tell you to leave.”
That was when I started crying.
Not politely.
Not quietly.
I cried the way I had refused to cry through the divorce, the unpaid bills, Willa’s hospital visit for appendicitis, and every frightening month when I wasn’t sure if I could keep everything together.
Margaret pulled me into her arms.
And for the first time, I understood why she had told me to leave my cleaning supplies at home.
She had not invited an employee back.
She had invited family.
At least, that was what I thought the surprise was.
I was wrong.
The real surprise had not even begun.
That evening, I drove home with the envelope locked inside my glove compartment.
Willa was at the kitchen counter studying anatomy when I walked in.
At seventeen, she had grown taller than me.
She had my dark hair but her father’s green eyes and the kind
