Finding Harmony

Chapter 1: Chloe

2 years later...

"Guys, come on! Your dad will be here any minute!" I yell up the stairs.

Most days since the divorce, I feel like a ringmaster in a circus, juggling the needs of my three boys and my busy life. Trying to get them out the door for school, so I can get ready to start my first job of the day. Today is no different.

"Jackson, have you seen Riley's backpack?" I call out. I'm acutely aware of the time; I know the school run depends on me getting the boys ready and out the door on time.

"I think it's in the kitchen, Mom!" calls Jackson, my responsible, now 13-year-old, who has become my right-hand man, often helping to round up his younger brothers. "Liam, Riley, get down here! We're going to be late!" he yells, his voice carrying a hint of exasperation as he tries to round up his younger brothers.

I make my way to the kitchen finding Riley's backpack next to one of the kitchen table chairs and open it, slipping in his permission slip for a field trip he's going on next week.

When I hear the familiar sound of truck tires pulling into the gravel driveway, I grab the backpack and head back to the living room, finally hearing the sounds of Riley and Liam's footsteps on the stairs.

"It's about time," I say as I wait for Riley to put on his shoes so I can hand him his backpack. "Did you guys brush your teeth while you were up there?" I ask, earning me a sassy "Yeah, Mom" from Riley and a sheepish look from Liam. "Get your butt back up there, Liam, and brush your teeth." I can always tell when they are lying or about to fib.

Jackson reaches to open the front door before his dad even has a chance to knock. Mark has a confident, almost cocky, stride as he enters, immediately filling the small hallway with his presence; a stark contrast to my frazzled state.

"Hey, guys. Ready to go?" I take a deep breath, steeling myself. Seeing Mark always brought a mix of emotions- resentment for everything that went down with our marriage, sadness for our broken family, and a twinge of something else I try not to acknowledge.

"They're just about ready, Liam is upstairs brushing his teeth," I reply, smoothing my hair self-consciously, as the thundering sound of Liam's footsteps can be heard coming down the stairs.

"All right, boys, let's go. Get in the truck," Mark says, clapping his hands together as if he's the one who's been waiting. I bite my tongue to keep from making a snide remark. It's a fine tightrope I walk, co-parenting with my ex, but it's important to me that the boys have a relationship with their dad.

I watch as they grab their backpacks and lunchboxes, waiting to give them all a hug and kiss before they leave. As the boys make their way to Mark's truck, I take a moment to straighten up the entryway, it looks like a tornado blew through it after the boys got done with it.

"Chlo," I hear Mark say as I bent down to pick up a rogue sock. I turn to see him standing in the doorway, an envelope in his hand. "I wanted to give this to you. I didn't want to send it through the mail." I take the envelope, a sense of unease washing over me.

"What is it?" I ask, already knowing what it's about. Mark has moved on. It's been two years since our divorce, and he's already in a serious relationship.

"It's an invitation to the wedding," he replies his eyes holding a mixture of emotions. I feel a pang of something-jealousy, perhaps? No, I tell myself, it's not jealousy. It's resentment. Resentment that he seems to have left the pain of our broken family behind so easily while I'm still picking up the pieces.

"Sarah and I would like you to come to the wedding." My heart sinks a little as I take the envelope, feeling the weight of his request. "I know it's short notice, but we'd love to have you there." I force a smile, not wanting to show the turmoil of emotions I feel at the thought of attending his wedding and I highly doubt my ex's fiancé wants his ex-wife attending their wedding. They were probably just extending an invitation to be nice since our sons will be there.

"I'll let you know," I manage to say, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside me. I'm the one who ended things. I shouldn't have a right to be upset about all this, but I do. I can't help but feel this hollow ache, this furious resentment, every time I see his picture with her. He’s moved on so quickly; it’s a brutal, efficient kind of happiness that feels like a personal insult.

The truth is, a part of me, a selfish, desperate part, still craves his comfort, his touch, the easy intimacy we shared. I pushed him away, yes, but it was a push born from fear, from a crippling insecurity I’d rather not acknowledge. And now, seeing him so effortlessly happy, it feels like a confirmation of everything I feared: that I wasn’t good enough, that I was replaceable.

"Okay," he says tapping the door frame with his knuckles before turning and heading toward his truck where our boys are already buckled in ready to go. I wave goodbye to the boys before turning back inside, that familiar sense of unease settling in my stomach as I remember the envelope in my hand. I thought I was doing well, juggling the boys, working two jobs, and everything else, but Mark seems to have it all figured out, and I'm still here, alone.

I take a deep breath, shaking the thoughts from my head. I toss the envelope onto the table beside the door. I'll deal with that later. Realizing I'm still holding the sock in my hand, I bend down to pick up the rest of the stray items strewn across the floor before heading upstairs to get myself ready for the day.