"Happily Ever After" wasn't supposed to come with a do-over option. But when my husband of 20 years packs up and heads for greener pastures, and my son heads away to college, that's exactly what my midlife becomes.
This time, though, I plan to do things differently. Age is just a number, after all, and at 40 I'm ready to carve my own path.
Eager for a fresh start, I make a somewhat unorthodox decision and move to a tiny town in the Sierra foothills. I'll be taking care of a centuries-old house that called to me when I was a kid. It's just temporary, I tell myself. It'll just be for a little while.
That is, until I learn what the house really is: something I never would've thought possible.
As my new life begins, a couple of things become immediately clear: Forty isn't too old for adventure. Not by half. It is too old to take crap from anyone, however, or care what people think.
I had no idea how incredibly freeing that could be. Or how dangerous this new life would become.
I have a chance to start again, and this time, I make the rules.