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Sophie just stares at the door. She looks miserable, and I want nothing more than to go to her, put my arms around her, and make her feel better. But I can't seem to move.

I look at Sophie, still standing where her mother left her, and I feel sick.

Elena is my wife. We're separated, yes, and the marriage is all but over, but she's still my wife. And Sophie is her daughter.

Her daughter.

Jesus Christ.

I've spent days arguing with myself about it, finding reasons why it was wrong, and then finding reasons to believe it might be all right. Sophie is nineteen. She knows what she wants. I love her. I've repeated those things so often that eventually I began to believe they were enough.

But seeing Elena standing here with Sophie has stripped away every comforting argument I made to myself. I was inside her daughter when Elena came into the house. What the fuck was I thinking?

I was supposed to be the one person Sophie could count on. The man who took her in when her mother abandoned her, who promised to give her a home where she would always be safe. She trusted me with that responsibility, and I've let myself cross a boundary I once would have considered unthinkable.

I can't bear to look at her. She's standing there, miserable because of Elena, and all I can think about is what I've done. What I've allowed to happen between us. How thoroughly I've failed to live up to the trust she placed in me.

For the first time, I'm genuinely frightened by my own capacity to justify something simply because I wanted it badly enough.

I have to stop. Whatever it does to me, however much it hurts us both, I have to stop this now.

Fifteen

Sophie

Iwatch Vince as he locks the front door and turns toward me. For a moment, neither of us says anything.

I feel terrible. My mother has been in the house for less than half an hour, and she’s completely thrown me off and made me feel like the worst daughter in the world. I know perfectly well how unfair she’s being, but knowing that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

“Are you okay?” Vince asks.

“Not really.” I give a miserable little laugh. “That was awful.”

“I’m sorry, Soph.”

He looks exhausted, and I can hardly blame him. I expect him to come over and hug me, though. After everything my mother said, I could really use one. But instead, he crosses the room to the liquor cabinet and pours himself a whiskey.

I watch him take a drink. “Do you think she’ll come back?” I ask.

“No. I really don’t think so.”

“Good.”

He doesn’t say anything else. He takes his glass over to the window and looks out at the lake.

I sit down on the couch, feeling completely drained. It’s been almost two years since I’ve seen my mother, and just like that, I feel like I’m twelve years old all over again. Guilty, confused, desperate to figure out what I’ve done wrong. I know I haven’t done anything wrong. How could I possibly be expected to invite her to Christmas at her ex-husband’s house when she doesn’t even speak to me? But I’ve spent so much of my life trying to keep her happy that it’s hard to shake the feeling.

I look over at Vince. He’s still standing by the window, staring out at the lake.

I can’t blame him for being upset. She came here looking for a fight, and he got the worst of it. Still, I wish he’d come sit with me. Maybe we could talk about how horrible that was, or make fun of something she said. Anything to make this feel a little less awful.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“I’m fine, Soph.” He doesn’t sound fine.

“Because that was pretty brutal.”

“I know.”