She whirled around, fresh tears running down her face. “Then why are you doing this to us?”

“Doing what, honey?”

“Just what Daddy did!”

“Whitney, I’m not. I promise.”

“Why should I believe a word you say?” she asked, wiping beneath her eyes, smearing the dark eye makeup so that it looked like tire tracks across her face. “I asked you if you were dating him and you said no.”

“Because we aren’t dating, not exactly,” I said, heat rushing my face.

“Please, Mom. I saw you dancing with him. I saw you kissing him. You’re not just friends.”

“Well, sometimes friends—”

She put her hands over her ears. “Stop lying to me! That’s just what Daddy did!”

“Okay, okay.” I held up my hands. “I’ll be honest. Henry and I have feelings for each other. We’d . . . we’d like to be more than friends.”

“I knew it!” she yelled, shaking her head. “You think I’m stupid, but I’m not. I know how this works. You fall in love with Henry, and then he’ll take you away from us. You’ll want to get married and have his baby, and then you’ll realize you don’t need us anymore.”

“Oh, honey, that’s not true.” I stood up and moved toward her, but she ducked out of the way—to my recollection, the first time she’d ever rejected my attempt at affection. A lump of sadness and self-loathing lodged in my throat. “Please, sweetheart. Come here.”

“No!” she cried. “You’ll just hug me and tell me you understand, but you don’t. Your parents are still together. Your house is still your house. You can come back here any time you want and everything is the same. You and Daddy took all that away from me. My entire life was just gone one day, and I can never get it back!”

I began to cry too. “Oh, Whitney, I’m sorry. I know I can never understand exactly what you’re going through. You’re right. I grew up here in this wonderful, warm home with two adoring parents, and it’s a place I feel safe and loved. I guess I was hoping it could be that for you too, because honey, you are safe and loved. I’m here for you. I’ll always be here for you.”

“You don’t mean that,” she bawled. “You say it and say it and say it, but if you meant it, you wouldn’t be with anyone else. You’re no better than Daddy.”

“Whitney, that’s not—” But I stopped. I’d been about the say fair, but I realized at that moment that fairness was beside the point. Reason played no role in the emotional storm raging inside her head. And when I looked at her, I knew in my heart and soul I would do anything to make her feel safe, no matter what it took. I was a mother first and foremost, and the needs of my children would always come before my own.

That was the difference between me and their father.

“Okay, Whitney. If you’re not ready for me to be more than Henry’s friend, I won’t.”

“Just get out and leave me alone,” she whimpered, throwing herself face down on her bed and wailing into her pillow.

Wiping my own tears, I sat beside her, relieved when she let me. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. You’re stuck with me, love.” I rubbed her back the way she’d always liked as a child. “That’s what being family means.”

She cried hard for a few minutes—huge, racking sobs that made her shoulders shudder and soaked her pillow. Finally, they subsided, replaced with less violent weeping, but the sight and sound of it still broke what was left of my heart.

“W-wasn’t D-Daddy family?” she sputtered. “He st-still left.”

“That’s true,” I said. “But I was raised to believe that family sticks around. Family shows up. Family has your back. At least mine does.”

She flipped around so that her head was in my lap, and I brushed the hair off her forehead. I was dying to mop up her face, but didn’t want to wreck whatever accord we might’ve arrived at. Her tears slowed, and her breathing returned to normal, except for the occasional hiccup. “I don’t really want to move to Arizona,” she confessed.

“I don’t blame you.”

Her arms circled my waist. “I want to stay here with you and Keaton and have our new house. I want it to be just us.”

I swallowed hard. I knew what she meant. “Okay.”

She closed her eyes, and eventually even her hiccups ceased. “Mommy?”

The name brought the lump back to my throat. “Yes?”

“How do you even know if someone means it when they say they love you? How do you know they’re not going to leave you and break your heart?”

Honestly, I didn’t feel qualified to give the answer. The truth was, there were guys like Brett in the world who said they loved you for fifteen years and then up and left you for J.Crew Kimmy one day. How could I explain that to her without giving her trust issues for the rest of her life? Weren’t my own issues enough? Did her father’s actions have to scar us both for life?

“I don’t know, Whit. I could make something up and tell you that you just know, but the truth is, sometimes you don’t. Sometimes what looks like real love turns out to be infatuation. Sometimes real love exists, but people drift apart. Sometimes love is real, but the circumstances are all wrong. Love is tricky. And messy. And hard to explain.”

She shivered and held me tighter. “I hope I never fall in love. It sounds scary and horrible. I’d rather be alone.”

“Give it some time, okay? Maybe you’ll change your mind.”

She shook her head vehemently. “Never.”

Part of me wanted to argue with her, but another part agreed with her one hundred percent. Love was terrifying. It put you completely at the mercy of someone else. You basically handed over your breakable heart and hoped that someone wouldn’t shatter it. Whitney was right—there was never any real assurance you wouldn’t get hurt.

Maybe I was better off alone.

At that moment, we heard shouts coming from outside. I checked the clock on her night table, and realized it was midnight. “I think we missed sparklers,” I told her gently.

“I don’t care.”

“Do you want to go back to the party?”

She shook her head.

“Okay, honey. You don’t have to. But I should go back and get your brother.” I started to get up, but she gripped me tighter.

“No! Just . . . just stay for a few more minutes, okay?”

“Okay.” Fighting tears, I began stroking her hair again. This wasn’t the fresh start I’d envisioned. “It’s going to be okay, baby. You’ll see.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and didn’t answer, and I sat there with her for a little while longer, drying my tears with the sleeve of my blouse so they wouldn’t fall into her hair. Within minutes, she fell asleep, and I carefully removed her shoes from her feet before pulling her comforter over her legs.

After leaving her room, I stopped in mine to trade my party clothes for a pair of jeans, a sweater, and some boots. In the bathroom, I tamed my hair into a ponytail and took off my ruined eye makeup. Then I went downstairs, put my coat on, and dragged myself back to the party, more miserable with every step.