A Rock An A Hard Place

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Amber's Perspective

Today, I handed Brantley the divorce papers. He had been stubbornly insisting that we could fix things, but the truth is, our relationship is shattered beyond repair. Earlier, he was at the bike shop picking up Cam's bike while I was with Dorian. We slipped the papers into the mailbox, and now my soon-to-be ex-mother-in-law will act as our mediator. She'll be the one to handle the kids' drop-offs and pick-ups, which makes Dorian feel more at ease. Ever since Brantley caught us on the couch one midnight in Austin, he's been in a foul mood. We weren't even together at that point—just friends sharing a couple of bottles of red wine and deep conversations. But then Brantley discovered messages on my phone between Dorian and me, revealing the complexities of my feelings. Dorian was just a friend until that fateful night in August when he kissed me after Brantley left for tour. I was alone, and Brantley took the kids with him, relying on his mother for support. Things turned sour between us, and we didn't speak for a month. Our arguments had become so venomous that he would storm out for the night, only to return by morning. But there's only so much one can endure.

I never wanted us to reach a point of mutual hatred, yet that's precisely where we found ourselves—consumed by animosity. Dorian was a breath of fresh air, untainted by our past, offering a chance to connect on a profound intellectual level. We didn't engage in battles or wield our words as weapons; instead, we stood by, helplessly watching each other's flames of despair. I often cried, confiding in Brantley about how cruel his words could be, as he dredged up old memories. I, too, would retaliate, ensuring my words cut deep when I reminded him of his childhood mistakes. Our mornings became a ritual of conflict, with him retreating to the kids' room while I remained in what used to be our bedroom . Eventually, I felt like a stranger in my own home, a reality neither of us deserved. We both longed for happiness, but our connection had flatlined long ago. Brantley clung to a past that was irretrievably lost, so I made the difficult decision to initiate the divorce process.

Brantley's POV

Amber handed me the divorce papers today. I spotted her and the pretty bitch boy of hers as they were putting something in the mailbox, but the moment she caught sight of me, she just passed the papers over. I can hardly wrap my head around the fact that at 40 years old, I'm facing a divorce. Just the other day, I stormed out of couples therapy after Amber claimed it felt like we'd been pretending in our marriage for years, saying she felt like a stranger in my life. I always made an effort to include her while I was on the road, but what really stung was when she announced she was going to marry Dorian and move in with him. I can't help but wonder how long that will last. We all know she was seeing me even before her last divorce was finalized. It makes me sick to think about her being 34 and already on her third marriage.

If I hadn't known any better, I would have thought she was marrying him solely because he was a doctor at a prestigious hospital in Atlanta. I tried to push aside the memories of my encounter with Amber as far as I could. After unloading my bike, I finally made my way to Mama's house to see my kids, the only reason I was still going at this point. As I pulled into the driveway, I was eager to share the latest antics of my lovely daughter-in-law.

Entering the house with divorce papers in hand, I spotted my dad dozing on the couch, Bray nestled comfortably on his chest. Mama and Barrett were busy in the kitchen, often teaming up to grandparent when all the kids were around. Kolby must have dropped off his boys and baby girl earlier, prompting Mama to call Papa for backup. I chuckled at the thought of that frantic phone call he must have received just as Cricia emerged from the laundry room. I greeted both ladies with a kiss on the cheek and shared Amber's latest escapade, including the impressive diamond already adorning her finger.

Mama lets out a sigh and says, "You know your girl is home." I glance at her, a mix of confusion and concern washing over me, and reply, "But Amber is living with Dorian." The mention of Amber feels like a lifeline, a reminder of the stability I thought I had. Mama shakes her head, her expression softening as she insists, "No, sweetheart, Haven is home."