It Starts with Us by Colleen Hoover

life. You have to either figure out a way to plan birthday parties together or
figure out a way to be okay with having separate celebrations. You have to
plan on which holidays each of you get to spend with your child, which days
of the week, down to which hours of the day sometimes.
You can’t snap your fingers and be done with the person you married and
divorced. You’re stuck with them. Forever.
I’m stuck dealing with Ryle’s feelings forever, and frankly, I’m growing
tired of always feeling sorry for him, worried for him, fearful of him,
considerate of his feelings.
How long am I supposed to wait before I start dating someone else
without Ryle being justified in his jealousy? How long do I have to wait
before I tell him I’m dating Atlas if Atlas and I become a thing? How long
until I get to start making decisions about my own life without worrying
about his feelings?
My phone vibrates. It’s my mother calling. I slide softly out of the bed to
walk to the living room before answering it.
“Hey.”
“Can I have Emerson today?”
I laugh at her blatant disregard for her daughter now that she has a
granddaughter. “I’m good, how are you?” My mother loves Emmy as much
as I do—I’m convinced of that. When Emmy turned six weeks old, my
mother started taking her for a few hours at a time while I worked. She
actually stayed at her house overnight last month—it was Emmy’s first night
away from me since she’d been born. She had fallen asleep at my mother’s,
and neither of us wanted to wake her, so I went back for her the next
morning.
“Rob and I are close by; we could come pick her up in twenty minutes.
We’re going to the botanical gardens; I thought it would be fun to get her out.
I’m sure you could use the break.”
“Yeah, sure. I’ll get her dressed.”
Half an hour later, there’s a knock at my door. I open it and let my mother
and Rob inside. My mother beelines across the living room, straight to
Emmy, who is on a pallet on the floor.
“Hi, Mom.” I say it teasingly.