked up my phone and called Loretta Kirby, my ex-colleague.

I said, "Hey Loretta, do you have any openings lately? I'd love to take on some work. I can do from home."

*****

Meanwhile, Jude and Max were clearly struggling to get used to my new attitude.

When Jude came home from work that night and saw that there was no dinner, he looked even more annoyed.

"You didn't even make dinner?" he snapped.

I was at my laptop, reviewing a translation.

"I didn't have time," I replied. "I remember back when you were courting me, you actually made a mean pasta."

I looked up from my computer, giving him a half-smile. "Or have you just forgotten how to cook after all these years?"

Jude looked at me like I'd just told the world's biggest joke.

He retorted, "I busted my ass at work all day, and then I came home and couldn't even get a hot meal? Ellen, you're doing nothing all day and you won't even cook? What do you want?"

"Doing nothing all day?" I turned my chair toward him and looked at him. "Who said I was just sitting around? Actually, I'm working right now.

"This is our home. We're both responsible for the chores.

"I've been handling them for ten years. Now it's your turn. That's only fair."

"Working? What kind of work could you possibly be doing?" Jude scoffed.

Without another word, I turned my laptop around to face him, showing the screen packed with lines of tiny foreign text—legal contracts—and a section clearly highlighted with my finished translations.

Jude froze, caught totally off guard by the fact that I was actually working.