A Girl's Guide to Moving On (New Beginnings #2) - Debbie Macomber Page 0,9

I wish I’d had the foresight to take hold of my life when I first learned of Sean’s affairs. It was then that I realized I wasn’t dead. It wasn’t too late. All that was left of our marriage was a thin shell. If Nichole could take action, then so could I, and I did.

Because of Sean’s repeated offenses, Nichole had no reason to believe Jake could be any more faithful than my husband had been to me. Unlike me, Nichole wasn’t willing to give Jake a second chance. As far as she was concerned, her husband had shattered her trust and there was no going back.

My divorce was smooth sailing. Sean seemed to be expecting me to file. It was almost as if he’d mentally prepared himself for the dissolution of our marriage. He made it as painless as possible, giving me half of everything. I would have no financial worries; he’d been the one to insist I remain at home with our son, and he paid dearly for that. My attorney saw to a fair and even distribution of our assets.

What I hadn’t been prepared for was the vindictive attitude that followed just before we signed the final papers. Sean made sure to let me know he saw me as unattractive and old. He took pleasure in telling me that my sagging breasts and body were a complete turnoff. He’d gone so far as to say I’d gone to seed. Although I no longer loved my husband—he’d destroyed that love when I’d learned about the vasectomy—his words hit their mark. I’d been crushed by his cruelty and found it hard to look at myself. I felt old, dumpy, and past my prime.

Jake didn’t take Nichole’s decision nearly as easily. I had to give my son credit. He didn’t want to lose his wife and son, and had gone to great lengths and expense to delay the divorce. I wanted to believe Jake was sincere and that he would change this need he seemed to have to seek out other women. Sadly, I had no way of knowing if he could. Evidence and experience said otherwise.

At one point, Sean had tried and been unable to change. I had to accept that Jake could take after his father in more ways than appearance.

Nichole and I moved into downtown Portland. The first few weeks we muddled through each day, depressed and uncertain.

One afternoon, in those early dark days when we were floundering in our misery, we wrote up a list…a list to help us move on and make a new, better life for us individually and for Owen. We listed only four items because we didn’t want to overwhelm ourselves. It was one step at a time. One day at a time. It helped tremendously that we were in this together.

The first item on that list was to ease the pain with a distraction, by giving to others. With me, that was teaching.

I’d graduated from college with a master’s in education, but I’d never taught. I wasn’t looking for a full-time position, so I found a volunteer job, an evening class two times a week, where I taught English as a second language.

It proved to be a good choice. I enjoyed my students and admired their determination to tackle the complicated idioms and slang of the English language. I had ten students that had immigrated from all around the world.

More and more I found myself looking forward to teaching my class. A large part of the satisfaction I derived came from one of my students named Nikolai Janchenko. At my best estimate Nikolai was close to my own age and from Ukraine. By far he was my most enthusiastic student. What I enjoyed about him most was his ability to make me laugh.

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Monday night I parked in the Community Center parking lot. As soon as I pulled into the designated slot, I noticed Nikolai standing outside the center’s front door. He was a fine-looking man with a thick head of salt-and-pepper hair. From our conversations I knew he worked in a deli as a baker. His shoulders were broad from all the upper-body work he must do. He wasn’t a large man by any means, average height with strong but blunt Eastern European features. From what his school file told me, he’d been living in the States for five years and had recently acquired citizenship.

Nikolai must have recognized my car because he hurried across the street to meet me. By the