Atlas now handles school drop-offs, giving me some time in the morning for myself. In August, once I was healed enough, I went back to working at Mabel's, only a couple of days a week, and only in the back office, running the numbers and making the daily deposit.
I'm still done in time for school pick up.
Liam started high school last month, which feels incredibly odd that I now have a high schooler and a fourth grader.
As much as things change, some things remain the same.
Noah is still my little sunshine boy who makes the room brighter by just being here and can make friends with anyone. He still goes to art class, still filling our walls with his paintings and drawings of happy little trees. He's still sensitive and sweet, checking in with his father or me about how we're feeling, giving us hugs and kisses when we need them.
Liam's turning fifteen in December and has adjusted to freshman year easily. He hit another big growth spurt over the summer, shooting up a couple more inches and having his shoulders broaden from working out with his dad.
He's still dating his Birdie, who's a frequent flyer at the Durant house. When I pick Liam up from school, Birdie is usually right next to him, climbing into the backseat with him and saying softly, "Thank you, Mrs. Durant."
When someone calls me by that name now, I don't feel that sourness in my belly. It's who I am.
I am Wendy Durant.
Yes, I'm Atlas' wife.
Yes, I'm Liam and Noah's Mama.
But, I'm also Wendy, a person on my own, with a job—or two or three—with interests and thoughts and flaws and strengths.
I don't feel a loss of identity anymore. I feel as though I've reclaimed myself, and every day I don't feel as overwhelmed as I used to, because I can ask for help.
I can have my boys do chores without feeling guilty.
I can speak my mind to my husband without second-guessing my words or worrying about upsetting him.
My thoughts, feelings, and work do matter, even if one of my jobs is taking care of the home.
My work is recognized and appreciated. I got to work at Mabel's and earn an income that's partly deposited into our joint account, and the other is in my personal account, which Atlas always encourages me to treat myself—getting my hair or nails done, new clothes, or whatever I want.
Our therapist encouraged us to spend time apart as well, that although spending time together will strengthen our marriage, we also need time to miss each other.
That was something we were hesitant to do because our whole issue was the distance, but Dr. D'Amore said—and even Dr. Pace agreed — that we needed to test our relationship with distance: can we bounce back after being apart for a couple of hours while out with friends?
The answer turned out to be absolutely.
In fact, when we reunite, we ignite.
Atlas still works with Trace on the weekends sometimes, not as frequently though, only on the big projects that Trace needs some extra hands on.
Atlas, Trace, and Trey will go out to the bar together to hang out, or they'll come over to have a fire outside that Liam likes to join in on. The grandparents get their grandson time then, which they love, and the boys love it too.
On those nights, Taylor, Bonnie, and I will go out dancing or stay in for girls' night, and I can honestly say that as my friendships improved, so did my marriage.
Because we miss each other, while knowing that we're goingto see each other again when we get home...
And when we get home, we show each otherhow muchwe've missed each other.
Last month, I was out at the bar with two lemon drops giving me some confidence. So I went into the bathroom and sent Atlas a sexy photo of myself with a text warning him to open when alone.
When I got home that night, he met me at the door and ate my pussy right there in the foyer until I was boneless.
Our lovemaking has gotten even better than before, which was pretty fucking good. I feel more connected to Atlas than I've ever been, and I think he feels the same.
I tell him everything that's on my mind, not worried that I sound like I'm complaining or nagging, because I expect the same in return.
