I knew hot flashes were supposed to be hot, but I didn't expect flames.
One day I'm in anger management, normalizing the cordial hate between me and my husband.
The next, we're divorced and he has taken both our house and the business we built together. I'm forty years old and living above our empty restaurant, plotting my next move.
And then the world around starts lighting up—literally catching on fire. I'm starting to think my defining characteristic may not be my snark or my cupcake-baking prowess, but spontaneous combustion.
I'm done suppressing my anger. I'm done playing by other people's rules. Ready to take the reins on my destiny, I'm making the choices I used to be too afraid to make. Like my favorite cast iron skillet, women get better with age. And at forty, I know exactly who I am and what I want.
I'll embrace the fire and the fury. This is my life, and I'm in control.
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