And right then, when I was about to walk away, she wanted me to bring it.

She wanted me to look like a bitch in front of my children. She wanted them to think I was a whackjob.

And I’d let her.

But right then, I had fabulous skinny jeans, fantastic hair and shoes any woman would kill for, but they were on my feet and I did not care what it said about me that I didn’t look at this as armor. I didn’t look at it as a shield. I didn’t look at it as crutch.

I let it feed me.

“If you don’t mind,” I said calmly and quietly. “I’d rather not do this.” I held her gaze and finished, “Ever.”

“Like I’m gonna believe that,” she sniped at me. “Like you haven’t given us a break from your venom to lull us into thinking you’ve changed and then you strike.”

“As I said,” I replied firmly, “have a nice day, Martine.”

I turned my eyes to my daughter, who was watching this closely, looking confused, something that twisted my heart. But regardless that it ripped a new hole in me, all I could do was give her a soft smile, which I did.

Then I turned away and kept walking.

“You know, Con is done with you,” Martine called my back. “You slip up once more, Amelia, and he’ll end it.”

I said nothing. I didn’t look back. I may have started shaking but I didn’t think she could see it.

I just kept walking.

I also decided to meander a bit more so if they saw me again, they wouldn’t think I was escaping.

And once I did that, I checked out and got the heck out of there.

I didn’t have all the ingredients to my hash brown casserole but I could buy them tomorrow.

However, I would find that it was unfortunate that I’d been able to hit the wine aisle, for when I walked down the sidewalk with the handles of my brown bags in my hands and a man came charging out of the door of a shop down the walk and slammed into me, I went flying. I dropped both bags, the twenty dollar bottle of wine I’d bought to take to Jake and Josie’s crashing and breaking, red wine soaking through the bag and spreading along the sidewalk.

“Watch where you’re—” a harsh voice started and my back shot straight as I righted myself and turned to him, raring to go.

I was this because, first, I’d just had a run-in with Martine, never pleasant, this one the same.

Second, she’d been with my daughter, my daughter, grocery shopping, when my daughter would barely look at me—and didn’t—and would never entertain the idea of grocery shopping with me.

She also barely spoke to me.