She left.
I sat on the kitchen floor until sunrise.
The divorce took almost a year.
Laura had Brent’s lawyers.
I had an inexpensive attorney who occasionally forgot my sons’ names.
Laura got primary custody.
I got every other weekend and Wednesday dinners.
Then I lost my job.
Brent’s father owned the dealership.
Six weeks after Laura moved into the lake house, my manager called me into the office and announced a “restructuring.”
They suddenly didn’t need me anymore.
Eleven years of work.
Never late.
No complaints.
Gone.
I knew why.
I ended up in a tiny apartment above a pizza place thinking about what Laura had said.
Maybe she was right.
Maybe I really was going nowhere.
Then I thought about Rick and Noah.
And I decided they would never watch me prove her right.
