A year passed. Mom still had quiet nights, but she wasn’t broken anymore. She had her own money, her own routines, her own life.
Then one evening, while she was baking cookies just because she wanted to, Lydia called.
“Kayla,” she said urgently, “you need to come here. RIGHT NOW.”
“What happened?” Mom asked.
“Remember what your ex said about your ‘expiration date’? You need to see what he looks like now.”
The drive was silent except for Owen asking, “Is he sick?”
“All I know is I’m not going there to save him,” Mom replied.
At Lydia’s, she opened the door looking grim. “The surgery didn’t go well,” she said.
“What surgery?” Mom asked.
“He spent everything on not getting old,” Lydia explained. “Surgeries, treatments, injections, hair restoration, skin tightening—God knows what else. Every time someone promised he’d look ten years younger, he threw money at it.”
