Page 61 of Letting Go

Hannah blushes, tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. “We just found out. It’s still early.”

And then it’s my turn to glow, just from being in the presence of these two wildly different, totally magnetic women. One bringing life into the world, onedefending it tooth and nail, both making me feel less alone in mine.

We’re a few drinks in, virgin for Hannah, of course, when I finally say it. The reason for the dinner, the wine, the soft lighting and the dogs curled like protective spells around our ankles.

“So…” I start, swirling the wine in my glass. “I have a dilemma.”

They both straighten. Instantly alert. The vibe shifts. Gone is the playful banter. We’re in it now. Real talk time.

We’re in the living room. On the same couch Mike and I had, how do I put this delicately? Defiled our wedding vows. There’s a wine stain on the throw pillow from the night we said “screw it” and drank champagne out of mugs after signing the papers. That pillow might as well be a ghost.

“I found out something about Mike,” I say. “Something he doesn’t know. But if he did, it would crush him.”

Lorna cocks her head. “And you’re not sure you want to make it public.”

I nod, a single, tight motion. My throat is suddenly sandpaper. I take a sip from my glass, but it doesn’t help.

Hannah leans in. “Last time we talked, you were gonna, and I quote, ‘bitch slap him with the divorce papers and burn his clothes to ash.’”

I huff a laugh. “Yeah, well. I was mad. I mean, come on, wouldn’t you be?”

Lorna doesn’t flinch. “Are you still mad?”

I stare into my glass, willing the wine to answer for me. “I am. But also, not? I don’t know. Mike and I, we had a good thing. For a long time. He was there for me when no one else was. But somewhere along the way, it just slipped. We grew into different people. People who weren’t right for each other anymore.”

I pause. Let the words settle. The truth is hard and sharp and cold on my tongue.

“Our relationship, it was over. One of us just had to say it. We could’ve ended as friends. As adults. But instead, he torched it. Burned our marriage to the ground. And took the one thing I could’ve salvaged with it.”

Hannah reaches out, touches my knee gently. “Your sister.”

I nod, and that ache, that traitorous, bone-deep ache, comes back in full force. My voice drops, barely above a whisper. “He didn’t just betray me. He took her from me too. And I don’t know if I can ever get that back.”

Hannah leans in and gives me a side hug, the kind that’s half comfort, half solidarity, all warmth. She squeezes my arm just hard enough to keep me from unravelling.

Then Lorna speaks. Her voice is steady, sure, the way it always was back in law school when she'd steamroll a professor’s hypothetical like it was a minor inconvenience on her way to glory. Except now, there’s something softer beneath it. Something I didn’t expect.

“What I do,” she begins, sitting forward with her elbows on her knees, “helping women through their divorces? It’s not about taking their husbands down. That’s the easy part.”

I blink at her. She’s looking right at me, no flinching, no smirking, just truth.

“It’s about uplifting them,” she continues. “Reminding them they’re not just someone’s wife, or someone’s mom. They matter. They belong. They’re allowed to take up space, and feel angry, and heartbroken, and powerful all at once.”

My throat tightens. I’m not sure I can handle this level of tenderness from her. From anyone.

“So, whatever this thing is,” she says gently, “this secret, this weapon you’re holding, if it’s going to make you feel like the bad guy in your own story, then don’t use it. Don’t give him that power. Be the adult now. Look his betrayal in the eye and say goodbye on your terms.”

I stare at her, the wine forgotten in my hand, the words wrapping around my chest like armour.

“Besides, you have Caden now,” Hannah says, giving my shoulder a little squeeze, her voice just this side of teasing.

I roll my eyes, but I don’t hate it. I don’t hate the way her words warm something inside me that’s been shivering for days. She says it like it’s obvious, like it’s a known fact in our universe that Caden equals hope. Or at least distraction. And honestly, she’s not wrong.

Lorna’s eyebrows shoot up. “Who’s Caden?”

She says it like she’s asking who the hell let a new player onto the field without notifying the team.

Hannah gasps, full mock outrage. “You don’t know who Caden is?” She puts so much emphasis on the name it’s like she’s narrating a reality show. “Oh my God, where have you been?”

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