Chapter 1

I hardly open my eyes before I notice flashes of light escaping between my closed curtains, creating slithering shadows moving across my bedroom walls. Walls that have provided years of sanctuary from the outside world, now bestow a platform for these dark intruders. I feel the heaviness of my favorite down comforter, but yet, a familiar coldness creeps deep into my soul.

The last remaining fog has lifted and I see around my surroundings with clarity. 2:15 a.m. is blazing from the alarm as if to mock my inability to achieve a full night’s rest. Supposedly, new beginnings along with a sense of empowerment await me in a few, short hours, according to  my relentless supporters. I’m glad they can't see my arms wrapped, tightly around my knees. My body mercifully contorts into a fetal position with my only saving grace being a tightly wrapped blanket holding together the wounded mess I have become.

Who would have thought losing one letter, one small letter in a name could stir up so much controversy in one’s life? Tomorrow brings not only a loss of a letter, but broken dreams, my dreams. Tomorrow, I will no longer be a Mrs. No longer my forever, he has downgraded me. Tomorrow, Ms. I will be.

Without consulting me first, the sun rises and erases any signs of ominous shadows and feelings of forlorn. Morning rituals began as they have for the last 18 years. The coffee is on, the family calendar scanned, the focal point of the kitchen, and the kids’ breakfast carefully arranged. Waiting on the table are natural grains and raw fruit for 17-year-old Gavin and 16-year-old Gabby. Zachary can say what he wants about me personally, but he can not deny my love and devotion to our kids.

As usual, Gabby is the first to join me in the kitchen. What’s left of her blond pony tail barely hangs on with soft tendrils escaping around her beautiful, innocent face. Her eyes are not the first thing people notice about her despite their exquisite, crystal blue color; they truly are a window into her beautiful soul. A quick kiss on my cheek and she is immediately perched on one bent knee at the table, leaving the other leg to dangle, displaying painted multi-colored toes.

“Remember she is a kid” I think to myself. I’m tempted to share today’s upcoming events with her. Gabby has done surprisingly well under the circumstances and has no problems talking about her feelings, but I don’t want to go there. Not yet. Why not let her enjoy her breakfast without a Debbie Downer ruining it for her, my ex’s favorite name for me? Today’s final court date ending her father’s and my 18 year marriage is left out of our morning conversation.

Gavin however, doesn’t make any mention of the divorce or anything for that matter. Born pissed, his anger is deep. To be sure he is really up and moving instead of stealing his last precious minutes of sleep, I make my way up the stairs to his room..
Picking my tone and delivery carefully, so not to start the first battle of the day, I talk through the closed-door when I say, “Gavin, time to wake up.” No response, except for the sounds of shuffling linen. Silence is a fine replacement for his typical nasty retort. I will take it.

A faint animal’s whimper slowly becomes audible as a realization comes over me. Sadie! I forgot about our family's dog. I hurry to the middle bedroom where she has patiently awaited her turn to rise, until now. Her whine picks up more vigor. Two weeks ago I gave in to the kid’s pleas for a dog. Over the years, the responsibility of owning a dog has deterred me from allowing one in the house.  It’s hard to deny the reassurance a dog’s bark could bring to our newly broken home. There’s one problem, Sadie doesn’t bark. We have yet to hear anything except a whimper from her. She follows closely behind my bare legs, causing her long, white coat to graze my calves as we descend the stairs passing a barrage of family photos meticulously hung on the wall.
“Do I leave pictures of him on our family wall?” I think to myself. What is protocol?

I find the chain hanging next to the back door; wade through her soft white mane with its reddish, brown spots to eventually find her sparkly pink collar Gabby happily picked out. It suits her. She has a refined loveliness, maybe too refined for the purpose of this family. Despite her noblesse quality, she has provided much-needed affection and distraction for the kids.
Unfortunately, the animal shelter did not elaborate on how our new family member found her way to them. They only mentioned that Border Collies need to run, not that Sadie will flee at every available opportunity. Each time she has returned  filthier than the last. The homes in our subdivision have drainage pipes at the end of their driveways and when Sadie discovers an opening for her escape, she immediately seeks out these enticing holes to dive bomb.

Every comical marathon ends when some internal need within her is satisfied or a neighbor has cornered her on their property. I’ve already learned to hate those neighborly looks that scream “Learn to control your dog!” I take every precaution to make sure today is not one of those days, especially today.

Since Uncle James and Aunt Marg moved in, helping me with the kids and the mortgage, Sadie has  taken advantage of their lack of experience with dogs swishing past them as they innocently open an outside door making her escape on multiple occasions. Aunt Marg seems to take it quite personally each time Sadie runs from her.  After all, she does have a bit of a hero complex with lost souls and animals who need love and this creature isn't responding to any of her best healing powers.
The kids made it out the door in time to catch their summer camp activity bus, with Gavin blessedly having only a slight breakdown. I now have to attend to myself. The urge is strong to take more care with my looks today.  After all, this is the last time I will see Zach as his wife, but I quickly brush it off.

Blue eyes peer back at me from the bathroom mirror I have shared with my husband for the last 18 years as I run my fingers through my damp, shoulder length, wavy, blonde hair. Some would say it is more of a dishwater blonde, but it still shines in the sun and doesn’t show any signs of grey. My mother didn’t see her first grey until her late 50s. I pray this is the only thing I have in common with her along with her high cheek bones. A quick twist and my thick mane is in a haphazard bun held together with a plastic claw.

My body shows the natural wear and tear of giving birth to two children and of course gravity has taken over in a couple of areas.  With that said, I’m in relatively good shape with the help of the rigorous walking I do at work. Not to mention, my new handy man job I have taken on around the house has added muscles I never knew I had.

Sadie watches as I fix the straps on my favorite earth shoes. It’s true; they aren’t the most attractive shoes. At my age, I prefer comfort over fashion.  Besides, for the last 12 years I have spent hours on my feet registering patients in the emergency room and I need something comfortable.  I take one last glance in the mirror and I’m satisfied with my favorite Gap khaki pants I coupled with a colorful cotton polo shirt. Color, according to my friend Sabrina, is an important part of my attire, given that I forgo the rituals of wearing make-up.