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“Everyone did. For years, people looked at me like that was what I was.”

Mama nodded. “And?”

“And what?”

“Did you sleep with another woman’s husband?”

“Yes.”

“Was it fucked up?”

“Yes.”

“Would you do it today?”

“Hell no.”

“Would you help a married man hide something from his wife?”

“No.”

“Would you entertain one telling you his marriage is complicated?”

“I would send him home so fucking fast.”

Mama laughed. “Then answer my question. Are you still being a homewrecker?”

I took a deep breath. “No.”

“Okay.”

“But that doesn’t erase what I did.”

“Who said it did?”

She walked back to her seat. “People called me desperate for years.”

“What?”

“Yes, baby. I was called desperate, stupid, and pathetic.”

“Mama.”

“The worst one was Doormat, because I stayed with your daddy.”

My heart hurt hearing that.

“People had opinions. Family, friends, and women who had never been married longer than twelve minutes. Everybody knew what I should’ve done, so for a while, I started wearing those names.”

“I’d look at myself and think, Maybe I am stupid. Maybe I am weak. Maybe staying means I have no self-respect. Then one day I realized…my mama didn’t name me desperate. She named me Breann.”

I laughed through a tear.

Mama smiled. “People are going to name you whatever helps them explain you. That could be homewrecker, mistress, or whore. But is that your name?”

I shook my head no.

“Then stop answering to it.”