it had been since he dismissed my pregnancy as a desperate attempt to keep him from leaving.
Eight years since he filed for divorce, arranged an overseas military assignment, changed his telephone number, and disappeared without ever attending a single prenatal appointment.
Now, apparently, he wanted me at Christmas dinner.
His message contained neither regret nor an explanation.
Just a brief instruction, written with the same commanding arrogance I remembered.
*Mother would like to see you one final time. Christmas Day. Reynolds family estate, Fort Carson. Make sure you’re there.*
I leaned back in my chair, reading the message twice.
Then I smiled.
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Daniel still imagined me as the frightened twenty-six-year-old woman he had abandoned outside the military courthouse.
He probably believed I had spent the past eight years struggling alone, regretting our divorce, and wishing he would return.
He had no idea what my life had become.
