Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 77663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
AMANDA
The divorce took some time because Dan wanted to fight for us, or at least that’s what my lawyer said, but once I made it clear that there was no way in hell that was going to happen, I guess his lawyers talked some sense into him, and he signed the papers.
The house was sold for way more than we’d paid for it, thanks to the market, and as soon as the check cleared, I put in an order to work from home and was granted with the provision that I show my face at least once every quarter for meetings which was fine because I wasn’t planning on going too far, just far enough that no one knew me.
I’d found a cute little town about an hour away that was just far enough for me to be comfortable and still be able to see my family on the weekends. I hadn’t heard from Dan since our last phone call and went out of my way to avoid him and everyone he knew.
If he showed up at my job, they knew not to divulge any information. I went through the hassle of changing my name back and updating my credit report, as well as locking down anything that my ex might have access to.
I had a nice lump sum in my account along with my savings, so all I lost was my husband. I found an apartment in a nice building with a doorman for a little added security, and my Dad and brothers helped me move in the week after the divorce was final. All told, it took about three months for everything to be finalized. Much shorter than I expected. It only took three months to dismantle a lifetime together.
Then again, no, that only took the few minutes it took for him to cheat. Our marriage was dead the second that happened. I was just too stupid or too naïve to see it.
It’s been a year since I made the move, and nothing much has changed. I get up every morning as usual fire up my laptop, and get to work. I log out at a decent hour and walk around my apartment, moving things around.
I’d started eating again, but barely. Still toast and cereal and sometimes fruit when I remember to order some through Instacart. Isn’t life grand? I don’t ever have to leave my house again unless I want to.
It was the one-year anniversary of the divorce when things took a turn. That night, I ordered four bottles of wine, put three in the fridge and one on ice. Then I went to the second bedroom, which I had turned into my office, and grabbed the biggest legal notepad I could find and a whole box of pens. I still enjoy writing longhand for some reason since I do a lot of jotting down for my job.
About three glasses in, I started writing and didn’t stop until my fingers and wrist hurt. I looked bleary-eyed at the three empty bottles in front of me and wondered what the heck just happened. There was no time for that; I felt like listening to music; it had been a while.
Before I knew it, I had the radio on and was in the kitchen knee-deep in something I hadn’t done in a very long time: baking. Baking is my passion. If I hadn’t gone into finance, my dream was to open a bakery. I’ve never had formal training, but my paternal grandmother taught me everything there is to know about baking and cooking.
Every weekend we spent at her house, she’d have me in the kitchen with her, talking me through what she was doing. I was so good that by the age of twelve, I could bake anything without having to measure. I got into the habit of testing different flavors, especially with cookies. I make a key lime pie cookie that is to die for.
Anyway, by the time I was sixteen, I was the baker for every event in the family, whether it be a wedding, birthday, holiday, you name it; if there was cake involved, I was the go-to girl, and that went for my ex-in-laws as well. It got, so I had to come up with a chart to keep track.
Because there were so many people, a lot of the birthdays overlapped, and that’s how I started baking base cakes ahead of time and freezing them, then pulling them out around the time of the birthday to ice and decorate.
I learned the shelf life for the different batters, and so I was never too put out by being everybody’s baker. It’s because I’d become so good at it that I’d contemplated opening a bakery. But alas, real life needs money while dreams don’t, so financing it is.