"You're welcome," he says, then his eyes flick to my hair. "Taylor do your hair?"
I nod.
His smile broadens, something warm and approving there. "It looks real good."
That makes me smile once more, and I nod my thanks. He stands from the bleachers and walks down toward the court, blowing his whistle.
"Alright, guys, good job. Bring it in," he gestures the boys in,and they get in their huddle. "Bears on three, one-two-three—"
"Bears!" the boys shout, Noah joining in from the bleachers with his whole chest, making me smile despite everything.
Liam says something to two of his teammates, and I watch as he confidently gives them pointers. The two boys look up at my son with distinct admiration in their eyes.
My son. The team captain.
This seems like a day of growth for us.
???
One hour until Atlas is served the papers.
My hands are clammy, my heart is pounding in my chest, and I try to just focus on breathing.
I've already dropped the boys off at Diane and Emmett's, the latter herding the boys into the living room so they can eat the rest of their food and watch a movie.
Diane wrapped me in a tight hug, complimented my hair, and told me to call immediately if I needed anything.
I drove home slowly, blasting music to distract myself and singing along obnoxiously to theDivorce Eraplaylist Taylor sent me to cheer me up.
When I get home to the quiet house, I don't do any chores—no laundry, no cleaning, no housework.
I shave my legs, put on a face mask, and use my new fancy body wash, bought with my own money. I do my makeup, restyle my hair, and pull on a black tank top and my good jeans, because this is a funeral of sorts.
I pull on a pair of diamond studs and an older gold nameplate necklace that I haven't worn in so long, glancing at the wedding ring I haven’t worn in a month.
I stare at it for a long moment before I firmly snap my jewelry box closed.
My stomach flips when I notice the time—right about now, a process server should be walking into Atlas' office. I wasn't going to embarrass him and have him served in front ofthe entire shop, and I know he usually does the end-of-day paperwork around 5, so I told Imani around then.
That's even if he's still there and not off with my nameless, faceless replacement. I know Atlas enough to broadcast what he'll do after he gets served, he'll come right home, storming through the door, and demand—what am I doing?
Why didn't I talk to him first?
Do I not love him anymore?
And I know my answers.
I am taking myself back.
I tried, and I tried, and I tried, and I tried until I finally gave myself mercy.
And I will love Atlas Durant forever. He's my first and only love, the father of my children, that will never go away, but love is not enough to sustain this... marriage.
In the living room, I dim the lights and sink into our comfortable sofa chair. It's like I can feel the energy coursing through me from the untapped anger I've built up over keeping silent this last year.
I've held my tongue, I've accepted being ignored, being neglected, even being yelled at.
But even worse, I've accepted that treatment for my children, andthatis my worst crime.
