The divorce was not quiet, nor was it slow. Helen timed it right after Arthur's final exams, after Ashley's college entrance exam, and while Anthea was already in her summer break. She knew the children will be the most affected parties by this but still wanted to create the least disruption.
Helen hired a lawyer. A good one. Ashley remembered her name from the past life – Ms. Smith. Tough. Efficient. A woman who didn't tolerate injustice.
Ryan denied everything at first. Then he tried to turn it on Helen, accusing her of neglecting the marriage, of being "distracted" by her new hobbies.
But Helen, this time, had documentation. She had quietly printed screenshots, dates, logs, even credit card statements. Nothing illegal – just proof. Enough to paint the picture of a man already gone. Facing the evidence, Ryan, who had already been detached from their family, conceded.
In the end, she got what she came for: Primary custody of all three children, a fair share of the marital assets, and the house.
And most importantly: peace.
In that year's annual checkup, maybe it was the stress that still took its toll.
They found a tumor in Helen's scans. But it was in its early stages and was benign. She was able to get it removed surgically, and unlike the previous life, she recovered quickly – thanks to the past few years of Ashley focusing on making sure they were all leading healthy lifestyles.
They moved two months later. Helen sold the old house – too many memories – and used the money, along with a small business loan to buy a cozy storefront home in a budding neighborhood.
The upstairs had just enough bedrooms for them. The downstairs had enough space for a bakery. Sunday Mornings is now officially open for business.
On opening day, with the help of their established social media presence, the line stretched around the block.
Arthur helped design the logo. Anthea handed out free samples of orange shortbread cookies.
Ashley stood behind the counter, manning the till, her chest swelling with pride. She looked over at Helen – her mother laughing with a customer, her apron smudged with flour, her hair in a loose bun and packing orders.
Helen had never looked so alive.
That night, they celebrated with tea and too many pastries. They all sat on the living room floor upstairs – Arthur and Anthea arguing over which tart was better, lemon or raspberry.
Helen looked over at Ashley and said, "I couldn't have done this without you."
Ashley smiled, her vision blurry with happy tears. "You did most of it yourself."
Helen shook her head. "No. You believed in me before I did."
She didn't respond. She couldn't. The lump in her throat was too big.
But she held her mother's hand tightly.
This time, she will live.