Chapter 45
Blake
Waking up late, bright sunshine filters through my curtains—and all I want to do is pull the covers over my head and block out the world. It’s been a couple of days since I ended things with Ethan, and the ache in my chest hasn’t dulled; if anything, it’s only grown sharper, and I just want to feel better.
I think I hear Mom moving around downstairs, maybe talking on the phone. I asked her about what happened with Mama Charlotte after that awful lunch, but she said she’s not ready to talk about it. So now, we’re both pretending it never happened, though we can’t pretend about everything—especially not about me and Ethan.
When I told her I was the one who ended it, she seemed genuinely sad for me, like she could see how much it hurt to break up with him, even if she didn’t fully understand why I had to do it.
I hate this, hate that I’m so torn up over him, hate that I’m so confused and conflicted. I should feel relief, shouldn’t I? Should feel glad I’m alone again. Relief that I made the right choice, that I’m protecting myself, that I’m staying strong and independent like I’ve always needed to be.
But instead, my heart aches in ways I didn’t even know it could, twisting and contracting, pulling tight beneath my ribs, making it hard to breathe. I press a hand to my chest, trying to ease the pain, but it’s no use. I’ll just have to live with it.
I so badly want to forget everything and just move on, but it’s hard not to think about the things that were great when we were together: the fundraiser he planned at the Tavern, the way he managed to raise enough money to make sure we could pay our next mortgage payment, how he agreed to so many of my ideas, even though they were way out of his comfort zone, like that impromptu road trip we took, the wind whipping through our hair as we drove with the windows down, music blaring, laughing at nothing and everything.
We found our Secret Spot that day, tucked away from the world, the place we later went night swimming under the stars, making love in the shallows. I can still feel the warmth of his body as he pulled me close, kissing me beneath the silver moonlight, the heat of his skin, how gentle he is… was , despite his strength.
Ugh. I can’t do this. I can’t lie here feeling sorry for myself, torturing myself with all the good times. I force myself up and out of bed, walking to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face and drying it on a towel.
A glance at my reflection in the mirror. I look God awful, dark circles under my eyes, hair unwashed. I need to pull myself together. A shuddering breath pushed through the cage of my ribs: maybe tomorrow.
As I head toward the kitchen, the murmur of voices reaches me—two voices, both familiar, both tinged with something heavy. My heart skips, my steps faltering as I round the corner and see them: Mom and Mama Charlotte, sitting side-by-side at the kitchen table. They’re both here. Together .
I stop in my tracks, my mouth going dry as I take in the sight. It’s been so long since I’ve seen them like this, at this table, their bodies angled toward each other. But it’s nothing like it used to be, and silence sticks in the air in a way that suggests a hard conversation just ended.
I stand there in the kitchen door for a few more seconds just watching them, not sure what to say, until Mom looks up, spotting me in the doorway. She smiles at me, but it’s a sad smile, weighed down and filled with something that looks a lot like grief.
“Blake,” Mom says softly. “I’m glad you’re home. Mama Charlotte dropped by early for breakfast so we could both talk to you.”
Cold settles around my heart. I slowly make my way to the table, the legs of the worn wooden chair creaking as I sit down, my gaze flicking between the two of them, searching for some hint of what’s coming, but their expressions are unreadable.
“What’s going on?” My voice is small and uncertain even to my own ears.
Mama Charlotte reaches across the table, placing her hand over mine. Her touch is warm, comforting, but it only makes the ice in my chest deepen.
“After what happened at lunch the other day, we finally sat down and talked,” says Mama Charlotte. “Really talked. I’m sorry you had to witness what happened, both of us storming out of the restaurant like that. We should have been more adult and spoken about our issues months ago.”
I’ve wanted this for so long—for them to talk, to work things out, to figure out where we stand as a family. But now that it’s happening, I’m terrified of what they might say.
“I’m sorry we have to tell you this, and honestly there’s no easy way to say it, but we’ve decided to get a divorce.” Mom sniffs, but her voice is steady. “We’ve been heading in this direction for a while now, but we couldn’t bring ourselves to face it. Not until now.”
I stare at them, trying to process what Mom just said. Divorce . Our family breaking apart. The words hit me hard, and for a moment, I can’t breathe. My vision blurs, and I blink rapidly. I’m that scared little girl all over again, always wondering when the rug would be pulled out from under her. I know it’s irrational, I know they love me even if they’re not together, but the news is overwhelming. What if this is just the beginning?
“A divorce?” The word sounds foreign and harsh on my tongue.
Mama Charlotte squeezes my hand gently. “Yes, sweetheart. We realized that we can’t be together as a couple, but that doesn’t change everything else. We’ll always be your moms, and the three of us will always be a family.”
My breath hitches, and I cover my mouth with my hand, trying to keep the sob that’s rising in my chest from escaping. But it’s too late. The tears spill over, and I can’t stop them.
I’ve been holding everything in for so long—about Ethan, David, my moms, trying to be strong, trying to keep it together—but now, sitting here with two people I love so much, I can’t pretend anymore.
Leaning forward, burying my face in my hands. “I don’t want to lose our family. I don’t want everything to change.”
“Blake, honey, change is hard, but it’s going to be okay,” Mom says as she stands and moves around the table. She puts her arms around me, and Mama Charlotte follows, wrapping me in a hug from the other side. I’m surrounded by them, the softness of Mama Charlotte’s wool sweater brushing my cheek, the faint smell of lavender and coffee clinging to Mom’s shirt.
“We’re not going anywhere,” Mama Charlotte whispers into my hair, her voice soothing. “We’re still here.”
“We’re still your moms, and we always will be,” Mom adds, her hand rubbing gentle circles on my back. “Nothing can change that.”
I nod against her. What other choice do I have? I don’t want to make things worse by voicing the worries that swirl in my head. They’re going through enough already without me adding to it. So I keep quiet, and hope that what they’re saying is true.
Eventually, I pull back, wiping my tear-streaked face. My moms are both looking at me with such love, such understanding, and it’s almost too much to bear.
“I love you both so much.”
“We love you too, sweetheart,” Mama Charlotte replies, her eyes shining.
“Forever and always,” Mom adds.
I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself while Mama Charlotte sits down again, and Mom busies herself making tea. The kettle goes on and she pulls out the box of tea bags, pausing to look out the window before turning and leaning against the kitchen counter, arms across her chest. “How are you feeling this morning after everything with Ethan?”
Before I can reply, the kettle comes to a boil, its shrill cry echoing in the quiet kitchen, and Mom switches it off, before setting down three yellow mugs with tiny daisies on the side with a soft clink. We’ve had those mugs since I was fourteen, one for each of us.
Mom turns back to look at me, waiting for my reply.
The mention of Ethan made me flinch, her words cutting deeper than I’d like to admit, and I just shrug. They exchange a look—one of those silent conversations that only people who’ve known each other forever can have.
Mama Charlotte is the one who speaks next, her voice gentle but probing. “Mom mentioned you guys broke up at that lunch. Have you spoken to him since it happened?”
I shake my head, really not wanting to have this conversation. “No, I haven’t. And I don’t think I’m ready to. We’re just not right for each other. I need to focus on myself at the moment.”
Mom pours water into the mugs, steam curling in lazy spirals in the cool air, the smell of chamomile filling the room. “We can see how miserable you are without him. You don’t have to hide it from us. It’s okay to admit that you miss him, even if you can’t work things out.”
Mama Charlotte nods in agreement. “You can tell us anything.”
I stare at the table. “It’s just not meant to be. I’m sorry. I don’t want to talk about it right now.”
“If you don’t want to talk to us, maybe you should talk to him ,” Mom says, staring at me. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to keep going on about this, but just remember if it hurts this bad to be apart, maybe there’s a reason for that. Sometimes, things are worth fighting for, even when it’s hard.”
She sounds too much like Ethan right now. I’ve built these walls around myself for a reason, and letting them down, even for him, is too big of a risk.
“I hear you,” I say, my voice quieter now. “But just take my word for it that this is for the best.”
“Maybe you can still be friends?” Mama Charlotte says. “You can never have too many friends.”
“Maybe,” I reply. “We’ll see.”
The conversation shifts to something lighter, but the weight of what they’ve said lingers in the back of my mind. Deep down, I know they’re right—I’m miserable without Ethan, but the thought of letting him in, of risking everything, is terrifying. Impossible, even.
And for now, that fear is enough to keep me where I am, stuck in this limbo, not ready to move forward but unable to go back.