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downward, and within a few months, Jack asked for a divorce. He was in love
     with Linda, he said. He hadn’t meant for it to happen, and he hoped she would understand. She didn’t and said so, but when
     she was forty-two, Jack moved out.
    Now, over three years later, Jack had moved on, but Adrienne found it impossible to do. Though they had joint custody, it
     was joint in name only. Jack lived in Greensboro, and the three-hour drive was just long enough to keep the kids with her
     most of the time. Mostly she was thankful for that, but the pressures of raising them on her own tested her limits daily.
     At night, she often collapsed in bed but found it impossible to sleep because she couldn’t stop the questions that rolled
     through her mind. And though she never told anyone, she sometimes imagined what she would say if Jack showed up at the door
     and asked her to take him back, knowing that deep down, she would probably say yes.
    She hated herself for that, but what could she do?
    She didn’t want this life; she’d neither asked for it nor expected it. Nor, she thought, did she deserve it. She’d played
     by the book, she’d followed the rules. For eighteen years, she’d been faithful. She’d overlooked those times when he drank
     too much, she brought him coffee when he had to work late, and she never said a word when he went golfing on the weekends
     instead of spending time with the kids.
    Was it just the sex he was after? Sure, Linda was both younger and prettier, but was it really that important to him that
     he’d throw away everything else in his life? Didn’t the kids mean anything? Didn’t she? Didn’t the eighteen years together?
     And anyway, it wasn’t as if she’d lost interest—in the last couple of years whenever they’d made love, she’d been the one
     to initiate it. If the urge was so strong, why hadn’t he done something about it?
    Or was it, she wondered, that he found her boring? Granted, because they’d been married so long, there weren’t a lot of new
     stories to tell. Over the years, most had been recycled in slightly different versions, and both had reached the point where
     they knew the endings in advance, after only a few words. Instead, they did what she thought most couples did: She’d ask how
     work had gone, he’d ask about the kids, and they’d talk about the latest antics of one family member or another or what was
     happening around town. There were times that even she wished there were something more interesting to talk about, but didn’t
     he understand that in a few years the same thing was going to happen with Linda?
    It wasn’t fair. Even her friends had said as much, and she assumed that meant they were on her side. And maybe they were,
     but they had a funny way of showing it, she thought. A month ago, she’d gone to a Christmas party hosted by a couple she’d
     known for years, and who should happen to be there but Jack and Linda. It was life in a small southern town—people forgave
     things like that—but Adrienne couldn’t help but feel betrayed.
    Beyond the hurt and betrayal, she was lonely. She hadn’t been on a date since the day Jack had moved out. Rocky Mount wasn’t
     exactly a hotbed of unmarried men in their forties, and those who were single weren’t necessarily the kind of man she wanted
     anyway. Most of them had baggage, and she didn’t think she could tote around any more than she was already carrying. In the
     beginning, she told herself to be selective, and when she thought she was ready to enter the world of dating again, she mentally
     outlined a set of traits she was looking for. She wanted someone intelligent and kind and attractive, but more than that,
     she wanted someone who accepted the fact that she was raising three teenagers. It might be a problem, she suspected, but since
     her kids were pretty self-sufficient, she didn’t think it was the type of hurdle that would discourage most men.
    Boy, was she ever wrong.
    In