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I was eight years old. It was a hot, Oklahoma summer. At eight years old, in a hot pink bathing suit that matched my best friend's, there wasn't much I feared! As we had done so many summers, we had gone on a camping trip to Lake Tenkiller in Oklahoma. There were cliffs with shores folks could boat up to. We would climb the cliffs so that we could plunge off the side, into the lake. Then, we'd climb the rocks back up to the top! With such energetic kids, my parents hoped that going to the cliffs would wear us out for the evening. As we approached the cliffs, docked our boat, and climbed our way up, we came to the top where a group of college boys had beat us there. We were at the highest jump. As they nudged one another trying to decide who was going to jump first, my father shouted, "Hey, guys! Watch my girl go!" I didn't hesitate. Smiling, arms spread wide, I ran and leapt off of the side! I splashed into the lake below, popping back up to hear the proud and unmistakable belly laugh of my father. I looked up and saw the group of college boys who were now looking down at me rather sheepishly. Fast Forward. As a twenty- something wife, mommy, and stepmother to two special needs children, from the outside looking in, we really seemed like we had it all together. We lived in a quaint little Alabama town. We had a beautiful home and our kids were getting along with the neighborhood kids, playing the only sport that exists in Alabama– football. I had a marriage that had endured military life. It was enduring something else too, a husband with severe PTSD. It wasn't an eventful day. I came home from a check-up with my infant son. I walked in and my stepsons weren't there. There were two small, overnight suitcases on the bed. Beside them stood a stern face I could hardly recognize as my spouse. In a fog, I heard the word divorce. I realized that Watch My Girl Go! Tiana Manley 12 spring/summer 2020