I whistle for my chocolate lab Hazel and connect her leash.
We head down our long driveway.
Hazel pulls with excitement. I take in the beauty that surrounds me. Our home is nestled deep within a two-acre wooded lot. It’s on an equally gorgeous rural street.
We make it only a few steps before I spot my husband’s car coming toward us.
Knots consume my stomach.
What is he doing here? What does he want? What is he going to do next? It’s nearly a year into what will become my abusively never-ending divorce. But I don’t know that yet.