“The only fight Lily and I have ever had was because her daddy’s name was on my list of possible fathers.” I willed that to matter less than it did. “We made up because I ‘discovered’ my father was someone else and told her as much.”

Lily worshipped her dad. Aunt Olivia was a perfectionist; Uncle J.D. was the one who told Lily, again and again, that she didn’t have to be perfect to be loved.

“I think you underestimate your cousin,” Lillian told me quietly.

I let myself say the words I was constantly trying not to think. “She’s not just my cousin.”

She was my sister.

“Don’t you go feeling guilty,” Lillian ordered. “This is your mama’s mess, Sawyer. And mine. Lord knows I should have kicked J.D. to the curb years ago, the moment I suspected he would dare—” My grandmother cut herself off. After a moment, she bent to lay the wildflower bouquet at the base of the tombstone. When she straightened, she gathered herself up to her full height. “The point, Sawyer Ann, is that this mess is not, in any way, shape, or form, yours.”

“This mess isn’t mine,” I countered. “It’s me.”

I fully expected Lillian to take issue with that statement, but instead, she raised an eyebrow. “You are rather perpetually disheveled.” She produced a hair clip seemingly out of nowhere and “suggested” that I make use of it. “You have such a pretty face,” she added. “Lord knows why you’re so intent on hiding it under those bangs.”

She said bangs like a curse word. Before she could lament the fact that I’d had her hairdresser chop off a great deal of my hair, I preempted the complaint. “I needed a change.”

I’d needed something. I’d spent years wondering who my father was. Now I was living under the same roof with the man, and neither one of us had acknowledged that fact. It would have been easier if I’d thought he was ignorant, but he knew I was his daughter. My mom had said as much, and on that, I was certain she was telling the truth.

The whole situation was a mess. My entire life, my mom had never once made me feel like a mistake, but somehow, discovering that she’d conceived me on purpose made me feel like one.

If my mom hadn’t still been grieving her father’s death . . .

If she hadn’t felt like a stranger in her own family and desperately wanted someone or something to call her own . . .

If her “friend” Greer hadn’t seen that vulnerability and sold her on a ridiculous, happy vision of becoming a teen mom . . .

Then I wouldn’t exist.

“Sawyer.” Lillian said my name gently. “Bangs are for blondes and toddlers, and you, my dear, are neither.”