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She doesn't know what possesses her to buy the paper that week, but some quiet inner voice urged her to add it to her cart at the checkout of the grocery store- so she does, thanking the young girl behind the register before she brought her purchases out to her car.
Dan and the boys aren't home yet when she pulls into the driveway, bringing the groceries in and putting the milk and eggs away before she left the paper on the counter to start a load of wash. It's only when she returns to the kitchen that she picks the paper up, the thin paper crinkling as she unfolded it. Her eyes scan the pages filled with news stories- a local mayoral race that was heating up, a new restaurant's booming opening week, a fire on the south side of town.
Diane's eyes widen as she turns to the Announcements section and finds herself staring at a large, smiling picture of her ex-husband.
In a quiet, private ceremony at Montauk Manor, James "Jim" Hopper and Joyce Byers exchanged vows on Thursday. The pair, originally from Hawkins, Indiana, moved to Montauk last year after getting engaged. Jim was recently named the new police chief, taking over after Ed Ecker retired. Pictured with the couple above are their two sons, Jonathan and Will, who currently both attend colleges in New York City.
Diane blinks, staring at the picture. Jim was grinning, one arm wrapped tight around a short, pretty woman's waist and the other around the shoulders of a tall boy with shaggy dark hair who was also grinning. On the woman's other side is a younger looking boy that looked just like her who was beaming at the camera, a hand around his mother's back to grip Jim's shoulder. She knows they aren't his sons- the ages didn't fit- but something in her chest warms at the caption anyway.
When she'd left him, it hadn't been because she didn't love him. A part of her always would- he'd given her Sara, even for such a brief time, and she could never forget that. But Jim had wanted to wallow in the misery of losing their daughter, to continually subject himself to the pain of her loss without any reprieve. He'd lost any desire to see a future without Sara in it, and while Diane had understood, she couldn't live like that. She wanted to keep living, to see the brightness Sara had left behind and treasure it.
She'd heard he'd moved back to Indiana a few months after the divorce papers had been signed through their mutual friends- but then she'd met Dan, and thoughts of Jim Hopper had faded to only an occasional crossing of her mind. She'd had her hands full with the twins, and that had been enough for her. She'd been happy.
It isn't until she's staring at his picture, seeing his clear joy, the stress that had darkened the corners of his eyes in those last week, that she remembers why she'd fallen for him in the first place. When Jim was happy, he shone, the light of his smile filling a room easily. When they'd lost Sara, that light had dimmed, nearly disappearing.
Diane looks at the woman- at this Joyce Byers, a name she'd heard in passing during their marriage when Jim had talked about home- and studies her. She's looking up at Jim, eyes crinkled fondly in the corners as she smiled, her expression so contented Diane is tempted to call it lovesick. But even that doesn't feel like the right term- it's pure, unadulterated adoration, plain and simple.
Quietly, she folds the paper back up, smoothing the pages, and then moves to the recycling bin- she tosses the paper inside, turning to the door when she hears the screen slam into the door jam.
"Mom, we're home!" Sam calls, and her lips curl up into a smile. "And we brought home dinner after practice!"
The paper sits forgotten, crumpled at the bottom of the recycling bin, as Diane greeted her family.
She forgets about the paper, about Jim Hopper, until she's in Montauk a few months later- she could only find the specific jam her son Ross liked at a grocery store there, so every so often she'd make the half hour trip from Sag Harbor to pick up a few jars.
She's passing an aisle when she spots a familiar silhouette out of the corner of her eye- stops, blinking, when she fully turns her head and sees Jim Hopper in the flesh. He was peering at a label in the hands of the woman beside him, eyes squinting at the small print.
"Hop, seriously, where are your reading glasses? You know the doctor said to stop straining so much," she was saying, but her voice is filled with quiet affection as she poked at him. "Here, wear mine."
"Yours are pink, Joy," Hopper replies mildly, but takes the plastic reading glasses from the woman after she fishes them out of her purse and settles them on the bridge of his nose. "Wow, it really is easier to read with these."
"Told you," she replies, and taps the label once more. "There's no peanuts in this, right? Remember, Will told us Elliot is allergic, I want to make sure he can eat these."
"I'm seeing no nuts in the ingredients," Hopper confirms, and Joyce sighs in relief before she set the jar in their cart. "You know, I don't know much about this Elliot."
"Will really likes him, Hop, so you better be nice," Joyce warns, and Hopper throws his hands up in surrender.
"I just want what's best for Will. He's gotta pass the test," he says, and Diane watches as Joyce rolls her eyes, though her expression remained fond.
"So overprotective," she teased, and Hopper grinned- pulled his wife closer with fingers on her chin as he bent to kiss her properly.
"Ah, you love it," he replies, and Joyce's nose crinkles.
"I sure do. Now c'mon, we've got a lot of shopping left to do. Let's get a move on."
Diane watches them disappear down the aisle, turning without seeing her and disappearing further into the store. She doesn't chase after them, just grabs the jam and checks out without spotting the pair again. Jim would never even know she'd been there, or seen him, but she was okay with that. Somehow, knowing that he'd found his footing and made a family he clearly cared for so deeply- it gave her a sense of peace she hadn't realized she needed.
She drives home, humming quietly to the radio, and lets Jim Hopper slip from her mind once more.