Noah laughed for the first time that night.
“Mom, that’s not a pancake.”
“I know.”
“What is it?”
“I have no idea.”
Emma smiled.
It wasn’t a big smile.
But it was real.
And I realized something.
I didn’t care if my mother ever understood what she had done to me.
I cared that my children understood what they deserved.
After breakfast, I tucked them into bed.
Then I went into my bedroom and closed the door.
My phone was on the dresser.
There were fourteen missed calls.
Nine from my mother.
Three from Brent.
Two from my father.
I stared at the screen.
Then another call came in.
MOM
I didn’t answer.
The phone stopped.
A second later, a message appeared.
Call me immediately.
Then another.
What have you done?
I looked at those words for a long time.
Then I placed the phone face down.
