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On and on the logs go until about midway, my fingers stop on a page that appears to be less of a log and more of a diary entry of sorts.
It reads:
A weird thing happened today. I don’t know if I’m going crazy or if maybe I already am crazy.
I was in the gym—the new gym we just built down the hill from the house. I’d just gotten off the rowing machine. It’s a rainy day, so it was dark and gloomy outside, making it seem much later than four o’clock in the afternoon. I felt a weird feeling, like that creepy feeling that someone is watching you, and I suddenly felt scared. Very scared. I was only in my sports bra and leggings so grabbed a T-shirt and pulled it on. I peered out the window, and although the view was distorted by the rain running down the glass, I didn’t see anyone or anything. But I was too scared to leave the gym and walk back up to the house alone. So I turned on some music and tried to focus on finishing my workout.
Five minutes later, something hit the window, a loud pop that scared the shit out of me. Like maybe a rock or something. I screamed and ran into the bathroom. A few minutes later, I made myself come out and check the window again. Still no one. At that point I was so freaked out that I wanted to run back to the house rather than stay in the gym. After clicking off the lights, I grabbed my water bottle, but as I turned, I saw something in the mirror. A reflection. Behind me, someone stood outside the window, just a few feet from the building, with a black coat and hood pulled over their face. I froze, completely terrified. I couldn’t move. They stared at the back of me, motionless.
Finally, I spun around to face the window, my heart in my throat. But the person was gone.
I re-read the entry two more times, a memory tickling my brain, but I can’t pin it. My stomach has gone uneasy, as if an instinct is screaming at me. Frowning, I stare at the page and try to talk myself out of the feeling of doom that has settled in my stomach. The woman likely is crazy, and based on the amount of benzodiazepine she takes on a daily basis, also possibly delusional. And besides, what can I do about it now?
I set the notebook aside. I need to check my emails, get back to bed, and try to get some sleep.
After logging into my laptop, I click on the email icon. Slowly, the new mail downloads, populating the screen one by one. A few are from clients, a few spam, two bills, and lastly, one from Emma, sent just thirty minutes earlier—at 2:32 a.m. I click on it.
Hey girl. I just heard back from my divorce lawyer friend. She can work you in next week. The retainer to meet with her is 500 bucks, but she said she’d give you the friends and family discount of 250. (Her daughter is in my class ??).
Below is her email address. She’s waiting to hear from you.
I’m proud of you, Amber. Life is too short. This is the hardest part. Just make this one step. And then the next, and then the next.
Let me know when you email her. And let’s meet up for drinks this weekend.
I copy the email address at the bottom of the message and open a new email.
My fingers freeze on the keyboard.
My gaze lifts to the framed picture on the wall, one of me, Mark, and Connor, at the beach. Instead of feeling a stab of pain and fear, I feel a rush of courage. I am doing the right thing.
Just make this one step.
Heart pounding, I type an email to the divorce attorney and hit send before I can think about it.
I click back into Emma’s email, click reply.
I did it.
I lean back, smile.
I. Did. It.
Now, to prepare.
I click into the browser. The tabs are many, each with a different Google search: what is autism, how to care for a child with autism, does my child have autism, something is wrong with my child, child developmental delays, what causes developmental delays, how to get a divorce.
My computer dings with a new email alert. It’s from Emma, a GIF of two women jumping around with an exploding bottle of champagne. Below it, in all caps:
GOOD JOB, I’M PROUD OF YOU.
I grin, pick up my phone and click into my text messages.
Me: You’re up past your bedtime, young lady.
Emma: wine emoji
Me: laugh emoji, with who?
