Page 1 of Choices

Prologue

Have you heard of the many-worlds interpretation? It’s a concept from quantum physics that suggests every decision you make creates two separate realities: one where you chose one option, and another where you chose the other. Each reality then unfolds into its own future based on that choice. With every decision you make, new alternative realities continue to branch off.

At least I think that’s the idea. I’m not a quantum physicist.

Anyhow, I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately. I don't remember the first time I heard about this theory - maybe in a reader's digest - but it's stuck with me throughout the years.

I don’t recognize the woman I am right now or the life I’m leading, and I sometimes wonder how I got here. Which of the thousands - maybe millions - of decisions did I make in the last ten years led me to this?

In Elementary School and High School, I was creative and vibrant. I had dreams and plans. I wrote love stories for fun and rode horses every chance I got. I was going to be a famous horseback rider and compete internationally.

I think the change started in High School.

I wanted to go to Virginia Intermont College and get my degree in Equine Studies (horses) and ride and compete professionally.

But my parents wouldn't pay for a "Mickey Mouse" degree. So, I went to the George Washington School of Business where my parents were alumni, and I could live at home while I studied.

It was the choice between saddling myself with six figures' worth of student loans, or none at all. A choice most would be incredibly grateful for. So, I caved and studied business.

Even in college, though, I balanced the friendships I made through riding and those I'd made through school. My equestrian friends and I partied wildly. Most people think horseback riders are snobby, but they're really not. They're chasing their dopamine, a good time, and the mindfulness that comes from danger. When you're asking thousand-pound athletes with a brain, the size of a walnut to jump large, solid jumps at thirty miles per hour, you have no choice but to be present.

We would drink pre-made mudslides from a bottle and drive down random back roads in rural Virginia. We would drink margaritas and go jogging on hiking trails in the woods. We would float down the river, sneak onto our friends' pastures at night, and try to mount the horses there bareback.

Our sides and our cheeks would ache from laughing and smiling all night. We would wake up at 7 in the morning to go back to school, our makeup smeared and with tequila leaking out of our pores.

My college friends, though, would party too, of course, but it was always at a frat or sorority house. There were rules- you had to wear white or a mask or daisy dukes and cowboy boots. There was alcohol of every kind next to a pill of every kind. All with the explicit purpose of hooking up with the most desired person there.

That was fifteen years ago.

Now, I’m an overweight mom of three. I live in yoga pants and a messy bun. In horse terms, we say, 'rode hard and put up wet.' Thisdescription evokes the image of a sweaty horse with ruffled, unkempt hair, neglected by its rider and left unwashed after a ride. But there’s a deeper message there for me about being used, pushed to the limit, and asked to give their all before being tossed aside.

I try to avoid going out in public, but when I do, I have to over-dress and overdo my hair and makeup. In our small little community, every stay-at-home mom knows each other, and the social hierarchy and rumor mill are more vicious than a frat house with an uneven women-to-men ratio.

And I think about the choices that got me here - choosing to go on a date with Alan at my parents' request. Choosing to marry him. Choosing to get pregnant. Three times. Choosing to sell my horse because I didn’t have the time, and riding isn’t safe for a mom. Choosing to quit my job because Alan made plenty, and I was so busy. Choosing to lose touch with my high school, college, and then riding friends. Choosing to drink a bottle of wine every night to numb the feelings…or lack of feelings. Choosing not to go to the doctor about my anxiety. Choosing not to go to the doctor about my depression. Choosing to prioritize habits and responsibilities over passion and creativity. Choosing to ignore my husband’s affair.

Was it one of these choices that led me here? Or all of them? Was I consciously making these choices, or was I letting other people make them for me? If I went back in time, would I choose differently? How did my life get so off track? How did I become someone I don’t recognize?

I remember when I was young – maybe nine or ten - I heard a story or read something somewhere, or maybe it’s just an urban legend told among women as a warning. The story was about amom. She was married with two or three kids, and she came home from doing the shopping, puts away the groceries, and did the dishes. She lays a tarp down on the kitchen floor before blowing her brains out. The punch line? “Every mom in the world knows why she did the dishes first.”

Something about that story, that punchline, always haunted me. Even now, I couldn’t say if the answer was because she didn’t want to burden her family with dirty dishes, or if she put her responsibilities even before her own escape. Both ideas send ice through my veins.

At some point, I wore the mask of “good mom” and “good wife” so convincingly that I even believed myself. But then I wore it for too long, I forgot who the real identity of the person under the mask is. I became the mask - plastic, and hollow.

And was the choice I was making now correcting course? Or burning everything I had? I love my kids, but how did they fit into all of this? Could I get back the old me and live a life of my own design AND keep my kids happy and healthy?

These are all things I asked myself as I got into the gangster's tinted black SUV.

Chapter one

Rio

An unexpected wrinkle in our plan.

Wrong place, wrong time.

A distraction.

All these thoughts cross my mind after I pull the trigger. I pulled the trigger, snuffing out another dangerous lowlife, when I heard a feminine gasp, only to look up and see the wide green eyes of a beautiful distraction slanted my way.

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