Things couldn’t go on like this.

Eventually I had to drag myself out of my bedroom and attempt to be a functioning adult. The kids would be home from school just after three, Keaton had boxing, Whitney needed to bake something for a ski club fundraiser, and I had to run to the bank and the realtor’s office before they closed at five. I scrubbed my teeth, rinsed my mouth, and repaired my face as well as I could, but there was no way to disguise the fact that I’d been a blubbering mess for hours, and Chloe was right—my color was not good. My complexion had kind of a gray-green hue to it. Hopefully, sunglasses would help. At least my stomach felt a little better.

I managed to get my errands in before the bus brought the kids home, although everyone in the realtor’s office and bank probably thought I was nuts for wearing my sunglasses inside.

Back at home, I made the kids a healthy snack and prayed they wouldn’t notice my puffy eyes. Keaton seemed oblivious while he ate his celery sticks and peanut butter, chattering excitedly about a project he wanted to do for the upcoming science fair, but Whitney eyeballed me steadily over her plate of carrots and hummus and hardly touched her food.

“Aren’t you hungry?” I asked her, avoiding eye contact.

“A little,” she replied, pushing a few baby carrots around on her plate. “Are you okay?”

Keaton stopped eating and looked at me too.

“Of course.” I tried to fake a smile, but it felt sort of ghoulish. “Finish your snacks so we can get to the gym on time. While Keaton is boxing, Whit, we’ll hit the grocery store for whatever you need to bake. What was it you wanted to make?”

“Mississippi Mud brownies.”

“Ooh, those are good. Let me pull up the recipe to make a grocery list.”

She continued to study me while I checked the recipe on my phone, looked in my mother’s pantry to see what was there already, and scribbled a quick list of what we’d need to purchase. We’d been getting along really well since New Year’s Eve, although never again did we discuss Henry or what had happened that night. She knew I’d been working at the winery, but if it bothered her, she never said anything about it.

She’d been pretty sad and clingy while in California, but I hadn’t blamed her. That was an emotional weekend for us all, and it didn’t help that Brett was preoccupied with soothing Kimmy’s ruffled pregnant feathers the whole time. He did manage to spend some time with the kids, but I knew it wasn’t the kind of time or attention they were craving from him.

I knew it all too well.

Later that evening, Keaton was doing his homework in his bedroom and Whitney and I were baking in the kitchen. My parents had gone out to dinner with friends, so we had the house to ourselves. Outside, the wind was whistling against the windows, and the temperatures continued to drop, but inside it was warm and cozy, and the kitchen smelled delicious.

Whitney was more cheerful and talkative than she’d been this afternoon, and I was enjoying her stories about new friends at school, a cute boy from her English class, what color she wanted to paint her room at the new house, what she wanted to name the horse we were planning to purchase. It was just the kind of evening I’d envisioned for our new life.

“Mom, can I ask you something?” Whitney kept her eyes on the mixing bowl as she added more powdered sugar to the frosting.

“Sure.”

“Why didn’t Aunt April ever get married or have kids?”

“I guess she never met the right person.”

“But she’s so pretty.”

I smiled. “It’s not just about looks, honey. You have to find someone you can be your real self around. Someone who finds you beautiful inside and out.”

“Does she want to get married?”

“I think so. But it’s not always easy to find the someone. And sometimes you do, but it doesn’t work out.”

“Where did you meet Daddy?” she asked.

“In Chicago. I was in college and he was working there at the time.”

“Were you in love?”

I thought carefully about how to answer. “We were back then. Yes.”

“Is that why you got married?”

I looked down at my left hand, recalling the moment Brett had slipped the diamond solitaire on my fourth finger and asked me to be his wife. In all honesty, I’d been torn—my plan had always been to travel after college. But I’d been in love with Brett, and he’d made me all sorts of promises about the beautiful life we’d have together if I’d marry him and move to California, where an executive position waited for him at his family’s investment firm. He said he loved me. He said I’d have everything I could possibly want. He said he’d do anything to have me . . . except wait.

Being twenty-two, blinded by love, and dazzled by the dream life he dangled in front of my eyes, I’d said yes. I’d believed him. I’d done everything he’d asked, including set my own dreams aside, and followed him across the country, where we did indeed build a beautiful life—on the surface.

But I couldn’t say that to Whitney.

“Yes. That’s why we got married. And I’m glad we did, sweetheart. Because as difficult as the last few years were, I’d do them all over again just to have you and Keaton. Being your mom is the best thing I’ve ever done.”

She turned on the electric mixer and didn’t say anything else while she beat the frosting. But a few minutes later, as she spread the frosting on top of the marshmallow-covered brownies, she said, “Daddy says he loves me. But I don’t believe him.”

“Oh, Whitney, don’t say that.”

“It’s the truth. I don’t believe him anymore. You know what he gave me for Christmas?”

I shook my head. Brett had given the kids their gifts while they were out to dinner with him and Kimmy, and I hadn’t asked for any details.

“The same necklace he got for me last year. The exact same one.”

“I’m sorry.”

“And he sat there telling me how expensive it is, how I need to be sure I take care of it and don’t lose it because it’s so valuable. And I was sitting there looking at him, thinking, Dad, you don’t know jack shit about taking care of things that are valuable.”

I laughed, although it wasn’t funny. “God, Whit. You’re exactly right. And I don’t mean to make light of it, but you are so exactly right. He used to buy me expensive gifts all the time too, when all I really wanted was for him to spend more time with us.”

“It made me so mad,” she said, setting the bowl of frosting aside. “What kind of person is he?”

“Your father isn’t a bad person,” I said, willing myself to be generous. “But he’s always been the kind of guy who thinks he can buy people’s love. His father was the same way. It’s the only way he knows. It makes him feel like a big shot, and that’s what’s important to him.”

“It’s not right.” Her lower lip jutted as she smoothed the layer of frosting.

“No, it isn’t.”

“I feel sorry for that baby they’re having. Because it’s not like he’s ever going to change.”