“Did you tell Rachel I didn’t want to come?”
Sam hesitated.
“Things were complicated.”
Lily laughed.
A small, broken sound.
“You always say that.”
She turned to me.
“Dad said you didn’t want anything to do with me.”
Her voice trembled.
“Was that true?”
I froze.
“I sent you a birthday card every year for the first three years after the wedding.”
I looked at Sam.
I’d bought cards for Lily’s 17th, 18th, and 19th birthdays.
I’d written careful messages.
Never signing them Mom.
Always Rachel.
Sam had offered to deliver them.
Shortly after Lily’s 19th birthday, Sam had come home looking upset.
“Lily asked me to tell you something,” he’d said.
I’d put down the dishes.
“What?”
“She wants you to stop sending things. She says you’re trying to replace her mother.”
Those words had hurt.
She was old enough to decide who she wanted in her life.
