Free A Bend in the Road by Nicholas Sparks

that they would
be a couple forever. They’d made their vows and promised to love each other
forever, after all, and she’d descended from a long line of families that had
done just that.  Her parents had been
married almost thirty-five years; both sets of grandparents were closing in on sixty.
Even after their problems arose, Sarah believed that she and Michael would
follow in their footsteps. She knew it wouldn’t be easy, but when he’d chosen
the views of his family over his promise to her, she’d never felt so
insignificant in her entire life.
    But she
wouldn’t be upset now, if she was really over him. . . .  Sarah finished her glass and rose from the
couch, not wanting to believe that, refusing to believe it. She was over him.
If he came crawling back to her right now and begged for forgiveness, she
wouldn’t take him back. There was nothing he could say or do to ever make her
love him again. He could marry whoever the hell he wanted, and it would make no
difference to her.
    In the kitchen,
she poured her third glass of wine.
    Michael was
getting married again.
    Despite herself, Sarah
felt the tears coming. She didn’t want to cry anymore, but old dreams died
hard. When she put her glass down, trying to compose herself, she set the glass
too close to the sink and it toppled into the basin, shattering instantly. She
reached in to pick up the shards of glass, pricked her finger, and it began to
bleed.
    One more thing
on an already terrible day.
    She exhaled
sharply and pressed the back of her hand against her eyes, willing herself not
to cry.
    • • •
    “Are you sure you’re okay?”
    With crowds
pressing in around them, the words seemed to fade in and out, as if Sarah were
trying to listen to something from a distance. 
“For the third time, I’m fine, Mom. Really.”
    Maureen reached
up and brushed the hair from Sarah’s face. “It’s just that you look a little
pale, like you might be coming down with something.” “I’m a little tired,
that’s all. I was up late working.”
    Though she
didn’t like lying to her mother, Sarah had no desire to tell her about the
bottle of wine the night before. Her mother barely understood why people drank
at all, especially women, and if Sarah explained that she’d been alone as well,
her mother would only bite her lip in worry before launching into a series of
questions that Sarah was in no mood to answer. 
It was a glorious Saturday, and the downtown area was thronged with
people. The Flower Festival was in full swing, and Maureen had wanted to spend
the day browsing among the booths and in the antique stores along Middle
Street. Since Larry wanted to watch the football game between North Carolina
and Michigan State, Sarah had offered to keep her company. She’d thought it
might be fun, and it probably would have been, if it hadn’t been for the raging
headache that even aspirin couldn’t ease. As they talked, Sarah inspected an antique
picture frame that had been restored with care, though not enough care to
justify the price.  “On a Friday?” her
mother asked.
    “I’d been
putting it off for a while and last night seemed as good as any.” Her mother
leaned closer, pretending to admire the picture frame. “You were in all night?”
    “Uh-huh. Why?”
    “Because I called
you a couple of times and the phone just rang and rang.”
    “I unplugged the
phone.”
    “Oh. For a while
there, I thought you might be out with someone.”
    “Who?”
    Maureen shrugged.
“I don’t know . . . someone.”
    Sarah eyed her
over the top of her sunglasses. “Mom, let’s not go into that again.”
    “I’m not going
into anything,” she answered defensively. Then, lowering her voice as if
conversing with herself, she went on. “I just assumed you’d decided to go out.
You used to do that a lot, you know. . . .”
    In addition to
wallowing in a bottomless pit of concern, Sarah’s mother could also play to
perfection the part of a guilt-ridden parent.