“Make sure she signs it for him early tomorrow, Cassandra, and while you are at it, you should thank him for still wanting to marry you with two kids.” Those words were not said to my face, but I overheard them during a phone call that simply did not cut off.
On the night before my wedding, my living room looked like a frantic craft store filled with white tulle and keepsake boxes. I had spent hours assembling details for the Sunday event until my fingers were sore from the glue and my back ached with exhaustion.
It was nearly nine o’clock on Friday night when my eight year old son, Toby, appeared in the hallway clutching his stuffed dinosaur. This was the very toy Jasper had claimed was far too childish for us to take to our new house.
“Mom, is Jasper coming back tonight?” he asked me in a very quiet and hesitant voice. I forced a smile and told him that Jasper was staying at his mother’s house because of a wedding tradition.
I saw him relax so significantly at that news that I should have realized something was wrong right then. Instead, I kept telling myself that children just need time to adjust and that a single mother cannot be too picky when she finds a stable man.