Chapter 3: Family Truths and Fresh Starts

I hesitated about whether to tell my parents about the divorce now. I grew up in Maple Heights; all my relatives and friends are here. My parents are retired teachers, and I’m their only daughter. They’re very open-minded, but my father’s health hasn’t been good these past two years. I originally wanted to wait a bit longer.

I sat at the kitchen table, staring at my phone. Maple Heights is the kind of place where everyone knows everyone’s business before you do. I imagined the conversations at the corner diner, the way old friends would lower their voices when I walked in.

Two days later, Derek called me. He rarely called—usually he texted on Messenger, since I always replied quickly, which he found convenient. Last night, I’d already blocked him.

I watched his name flash on my screen, thumb hovering over the green button. My heart pounded, but I picked up anyway, more curious than afraid.

I answered the call. Derek’s tone was normal.

"Rachel, your mom just called me. She said she cooked a lot tonight and wants us to come over for dinner. I think your dad’s not well, so about the divorce... let’s wait until he recovers to tell him. What time should we go? Also, next Sunday is your dad’s birthday. Should I still go with you?"

He sounded casual, as if nothing between us had changed. I wondered if he practiced these lines in his head, or if he really believed he could slip back into my parents’ good graces that easily.

I’d been hesitating, but after hearing Derek, I decided to tell my parents.

My hand didn’t shake this time. I stared out the window at the neighbor’s mailbox, red flag raised, and decided enough was enough.

I replied, "No need."

Short, simple. I watched a pair of robins hop across the lawn, feeling the weight lift just a little.

Derek said, "You don’t have to be so strong. Your parents’ health is important."

He sounded almost caring, but it rang hollow. Like a stranger reading from a script he didn’t believe.

I answered calmly, "If you really cared, you wouldn’t have cheated and chosen to divorce now. My dad isn’t well, but he’s clear-minded. I don’t think he’d want me to stay in an unfaithful marriage. Derek."

I let his name hang there—sharp, final. For once, I felt like the adult in the room.

"Hm?"

His tone was softer now, maybe even pleading. I didn’t give in.

"Don’t call again. If you want to see Tyler, follow the agreement: once a week."

I gripped the phone tighter, picturing his face when he realized I was serious. I almost smiled.

At that, Derek dropped his negotiating tone.

His words came out rough, desperate. I could almost hear him pacing, running a hand through his hair.

"Rachel, I’ll say it again, Tyler is my son too, my family..."

His voice cracked. I closed my eyes, imagining all the family dinners, the school recitals—gone, just like that.

"But you gave up the family that belonged to him, didn’t you?"

I whispered it, but I knew he heard every word. There was nothing left to say.

In the end, I heard Derek slam the phone down. I decisively hung up and gathered my scattered emotions.

I let the silence fill the room for a moment, then squared my shoulders. There were things to do, a new life to build.

I drove straight to the mall, planning to replace all the bedding, sofa, and every piece of furniture Derek liked at home. And everything had to be in stock.

I marched through the store, crossing off items on my phone’s checklist. The saleswoman didn’t ask questions, just rang me up with a polite smile. I picked bold colors and soft textures—nothing Derek would have chosen. It felt like breathing new air.

After replacing everything, I cleaned the house, then went to my mom’s. She saw me, didn’t see Derek, and assumed he was busy.

The scent of cinnamon rolls drifted from the kitchen. My mom was reading on the porch, glasses perched on her nose. She looked up when she heard my footsteps, her eyes narrowing in concern.

I was silent, a little nervous as I called out, "Mom."

My voice trembled. For a second, I was twelve years old again, standing outside her bedroom door after a nightmare.

She immediately sensed something was wrong, put down her book, looked at me, and gently pulled me into her arms.

She held me close, her sweater soft against my cheek. I felt her hand stroke my hair, just like when I was little and scared of thunderstorms.

I didn’t say anything, but as a mother, she felt my sorrow and grievances.

She didn’t press me. She just held on tighter, letting me cry in the quiet way only mothers know how.

I tried to be calm as I told her everything. My mom handed me tissues to wipe my tears.

I stumbled through the story, voice thick with tears, and she just listened, nodding, her eyes never leaving mine. She pushed the Kleenex box closer, waiting until I was ready to go on.

Her voice was gentle:

"It’s okay. Divorce is common now. If he couldn’t behave and did this, it’s better to know early. Just divorce."

She spoke with the calm wisdom of a woman who’s seen too much and survived anyway. Her words soothed the raw edges inside me.

"Rachel, Mom only has one request."

She took my hand in both of hers, eyes shining behind her glasses. I felt the strength in her grip, steady and sure.

After saying that, her eyes were a little wet, and she held my hand tightly.

She looked at me the way she did when I left for college: proud, scared, determined not to let go.

"Since you’ve decided to divorce, no matter what, never get back together."

Her words were soft, but I heard the steel beneath them. She wanted me to be safe, to move forward, not to look back.

I nodded, crying. "Okay."

I buried my face in her shoulder, letting the tears come. I knew she was right. I knew I could do this.

After dinner, my mom and dad talked for a long time in their room. When they came out, my dad gave me a big birthday card with a Target gift card inside.

He hugged me, his arms awkward but warm, and slipped the envelope into my hand. “You’re starting over, honey. Get yourself something nice.”

He said today is a new beginning and worth celebrating.

He even tried to joke, “Nothing like retail therapy to mend a broken heart.” I managed a smile, the kind that almost reached my eyes.

"I hope my precious daughter will always be happy."

His voice was thick, and I saw the tears he tried to hide. For the first time, I realized how much they’d worried about me all along.

After leaving my parents’ house, I cried in the car for a long, long time.

I turned up the radio, letting Springsteen drown out my sobs. The world outside blurred behind the windshield. When I finally pulled out of the driveway, I felt lighter, the weight of secrets gone.

Before coming, I’d always been afraid of letting them down. They hardly ever quarreled—always harmonious. When I married Derek, everyone was against it, but they respected my decision. Now that Derek is successful, everyone envies them for their good judgment, but they still calmly support my divorce.

I watched the porch light fade in my rearview mirror, promising myself I wouldn’t hide anymore. My parents’ love was steady, like the North Star—guiding me even when I couldn’t see the way forward.

I wiped away my tears and looked at the calendar.

Divorce countdown: 28 days.

I circled the date in red. This time, I didn’t flinch.