Chapter three
Wendy
"Are you fucking kidding me?!"
My eardrums threaten to burst from Taylor's shrieking indignation, so I pull the phone away from my ear.
Taylor’s always been fierce for her loved ones. I once saw her literally snap her teeth at Ryan Kersh when he called me a disgusting name after my pregnancy news broke at school.
The next day, he showed up at school with a busted nose, courtesy of Atlas. Taylor had snarled that he got off lucky because she would have maimed very particular parts of him.
"I wish I were," I mutter, balancing my cellphone between my shoulder and cheek as I grab two bunches of bananas.
Liam's been going through bananas like it's his job, while Noah prefers clementines in his lunch bag. That will change next month, though.
While Liam is steady with his food preferences, Noah's changes by the month.
"It was humiliating, Taylor. Dr. Anderson was fantastic. I thought she would be a good fit. I thought—"
"You thought your husband would show up after you reminded him a million times," Taylor sighs. I can picture her pacing back and forth in the salon’s backroom. "Fuck, it's like he's purposefully doing this. That's the only explanation I can think of for his idiocy."
"Taylor," I start, my throat tightening so much that I have to force the next words out. "I think I'm done."
Taylor sighs deeply again on the other line, and her voice is low when she responds.
"You hung on longer than I would have, because my impatient ass would have been done six months ago. You're a fucking trooper, Wen."
"Not a trooper," I correct, steering the cart out of the produce and down the snack aisle. "A pathetic doormat."
"You're not a doormat!" She hisses at me, continuing before I can protest. "Doormats would let this continue and let it keep hurting their children.
Doormats would beg their husbands for attention that should be freely given.
You didn't beg; you set a boundary. He couldn't do the bare fucking minimum.
Don't insult yourself because your husband's head is firmly up his own ass. "
"I don't understand what happened," I say, rubbing my forehead against the migraine threatening to bloom. "I had thought that maybe it was worry about his brother. You know that Silas wasn't doing well after Carrie's death, but... anytime I asked, he said he was fine. He just... he disappeared."
"I'm sorry, Wen."
"Me too," I sigh, moving my cart out of the way of Mrs. Stephenson, Diane and Emmett's kind old neighbor.
She smiles happily at me, unaware that I'm unravelling on the inside.
I smile back, like always, and tell Taylor, "Anyway, I have to finish grocery shopping and then prep for the week before I pick up the boys. "
"Do you want me to send you my aunt's info?"
My stomach twists, and I snap my eyes closed against the threat of tears.
Taylor's aunt, Imani, is a family law lawyer. She had brought her up once a couple of months ago, when I had confessed what was going on at home, and asked me if I wanted her number.
"Maybe a good kick in the ass for Atlas?" Taylor had suggested, but I declined. Stupidly, I still had hope. I still wanted to try therapy. I still thought I could fix this.
Family law. Custody. Courtrooms. Divorce.
All these ugly, necessary words that are now becoming my reality.
"Text it to me, please," my voice barely reaches above a whisper, and I quickly wipe away the stray tear that’s fallen.
"Will do. I love you, Wen."
"Love you too, T," I reply before hanging up and tossing my phone back in my purse.
Closing my eyes, I take two deep breaths, in slow, out slow, regulating myself before I get back to my grocery shopping. No matter if I feel like falling apart, my boys still depend on me.
I can't just check out.
Not like their father.
◆◆◆
"Hey, Mrs. Durant!"
Tyler Hargrove stands at the checkout, all blonde locks and a huge goofy grin. Tyler's a senior basketball star who led Mercy Ridge High to the state championship last year and, according to my son, is going for the repeat this year.
He works at the summer basketball camp that we send Liam to, and my son has a bit of hero worship toward Tyler.
"Hi, Tyler," I smile, loading my groceries onto the conveyor belt. "How are your parents?"
"They're good," he nods, scanning the items, before he looks back up to me with a bright grin. "Hey, Mr. Durant just redid our kitchen floors! He and Mr. Armstrong did a great job—"
My heart drops. Atlas started helping with weekend contracting jobs for Trace’s business years ago—extra money for the boy's college fund.
I see the money from that being deposited into the accounts we set up for Liam and Noah. Even my children have their own bank accounts.
I’m glad they’ll have a cushion, but Atlas promised it wouldn’t be every weekend.
At first it wasn’t… now it’s every Saturday he’s not at the shop.
That's when the guilt cycles into me.
God, your husband works not just one but two jobs, and you're complaining? About what? Washing some dishes, doing laundry, cooking dinner—your one job?
So, I bit my tongue and kept quiet, and my husband retreated further and further away from us.
That is on me, for not speaking up.
My mind goes to insulting myself, to calling myself stupid and weak, but I stop before I can.
What will that accomplish?
Nothing.
Channel it into action. Stand up, and be fucking independent, Wendy. You and your feelings matter.
"—they love the color. My mom said the flow of the house is finally cohesive, and it really ties in with the shiplap. Whatever that means. I don't know, she's been watching a lot of HGTV. Anyway, could you tell him my parents said so?"
I force a smile on my face and nod as Tyler continues to scan my groceries and I load them into my reusable bags.
Mabel Freeman walks past us then, checking over something on a clipboard. She gives me a double-take before glancing down at the watch on her arm.
Pulling her glasses down her nose, she studies me over them, dark brown eyes scrutinizing me in the same way she did when I was sixteen in her US History class.
"You're here late," she observes, and she’s right because it's 10 AM.
I’ve been rigid about Sundays for years—Mabel's Market at 7 AM, home by 8, groceries unloaded, snacks and meals prepped by 9, breakfast by 9:30, lunch by 12:30.
The rest of the day was spent cleaning, doing laundry, helping with homework, then cooking and cleaning up after dinner.
By 8 PM, I was completely drained… but that was when the night shift started—making sure Liam and Noah showered, brushed their teeth, and washed their faces.
Checking their book bags, making sure Liam had his basketball bag packed for practice and that Noah had his paint brushes clean for art class.
I tucked Noah into bed, reading him a story and staying with him until he fell asleep, or else he would have nightmares.
I’d peek my head into Liam's room and tell him to put his phone down, and he would after a moody sigh and some grumbling.
I would collapse into bed by 10 PM and Atlas would pull me to him, wrap me in his strong embrace, and kiss me sweetly. That would usually lead to us making love.
Wrapped in his embrace afterward, I felt exhausted but lucky.
Caring for my husband and sons gave me joy.
I felt loved.
Now… I feel invisible.
After my long shower last night, I turned my morning alarm off. Atlas was still downstairs watching TV, but I was mentally drained from the day. I think I fell asleep before my head hit the pillow.
Atlas must have come to bed at some point, his side of the bed rumpled from his big body, but he was already up and gone when I woke up around 8.
I took my time getting dressed, pulling on a comfortable Mercy Ridge sweater, leggings, and my white sneakers, before heading to the Market.
"Lazy Sunday?" Mabel asks.
I narrow my eyes playfully as she props a hand on her hip.
"You keeping tabs on me, Mabel?"
"Please," Mabel harrumphs and pushes her glasses back up her nose. "You come here at the same time every Sunday, Gwendolyn. It's not hard to learn your habits."
The use of my full name makes me grimace, as it always does. Mabel does it out of genuine lighthearted teasing, but my mother always refused to call me by my preferred name of Wendy.
"Guess I am rather predictable," I mutter. Mabel studies me a little closer, and I try not to shift under her gaze.
"Just trying to mix it up a bit," I say, maybe a little too cheerfully because Tyler blinks at me, and Mabel raises an eyebrow. "The boys are at Diane's. Slept in today."
Mabel's eyes light up at the mention of my boys, her lips quirking into a grin. "How are those little angels?"
"They're bottomless pits now, hence the—" I gesture to the belt of groceries Tyler is currently making his way through, scanning.
"They're growing boys," Mabel chuckles. "They need their protein."
"Tell that to my wallet," I joke, before my smile drops.
Not my wallet, not my money, not really. Another reminder of what I need to do today when I get home—look for employment.
Unfortunately, my options might be limited. I’ll need something that fits with school pickups, something that still allows me to drive Noah to art class and Liam to basketball practice.
Something that will give me a good, steady paycheck.
Does such a job even exist?
I help Tyler bag the rest of my groceries, loading them into the cart while I hand over the coupons I clipped this week.
"Uh, that'll be... $167.74," Tyler tells me, but I frown at the total, having already calculated everything.
"It should be $164.53," I correct him gently, already scanning the cart, the screen, and the stack of coupons in his hand.
It's not that big of a big deal, but when you've stopped feeling like the money you're spending is really yours, every penny counts.
“Uh…” Tyler says, looking like a deer caught in headlights.