When was the last time I did anything just for me?
When I was sixteen, I knew it in my bones that I wanted to marry Atlas and have a family with him.
I wanted to raise our family, and, if we were lucky, turn into Diane and Emmett, who have been happily married for forty years and are still head over heels in love.
When I got pregnant, we made some adjustments, and it was fine. I genuinely loved being home with Liam.
We lived with Diane and Emmett for the first year, so that Diane could help me with the baby. I learned a great deal about juggling tasks from her—she truly had it all together and was incredibly helpful in building my confidence as a new mom.
I promised myself I wouldneverbecome my mother. Iwould never lay a hand on my children. I would take a complete interest in their hobbies—whatever they were—and accept their choices while being there to catch them when they stumble. I would correct them without making them feel small.
I wouldneverdo what my parents did to me.
For a while, everything was perfect—messy and exhausting, but perfect.
Atlas would come home from work every day, kiss me sweetly, and sweep up Liam in his arms.
Then we moved into our first apartment, where we stayed for a couple of years while we saved money.
Our house was built, and life just continued on, making me feel like I was living in a dream.
Then came Noah with more chaos, more love, more everything.
I would sit back during our family dinners and just bask in the gratitude I felt—my loving husband, my beautiful boys, a bank account that remained full, a fridge full of food, great family and friends.
I like to cling to the memories of bringing Liam and Noah to the shop for lunch when they were younger.
Liam would walk in wide-eyed, calling out loudly for his daddy. Noah, strapped to my chest, would blink his little baby eyes and take in everything.
I would beam with pride at my big bear of a husband, in his blue overalls and boots, and Atlas's eyes would light up when he saw us.
"There's my girl," Atlas says, kissing me like he hasn't seen me in years, before dropping a kiss to Noah's head and sweeping up Liam in his big tattooed arms.
Atlas started getting tattooed as soon as he could, his best friend Trace's brother owning a shop in town. The newest addition on his bicep was Noah's name and date of birth in Roman numerals, right under Liam's.
My name already occupies his chest over his heart, the firsttattoo he ever got. I always love running my fingers over the pretty script, feeling Atlas's chest rumble.
Atlas plants a big smacking kiss on a giggling Liam, "And my little men!"
He walks us around the shop, showing Liam all the cool equipment and introducing us to newer employees, his voice dripping in pride.
"This is my Wendy, my wife. And these are my sons, Liam and Noah. "
Does he still exist?
Because now he's nowhere to be seen.
All I receive now isstaying late, don't wait uptexts or my own texts being left on read.
My stomach twists when I think of Liam's summer league basketball game three months ago, where his eyes kept tracking toward the entrance of the gym, searching for his dad.
Every time I saw that, I would send another text to Atlas:
Where are you?
Are you still coming?
The game's almost done.
