Time To Let Go

"I can't sleep," my mind racing with the same continuous battle I had had my entire married life. I hadn’t spoken with Susan since her birthday in March 2021, and since then, if I was near her, I avoided all contact. Sam and I were just going through the motions of being married. The cool tile under my feet sent a shiver down my spine as I stepped onto the lanai, even though the Florida sun warmed my skin. The wicker chair creaked as I eased into it. The chair, once comforting, now felt restrictive—like the rest of my life. In the distance, leaf blowers roared, their noise mixing with the fresh scent of coffee, but I couldn’t relax even in my cozy red-striped pajamas.

I gripped my mug tightly. I was uncertain about my future, and my heartbreak was as bitter as my coffee. The golf course stretched before me, and the bright sunlight on the ninth hole looked like an advertisement for a golf tournament.

Picture perfect, I thought, just like the image of the DeYoung family.

But the comparison only worsened my feelings about my crumbling marriage.

The sliding door’s hiss pulled me from my thoughts. Elaine stepped onto the lanai, her ivory robe fluttering in the breeze. She smiled, but her eyes were cautious.

“Good morning,” she said, settling into the chair beside me.

“Morning,” I murmured, my voice filled with sadness. I needed to snap out of this.

The door slid open again, and Khaki strolled out with her coffee, her slippers shuffling across the tile. She lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply, then angled herself so the smoke drifted away from us. A moment passed before she exhaled. Then she turned her sharp eyes on me.

“All right, Tara,” she said bluntly. “What’s going on with Sam and his family now?”

I let out a slow breath as my chest tightened, watching her smoke dissolve into the air. I wished my problems would do the same. I had grown so tired of the same old story, of my complaints about Sam and his family.

“For more than thirty years, it’s been the same story,” I said, annoyed. “Sam made our life seem easy at first with his humor. We could face anything together. But now…” My fingers played with the buttons on my pajama top.

Elaine reached across the table, her hand wrapping around mine. Always empathetic, always a gesture that held me together.

“I can’t keep living like this,” I whispered, tearful now.

“You can choose happiness,” Elaine said softly. Then, “Have you tried journaling? That’s always helped me make sense of my life when it felt out of control.”

She voiced the truth I hadn’t yet admitted: my life was out of control.

But all I could hear in response was Sam’s voice from all our past arguments, his go-to rebuttal: “Why can’t you just be happy? Look at all my family’s business has provided for us.” Sam had remained complacent, still stuck in the dysfunction, still caught in Susan’s web. I needed more than material possessions, though. I needed to feel safe, heard, and protected. I had held up my end of the marriage, managed the home, been there for our children, and supported Sam and his family until I could no longer do so.

Bitterness laced my words.

“He’s too afraid of his family to tell them ‘enough’ with their ignoring and casting aside how so many of us in the family feel about their pattern of meanness. It never ends.”

Khaki stubbed out her cigarette as if she were putting out a fire herself.

“Damn it, Tara. Stop sacrificing yourself for them; this has gone on too long.”

Her voice was direct, unapologetic. It stung, but I needed to hear it. I had spent years pretending I could handle Sam’s mother, but every stunt she pulled on me and my family had chipped away at me. Sam was quieter than ever these days, and I felt myself slipping away again, as I had more than once in our marriage.

My gaze dropped to the crumpled tissue in my lap, and I stared at the golf course, remembering. I could smell roses in the air, stirring an old, sharp-edged memory.

My wedding day. The overwhelming scent of roses, the delicate lace of my veil in my hands. My bridesmaids were chatting around me, but my ears only heard one voice: Susan’s.

“I feel like I’m at a funeral.”

I ignored it then, telling myself it didn’t matter. Now I knew better. I thought back to her betrayal of Tate, how she denied her actions, defended herself, and accused him of wrongdoing.

“Oh, Tate, stop being so dramatic. We’ve done so much for you. You are a spoiled brat.”

What kind of people treated their family this way? And here I was, guilty of what my children had experienced. I knew their grandparents played favorites and triangulated the family, ensuring the three branches were suspicious of each other and never calling out her influence. We, Sam’s family, were labeled the troublemakers. I had watched what Susan had done to Jerry Jr.’s family, too—spreading her lies, turning him and their children against Becky, his wife and their mother. Eventually, destroying any chance for Jerry Jr.’s children to have a relationship with their mom.

I let out a breath, rubbing my temple as I looked up at my friends. The coffee, now cold, sat forgotten in front of me. I could be happy living alone in a community like Khaki’s.

“Maybe it’s time I stopped waiting for them to change. People like them don’t,” I said again, this time louder and more confident.

Khaki leaned in, her voice firm.

“You’ve been waiting in the wings too long, Tara.”

Elaine shifted beside me, sensing I was about to break.

“Why don’t we lighten things up?” she suggested gently. “Any good books lately?”

I exhaled, grateful for the shift.

“I just finished A Gentleman in Moscow. You’ve got to read it—it’s a masterpiece.”

“I loved that one,” Elaine said. “But have you read Educated yet? That one hit me hard.”

Khaki shook her head.

“I started it but had to stop. Too much abuse. That poor girl needed to escape.”

The word "abuse" hit too close to home. I, too, had read Educated, and that book was what made me realize there hadn’t been any physical abuse in the DeYoung family. But the emotional scars they left—pain I had tried to ignore for years—had crushed me. The entire family had been affected by the emotional abuse at the hands and mouth of Susan, who herself suffered from unhealed trauma that went undiagnosed. The cycle of fear—being ruled by it, steering clear of it, unable to escape it—continued in the next generation of DeYoungs.

Elaine and Khaki watched me, saying nothing. I looked at the two of them and smiled. For over thirty years, they were my pillars of strength. Khaki raised a son on her own after her husband passed away at the age of thirty-four, choosing never to remarry. Elaine, Sally’s Godmother, was always thoughtful, displaying her kindness to all those she cared about.

Elaine squeezed my hand.

“Whatever comes next, we’re here for you.”

I nodded, looking back at the golf course. The morning light warmed me as I inhaled deeply, then held my breath and exhaled, trying to slow my heart rate like my doctor’s nurse had taught me: four seconds to breathe in, seven seconds to hold my breath, and eight seconds to exhale.

If I left, what would Susan do to me? To my family? Would she try to destroy me? Ruin Tate’s career yet again? Make Sam’s life hell until he finally caved, once and for all?

I had seen what she had done to Becky, Jerry Jr.’s ex-wife. I knew what she was capable of. But then I thought of my children, and I knew—I couldn’t let her hold that power over my family anymore. I didn’t need to tolerate Sam accepting that he wasn’t equal to his brother, or how he continued to let Susan have a say in our marriage by not standing up to her lies about me behind my back.

I replayed Elaine’s words in my mind.

“You deserve to be happy.”

But I needed more than happiness. My family needed peace and equality.

I set my coffee down, stretched my fingers, and loosened my shoulders. It was time to let go. I would write my story and start over, not for Sam or Susan, but for me.