Page 100 of Beloved Beauty

Violet sighs, dramatic and adorable. “If I monogram towels, someone had better stage an intervention.”

Laughter and conversation ripple through the patio—easy, loud, a kind of joy that wraps around you and stays. I take another sip of my drink, the salt sharp on my lips, and glance around at this circle of women—bold, funny, real. The kind who ask the hard questions and pour another drink when the answers are heavy.

We’re passing around lemon bars and refilling drinks when Addison leans back in her chair and gestures around the table. “You know what’s wild? We’re basically a whole club of American girls who came to Australia for a man.”

Chloe’s smile wobbles for a second. “Except me. I’m the Aussie who was married to an American.”

Was.

Her words land with a softness that feels heavier than anything else we’ve said tonight. Then, with a breath that’s more release than inhale, she adds, “But not anymore. Only a few more weeks and the divorce will be final.”

Addison reaches over and gives her hand a quick squeeze. “You might not be married to Ben anymore—but you’ll always be family to me.”

My mind flashes back to when I first met Chloe. Alex told me she had separated from her husband and was barely holding it together. Her smile had been tight, her voice quieter than it is now. And I remember wondering what kind of pain she was carrying that she couldn’t—or wouldn’t—name.

None of us ask for details now. None of us press.

“Okay, emotional hour is over,” Chloe says.

Laurelyn offers Chloe a soft look, the kind that says I see you without making a spectacle. Then, with a well-timed smile, she changes course. “Who needs more cheese dip and a top-off?”

The pivot is graceful, but the moment hums underneath.

Chloe’s smile is steadier now. But her eyes flicker—for a second—toward Addison. And there’s a sad smile. That’s when it hits me. The connection.

Chloe’s husband is Addison’s brother.

Addison’s children are Chloe’s nieces and nephew.

I don’t know the details, and I won’t pretend to. But I recognize pain when I see it.

Whatever happened between Chloe and her ex wasn’t easy. It wasn’t small. And it has left a mark.

Addison doesn’t say a word in his defense. And that’s when it lands—she has chosen a side. Not her brother’s. Chloe’s.

That’s what makes this group different. They don’t just toast mimosas and share dessert. They stand up. They stand beside. They choose each other when it’s hard, when it’s complicated—when it matters.

This isn’t just sisterhood.

It’s something fiercer. It’s solidarity.

It’s a quiet, fierce kind of loyalty that wraps around the bruised places and says you don’t have to do this alone. And somehow, I’ve been lucky enough to find myself right in the middle of it.

A sudden knock against the glass door draws our attention—three little boys smash their faces up against the panes. One boy sticks out his tongue. Another crosses his eyes and flashes a peace sign.

Addison doesn’t miss a beat. “There’s our circus.”

Laurelyn doesn’t even look up from her drink. “And I’ve got double the monkeys. Mine argue about whose turn it is to breathe the air.”

We burst out laughing as the babysitter appears, herding the kids away with the gentle firmness of someone earning every cent of her hourly rate.

“They’re like gremlins. If you feed them after eight, it’s over,” Chloe says.

Addison raises her glass. “To sitters who deserve gold medals.”

Glasses clink, the mood lighter now, floating on the familiar rhythm of motherhood chaos and the women who survive it with humor and tequila.

I swirl the last bit of margarita in my glass and glance between Addison and Laurelyn. “Since I’ve got two mamas here––” I pause, a little unsure. “Can I ask you something?”

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