I'm celebrating today with you because I have finished writing, The Me I Left Behind, Book 4 in the Tuckaway Bay Womens' Fiction series.
Maggie's story was a very intense write for me. She had a lot going on in her life throughout the 6-7 month timeline of the book. While she had the external factors of her marriage and children to shoulder, she also had some inner demons to battle.
This is a long book--but the story is big, and I needed the space to tell it.
Preorders from my bookstore will be delivered in May. The release date in retail bookstores is June 24.
How about a quick sneak peek into Maggie's world?
Long after the children were in bed, Maggie stared out her bedroom window again, observing the dance of leaves and branches swaying in the breeze, backlit by the streetlamps. It was all sort of mesmerizing, and calming, and in some strange way, had soothed some of her anxiety.
They’d all turned in early. The olders—Jason and Carol, she no longer wanted to include Jason as a little—had isolated themselves in their rooms. She didn’t know if they were sleeping, but it didn’t matter. Hopefully, they were dealing with things, rolling them over in her mind like she was doing.
Chloe was a different matter. Maggie stayed with her until she finally fell asleep. It took three books, four songs, some tears, and a couple of whispered prayers before her girl finally went to sleep in her arms. Maggie left both of their bedroom doors cracked, so she could hear if Chloe called out.
The look on the kids’ faces earlier, when reality struck, was painful. That’s when Maggie knew that their truth had set in—and they understood that life was going to change. That they might no longer live in the house they had lived in all their lives. They would no longer have their father at home when he wasn’t traveling. They might never see him again, at all. Money would be tight, and Mommy would have to work. And they would have to do what millions of other kids of divorced parents routinely do—juggle visitation schedules.
They didn’t like any of it.
Her heart hurt just thinking about it.
That was when Maggie realized her kids had grown up privileged.
But it wasn’t their fault, was it?
Max had provided for them—gave her enough money every month to meet their needs. Apparently, his company had done well, although he never shared exactly what he was worth, or how much money he made. All of that business detail, he kept to himself.
Plus, his family suffered from generational wealth.
Suffered. Yes. Max’s family was dysfunctional in ways her own family had never dreamed.
Yet, she’d been an eager participant because he met her needs, too. Checked all the boxes—security, financial and otherwise, and a sense of feeling safe, a sense of belonging.
Physically. Sexually.
Even if she wasn’t. Safe.
Emotionally. Physically.
How had she totally misinterpreted what Max had done for her? How had she allowed him to control her life, their lives, in the way he had?
It really is my fault. Isn’t it? She’d allowed Max’s shit to happen.
And for what? Security? Money? A beautiful home? Private schools?
Love.
She’d done it all—endured it all—for love. Hadn’t she?
At least in the beginning.
She just wished she hadn’t lost herself somewhere along the way—and understood why she’d let it happen. Why was it okay to give over her life to Max? Had she grown tired, worn down, and caved to his demands? Or did she just get lazy and accept the life he allowed her to live?
(unedited copy, may differ from final version).
