Page 49 of My Rules

Twins, both trying to control my situation. Neither of them giving me an inch of respect.

I ask John to go home; he refuses. I ask Blake to go home; he refuses. Everything is all about what they want.

That’s it.

“Don’t come near me again. You both make me sick.” I turn and march inside, slam my front door shut, and lock it. Having an ex-husband and a friend who act exactly the same is fucking toxic and not something I need in my life.

That’s it; I’m done.

I storm upstairs and get into the shower; I stand under the hot water as I try to calm myself down.

I hear more screaming coming from outside, and I put my hands over my ears.

Hopefully they kill each other.

I sit in the café and sip my coffee as I watch the sun set. As the sunlight fades, my mind wanders off into something really depressing.

I don’t want to go home.

It’s been three days since the front yard boxing match, three days since I’ve spoken to Blake.

It’s one thing to be disrespected by my ex-husband. It’s another thing to be disrespected by a friend. Blake had no right to order John to leave; it is still legally John’s house, after all. Here I am, trying my best to keep it civil so that I have at least a chance of a good outcome in the divorce courts, and my supposed friend is doing all he can to sabotage my mission. When I asked Blake to leave and go home so that I could talk to John, he point-blank refused and then proceeded to beat him to a pulp.

It’s not okay.

John came around to our house to have a conversation with me about financial matters and our impending divorce. What gives Blake the right to react that way?

He acted like a jealous child. I understand that he hates John. I do, too, but that doesn’t excuse violent behavior.

I didn’t leave a controlling, toxic marriage to enter into a controlling, toxic friendship.

I feel so deflated and flat, and my rose-colored glasses have been well and truly smashed.

To make matters worse, I haven’t sold a single image on Foot Finder. I guess my toes don’t have what it takes, and I feel like a fool that I ever imagined they would.

This time last week, I was excited and had hope that I was going to be able to afford to keep my house. This week, I’m just not so sure.

I glance at my watch. It’s 6:30 p.m. The boys leave for Vegas tonight, and I didn’t want to see Blake before he left. He’s called me at least twenty times over the last few days, and I just ... I don’t even want to talk to him. I mean, what is there to say.

You’re a disappointment is all I’ve got.

The door opens, and a little old man and woman walk in. They must be at least eighty years old. I smile sadly as I watch them. They’re holding hands and chatting away to each other; they look so in love.

How long have they been together?

I feel a deep, overwhelming sadness. Lost dreams and a sad statistic are all my marriage amounted to, and an unexpected wave of emotion fills me.

I was a good wife; I swear I was.

The worst part is, I know that the part of my heart that loved so deeply and unencumbered has died. Never to be resurrected, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.

I’m not the same girl I once was.

Quite sure I’ll never trust a man again, let alone be able to love one.

The vision of the old couple blurs as my eyes fill with tears, and I discreetly wipe them away. I drag myself off the stool and stumble out to my car, and then once safely alone, I let myself cry.

8:30 p.m.

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