Introduction
A Paranormal Women's Fiction novel for anyone who thought adventure and magic stopped at forty. Guess again, it’s just the beginning.
I never expected I’d be one of those people who had a midlife crisis. Sure, I’m over forty, and married, but my kids are grown and moved out. Life is steady, if predictably boring.
That all changes when my husband asks for a divorce and my whole world crashes. Everything I thought I knew, everything I am, gone in an instant.
But I am not about to give up. After all, at my age, technically, I’m only halfway there.
I am ready to tackle my do-over; my chance to become the me I’ve always dreamed of. Starting with moving into my late grandma’s cottage and adopting a new kitten.
However, my new life is a little odder than expected. Old books suddenly appearing in my house. Neighbors going missing. A supposed lake monster, and a strange man who likes to skulk around with an axe.
I’m going to need to lean on my friends, new and old, to help me navigate my midlife crisis. Together maybe we will find a way to beat the family curse ruining my second chance at life.
#PWF
For more info and a full listing of books see, EveLanglais.com
1
“I don’t want to be with you anymore.”
The declaration hit me, a hammered fist to the heart. I stopped breathing as I stared at my husband of more than twenty years. Married straight out of college, we were supposed to grow old together.
“I don’t understand.”
I really didn’t. Where had this come from? I’d been the best of wives. Having seen my parents going at it from a young age, I’d decided early on in my relationship that I would be the peacemaker, meaning I tended to agree with anything Martin said—even if I didn’t agree. It wasn’t worth the fight, especially since he didn’t like to lose.
“What’s not to understand, Naomi? It’s quite simple. I want a divorce. You know, that thing you file for when a person doesn’t want to be in a marriage anymore.” He spoke tersely. Not for the first time.
Usually, I let it slide right over me. A long time ago I’d made sure his insults couldn’t touch anywhere important. It wasn’t working this time. He’d said the one word I couldn’t ignore.
“Did you say a divorce?”
When had he decided this? Because I’d had no inkling when I woke up that morning—at the same time as him because he didn’t like it if I slept longer than he did. As per our routine, he said not a word as he rolled out of bed and went to the bathroom. While he did his business, I slipped on some slippers and headed downstairs to make his coffee with freshly ground beans. Once it started percolating, I tackled the toast. Not too dark, slightly buttered with the real stuff, not margarine—which he held in low regard. By the time he came downstairs, his routine precise down to almost the minute, I’d plated it along with his sausage and sunny side up eggs. Martin was particular about his meals, and I’d had more than two decades to perfect them.
I stared at this man who let me make him a freaking breakfast, knowing he was going to tell me he wanted out of our marriage. A spark of anger lit inside, but I ignored it.
For now.
“Yes, I said a divorce.” His voice held a hint of impatience. “You can’t tell me you didn’t see this coming.”
Actually, I hadn’t. Martin was always unhappy. About everything. It might have gotten worse in the last few years, but I’d attributed it to him turning fifty. He had a few years on me, which might seem odd since we met in college, but he didn’t go to school right after he graduated.
“I never thought about us ever separating.” A lie, actually. I had, more than once, imagined a life without his miserable comments and attitude. On many occasions, I’d cursed his existence in my head. I’d wondered what it would be like if he didn’t come home from work one day. He wasn’t in the best shape. Men his age died of heart attacks all the time.
The moment the thought even crossed my mind, I’d feel guilty. How dare I wish for his death! So what if he didn’t make me happy like the heroes in my romance books? This was my marriage, my reality, and unlike so many other couples, I would make our relationship work. ‘Til death do us part.
I kept my gaze from straying to the wooden block of knives.
“Well, I have thought of leaving for a while now,” Martin declared, and I was offended.
What did he have to complain about? The spark of annoyance flared brighter. “I’ve always done everything you asked of me.” Ironed his clothes. Made his meals. Cleaned his house. Had sex once a week. Blew him if I was on my period. I took care of everything but wiping his ass and doing his job as a real estate agent.
For a moment the words of my best friend, whom I’d not talked to in over ten years, played inside my head, ”You’re a doormat. A slap in the face to feminists everywhere.”
My cruel reply at the time? ”You’re just jealous I’m married and got out of small-town hell and you didn’t.” A horrible thing to say, and I’d burned with shame after. I couldn’t have said why I didn’t apologize.
Most likely because she’d told the truth and I didn’t want to admit I was wrong. How long since I’d last spoken to Tricia? Too long. Because of the man currently expounding on the reasons why he didn’t want me.
“Even you can’t be so stupid as to realize we have nothing in common.”
I simmered, and words I rarely dared speak aloud spilled forth. “And whose fault is that?” I’d tried everything they told me to do in the books, setting up date nights with dinner followed by an activity. Except it didn’t quite work as planned.
Bowling was a failure. Martin refused to wear the shoes that other people had worn. Just like he’d outright said no to painting because it was dumb, pottery was messy, escape rooms were juvenile. He had a reason to hate everything, meaning date night most often failed, if he even bothered to come home. Since his promotion a few years ago, he’d been working longer hours. When I dared to say something, he pointed out he was the breadwinner in the family.
Not entirely true. I had a part-time job that brought in some extra money, but mine didn’t pay the larger bills, and I hadn’t always worked.
Martin put in the long hours so I could stay home with our children. I appreciated it when the kids were growing up. Felt the guilt that because he worked so hard, he missed the pivotal moments in their lives. But because of his sacrifice, I’d been there for them with every milestone and every hurt. The one thing I could never fix was their obvious pain at their father’s indifference.
When they were young, Daddy came home, ate dinner, and sat in his chair. It didn’t change much as they got older, except the yelling got louder and more frequent.
I consoled myself with the reminder that at least they had two parents living together and a home. According to many books, I did the right thing.
Yet the moment Geoffrey and Wendy graduated high school, they moved out. Not just out of the house but out of the state. Some days I lied to myself and blamed it on the fact they wanted to go to college somewhere cooler than a small town in Vermont. The truth was they left because they couldn’t stand being part of our family.