When he asked to file for the children, said he wanted them to come live with us, I was caught between happy and something closer to confused shock. I said — how? How will their mother let them come to me when nothing has ever been put in perspective between us? He said, “So you don’t think this woman knows you’re my wife?” Laughed. Said I made too much of things, same as always.
I went speedy-Gonzalez mode on the paperwork anyway.
Somewhere in that stretch, another trip home, and I finally met her in person. She walked past me first, said hello to everyone else in the room, and left me for last. I felt how intentional it was. I said hello back anyway, embarrassed in front of everyone watching. Looking at her, she felt too grown for her age already — not in body, in something else. I wanted to hug her so badly. But I could see her gloating, quietly, at how she’d just treated me. And I remember thinking: this is the same person I’m filing paperwork for, right now, to bring into my home.
I prayed I was being too emotional. But it wasn’t emotion. It was instinct, striking gold before I was ready to hear it.
When she finally came, I welcomed her with arms wide open. Rolled out the red carpet, literally. And my instincts struck gold again — this time in how quickly the warmth I gave wasn’t returned the same way back. She showed me, clearly, that everything that glitters isn’t gold.
And still, I wanted her. I prayed she would soon want me too.