Chapter 1: A Call from the Past

“Come visit me,” she says. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” I reply, “but I can’t.”

“Why not?” she asks.

“I can’t afford it, and my life is hectic. I’m drowning in this never-ending divorce.”

“Don’t you miss the shore?” she probes.

“Yes,” I admit.

I’m on the phone with my ‘bestie sister.’

Technically, she should have been my ex-husband's friend after our split. We first met during a New Year’s Eve celebration in Eagles Mere, a charming resort town nestled in the Pennsylvania mountains, when we were just 23 and 24. She had recently started dating one of my then-boyfriend’s friends.

I recall arriving that night to find her on the couch, focused on painting her nails a bright red. Initially, I thought, "No warm welcome from her." I wondered if we would get along. But soon, she discovered I had a bit of spunk too, likely thanks to my Brooklyn upbringing, and we formed a bond.

Our summers were spent at the Jersey Shore, where it was just the three of us girls surrounded by fifteen guys—most of my ex’s friends didn’t settle down for years. This situation drew us even closer, as we were each other's only female allies.

One day while lounging on the beach, I declared, “We’re not going in on a group house in Avalon next summer.”

“What??!!” she exclaimed, the girl who had once overlooked me.

“Two summers can cover the deposit for a beach house,” I explained.

“But you’ll miss out for two summers,” she countered.

“But I’ll have a beach house,” I insisted.

That weekend, I returned home and printed a picture of my husband and me in Cape May, New Jersey, which I stuck on our refrigerator. I secured a part-time job and started saving for a deposit.

Fast forward two years, and there we were, sitting on the beach again.

“Oh my gosh,” she said, eyes wide. “You did it. You bought a beach house!”

“I know,” I replied. “I still can’t believe it.”

“Tell me how I’m going to do it,” she urged.

Within a few years, we were both proud homeowners at the Jersey Shore, living just a block apart in Sea Isle City—right next to the girl who had once ignored me. To be fair, I had to convince her to skip Wildwood.

It was a life of luxury—not from wise choices made in our 30s, but from being surrounded by love. Our families and friends would come down, creating our own Shore family with our Sea Isle Sisters and their families.

Despite the distance between us, we reunited every summer and in between, sharing secrets, chasing dreams, raising our boys, and revealing our true selves to one another.

Recently, I called the girl who had once overlooked me.

“I’m definitely coming to the Shore,” I stated.

“Oh my gosh!” she exclaimed. “I’m so thrilled!”

“But it’s Thanksgiving week,” I reminded her.

“I don’t care,” she replied. “You can stay with me.”

Walking through her door was overwhelming. I screamed as I hugged her, laughter bubbling up as we reunited. Despite the years apart, we remained close, but physically, a decade had slipped away due to a man who had delayed my divorce for five years and the turmoil that followed as I rebuilt my life.

She looked just as I remembered, and everything felt the same. Later that night, after returning from Princeton in Avalon, she needed to sleep as her family was arriving, but I found myself restless. I needed to sit with my thoughts, to reflect on better memories.

Tears streamed down my face—tears of full-circle realization.

Recently, I’ve experienced many such moments, which have been a blessing following my tumultuous divorce. This reunion was a significant part of the healing process that divorce often postpones.

I believe returning to the Jersey Shore wouldn’t have been as challenging if my divorce had been normal—one without abuse and an appropriate duration. If that were the case, my divorce would have felt like just a moment in time, allowing me to move on sooner.

Instead, I felt as if I had lost everything and become unrecognizable. Despite my ‘bestie sister’ repeatedly inviting me, I hesitated to revisit those joyful times; it was simply too painful. I had lost sight of who I once was—the girl who encouraged her to buy a beach house nearby, the optimistic dreamer who got left behind while trying to escape.

Sitting on her couch, I surprised myself. My tears were not of sorrow but of gratitude. I wasn't mourning the absence of my beach house; rather, I felt immensely thankful for the shared journey we had experienced.

Time spent together is a precious gift. Both of us know this too well; she lost her parents at a young age, and I lost mine six months apart when I was 28. We never took a moment for granted.

I often joked with our other Sea Isle Sisters about cherishing moments. Whether we were on the beach or out somewhere, I would announce, “Girls, it’s a moment! This is a moment!” It signified something funny, unexpected, or emotional, and they would laugh.

When it was time to say goodbye, I cried.

“I’ll be back,” I promised. “I won’t stay away any longer. It was just hard to return sooner. I needed to feel like myself before coming back to the Shore.”

She has been my partner in crime, my confidant, my cheerleader, and my refuge—my ‘bestie sister.’ We have laughed, celebrated, and supported each other through thick and thin.

We’ve danced into the night, perhaps even on a few tables, and made memories that most would envy. The bond we forged in our early 20s, despite her initial indifference, remains unbreakable.

She’s the kind of person who doesn’t just enter your life; she stays for the long haul. Even when life takes its toll, even when you feel lost, even when you think you can never find your way back—she waits for you.

Ten years later, in the seaside town that was once our home, where fairy tales felt real.

Chapter 2: A Video Reflection on Confrontation and Healing

In this video, Mike Sorrentino shares insights into confronting Angelina about cheating rumors amidst her divorce. The conversation explores themes of loyalty, friendship, and emotional healing.