“It’s always about appearances, isn’t it? You couldn’t care less about me.”

“That’s not true. I’m appalled that you live up there in that filth,” she said, looking up at the café’s second floor.

“Don’t you see where keeping up appearances has gotten our family? Your husband is sick. Your daughter wants nothing to do with you. And for what?”

“Because it’s important!” she hissed, her hair swaying when she moved her head.

“To you. It’s only important to you. I’m not obligated to live a life I hate so that you can feel important.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What is wrong with our way of life? Because I want you to go to school? Because I want you to live somewhere that doesn’t need to be condemned?”

“When you say it that way, it sounds wonderful. But you can’t keep omitting the ugly parts. You can’t just erase a pregnancy. You can’t hide a baby. You can’t pretend your daughter isn’t a waitress who doesn’t want to be a doctor. Our life is not a highlight reel. It’s time you stopped pretending it was.”

She inhaled through her nose. “You have always been supremely selfish. I don’t know why I expected tonight to be any different.”

“Don’t come back,” I said before getting out of the car.

“Falyn,” she called.

I leaned down as the passenger window lowered.

“This is the last slap in the face. If your father loses this campaign because of you, we won’t offer to help you again.”

“I didn’t expect that you would.”

I thanked her for the ride and then left her alone, ignoring the sound of my name.

By the time I pushed open the glass door, it was night, and I was exhausted—physically, emotionally, and mentally.

The headlights of the G-Wagon poured through the glass wall as Blaire backed out and then disappeared as she pulled away.

The dining area was dark, and I was alone. I sat on the orange-and-white tiles, lay on my side, and then curled up into a ball before crying myself to sleep.

Someone stabbed a finger into my shoulder, and I winced. The person did it again, and I opened my eyes, raising my hand to protect me from another jab.

My vision sharpened, and I saw Pete standing over me, concern in his eyes.

I wiped my face, sitting up. “What time is it?” I asked, not really expecting an answer.

I twisted the narrow leather band on my wrist to see the face of my watch. It was five a.m. on Saturday morning. Chuck and Phaedra would be arriving at any moment.

“Shit,” I said, scrambling to my feet.

Before I could make a dash for the stairs, Pete grabbed my wrist.

I relaxed my shoulders, covering his hand with mine. “I’m okay.”

He didn’t let go.