Chapter 14
Celine
I’d woken up with an extra spring in my step. I typically spent my weekends doing endless chores and desperately searching for a way to feel “caught up.”
But the impromptu town bonfire party had interrupted my weekend, resulting in a lot more hanging around than usual. Yesterday had been rainy, so we’d had a family Monopoly battle before making fancy grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner and watchingLilo & Stitch, Julian’s favorite movie.
I woke at five, slipped out of bed without disturbing Julian, who had come in around two, and threw on a pair of leggings and a sports bra.
As I headed out into the cool fall morning, a new determination hit me. We were okay. The kids were healthy and happy. I’d made friends. Actual friends.
And it was fall, my favorite time of year.
After a twenty-minute run up and down my favorite hill, I determined I was badass enough to treat myself to coffee.Maybe I’d get really wild and defrost a croissant I’d stashed in the freezer.
Propped up against the counter, I watched the sun rise over the tree line and sipped my coffee. After that first taste, I took a second to breathe. I was doing it more than usual. Just letting myself exist.
The moments were small, but their effects infiltrated my whole body. Carrying so much tension and the anxiety all the time was exhausting. I’d gone years without sleeping a full night or taking a full breath.
But my instincts, the same instincts I’d spent years questioning and doubting, had served me well this time.
Maplewood was good for us.
Our future was looking brighter.
Coffee in one hand, phone in the other, I opened my email app and scanned one of the newsletters I’d subscribed to.
I clicked out of it, then scrolled, quickly reading subject lines until I discovered one that made my stomach plummet.
Oh fuck.
I steadied myself on the counter. Shit. Shit. Shit.
Don’t read it. Don’t do it.
My finger took over, tapping on it, even though I was certain I wouldn’t like what I found inside.
Phyllis.
She’d created yet another Gmail account to use to harass me. Just fucking great.
I skimmed the multi-paragraph email, noting all the usual rhetoric my former mother-in-law typically stuck with.
You’re ungrateful and cruel.
How could you do this to my son? You drove him to depression and alcoholism.
I always knew you were a trashy whore.
I will take away those children. They deserve better than a mother like you.
How could you destroy my family?
You deserve to rot in hell.
Phyllis was not particularlycreative or articulate. But over the years, her hatred of me hadn’t waned.
Back when I’d been a doormat who let my ex-husband terrorize me and my kids, she’d adored me. Of course she had. I’d provided her with grandkids, always chipped in with the dishes on Thanksgiving, and never complained.