I thought I was being the perfect wife, throwing a big, festive dinner for my husband Todd’s 35th birthday. The table was set, the food was almost done, and guests were just about to arrive. Then Todd looked at me and casually dropped a bomb: “I’m ditching the party. Going to the bar to watch the game with the guys.” I stood there frozen, spatula in my hand. Weeks of planning… gone in one sentence. What happened next? Let’s just say, I got the last laugh—big time. Six Years of

It was a Friday — payday. I’d just picked up my check and was heading into the supermarket for groceries when I saw her. I had my arms full, canvas shopping bags digging into my shoulders, already thinking about how late I was to pick up my three kids from school and daycare. My mind drifted to how much I missed having a car. When my husband walked out on us two years ago, he took the car with him. Since then, I’d been working impossible hours just to scrape

I’ve always been the cool grandma. The kind who’s always moving, never sitting still, and certainly never thinking, “Maybe I’m too old for this.”My plan? Live to a hundred and still outpace half the people in my neighborhood. Why not? I still had so many ideas for this world! You could spot me at puppy yoga, laughing with college girls, or skating at the park with twenty-something guys who tried to keep up. I even learned Japanese just so I could read the writing on my grandson’s T-shirt. My young