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But her mother shook her head. “Eleanor says you shouldn’t. It’s not what you signed up for. You’re not a mother, Rose. It’s over.” Her mother offered a soft smile, but Rose couldn’t smile back.

Rose was eighteen and suddenly not pregnant. Maybe because of her youth, or maybe because she stopped eating due to the grief of abruptly losing her child, the pounds she’d gained during pregnancy melted off her, so much so that by mid-July, she was nearly back to her pre-pregnancy weight. Confused, she put on her bikini and looked at herself in the mirror, trying to find proof on her body that she’d carried a baby to term. She considered asking her mother for her opinion, but her mother had hardly been able to look at her since the baby was born.

With her bikini still on, Rose threw on a dress and sandals and went downstairs. The house was empty, and summer sunlight streamed through the windows. Unsteadily, she stepped outside and walked down the road. Everything seemed different but also the same, as though the past year hadn’t happened and she’d gone back in time.

The nearest beach was Jetties Beach. Rose laid down a towel, took off her dress, and plunged into the water, swimming further out than anyone else. At a distance, she turned and looked at the beach, at the people sunning, eating snacks, and laughing together, and tears trailed down her cheeks and into the water. She was free of her room, free of her lies. Now, she had to do the difficult work of finding herself again.

Within the week, Rose met up with a few friends again. Her best friend couldn’t forgive her for ghosting, but everyone else shrugged it off and started inviting her out again. It seemed that they filled in the blanks on what they thought had happened: that she’d gotten sick, or that she’d been depressed, or that the pressure got to be too much. Rose went along with whatever they said.

That August, Rose took the GED and passed with flying colors. After that, she applied to a broad range of colleges in the Northeast and, at the last minute, got into a small university in Boston. Suddenly, she found herself throwing her clothes into a suitcase and arranging scholarships. After what had happened, she didn’t feel comfortable asking her mother and father for help. If it was hard for her mother to look at her, it was basically impossible for her father to acknowledge her.

The fact that they’d helped her cover up her pregnancy, Rose decided, had more to do with them and what they could accept than the future of her life.

But suddenly, beautifully, Rose was in Boston, living with three roommates and attending classes. She wasn’t yet sure what she wanted to be, but she relished the newfound freedom, which stood in sharp contrast to the first six months of that year. When September 11th happened, she and her new classmates mourned and comforted each other, becoming far closer than most eighteen-year-olds were. She considered telling them about the baby she’d given up, but then remembered the Legacy Club, how much work they’d done to cover everything up. She couldn’t taint that with a rogue comment.

That November, nearly a year after Rose learned she was pregnant, she happened upon a magazine with an interview with Nathaniel Hawkins. An interview about his successes, that was obvious. She was at a coffee shop, latte in hand. She sat down and read it all the way through, consuming Nate’s words, hearing his voice in her head.

“My father has a strategic plan,” Nathaniel told the interviewer. “And it’s up to me to execute those next steps to ensure that his vision comes together. It’s truly a gift to be a part of my father’s life. Growing up, I idolized him. I wanted to be the type of man he was. Now, I hope he can see how much I’ve learned from him. Of course, I have a great deal more to learn.”

Rose wrinkled her nose, marveling at how strange he sounded. He never would have spoken to her like that.

Later in the article, he revealed that his wife, Cynthia, was pregnant with their third child.

“There was a break between your second and third,” the interviewer pointed out.

“That’s true,” Nathaniel said, taking it in stride. Rose could hear how confident he was. It rang through the page. “My wife and I have been up to our ears in work, but we’re comfortable enough now to welcome another member. I can’t wait to see Ben and Billy as older brothers to whoever comes next. Obviously, Cynthia wants a girl…”

At this, Rose closed the magazine and left the coffee shop, abandoning her latte.

“You have a daughter,” she wanted to tell him. She was perfect.

But she knew that she could never tell him. She knew he couldn’t take it.

But as she milled through the city, her face freezing in the wind, she tried to picture where her daughter was now. She overanalyzed every woman with a baby, wondering if that baby could be hers. Every woman who seemed too thin, who seemed to have dropped the baby weight too quickly, was suspect. Maybe they were raising Rose and Nate’s child. Maybe they got to look at her perfect face every morning.

Rose cursed herself, thinking about how much she secretly still wanted that. But it could never be so.

During that holiday season, Rose decided not to return home to visit her family. Seeing them felt too dramatic, and she was beginning to think she didn’t like how they’d treated her during her pregnancy. Why had they demanded she hide away like that?

Rather than burden herself with all that pain and heartache, she began to bake for her roommates. She started with simple things, recipes she already knew how to do, like cut-out Christmas cookies. But soon she began to experiment with gingerbread, macarons, candy bark, and fudge. Her roommates, overwhelmed with finals, adored her baked goods. When they shared them with friends, their friends requested even more, so suddenly Rose had a list of orders. At first, she asked only for the money to buy the ingredients. But one of her roommates suggested she could make a little money on the side if she wanted to.

By the following April, Rose had started her own little business. People called from all over campus, yearning for her baked goods and paying top dollar for her peanut butter blondies and chocolate chip cookie sandwiches filled with icing. Although Rose didn’t neglect her studies, she’d begun to think that a traditional education wasn’t in line with her vision for her life. What if she did something else? What if, as her roommate suggested, she went to culinary school and then became a pastry chef?

Before the end of the semester, Rose applied to several Boston-area culinary schools and was accepted to three of her top five picks. Choosing was difficult. Ultimately, it came down to a conversation she had with one of the teachers at the Cambridge School of Culinary Arts, who shared a bit of wisdom she felt might apply to any situation, not just cooking. He said, “A real baker turns typical ingredients into a magical experience.”

And with that, Rose felt she’d found her home.

18

Nantucket Island

Present Day

Rhett insisted on walking Rose back to her place. It was terribly cold, and the wind smashed into the boat, kicking it from side to side. Rose nearly stumbled out and into the water, but Rhett caught her elbow just in time and heaved her onto the dock. They gasped, looking at one another, red-cheeked and confused. Rhett had just shown Rose a photograph of the woman who had to be Rose’s daughter. It didn’t make sense. Why was she here?

Rhett and Rose remained quiet all the way back to Rose’s place. Rose felt as though she’d been ripped back through time. She could visualize herself at every stage of that harrowing year: hiding in her bedroom, pregnant, willing Rhett or someone else to call, imagining Rhett having the artistic life of his dreams with his new West Coast girlfriend, imagining that her own life was over. It was still burned into her mind’s eye that they’d taken her baby away immediately. They hadn’t even let her hold her.

“When did you know?” Rhett asked gently.