But I recognized that whisper, and I flung back the bedsheets. Aimee was an external saboteur, but just like in a horror movie, this call was coming from inside the house. Or, more precisely, my head. I couldn’t be my own worst enemy anymore.

Michael came out of the bathroom, already dressed in a neatly pressed shirt and trousers, his hair still damp and his neck flushed. He grinned, and I knew my own hair must be a tangled mess, but he liked it. He asked, “What’s your plan for today?”

My days used to be so full, packed with meetings and tasks for work and list after list of activities that might fill any free time. I missed being overscheduled.

“I’ll find a doctor.” I stood and started smoothing the bedclothes. Michael knew what kind of doctor I meant.

He took the other side of the coverlet and helped me pull it up neatly. “How about the SSS group? When do they get together next?”

Michael’s new company was great about supporting spouses. The Spousal Support System had sent a thick packet of information home with him, just for me. Book clubs, organized outings, conversation groups in a dizzying array of languages. Gregarious women who had traveled the world and were conquering Sugar Land with confidence.

Not a chance I could handle that.

My overwhelm must have shown in my face, because Michael said, “Or something lower-key like that neighborhood group Elizabeth mentioned? Don’t they have a meeting or something today?”

Right. The Bluebonnet women’s group. “Maybe. I’m not sure. Are you done in the bathroom?”

“You could call her and get the details.”

“We’ll see.” Now there was a slight edge to my voice, and Michael let it drop. He didn’t need to organize a playdate for me. If I decided to go to this meeting, I was capable of finding out where it was.

After all, I’d gotten out of bed.

But I didn’t want to send him off to work with distance between us. And Rahmia had made me feel a little bolder. It had been easy, talking with her. Or at least, listening while she talked. A group might even be less intimidating, because all the attention wouldn’t be on me.

“I’ll probably go.”

He grinned. “I might be home late. Have a good time.”

After my shower and coffee, I found the information. Actually, a child could have found the information. The group had a website, and their meetings were open to anyone. Usually their monthly meetings were held at the neighborhood’s clubhouse, kind of a cross between a park pavilion and a community center funded by our HOA. But this meeting was the “Fall Kickoff” at the Sugar Land Country Club.