Chapter 5: Standing Tall at the Party

I came back just in time for my dad’s birthday. This time, they planned to hold it at a hotel and invited relatives and friends.

The invitation was tucked into my mailbox, all gold script and optimism. I bought a new dress—something cheerful and bright—and called my parents to confirm the time.

The hotel was close to home—five tables in total, all familiar faces. Many people asked about Derek. Fortunately, my son had an extracurricular class today and didn’t come.

The banquet room smelled of roast beef and buttered rolls. Relatives hovered near the buffet, making small talk. When they asked about Derek, I smiled politely, sidestepping their questions. I was grateful Tyler was busy; I wasn’t ready to explain it all to him, not here.

My parents didn’t answer directly. Before dinner, my dad gave a speech on stage. At that moment, Derek arrived. He was in a suit, carrying several gift bags and a large card.

He looked out of place, like a guest at his own life. The room grew quiet as he approached, the clink of glasses fading to a hush.

Relatives and friends all greeted him. He waited for my dad to step down and handed over the card. "Dad, happy birthday."

His voice was soft, almost shy. I wondered if anyone else noticed how his hands shook just a little.

My dad glanced at it lightly. "Mr. Sanders, that’s too kind. You can keep the card. After all, you and Rachel are already divorced—I can’t let you spend money."

The words fell heavy in the room, a line drawn in the sand. I saw Derek’s face blanch, pride crumbling in front of everyone.

Derek’s face stiffened instantly. The relatives were shocked, but quickly fell silent.

Aunt June set down her fork, eyes wide. Someone coughed awkwardly, and the conversation shifted back to the weather.

He spoke softly. "It’s in the agreement..."

He looked at the floor, voice barely above a whisper. I felt the old urge to step in, to smooth things over, but I stayed still.

My dad shook his head. "It’s all the same. Same meaning."

He folded his hands, smile kind but unyielding. I felt a rush of gratitude for his quiet strength.

Then he turned to invite everyone to eat and drink.

The tension broke like a snapped twig. Someone raised a toast, and plates clattered as people dug in. I caught my mom’s eye and she gave me a small, reassuring nod.

Derek just stood there, gripping the gift bag tightly. My mom politely returned the other gifts.

She placed them back in his hands, her smile as soft as a Sunday sunrise but unmovable. Derek hesitated, then finally turned and left.

He didn’t stay and left.

I watched the back of his head as he walked out, the door swinging closed behind him. The party slowly returned to life, as if an unwanted shadow had finally passed.

After he left, relatives and friends tacitly avoided mentioning Derek again. No one would ask me about him in the future.

It was as if Derek had never existed—his name erased in a single evening. The relief in the room was palpable, like everyone had been holding their breath for too long.

That was good.

I let out a sigh I didn’t know I’d been holding. It felt like turning a page, the start of a new chapter.

My mood gradually recovered and settled. I let go of the title of Mrs. Sanders. I became Rachel again.

The name felt right—familiar, but fresh. I started introducing myself at the coffee shop as Rachel, not Mrs. Sanders, and the words felt good in my mouth.

Even the property manager and cleaning staff at the company—whoever told them, I don’t know—stopped calling me Mrs. Sanders and switched to "Ms. Rachel."

One morning, the mail carrier called out “Ms. Rachel, package for you!” and I realized I’d begun to breathe easier. The past was starting to let go.

I wanted to keep myself busy, so I planned to open a coffee shop. There happened to be a store up for lease. I was satisfied with the location and decor, so I signed the contract immediately.

The place was cozy, nestled on the corner of Main and Willow. Sunlight pooled on the wood floors in the mornings. The lease signing felt like a fresh start—a new story waiting to be written.

The staff were all in place and could continue working, but I wanted to spend time adjusting the menu and flavors. I also changed the sign and the tables and chairs. We reopened for a trial run.

I spent late nights tasting espresso shots and flipping through Pinterest for décor ideas. The old sign came down, replaced by my own hand-painted logo. Neighbors wandered in, curious, and I let their laughter fill the space.

I spent all day busy in the shop, then planned to go home. In the car, I looked at the calendar.

Divorce countdown: 15 days.