Hunter Hutcherson and I grew up together. We’ve known each other since we were kids.
The people I can truly say I’m close to now—after everyone else has come and gone—are just him, my older brother, and Tucker.
After I got married, I almost completely lost touch with my old group of girlfriends.
So at this moment, the only person I could call was Hunter.
He arrived quickly. When he saw I was hurt, he rushed me to see a doctor, had my wounds treated, then drove me all the way home.
Along the way, I talked in bits and pieces about getting a divorce, about going to Canada.
Hunter didn’t try to talk me out of it, and he didn’t comfort me either. He just said casually,
“That’s good. The divorce package your mom prepared for you should be ready soon, too.”
I froze for a second and turned to look at him.
That’s when he explained that my mom and his mom had been best friends for years.
Before my mom passed away, she’d specifically told them that if my marriage ever fell apart and I chose divorce, everything she left behind was to be given directly to me.
“She said,” Hunter spoke evenly, “she didn’t want you relying on anyone. She wanted you to be able to live well on your own.”