Page 1 of Changing Tides

PROLOGUE

SOPHIE

“Take all your worries to the beach and wave them goodbye…”

This is one of those surreal moments in life when the very thing I least expect to happen is,in fact,happening right before my eyes.

They don’t hear me come in at first.

“What the hell is going on here?” I shake my head and blink my eyes, because I can’t believe what I am actually seeing.

In response to my audible gasp, myhusbandand the woman jump apart, and she covers herself with a bed sheet.Mybed sheet. I am too stunned to cry, but I know that if I look at James, the angry tears pricking the back of my eyes will start to fall. Before another word is spoken, the woman runs into my master bathroom, dragging the sheet with her, and slams the door behind her.

And here I am, on my thirty-eighth birthday, standing in the doorway of my bedroom, feeling heartbroken and betrayed. I had great intentions. I left work early; I thought I would come home and surprise James for my birthday. We hadn’t made any plans. Instead, it appears I am getting a different kind of birthday surprise. As a marriage and family therapist, I think it’s safe to say this isnothow I saw my life turning out.

James fumbles over himself, throwing on clothes while I still have not moved from my place at the entrance to our most sacred space—a place that just this morning stillfeltsacred and now it feels tarnished. He tugs his shirt over his head and takes a step in my direction.

“Sophie.” He chokes out my name.

I meet his regretful eyes and narrow my own, my sadness turning to rage. The rush of emotion surprises me like a strong gust of wind, knocking me off kilter. “It’s my fuckingbirthday,” I spit, seething with anger. I spin on my heel and immediately retreat to the guest room.

For the next ten days, my world is crashing down. James is apologetic. He weeps—guilt will do that to a person. He grovels. He says it was a one-time thing and tries everything to get me to talk to him, to work through it. Each day, I feel my resolve weakening. James is scared to lose me—he knows and I know it.

If I’m honest with myself, I’m scared to lose him too. Our marriage has been my entire life for the past thirteen years. To walk away now would be really hard. I have remained in the guest room, but I’m not sleeping or eating well. My self-care is in the toilet, even though I know what I should be doing to protect my well-being. To make matters worse, each night after work, James broaches the subject again.

“Sophie, please. We have to work through this. Isn’t that your job? To help people through hard things? To help them keep their family together?” he begs.

He isn’t wrong. How can I champion love for others and not myself?

After all, we have so much history. Weworkedfor our life together. Maybe James isn’t entirely to blame. I haven’t been the most present partner lately. Maybe we can get back what we lost and start fresh.

I feel I owe it to James to try, but the pit in my stomach never goes away, no matter how much I want to fix our marriage. Finally, after sleeping in the guest room for a week and a half, I’m about to agree to forgiveness on a trial basis, on the condition that we get a new bed and go to couples counseling of course. Maybe making the decision to move forward will help matters.

I am hopeful, until I walk into the house a week later to find him sitting on the couch in the dark. The light flooding from our entryway allows me to see that his eyes are red and puffy with dark circles underneath, like he’s been crying. At this moment I realize he probably hasn’t been sleeping much either.

“James? What’s wrong? What are you doing in the dark?” I walk in, toss my stuff on the armchair, and begin turning on the lights. “I was thinking maybe I could ask Dr. Steiner for a recommendation,” I begin, speaking quickly.

“Brittany is pregnant,” he says numbly. When I don’t speak, he continues, “You know…my TA.”

I stare blankly at him. There goes my forgiveness. I take a deep breath. “Uh-huh. Yeah, I got that.” My voice wavers, barely above a whisper. I cough and attempt to regain my composure, but my words come out wobbly anyway. “So, this wasn’t just a one-time thing with her, I guess.”

He begins weeping. I don’t stick around to hear more.

We spent the past seven years struggling with infertility. I struggle to get pregnant, and when I finally do, I can’t stay pregnant. The realization that someone else could sweep right in, steal my life, my husband, and his sperm hits me like a stinging slap in the face. Any ounce of forgiveness I had thought I’d be giving him when I walked in the door flies out the window. I retreat up to our room and throw everything that I can fit into a bag. I can’t stay here with him another second.

He's still crying in the living room when my hand grasps the door handle. I pause and suck in a sharp breath. I can’t believe what I’m about to say. I swallow hard and turn back toward him, slinging my duffel bag over my shoulder. He meets my eyes for the first time since I’ve walked in the door, shame and sadness clouding his expression.

“I want a divorce,” I say, my voice stoney.

I let the door slam behind me, and I don’t look back.

1

SOPHIE

Six Weeks Later

Cape May, New Jersey, is a picturesque Victorian beach town that I frequented as a child with my parents. The air is salty, and just a huff of the sea breeze can lower your heart rate to a blissful level. Each summer of my childhood was spent on these beaches, looking for seashells and Cape May Diamonds, walking the mall, and eating ice cream. My life and family have changed so much since those days, but I remember one thing clearly, almost as if it was yesterday. I remember that at the end of each of those summers, I felt whole. I felt peaceful.

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