“I had this moment, earlier—” She looks at me. “This flash of realizing what it would be like to lose Sam, to really lose him.” Her voice hitches. “And it was unbearable. But then it kind of made me realize, well…everything else was bearable. Bad, maybe, but bearable. Even if”—she takes a deep breath—“even if Dennis does carry on with this sole custody thing, and even if he does win…people can appeal those decisions.” She looks at me. “After you two were asleep last night I spent a lot of time on Google. You can appeal for custody decisions to be revised whenever there’s a ‘meaningful change’ in circumstances. Often judges will look at the same case again every couple of years. Two years…that’s bearable.” She blinks. “That’s just how I’ll have to think about it. I’ll fight tooth and nail, but if the worst happens, the very worst…I’ll hang in there, and I’ll wait out those two years. I can bear it, you know? Now I know that I can bear it.”

I squeeze her arm.

“They won’t give him sole custody, Abigail. I really think they won’t. Besides,” I say. “It might be just bluster. Once he realizes this divorce is really happening and he can’t stop it, Dennis might see sense and let this drop. He loves Sam, too. Maybe he’ll see that fighting over him isn’t the best thing for him.”

Abigail sighs.

“Maybe,” she says, clearly not too convinced.

There’s a pause.

“It’s just,” she says, “this isn’t the end, you know? It’s the beginning.” She swallows. “This conversation might be over for me, but it’s not over for Dennis. I’m going to have to have it again and again. I’m going to have to try so hard, Gillian, for it not to wear me down.”

I know what she means. She’s said her piece, and now she’ll have to hold her ground. Every day she’ll have to fight the fight again—if not with Dennis, then with herself. She’ll have to deal with the nagging voice in her head asking her if she really did the right thing; if she just should have tried harder, done more, stayed longer. But I believe in her. If she could stand her ground today, she can stand it tomorrow. Even amid the stress of lawyers and money worries, and of making an independent life for herself again after so long.

“We’re proud of you, Abigail,” Mom says.

Abigail says nothing. Her eyes well up with tears.

“Thank you,” she says, voice trembling. “But…I wish Dad were here.”

Mom swallows.

“Of course you do.”

“I miss him,” Abigail says. There’s just a hint of defiance mixed with the grief—as if she’s daring us to contradict her.

“Of course you do,” Mom says again.