Her righteous badassery lasted the entire drive home and up to dinner (which was not salmon, but a delicious roast chicken. Juliet’s favorite. Oliver had served it with a flourish and a kiss).

“I quit my job today,” she announced as the girls bickered. That did silence them.

“Hear, hear, darling,” Oliver said, toasting her.

“Seriously?” Brianna said. “You quit? That’s just great. Are we still going to Hawaii this summer? Has it occurred to you that you make more than Dad and maybe quitting isn’t a great idea?”

The little . . . brat. “You know what, Brianna? Maybe we’ll go to Hawaii, and maybe not. Maybe, if you don’t lose the attitude, we three will go and you can stay with Nana and help with Grampy, because you’re not . . . how should I put this? You’re not bringing much to the table these days. I mean, we love you, but you’re a real pain in the ass lately, and I’m not sure you deserve a vacation at all.”

Brianna’s mouth dropped open.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Oliver said, putting his hand over Juliet’s. “But Mum’s got a point.”

“Am I a pain in the ass?” Sloane asked.

“Not yet, honey, and hopefully not ever,” Juliet said. “Brianna, you need to try harder. Okay? Great. Also, I’ll be taking your phone for the rest of the school year. I don’t think it’s good for you, being attached to it as much as you are.”

If looks could kill . . . There was no love in that glare, that was for sure.

Shit. The panic attack was coming. She’d quit her job. She’d turned down frickin’ partner and was currently unemployed for the first time in her life and her daughter hated her and they might not go to Hawaii, and she had really, really been looking forward to it, and— “Excuse me.”

Down the stairs, down the hall, into the closet. Breathebreathebreathe, nope not working. She lay down, legs weak, and wished she’d thought to bring a paper bag. Her vision grayed, but this time she didn’t want to faint. She just wanted . . . she just wanted nothing.

The truth was, she had everything.

She’d find a job. She could start her own firm. She’d be fine. Oliver made a decent enough living. They could switch their health care to his work, even if it was a worse plan, and . . .

“Mommy?” Brianna sounded like a little girl again, scared from a bad dream. Shit. Had she done that?

“Yes, honey?” Juliet said, sitting up.

“Are you really that mad at me?”

“No! No. Just tired of the . . . bitchiness.”

“You still like me, though, right?”

“Of course!” A lie, but really. Parenthood was ninety percent forgiveness, ten percent lies and a hundred percent love.

“Why are you in the closet?”

“Oh, I guess I’m . . . hiding from life. Sometimes I feel scared about things.”

“Like what?”