Chapter 2

On the drive home, Poppy held on to her sun hat the whole way.

She did not ask again if Dad was coming.

When I pulled into the garage, she unbuckled her seat belt and spoke so quietly I almost missed it.

“Mom, did we lose our trip?”

I turned off the engine.

“You didn’t lose it.”

She looked at me, waiting for the rest.

I had nothing else I could say.

Inside, I set her little suitcase on the living room rug.

It was packed with the swimsuit she had spent an hour choosing, a book of ocean-animal stickers, and the birthday card she had made for me.

She had tucked the card beneath her clothes.

I did not open it.

Poppy sat on the rug and took out the sticker book, then put it back.

“Is Claire going to use my ticket for the glass-bottom boat?”

I crouched in front of her.

“I don’t know.”

“Dad said she’s been to the beach with him before.”

My hand stopped on the zipper of her suitcase.

Poppy did not notice.

“Twice. He said they were work trips, and I wasn’t supposed to tell you because you’d think they were boring.”

She looked up at me.

“Claire said dolphins aren’t scared of Dad’s camera. She showed me pictures.”

I did not ask her anything else.

A seven-year-old should not have to sit on a living room floor and piece together the lies two adults had told.

I put her sticker book on the coffee table and asked if she wanted something to eat.

She nodded, then added, “Can we have your creamy pasta? It’s your birthday.”

I went to the kitchen and put water on to boil.

We should have been arriving at the coast by early evening. Poppy would have dropped her wet sandals by the door. Miles would have complained about sand on the floor, then washed her feet anyway.

I poured out the first pot of water and filled it again.

Poppy ate half a bowl before she fell asleep at the table.

I carried her to bed and pulled the blanket over her. She was still holding her sun hat. I left it in her hand.

Back in the living room, I opened the shared calendar on our tablet.

Miles always said his photography schedule was a mess.

He was afraid he would miss Poppy’s dentist appointments or school events, so we kept one calendar for everything.

Three months ago, he went to the North Shore to photograph a beachfront inn.

Six weeks later, he went back for two days because the client supposedly needed more pictures.

Last month, he spent a week in Cape Harbor. When he came home, he said the weather had ruined the whole shoot.

I opened each date, then pulled up Claire’s public page.

She had not hidden much.

During the North Shore trip, she had posted a picture of herself at the end of a pier.

First show outside the city.

The second time, she had posted photos from the same inn’s terrace. Miles’s camera bag sat on a chair behind her.

The week he went to Cape Harbor, she had opened a small solo exhibit there. In one photo, she held a glass of champagne. Beside her, a man’s hand rested on the table.

He wore the watch Miles had bought for our wedding.

I took screenshots of each post.

I did not scroll any further.

Three trips were enough.

I did not go into Poppy’s room and ask how many times Claire had been around her.

Poppy had told me what she knew today. She did not need to fill in the rest for me.

My phone buzzed.

Miles had sent a picture.

Claire stood on the hotel balcony with the ocean behind her.

Poppy keeps asking why you made her miss this. Call her when you calm down.

I stared at the message for a few seconds before I replied.

Has Claire traveled with Poppy before?

His answer came right away.

Do not use our daughter as a weapon because you’re hurt.

He had not said no.

I saved that message too.

Then I opened my laptop and searched for the family mediator a coworker had recommended last year. The appointment form asked only a few questions.

Name.

Contact information.

What did I need to discuss?

I paused over the last box.

Then I typed:

Separation and temporary parenting boundaries.

I clicked submit.

The system offered me a time the following Monday morning.

The confirmation email arrived just as Poppy shifted in her sleep down the hall.

I turned off the living room light and saved the boarding photo, the shared calendar, and Miles’s messages in one folder.

I named it:

March 18.