Page 95 of If the Ring Fits

One morning, I catch sight of my reflection in the bathroom mirror, shadows smudging the puffed skin beneath my eyes, my hair limp and tangled. When was the last time I showered? I can’t remember. Does he no longer desire this unfamiliar body, so changed from the one he once couldn’t keep his hands off? The thought pierces me, sharp and insidious. I think of the confident businesswoman I had become just before giving birth. That version of myself seems like a distant memory, buried underneath layers of doubt that whisper that I’m failing at everything—as a mother, a wife, a professional.

Sinking onto the cold tile floor, I draw my knees to my chest, hot tears streaming down my cheeks as an overwhelming sense of inadequacy crashes over me. I’m drowning in it, flailing for a foothold, for a glimmer of the woman I thought I could become. But she’s lost, subsumed by this new identity I wear like an ill-fitting coat, the weight of it threatening to suffocate me. So I retreat inward, withdrawing even from the person I want the most, fencing in the fragile remnants of my heart behind my solitude as I navigate this unfamiliar terrain alone.

More days blur together in an endless cycle around the baby’s schedule. I go through the motions mechanically, my world narrowed to the confines of our home and childcare. Life beyond these walls feels distant, almost unreal. I’m lost in a haze of exhaustion and isolation.

One morning, a ping from my phone jolts me out of my daze. It’s my business partner, checking in on the status of the project. Guilt twists in my gut as it occurs to me that I haven’t made any progress in weeks. Thank goodness I signed that contract before giving birth, buying myself a bit of grace, butthey won’t wait forever. Either I start delivering or it’ll all fall through.

Noticing my struggle, Adrian suggests hiring a nanny. I refuse the offer as strongly as I secretly want to accept it, feeling like a failure for even considering time away from Soleil, even just a few hours each day. The guilt of wanting that space from my daughter is overwhelming, and I punish myself for it, refusing any help. I only tolerate the cleaning ladies because they were here before we arrived. And honestly, if it weren’t for them, we’d be living in a junkyard.

I try to rally, to summon the energy to tackle my overflowing inbox. But every time I sit down at my desk, Soleil’s cries pull me away. The constant interruptions shatter my focus, leaving me feeling scattered and ineffective. Each abandoned task feels like another mark of defeat, another shortcoming to add to the growing list.

Adrian has no idea how deep I’m spiraling. I haven’t told him I signed a deal. I accepted the offer just before going into labor and in the first few weeks, it slipped my mind. Now, I’m unsure why I never mentioned it to him. Or why I don’t seem interested in the project that consumed my life in the months leading to the birth.

In the rare moments when Soleil sleeps peacefully, I stare blankly at the walls, scrolling mindlessly through social media, desperate for a connection to the outside world. But the happy family photos and career achievements of my peers only amplify my sense of failure.

As the days stretch on, the doubts grow louder, more insistent. Am I cut out for this? What if I’m failing my daughter, depriving her of the mother she deserves?

The pressure to be perfect—the ideal mom, the supportive wife, the successful entrepreneur—feels like a weight on mychest, crushing me. I should cherish this time, not be drowning in anxiety and self-doubt.

But the joyful, competent mother I imagined myself being seems like a distant mirage, slipping further out of my reach with each passing day. In her place is a stranger—overwhelmed, uncertain, and utterly lost.

There are a few bright moments that pierce through the darkness. Like one night, I wake with a start, disoriented, to find Adrian cradling Soleil in his arms. He’s perched on the edge of our bed, our daughter snuggled up to his chest as he feeds her a bottle.

His low, soothing voice wraps around us in the moonlight as he sings “You Are My Sunshine”to her.

I lie still, not wanting to disturb the tender moment. Adrian’s eyes are fixed on Soleil’s face, his expression soft with adoration. At times like this, the weight of the world seems to lift from my shoulders.

As the final notes of the song fade away, Adrian presses a loving kiss to Soleil’s forehead. “You are my sunshine, little darling,” he whispers, “you and your mom.”

Tears well in my eyes, but for once, they’re not born of despair. My heart swells with love for this man and I think maybe there’s still a future for us.

That hope is crushed two days later when a delivery man shows up at my door, shattering the routine of another dull morning. The doorbell startles me from a sleep haze. I’m not expecting anyone. Soleil is finally napping, and I meant to get some work done but fell asleep instead.

I open the door to find a man in a generic pizza delivery uniform. The vision confuses me. I thought it was still early. Who ordered a pizza in the morning? Is it morning or have I lost track of time again?

“Rowena Taylor?”

“Yes?”

“You’ve been served.” The man thrusts a large envelope toward me.

Confused, I take it. “There’s been a mistake. We didn’t order any pizza?—”

But the delivery guy is already walking away, disappearing into the elevator. With a sinking feeling in my gut, I tear open the envelope.

The words “Petition for Divorce” stare back at me, cold and unforgiving. There’s an official summon a week from now for Adrian and me to finalize the end of our marriage according to what was pre-arranged in our prenup. The papers slip from my numb fingers, fluttering to the floor.

I pack my and Soleil’s stuff in a blur, only the essentials, only what I can carry with me. I consider reaching out to my friends but feel too ashamed to do so. Instead, I use the money from the advance on my toy deal to check me and my daughter into an aparthotel. I go in a taxi, not wanting Sam to know where we are.

Adrian calls me that night. I pick up in a haze of fury, yelling at him that I can’t wait to be divorced and move to California and never have to deal with him again. I tell him we’ll meet at the lawyer’s office to sign the divorce papers next week. I hang up before he can put two words in.

I’m spiraling. My phone rings a second time. I expect it to be Adrian again, but it’s Nina instead. She and Hunter insist on coming over. Adrian must’ve called them. I try to refuse, but then cave in at their insistence. I don’t have the force to argue. When they arrive, I must be in an awful state because they don’t ask anything, they just offer to take care of Soleil while I shower and rest.

I accept, only to be alone in the bathroom and not have to deal with anyone. After that first day, they come over every night to help with the baby. But whenever they attempt to ask about me, about what’s going on with Adrian, I shut it down, claiming I’m tired, that I need to rest or shower or whatever will keep them off my back.

The days blur into a haze of silence and loneliness. Even when Nina and Hunter are here, I feel isolated, like I’m drifting somewhere far away. I plaster on a smile when they’re around, doing my best to seem present, but inside, I’m unraveling. I’m grateful for their help with Soleil, but each time they leave, I’m left alone with the thoughts I’ve been avoiding. Thoughts of Adrian. Thoughts of the future.

My phone buzzes again—a missed call from him. The third one today. He’s relentless. Each time my phone rings, my heart jumps in my chest, torn between the desire to hear his voice and the knowledge that I can’t afford to fall apart. Not yet. I can’t trust myself to talk to him now, not when I’m this fragile. If I hear his voice, I might shatter. And I can’t afford to splinter apart. Not when I have Soleil to think about. I need to be strong for her, to get through this week with my head on straight. If I crumble now, I’ll never make it to that lawyer’s office.

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