“And I just don’t see it,” Juliet went on. “She’s good. She’s not great, but the partners love her, and clients are asking for her by name, and that leaves me pedaling in the air.” She sighed and finished her champagne.

“That sounds awfully hard,” I said.

“I’m a little bit afraid that my career is coming to an end. Maybe a lot afraid.”

“Oh, honey. Don’t be silly.” She cut me a look. “‘In the past decade, Juliet Frost has designed some of the most impressive buildings in North America.’ You know who said that? The New York Times, that’s who.”

“Oh, yeah. They did, didn’t they?”

“Four years ago.”

“See, that’s the thing. Four years ago. Today, I’m old news. It’s not Arwen so much, Mom. It’s that feeling that I did everything right, and I got screwed anyway.”

I was quiet for a moment, then took her hand. “I know that feeling, hon. I’m sorry. All you can do is the right thing. You’re talented and hardworking and ethical. No one can take that away from you.”

Her eyes filled. “Thanks, Mama. I was afraid you’d be disappointed in me.”

“That will never happen, Juliet. You’re my pride and joy, and you know it.”

She hugged me a long, long time, and I petted her silky hair while she cried. Oh, it felt so wonderful to be needed by my little girl, even if she was a mother herself. There was nothing like it, this moment, the two of us.

I said a silent thanks to Sadie, then added a quick apology.

Juliet took a deep, shuddering breath, the sign that she was done crying. She got up, blew her nose, and then poured us more champagne. “Did I mention I love Sadie? To Sadie.”

“To Sadie,” I echoed. “I should check in.”

“No, Mom, not yet. You said you knew that feeling of doing everything right and getting the short end of the stick. Is that . . . is that at work?”

I took a deep breath. “No. Not there. I love my job. I guess I meant, well . . . being married. I love your dad, of course”—that wasn’t exactly the truth—“but we drifted apart. You know that.”

“Yeah. I do.” Her voice was odd, and I glanced at her, but she was staring straight ahead.

“We just didn’t have a lot to say to each other, even before his stroke. I felt like I tried, but I could never seem to do the right things. I didn’t know what they were.”

Juliet burst into fresh tears. “Mom,” she sobbed, “I’m so sorry to have to tell you this, but you can’t blame yourself. Dad . . . Dad was having an affair.”

“Oh, yeah, I know, honey.”

That stopped her. “What?”

“I do know that.”

“When?”

“I found out when he was in the hospital.”

“Holy shit, Mom.”