Lyla popped the last piece of biscuit into her mouth. “I still wanna go. I like camp.”

“What about you?” I asked Justin.

“It’s cool. I like hanging out with Noah.”

“Then camp it is.” I met both of their gazes. “But if you’re feeling overwhelmed or sad or scared, just come find me. We can take a break or go home, whatever you need.”

Lyla looked down at her plate. “Sorry about yesterday.”

I moved in close, pulling her to me. “You never, ever have to apologize for what you’re feeling. I want to know what’s going on in that amazing brain and heart of yours. Always.”

She pressed into me. “Love you, Anna.”

“Love you, too, Lyla Bean.”

I met Justin’s gaze over Lyla’s head. “That goes for you, too. You don’t have to hide how you’re feeling. We can talk about it or just sit together as you process.”

He nodded slowly. “Thanks.”

That was all I would get from Justin. He was a preteen boy—the world didn’t exactly encourage them to lean into their feelings. But I would. I didn’t want him stuffing things down until he exploded.

“All right. Let’s get cleaned up, get our bags, and head over to the center.”

The kids helped me with the dishes, and then we all gathered our belongings. Lyla chattered about a girl she’d met who would be in her class next year. But I could only half listen. My mind swirled with a million different questions about how everything would work with Mason. This marriage.

Just the word had me feeling a little queasy. As I watched Lyla skip across the field in front of us, I couldn’t help but see those same hopeful eyes as she asked about Mason. I pulled out my phone and typed out a text.

Me: Do you have a few minutes to chat today? There are some details we need to discuss.

I stared at my phone, waiting for a reply. I figured vague was best. I had no idea if a court could subpoena our phone records in an effort to figure out if our marriage was a sham, but better safe than sorry.

Mason: Sure. I can stop by over lunch. That work?

Me: Yup. Thanks.

Mason: Have a good day. Call if you need anything.

I stared down at my screen. Was that for show? What was I supposed to say back? I started and deleted three different texts before landing on one.

Me: Thanks. You, too.

I waited, but there was no response. My message hadn’t required one. So, why did I want my phone to ding one more time?