“This is my life,” she muttered. “A dark, musty closet filled with mismatched mittens and moth-eaten scarves.” She thought a silent recitation of all she’d lost would open the floodgates, but she couldn’t seem to muster even a tiny sob. What did this mean?

“Mommy?”

Roxanne saw the light beneath the closet door flicker and she knew Danny, her six-year-old, was outside, his face pressed to the floor, trying to see if she was inside. Sometimes, when she came out of the closet, he was lying on the rug, waiting for her, always the little man ready to come to her rescue. Such a big burden for such a tiny boy, to be the man of the family.

“What is it, sweetie?”

“Rachel wants juice,” he said. “When are you coming out?”

“Mommy’s just dusting,” Roxanne said. “I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

“I can dust the closet for you,” Danny offered.

Roxanne sighed softly. For some reason, she just couldn’t work up a good case of tears today. All the anger she’d kept so well hidden had slowly dissolved until there was nothing left. Two years ago, her husband had walked out. A year ago, the divorce was finalized. And her future began today. The revelation stunned her. She was finally over John. Six years of marriage and that was it.

“Mommy?”

She bent down and looked at her son beneath the door. “Yeah, sweetie.”

“There’s a man on the porch. Should I let him in?”

“It’s probably just the mailman. Maybe he forgot something.”

“He has flowers and balloons. Can I let him in?”

Frowning, Roxanne struggled to her feet and opened the door carefully, waiting for Danny to scoot back. But her son wasn’t on the floor, he was standing at the front door, smiling up at a stranger who waited on the front porch. With a soft cry, Roxanne hurtled past him and slammed the door shut. Then she bent down in front of Danny and put on a stern expression. “Do you remember what Mommy told you? You never, ever open the door to a stranger.”

“But he has balloons,” Danny said.

“I don’t care if he has a million cute puppies and ten tons of candy. You never, ever open the door to a stranger. Do you understand?”

Danny nodded, then glanced over at the door. “Can I let him in?”

“No,” Roxanne said. “But you can ask me to let him in.”

“Let him in, Mommy, let him in. He has balloons.”

Roxanne patted her son on the head, then opened the front door a crack. A distinguished-looking gentleman in a rumpled overcoat stood in the chilly March wind, a huge bouquet of roses in one hand and a cluster of balloons in the other. “Can I help you?” she asked.

“Are you Roxanne Perry?”

“I am.” She opened the door a bit wider. A bizarre thought raced through her mind. Publishers Clearing House! She’d filled out the entry forms a few months ago on a lark. Sure, she could use five or ten million dollars, she had thought. But she also had known the odds were against her. Maybe her luck had finally changed!

“Congratulations,” he said, holding the roses out. “I’m happy to inform you that you’ve-”

“Oh, my God,” Roxanne cried, throwing the door open and dragging him inside. “How much have I won? Where is Ed McMahon? Am I on television?”

The gentleman glanced over his shoulder, then back at Roxanne. “I’m sorry. I’m not from Publishers Clearing House. I’m Carl Lawrence, general manager of WBAM Talk Radio 1010.”

“A radio station? Are you giving away money?”

He shook his head. “I’m here to congratulate you, Mrs. Perry. You’ve been named a finalist in the Mother of the Year contest, sponsored by Family Voyager magazine. My radio station is promoting the contest and I’ve come to congratulate you.”

The kids gathered around his feet and he handed them each a pair of balloons. They ran off, the colorful balloons trailing after them.

“But I never entered a contest,” Roxanne said. “Except for Publishers Clearing House.”

“I entered you.” Roxanne’s sister, Renee, stepped up onto the porch. She held up her camera and snapped a photo. “I wanted to get here in time, but I got caught in traffic. Are you surprised?”

White spots danced in front of Roxanne’s eyes. “I don’t understand. Why would you enter me in a contest?”

“Because you’re the best mother I know,” Renee said. “And you deserve to be recognized for how well you’ve managed to keep your family together after that jackass scumbag loser you called a husband walked out on you.” She turned to Carl Lawrence. “Pardon my French.”

Carl Lawrence cleared his throat, clearly uneasy with Renee’s acidic commentary. “Mrs. Perry, if I may, I’d like to discuss some publicity ideas with you. Our radio station has agreed to do a cross-promotion with Family Voyager magazine. We’d like to do several interviews and possibly some public appearances with radio remotes. As you probably know, we have a big listener base of mothers, ages 25 to 36.”

“You announce the public school lunch menus,” Renee said. “My kids and I listen every morning.”

“Well, that’s not all we do at WBAM,” Carl said. “We’re family-oriented talk radio. Have you listened to our Baltimore At Home show?”

“No, we just listen to the menus. Then the kids turn on cartoons and I make their lunches,” Renee said.

“Can we get back to this contest?” Roxanne asked. “I really don’t want to be on the radio. I mean, that’s like giving me a dental exam for a prize.”

“Oh, that’s not the prize,” Renee said. She pulled a glossy magazine out of her bag and held it in front of Roxanne, flipping through it until she found a page with a picture of the Eiffel Tower. “See? If you win the national contest, you’ll win a romantic getaway trip to Paris for you and a guest. And since you don’t have a husband, the guest would have to be me, since I entered you in the contest. Can you imagine it? You and I in Paris?”

“So you want to win the contest.”

“Well, I couldn’t nominate myself. And you make a much sorrier case than I do. I still have a jackass scumbag loser living at my house.”

Roxanne laughed out loud when she saw the expression on Carl Lawrence’s face. “Don’t mind my sister. She has a very bizarre sense of humor. Her husband is a wonderful man.” She turned back to Renee. “What else are you going to win if I win?”

“Besides the trip to Paris, you get a $5000 shopping spree.”

“And Bob Compton Ford has decided to give you the use of a brand-new luxury minivan for a year if you win the national contest,” Carl added. “He advertises with the station so we worked out a deal. And Food King will give you a year’s worth of groceries. I’ve also worked out promos with Toy Emporium and a kids’ clothing store. All of us at WBAM want you to win this contest. I’d like to take you out to dinner so we can discuss this in greater detail. How about Monday night?”

“I-I can’t,” Roxanne said. “I’d have to get a sitter and-”

“I’ll watch the kids,” Renee offered.

Roxanne shot her sister a frustrated look. “And my minivan hasn’t been working very well-”

“That’s no problem,” Carl said. “I’ll send a car for you.”

“Go ahead,” Renee urged. “It’s about time you did something for yourself.”

“All right,” Roxanne said, realizing that it was better to give in than to face her sister’s badgering. She could always cancel at the last minute if something came up. She groaned inwardly. What would come up? Her life had been pretty much the same day after day since her husband had walked out, the routine punctuated only by the occasional emergency.

Carl Lawrence handed her his business card. “Then I’ll see you Monday night. Do you like crab?”

“What?”

“Crab. I know a great place for crab. I’ll give the driver directions.”

He stepped back through the front door and Renee closed it behind him, shutting out the damp wind. When she turned back to Roxanne, Renee’s eyes were bright with excitement and her smile wide. “Isn’t this wonderful?” she asked. “You’re a finalist. I got the letter a couple days ago and I was almost tempted to tell you, but then the guy from the radio station called and insisted that we make a big deal of the whole thing.”

“What would ever possess you to enter me in a contest like this?” Roxanne demanded.

“I thought it would be fun. And you deserve it. You’re the best mother I know.”

A surge of guilt washed over Roxanne as she remembered her son talking to her beneath the closet door. What kind of mother hid from her kids in a hallway closet?

“A trip to Paris?” Renee reminded her. “A shopping spree? You’re going to turn that down?”

“Why would they pick me?”

“Because I wrote an incredible essay about your positive attitude and the love you have for your kids and the new life you’re making for yourself. You forget, I was an English major in college. I gave them my best stuff.” Renee reached out and gave Roxanne a hug. “Just think, you could meet a rich and handsome French man when you’re in Paris, he could sweep you off your feet and take you away from all your troubles.”

“You are living in a fantasy world if you think that’s how it works. Men don’t want an almost-thirty woman with four kids and a mountain of debt. John has been gone for nearly two years and I’ve been officially divorced for a year. And I haven’t had a date in all that time. They’re not beating down my doors.”

“That’s because you don’t put yourself out there. You’ve been hiding out in this house. You’re a beautiful woman, Roxy. And I’m sorry that your husband dumped a truckload of crap in your lap, but it’s time to move on.”

The tears that wouldn’t come earlier, now flowed down her cheeks. “It is time to move on,” Roxanne said. “I didn’t believe that until today, but my life as a married woman is over. I’m on my own now and I’ve got to be strong for my kids.”