“I see.” She reached for her iPad. “How does that make you feel?”

“Nervous, I guess.” I played with one corner of the envelope. “I’m afraid I won’t know how to act. Once upon a time, we were really close friends. But then afterward . . . we never spoke again.”

“You’ve said you’re not angry with him.”

“I’m not. He felt just as terrible about what happened as I did. He apologized over and over again.”

“Have you forgiven him?”

I looked up at her. “Of course. We were both at fault.”

She nodded slowly and asked the question I was dreading. “Have you forgiven yourself?”

Two months ago, I probably would have lied and said yes. I might have even believed the lie. But I was trying harder to find the truth these days.

“I’m working on it,” I told her.

“Good.” She smiled softly. “And perhaps the timing of this reunion isn’t ideal from one perspective, but may I suggest another way to look at it?”

“Of course.”

“The universe works in mysterious ways, April. Perhaps this timing is meant to nudge you in the right direction. To help you let go of regret and embrace change.”

“Like a sign?”

She lifted her shoulders. “Call it anything you like. Just don’t be afraid of it. Only you have the power to hold yourself back or push yourself forward. Decide for yourself which one it will be.”

Later that evening, I pulled a bottle of wine from my fridge.

After leaving the therapist’s office, I’d texted my sisters and asked if they could come over to my place around eight. I was afraid if I waited any longer to confide in them, I’d lose my nerve.

I heard the front door of my condo open and shut. “Hello?”

“In the kitchen,” I called, uncorking the bottle.

My sister Meg walked in, dressed in a skirt, blouse, and heels, as if she’d just come from the office. “Hey,” she said, hanging her purse on the back of a kitchen chair. “How are you?”

“Good,” I said, taking four glasses down from a cupboard. There were five Sawyer sisters, and we all loved wine, but our oldest sister Sylvia was pregnant. “How’s the new job?”

Meg, the middle sister, had recently moved back from D.C. and taken a position as an attorney at a regional branch of the American Association for People with Disabilities. “I love it,” she enthused, rolling up the sleeves of her blouse. “It’s long hours, and I wish I saw Noah more, but the job is perfect for me. Want me to pour this?”

“Sure.”

Noah was Meg’s boyfriend and the reason she’d moved home. He was a K-9 cop with the local sheriff’s department, and they’d always been the best of friends, but last fall while she was home for our youngest sister Frannie’s wedding, they’d finally admitted to themselves what the rest of us had seen all along—they were perfect for each other.

Chloe, the second youngest, arrived as I was putting a platter of cheese and crackers on the table, and she was bubbling over with excitement because our father was finally going to retire for good this month, which meant she’d really get to take over as CEO of Cloverleigh Farms. My parents started the business as a small sustainable farm but it had grown to encompass an inn, a farm-to-table restaurant, a winery, and a brand new small-batch distillery that Chloe and her fiancé Oliver were opening. It was also one of the top wedding venues in the state.

“Dad actually cleaned out his office,” Chloe said, kicking off her heels and dropping into the chair next to Meg. “Maybe he wasn’t lying when he said the job was mine.”

Meg laughed. “Now you don’t have to change the lock.”

Sylvia arrived next, looking a little windblown but otherwise—as usual—radiantly beautiful. The oldest among us, Sylvia had returned to our childhood home over the winter in order to make a fresh start with her two children after being abandoned by her asshole ex-husband. Henry DeSantis, the vineyard manager and winemaker at Cloverleigh Farms, had taken one look at her and fallen head over heels. They were newly engaged and expecting a baby this fall.

“Hey, Syl. How are you feeling?” I asked.

Smiling brightly, Sylvia took the seat between Meg and me. “Pretty good, thanks. Growing out of my pants quicker than I’d like, but that’s okay.”

A moment later, our youngest sister Frannie came bustling in. “Sorry,” she said breathlessly. “Mack was late getting home from work, and I don’t like leaving the girls alone at night.” Frannie was married to Declan MacAllister, the CFO at Cloverleigh Farms, who had three daughters from a previous marriage.

“No worries,” I said as she scooted around the table and sat in the chair to my left.

For a few minutes, I was silent, trying to work up my nerve to tell them my secret. Around me, my sisters jabbered a mile a minute about Meg’s new job and Chloe’s fall wedding and Sylvia’s new house and Frannie’s pastry shop and our dad’s big retirement party at the end of the month, which was also a fortieth anniversary party for Cloverleigh Farms . . . the chatter never seemed to die down.

Eventually, it was Sylvia who noticed I hadn’t said anything. “April, are you okay?” she asked, looking at me with concern.

“Yes.” I cleared my throat and sat up taller. “Yes, but I have something to tell you guys.”

The room grew so silent I could hear the crickets outside the closed kitchen windows.

“What’s wrong?” Frannie asked.

“Nothing’s wrong, exactly, it’s just . . .” I reached for my wine glass and took a sip of riesling.

Next to me, Sylvia put a hand on my leg—somehow she knew. I exchanged a quick glance with her, and she smiled softly at me. It’s okay, her eyes said.

Nodding slightly, I set my glass down. “This is hard for me,” I began, “because I love you and I trust you.” Another deep breath. “But I’ve kept something from you for a lot of years.”

“What is it?” Meg leaned forward, her elbows on the table. “You can tell us, April.”

I placed my hands over my stomach, which was churning. “The summer after I graduated from high school, I got pregnant.”

Jaws dropped around the table. Eyes went wide.

“By who?” Chloe asked the question on everyone’s mind.

“I’ll tell you guys, but please keep his name within our Sawyer sister circle of trust. He was supportive of the adoption, but he didn’t want his name on the birth certificate.”

“It was Tyler Shaw, wasn’t it?” Meg asked.

I stared at her across the table. “Yes. How did you know?”

“You guys hung out a lot that year. You were at his house all the time.” She shrugged. “And he was fucking hot. Half the girls in school were in love with him.”

“Well, I wasn’t in love with him,” I said. “I was at his house all the time because I was babysitting his little sister. We were honestly just good friends. I mean, I wasn’t blind. I thought he was hot too, but he had girls throwing themselves at him all the time—literally throwing themselves. I liked that I wasn’t one of them. And I think he liked it too. He respected me.”