But I wouldn’t let them beat me down.
I was strong enough to get through this.
I had to be.
There was a little girl relying on me to do exactly that.
My cheating-ass husband had let me down. But there was no way I was going to do the same to a toddler. She deserved to have someone who would love and care for her no matter what.
I got out of the tub, straightened my shoulders, and pulled myself together. My eyes were red and puffy and my knuckles bruised from my bite marks. But I was here, and I was going to be okay.
I could do this.
Iwoulddo this.
The house was eerily quiet when I opened the bathroom door. I padded into the bedroom, and the first thing I noticed was his pillow missing from the bed. I swallowed and turned away, only to come face-to-face with open closet doors and a half-empty space.
Oh, God, this was really happening.
I sank down on the bed and stared at the vacant space while I dialed my cell phone. Mom picked up on the second ring.
“Mom,” I cried, my tears filling my eyes again, my heart shattering all over.
“Honey, what’s wrong?”
“Simon just walked out. He’s been cheating on me for half our marriage.” My voice wobbled, and I struggled to keep speaking.
Mom growled and ground out, “That piece of shit. Do you have a shovel? I don’t have one, but I can swing by Home Depot. That and maybe a saw. A sharp one—it’s easier to cut through bone that way. We’ll need them to bury the body.”
I snorted out a laugh. “We can’t do that.”
“Why the hell not?” she demanded indignantly.
“Because I can’t go to jail.” Why was I being the calm, rational one here when I was the one who’d been cheated on?
Mom huffed, and I could just imagine her waving away my concerns with a flick of her wrist. “I’ve watched enough of those CSI programs to know the ins and outs of a crime scene. They’ll never pin it on us.”
I laughed again. “That may be so, but I’m about to get a foster daughter, a baby—”
“You are? Oh my God, why didn’t you say so? You can’t go to jail if you have a little one.”
“Yeah.” I paused, gathering my thoughts. “Mom, he’s having a baby with her.”
“Oh, honey. I’m sorry.” She sighed and said, “Look at it this way: Any baby he donates DNA to is going to have him as a father and may even look like him.”
I giggled, my laugh sounding watery to my own ears. “Mom, he’s not that bad.”
“Yes, he is. He hurt my baby girl. He’s the ugliest person on the planet. I don’t care if he looks like Brad Pitt inThelmaand Louise—that man is fucking divine—he’s ugly. He doesn’t deserve you. I know it hurts now. I know your heart is broken. Believe me, I know, but one day you’ll look back on this, and you’ll be thankful it happened.”
“Is that how you feel now? About Dad, I mean.”
“Absolutely. I thought that man was the love of my life. Then, poof, he was gone. Zero contact. When your abuelita called to tell me he’d moved home, I couldn’t believe it.” I remembered that conversation. Abuelita was speaking in Spanish, and Mom couldn’t understand her. Dad had been teaching me, connecting me with my Columbian heritage, and I managed to translate about one in ten words, but it was enough that my very white mom understood.
“I had no idea we had problems in our marriage until I walked in and saw an empty closet.”
“That’s what I’m looking at.” I glanced up at the half-empty closet and sighed.
“Move your clothes across. Right now. Get up and do it as we’re speaking.”