Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 85399 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85399 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
I stood in the shower, tears of exhaustion running down my face, and took an inventory of my life.
I had one friend, whose friendship hinged on how often she could come to my house because I was too busy taking care of everyone else’s lives to do anything with mine. The health I’d prided myself on now involved blood pressure medicine. The person in the mirror was unfamiliar, and the version of me inside my head was a stranger.
When did I start being this Lauren Reed?
“I can’t do this anymore.” The words fly out of my mouth well before I realize they’re on the tip of my tongue. “I’m serious. Something has to change, Jack.”
My eyes widen. The thundering of my heart makes me light-headed. What am I doing? What does that mean? I’m not sure. But the relief that washes over me is undeniable.
“What are you saying?” His tone cuts me through the line. “What are you getting at?”
“It means that I’m drawing a line in the sand. I—”
“I’m working to take care of you, damn it. You wanted to stay home with the kids. I’m giving you what you asked for—what’s best for our family.”
“But when did I say I didn’t want you?” I ask, my voice rising as tears gather in the corners of my eyes. “I didn’t know it was going to be a trade-off. I thought we’d still see each other, you know. Have a life together. I never realized I was going to turn into an employee.”
He exhales harshly. “That’s not true.”
“What in the world do you think I’m doing here all day?” I catch myself and lower my voice. “Who does your laundry? Who runs Maddie to a million things every week and makes sure Michael’s wrestling stuff is taken care of? Who shoulders the food preparation, grocery shopping—making sure the bills are paid? I’m happy to do all of that. I love taking care of you guys. But I also want to feel like I’m more than the woman that lives in your house.”
“Do you want a thank-you? Is that it?”
“No, I don’t want a thank-you. I want . . .”
More.
My shoulders fall forward as I give up the argument. What’s the point in saying anything? Nothing changes.
He’s not going to understand, and I’m foolish to even try.
“I appreciate you, Lo. You’re the best mother in the world. I just . . .” He blows out a hasty breath. “Why do we argue like this?”
My heart cracks, deepening the caverns that have been forming for years. The man who used to heal all my wounds now only injures me more. I don’t think he does it on purpose. I just don’t think he cares enough to listen. But maybe that means it is on purpose. Who knows?
“Is it because I’m not home enough?” he asks.
“Yes. No. Maybe?” I sigh, wishing I hadn’t called him in the first place. “Maybe we’ve spent so much time apart that we don’t remember how to get along.”
“We never had to try to get along before.”
I frown. “Maybe that’s saying something.”
Jack groans, defeat thick in his voice. “I love you. Okay? I do. And I’ll try to do better. I’ll start moving shit around so I can be home in time for dinner. All right?”
My lips twitch, wanting desperately to smile. I want to believe him with every fiber of my being. But every time I try to raise my hopes, the memory of each failed attempt to do better resurfaces.
“All right,” I say, shrugging. “But something has to change.”
“I heard you.”
“Good.”
There’s a long pause.
“I gotta go, Lauren. Love you.”
“Love you. Goodbye.”
The call ends.
The kitchen is dark, lit only by the occasional bolt of lightning and the dim bulb over the stove. The stillness settles over me like an old friend.
A pile of dishes sits in the sink from dinner. The floor is sticky from Maddie’s lemonade spill earlier. Loads of laundry are stacked in the mudroom off the door on the left, waiting on me to give them attention.
But why bother? It’ll all be here for me tomorrow. And the next day. And the day after that.
Nothing will change.
I take a long, steadying breath.
Unless I change it.
A swell of sadness and anger rises from my soul.
“I’m giving you what you asked for . . .”
“But you’re not, Jack. I didn’t ask for this.”
I know what must be done, but I hate it all the same. The thought of moving forward without Jack somehow feels even lonelier than staying right where I am. But if I don’t try to do something—if I don’t try to fix the only thing I can, which is me—then this is exactly what my life will look like twenty years from now. That makes me sick. Defeated. I have to try. I have to start somewhere.