But that didn’t stop me from being in the office the next Tuesday morning when Mommy and Me classes started up. She was there again, with her dark haired little girl, smiling and quiet as the rest of the moms talked over each other.

I followed her that day.

And the next week.

And the week after that.

She always took her daughter to a coffee shop down the block for hot chocolate when they finished class. They’d stay for thirty minutes, while the girl drank her hot chocolate and Brenna drank an unsweetened iced tea. Then they’d walk to the lot on the other side of my studio to pick up their car.

The routine never changed. Not for two whole months.

I knew, because like the incredibly stupid woman I was—I watched them.

Then one day, Brenna brought a laptop to the coffee shop.

I sat behind her, facing the little girl I’d come to know as Trix, and tried to see what she was doing over her shoulder. It didn’t take me long to recognize the website she was on, and I watched avidly as she posted her expensive car for far less than it was worth.

“I need to go potty,” Trix said politely, her voice almost lost in the noise of the shop.

“Just one second, okay, baby?” Brenna answered, her fingers typing over the keyboard.

My initial thought was that her husband was going to be pissed as hell that she was selling her car for way less than she could get on a trade in… but then, it was like my sight widened. She was moving slower that day, almost stiffly, but the way she’d pulled her laptop out of its case and snapped it open had seemed a little jerky. Like she was waiting for someone to walk over and catch her. Her hair was down instead of tied back in the low ponytail she usually wore… and even Trix was quieter than usual.

A knot of dread formed in my stomach as she exited out of the website and went back in to clear her web history.

“Okay, let’s go potty and then we’ll head home,” Brenna said shakily, putting the laptop back in its case and reaching for Trix’s hand.

I watched as they walked toward the bathrooms, then grabbed my bag and left the shop. I was shaking as I pulled out my cell phone.

“Hey, Mum, what’s up?”

“Nix, do you know anything about Patrick’s daughter?” I asked, cringing as I crossed the street to where I was parked.

“Not much, no. Trick said she married some guy with shit-tons of money and moved up here a few years ago. Why?”

“I—” I couldn’t exactly tell him that I’d been stalking the girl for months. “I think she may come into the studio sometimes.” Yeah, like every single week like clockwork.

“Whoa. Small world.”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

“Wait, have you met her before? How did you even notice?”

I climbed into my car and locked the doors, suddenly feeling uncomfortable in my own skin.

“I knew her parents, remember? She looks like them.”

“Damn, you’ve got the memory of an elephant.”

“It’s a curse.”

“Well, I think I’ll probably talk to Trick this week sometime—you want me to mention it?”

“No!” I gulped, shaking my head in annoyance. “Don’t say anything. I don’t know why you even talk to him.”

“You know why,” he reminded me, making me want to slam my head repeatedly into the driver’s door window. “He kept in touch, even when I was a dick to him. I’m not his kid, but he came to every graduation I’ve ever had. I know you guys had a falling out, or whatever the fuck that was—but he’s the only father figure I ever had.”

“I was your father figure,” I replied stubbornly.

“And you were fantastic. But in case you haven’t noticed, you don’t have a dick.”

“Phoenix Robert Gallagher, watch your mouth.”

“Look, all I’m saying—”

“Oh, you’re trying to make a point? I thought you were just trying to annoy me,” I said, pulling out of the parking lot and turning toward my apartment.

“All I’m saying is the guy isn’t all bad. And he still asks how you’re doing after ten years—”

“Nine.”

“Whatever. Nine years. But still—you’re the only one that seems to have an issue here, and I get it. I do. But at some point, you either need to cover up that anchor and get a divorce or forgive the guy for whatever he did.”

I clenched my teeth in anger at his skewed view of the situation, but I didn’t argue. I couldn’t. Because for twenty-five years, I’d never said a word about the way he’d been conceived. He had no idea about the things I’d gone through, or the part Patrick had played in my agony, and if it was up to me, he’d never find out.

“You’re right,” I said through my teeth.

“I am?”

“Yeah. I need to cover this tattoo.”

“Mum, that’s not what I was—”

“I’m almost home, so I’ll call you later…or in a few days. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Are you angry?”

“Not at all, son. I’m just home, and I need to carry some groceries up to the apartment,” I lied.

“Okay, then. I guess I’ll talk to you later.” I rolled my eyes.

“Love you, too. Bye, kiddo.”

I hung up and sat in my car, my conversation with Nix forgotten as I remembered Brenna’s stiff movements and the weird post she’d put on Craigslist.