Chapter 1
At my husband’s family reunion, his girlfriend introduced me as the babysitter while holding my nine-year-old daughter’s hand.
“Thank God you made it,” she said from beside the photo table by the lake. “Poppy kept asking why her babysitter was so late.”
Her other hand rested on our walnut picture frame.
Poppy and I had made it at a woodworking class five years ago. The crooked P she carved into the lower-left corner was still there.
It used to hold a photo of the three of us at the beach.
Now it held a photo of Drew, Poppy, and a woman named Nadine.
Drew stood behind her with a beer in his hand.
He didn’t correct her.
He only placed his hand at Nadine’s waist, as if she were the one who needed comforting.
“This is Elise,” he said. “Poppy’s mother.”
Nadine’s smile tightened for half a second, then returned.
“Of course,” she said. “Drew has told me about you.”
I looked at Poppy.
She was wearing the little denim jacket I’d picked out for her that morning. Her white canvas shoes were already streaked with mud from the grass by the lake.
She didn’t run to me.
She didn’t slip her hand into mine the way she usually did.
She stood beside Nadine with her eyes lowered, worrying at the cuff of her sleeve.
Drew’s aunt Marian came over holding a paper cup printed with the family name.
She looked at me, then at Nadine, discomfort flickering across her face.
“Drew said you two were already… working through a separation,” she said quietly. “I didn’t think you were coming today.”
The music by the lake kept playing. Meat sizzled on the grill. Children ran across the lawn with bubble guns.
But everyone around us had heard her.
Drew knew they had.
He stepped closer and lowered his voice.
“I was going to talk to you later,” he said. “But I couldn’t let the whole family keep guessing. Nadine only wants to help Poppy adjust.”
“Adjust to what?” I asked.
His jaw tightened.
“Elise, don’t do this.”
“Adjust to her calling me the babysitter?”
Nadine finally took her hand off the frame. She didn’t look frightened. She looked wounded, as if I had deliberately twisted her words.
“I didn’t realize you’d take it that way,” she said. “Drew told me you’d been separated for a while. I just thought… everyone wanted today to feel easier for Poppy.”
“Easier for her?” I repeated.
Poppy looked up.
Her eyes met mine, then slid away again.
Drew reached for my arm. I stepped back.
“Don’t make a scene here,” he said softly, but the warning was clear. “Poppy will remember it.”
I almost laughed.
He had brought his girlfriend to his family reunion.
He had put our picture frame on display in front of everyone he knew.
He had placed our daughter beside another woman and expected me to play along with his version of a peaceful transition.
And somehow, I was the one making trouble.
Drew’s mother came down from the porch, pale and shaken. She clearly hadn’t expected to see me either.
“Drew said you’d been living separately since March,” she said. “He said you didn’t want Poppy to know too soon, so we didn’t ask.”
March.
I remembered that weekend.
Drew had taken Poppy to see his father. I stayed home to get her ready for her nature-center trip the following week. I’d even ironed the shirt Drew planned to wear to a client dinner.
Apparently, while I was doing all of that, he had already written me out of our life.
I pulled out my phone.
Drew’s expression darkened.
“What are you doing?”
“Taking a picture.”
I lifted my phone and aimed it at the walnut frame.
On my screen, Nadine stood behind my daughter with one hand on Poppy’s shoulder. Drew smiled beside them. The date was printed at the bottom of the photo.
Six weeks earlier.
I took the picture.
Drew caught my wrist.
“Enough.”
I looked at him.
“You told everyone we’d been separated since March,” I said. “When were you planning to tell me?”