“They told me horrible things about you. That you’re terrible at cooking, that you don’t take good care of others… that you do the housework. They said you were addicted to shopping and that you sleepwalked. They even said you brought seven men home this week alone,” explained José.
Tears streamed down my face. “None of this is true, José.”
“I know. But they’re doing this because they want you and Roger to get back together. You should talk to them,” he advised gently.
That evening, I rushed home, my heart heavy with sorrow. Veronica and Casey were playing in the living room, unaware of the storm raging inside me.
“Girls, we need to talk. Now,” I said firmly, gathering them together. They exchanged nervous glances but said nothing.
“I know what you did. You lied to my boyfriends to scare them away. Why?” I asked, my voice breaking.
At first, they denied it. But when I threatened to cut off their allowance and take away their pocket money, they finally confessed.
“Mom, we just want you and Dad to get back together. We need both our parents. We want our old life back,” said Veronica, tears streaming down her face.
I felt like my heart was breaking into a thousand pieces. “But why didn’t you tell me before?” I asked, my throat tight with tears.
“We were afraid you’d be angry,” Casey murmured.
I took a deep breath and hugged them. “I understand, but you can’t do this. It’s not fair to me or to these men. We need to have a real conversation about this.”
We sat together talking late into the night. I explained to them that even though I understood their feelings, I also needed to move on and find happiness.
“But Mom, is it really too late to get back together with Dad?” Veronica asked in a soft, hopeful voice.
I sighed, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “I don’t know, darling. But what I do know is that we need to support each other and be honest. No more lies, okay?”
They agreed, and I tried to lighten the mood. “And just so you know, I’ll remember this when it’s your turn to bring a boy home.”
The girls laughed, but deep down, a question haunted me: was it really too late to put aside these differences and reconnect with Roger for the sake of our children?
The next day, I couldn’t concentrate at work. I kept replaying my conversation with my daughters in my mind. Was it really possible to rekindle things with Roger? I decided to call him.
“Hey, Roger. Got a minute?” I asked nervously when he answered.
“Of course, Melinda. What’s new?” He looked curious, but not mean.
“I think we need to talk. In person. It’s about the girls,” I said, my voice slightly trembling.
“Okay. How about we go to the cafe we used to go to tonight?” he suggested.
“That works for me. At seven o’clock,” I agreed, feeling a knot of anxiety forming in my stomach.
At precisely seven o’clock, I entered the bustling cafe and spotted Roger at a table in the corner. He looked up and gave me a small smile.
“Hi Melinda,” he greeted me as I sat down.
“Hi Roger. Thanks for having me,” I said, nervously playing with my coffee cup.
“So, what are you thinking about?” he asked, leaning forward.
“The girls. They… sabotaged my relationships because they still hope we’ll get back together,” I blurted out.
Roger seemed shocked. “What? Why didn’t they say anything?”
The rest can be found on the next page.
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