Page 103 of Lost Trust

“They are. They either have a woman they are bedding regularly or they are regularly bedding lots of women.”

Charli lifts her glass across the table and clicks it against Mom’s. “Amen to that.”

“And there’s nothing wrong with a woman getting hers. Your dad and I still keep each other company from time to time.”

My head snaps around. “You’re joking.”

She blinks. “What?”

“He’s married!”

“So?” She takes another sip of wine. “Sometimes, you get an itch that needs to be scratched by an old flame.”

I stare at her.

“We were married for ten years. It doesn’t count.”

“Yes, it most certainly does count. You can’t go around sleeping with married men, Mother. Even Dad. That’s wrong, and it’s gross. Are you trying to traumatize me?”

Charli’s shoulders start shaking.

Shelby is openly laughing now.

Grandma Evelyn looks like she’s trying very hard not to laugh.

I point at my mother. “This feels like one of those do as I say, not as I do moments.”

Mom considers that. “Well”—she lifts her glass—“obviously. I wouldn’t want you falling back into Blaze’s bed.”

I groan and sink back into my chair and cover my face with my hands. “I cannot believe we’re having this conversation. And in front of people you just met.”

“We’re all adults here, Marina. Don’t be so dramatic.” She reaches over and tugs my hands down. “I’m just trying to make you laugh. My precious girl. And it’s okay to let your hair down and have fun every now and then. Remind yourself you’re still a woman.”

I look down at my wine. “I know I’m a woman.”

She cups my chin. “A vibrant, worthy woman.”

“Mom.” The word escapes my lips in a raspy voice as tears threaten to spill from my eyes.

“There it is,” she says.

Ryder comes sprinting toward the porch, soaked from head to toe. “Mommy!”

I set my wine down just as he barrels into my side.

I catch him as he wraps his arms around my neck. “Ew, you’re all wet and covered in grass.”

He grins. “Ruby got me!”

Ruby comes running up behind him, her brown curls dripping and Shelby’s tee clinging to her little body. “He got me first!”

“My goodness,” Evelyn says as she stands. “Let’s go get you two some towels.”

I look down at my son, his cheeks flushed and his eyes bright with happiness. What a difference the past couple of weeks have made for him.

Maybe Ginger Kincade is right about one thing.

I deserve a life that isn’t defined by the man who walked away, and so does my son.