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I’ve got new commitments. But, when I told Beth I loved her, I made a commitment to her, too. I meant it then, I mean it now.

I can’t be with her the way I want, but I can be the friend she deserves.

One of my strongest instincts is to protect. When it comes to the people I love that instinct is a whip at my back. I used to think it made me impulsive, lead me to overreact, so I’ve shied away from it. The next time I’m in a position to be her shield, I’ll lean into that whip like a motherfucker. With that resolve firmly in hand, I stand, ready to head back to the studio.

43

Beth

New Beginnings

“Happy Divorce Day,” I sing to Dina when she walks into my kitchen.

She bobs a curtsey and twirls to one of the counter heights stools. “Happiest day of my entire life, I thought I’d never see it. And now I want to pretend it never happened.” she exhales and leans over to eye the bowl of batter I’m stirring up.

“Mmmm, pancakes?” She asks hopefully.

“Of course. And there’s champagne in the fridge for mimosas, too.”

“Aww, thanks Beth. I can’t wait to throw you your divorce party, too.”

“I can’t wait either,” I admit. I walk over to my stove where my hot griddle is starting to smoke and turn it down.

“You’ve got two more years and you’ll be free, right?”

I stare at the tray ceiling of my bedroom and sigh deeply. “I don’t know if I can do it, Dina. I feel like I traded one gilded cage for another.”

“But, you’re free. Duke is in Winsome most of the time. You’ve got this place to yourself and you’ve got your studio.”

“I’ve got an allowance, and a driver, and a personal shopper.” I interject and walk over to grab the bowl of batter and a ladle.

“Of course, you do. You’re Liz Tremaine.” She says my last name with a flourish. When I don’t smile, she scrunches her nose in apology. “I’m kidding and all of that is just optics. It’s got nothing to do with you.”

I slam the bowl down and groan. “And that’s the problem. He started it, without my permission and created this avatar that the whole world thinks is me.”

I pick up my phone and open the offending account. My profile was full of pictures of a woman whose face was never turned toward the camera. She’s dressed the way I used to. Her profile proclaims

“This account is the official account for Liz Wolfe, daughter of candidate for Governor @TheRealDrewWolfe. I want to inspire women all over the world. Don’t let anyone tell you that you can’t have it all. I’m living proof of that lie.”

I feel sick scrolling through the pictures of “me” standing on a beach arms outstretched and the wind blowing my hair all over my head. The caption said, “Follow me for daily inspiration on how to make the most of your life.”

Post after post, it populated with images of “Liz” living her best life in Austin. I understand the appeal of the image they’re selling.

The Liz Wolfe in those pictures lives a charmed life. She lives in a beautiful home, wears beautiful clothes. She gardens, does yoga without sweating. Sits behind a desk and writes in a gold filigreed journal with a gold pen held in her perfectly manicured hands.

Every meal she eats looks delicious and decadent but was balanced and healthy. Her lips are painted the same shade of pink in each picture where they are visible, her dark hair, thick and lustrous, flows over her shoulders in shining, fraudulent waves.

But the most destructive part of the profile - the thing that made me feel ill were the comments from the profiles of almost 100,000 followers.

They call themselves #Lucky

Charms because apparently that’s what @LizWolfeOfficial calls them. When I search the hashtag, the pictures make my blood run cold.

They all dress in pink and most of them are blond. And according to their posts, they’re miserable because no matter how hard they try, they don’t have anything like the life they see emulated in the pictures on my account.

I didn’t want that to be what my name is synonymous with.

“You need to go public with your real account. Let the world know that’s who you are.”

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
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