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I suck in a deep breath and puff out my cheeks for a beat as I stare at myself in the mirror and then I blow it out until my cheeks hollow.

My hair is up in a neat ponytail, and I have my sunglasses ready. I’m wearing a sleeveless black romper and sandals, and it’s cute and summery and also representative of the dark hole inside me as I push for this divorce.

But today is family day.

I’m worried what it’s going to do to Harper. It’s giving her false hope that we can mend this when I’ve already made up my mind that as much as I feel for him, love just isn’t enough. It’s heartbreaking for someone who always believed so strongly in love stories, but I have to follow what logic tells me no matter how painful it is.

This just isn’t the life for me. Losing my job was just the tip of the iceberg, and I feel like the longer I stay here, the more I’ll lose of myself.

When I walk into Travis’s kitchen, Harper’s already there. She races over and squeezes me into a tight hug that nearly cracks a rib, but I hold on tightly to her anyway.

“What’s the plan?” I ask Travis.

“It’s family day,” he reiterates. “The three of us are showing a united front as we go out together.”

“But we’re not a united front,” Harper points out. “Not if you two are getting divorced.”

“Nobody has to know that yet, and that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy a nice day out together. And that’s the extent of it—just a nice day out.” It’s clear he’s saying it for Harper’s benefit, and I appreciate that. “We’ll start at the children’s museum, and then we’ll go to Target and get whatever’s left on Harper’s list of school supplies, and then we’ll hit a restaurant.”

“Uh, sorry to be the bearer of bad news,” I say, “but Target will definitely be sold out of school supplies this late in the game. School started an entire week ago.”

Travis’s face falls and I swear you’d think I just ran over his dog with my pronouncement.

“But we can totally hit up the dollar section,” I suggest, and he nods brightly again. It’s not like I need an excuse to visit my favorite store.

We head toward the children’s museum with Imagine Dragons at full blast, and I’m not sure if he’s setting the joyous mood or if he’s putting a stop to all possible awkward conversation. Either way, we all sing and nobody talks.

Travis must have tipped off the paparazzi because the place is swarming with people waiting to take our picture as he pulls into a parking spot.

To that end, Travis grabs my hand as we walk toward the entrance, and he takes Harper’s hand with his other one. Harper wants to be in the middle, so she shimmies her way in, forcing me to let go of Travis’s hand.

But for a few beautiful seconds, I felt connected to him again. I felt like I didn’t want to let go.

Am I doing the right thing?

Yes. I know I am. I think back to how hard those two weeks of training camp were, and I know I can’t stay married to him if I want the future I’ve always dreamed of.

But just for today, I sort of want to pretend.

And as we walk toward the entrance with photographers snapping our pictures along the way, though, I’m reminded why I may not want to let go…but I still need to let go.

We walk around the museum like this—with each of us holding one of Harper’s hands. She stops to interact with the exhibits and we stand close by watching or helping. We’re the picture-perfect family—the DILF, the mother-figure in her cute romper, the daughter laughing and having a great time.

Except we’re not the picture-perfect family.

He’s still getting to know his daughter in a lot of important ways, and he missed the entire first decade of her life. I’ve only been a part of his life a short while.

We’re on the edge of divorce.

It’s a lot to contemplate.

But we all put on the act.

We buy souvenirs and laugh at each other as we pick out ridiculous shirts. We head to Target and we laugh some more. We go out to dinner and end up at the mall food court since we can’t decide where to go. We stuff ourselves on various cuisines from pizza to Chinese to tacos, and then we all get slushies for dessert.

And through it all, the trusty photographers capture the moments. It’s exactly what we want, and it was smart of Travis to use the paparazzi to our advantage.

It marks the first time I’ve seen any sort of advantage to having them around.

But part of why the Callahans were able to escalate this fight was because of this same thing—the photos splashed all over the tabloids. The gossip and the rumors. The arrest.

It’s such a catch twenty-two.

By the end of the day, I’m exhausted from faking it all day. I’m tired from pretending that everything is perfect when inside I’m dying a slow death from the wholly shattered heart in my chest.

And that’s why, once we get Harper down to bed and the two of us meet back in his family room, I force the words from my lips.

I need this to be over.

I need some sort of insurance that once the judge decides Travis should keep Harper, I’ll still have my out.

“Today was amazing,” Travis says with a smile.

I nod a little curtly. “It was lovely,” I agree. “But it was also very difficult to put on the act all day. I really just need a clean break, Travis. I promise I won’t file until after everything is settled with Harper, but if you could sign those papers, I’d really appreciate it.”

And with those words, I turn to retreat back to my casita.

When I wake in the morning after a fitful sleep that only blessedly fell upon me after I cried my way there, I spot the manila folder under my door.

I pull the paperwork out.

He signed it. It’s dated the day after the hearing—August twenty-first.

And as I hold the papers in my hands, tears stream down my face as the reality that this really will come to an end in a few short weeks plows into me.