Chapter 57
57
LAYLA
S ky’s head lolls against the side of his carseat as my vehicle climbs the dark mountain roads on my way home.
It was weird, sitting across from my mother, watching her try to play with her grandson as he squirmed in her arms and looked at her like a stranger.
Dinner was uncomfortable, to say the least. The French fries were cold and the atmosphere in our small booth at the back of the diner was awkward. The conversation was hard, but important and honest.
Mom and I skipped over the small talk and dove right into the deep end.
“I asked him for a divorce and he said…‘okay’.” She’d sobbed into her napkin. “After twenty-nine years of being miserable in that marriage, all he had to say for himself was ‘okay’,” she’d repeated as if in disbelief.
“What response were you expecting?” I’d asked her sincerely.
She’d shaken her head. “I’d expected him to fight for us. Instead he was all too willing to let me go. And now I’m left here asking myself, what was it for? All that sacrifice, all that fucking auditioning? What was it for?”
I’d watched as she sat across from me, ripping little pieces off her napkin and dropping them to the table.
“I cooked his every meal. I ironed his every shirt. I wiped his ass when he was sick. I waited twenty-nine years for him to give me this grand, passionate love affair, and I got…nothing.”
The whole time she was sitting across from me, I kept thinking to myself, she got it wrong. No judgement—but my mom was wrong about what it means to be a good woman. Because she’d been the ideal partner to my father, and she never got anything in return.
And if she was wrong about that, maybe she was wrong about…me.
I didn’t want to make the conversation about myself, but I couldn’t stop the lightbulbs from going off in my head as she spoke. Maybe I’d make the best decisions for Sky and me. Maybe I’d done my best with the hand I’d been dealt. Maybe I could finally let myself move forward without all the guilt.
As I sat there, listening to my mom spill out her regrets, I started seeing that, there is no text book on how to do life right. Life is something we figure out as we go. It’s a game of trial and error.
When I chose Razor, I took a path that didn’t lead to the destination I desired. But now, I get to pick a new path. I get to choose again.
“I’m so sorry, Layla,” she’d whispered. “I don’t think I’ve been a very good mother to you.”
I’d reached out and squeezed her hand. But I wasn’t willing to lie and tell her that she’d done a great job raising me.
Call me a dumb optimist, but I think my mother is finally ready to own up to her shit. She’s ready to see the part she played in where her life ended up today. To be honest, it’s not the greatest place. She’s at the beginning of a divorce. She’s estranged from a daughter she doesn’t really know. Hell —she barely even knows herself outside of her identity as Colin Cipriani’s wife.
As I drive home now, I’m questioning the things I decided about myself. Why do I insist on believing that I’m unworthy of love? Why have I chosen the story that, as a single mom, it’s all over for me? Why have I chosen to continue believing that I’ll never find my special someone? I’ve already found the perfect man and he’s just waiting for me to let him take care of me.
I’m finally willing to see things differently now. I see things clearly.
Yes. I’m still afraid. My fear didn’t just magically disappear after one conversation with my mother. But the difference now is, I’m willing to fight for what I want. And what I want is a life with Archer and Sky.
I pull into the carport and carry Sky inside, desperate to talk to Archer, to figure things out once and for all. I’m disappointed to find that he isn’t home.
But I can’t stop thinking about all the things I need to say to him. I’m scared that I’ll forget it all. So when Sky is tucked into bed, I head back to the kitchen. I grab a pen and a big, old envelope to jot down my thoughts.
I sit at the table and pour my feelings out onto the piece of paper. No more hiding. No more holding back. No more offering only half of me. Because Archer Brighton deserves my all.
My heart feels light and hopeful, but my eyelids begin to feel heavy. Exhaustion washes over me. I’m literally drained after this emotional day.
I fold the envelope, slipping it into the pocket of my pajamas. Then, I head to my bedroom, hoping I can stay awake until Archer gets home.
I’m proud of myself, though. Somehow, I feel like I’ve accomplished something. I’ve poured every fragile but determined, vulnerable but courageous ounce of my heart into this letter to Archer.
But I know it’s worth it. I’m worth it. Because on the other side of this act of bravery is the life I’ve always wanted but never thought I deserved.
Come what may, I finally feel peace inside myself.