I do not deserve forgiveness for choosing to give the drug to Beau. Just because he lived doesn’t mean my choice was the ethical one; no one could have predicted this outcome. For the entirety of my life I will suffer shame for prioritizing him over my daughter—and every other dying child on the floor that day—but I’m learning that shame can coexist with acceptance. I do feel pity and sympathy for the me that existed that night; exhausted, terrified, so battered by grief I could barely assess whether it was day or night. I made a terrible decision that saved both my children. What am I to make of that?

—

NEXT TO ME, Vani hogs the double bed, curled on her side almost diagonally, her full lower lip fluttering in a delicate snore. The six of us spent the day yesterday in Cádiz, a charming coastal city in Andalusia, exploring the ancient, windy alleys and the lush parks, eating and drinking so much last evening I’d had to unbutton my pants at the restaurant. The day before that had been equally decadent from a waist-circumference standpoint: my friends had stayed with me and Declan and the kids in Seville, and we’d parked ourselves around the wrought-iron table on the rooftop balcony until four in the morning, chomping on an array of tapas and guzzling Cava until none of us could see straight. No one wanted to end the evening; the temperature hovered in that sweet spot you only seem to find on vacation—not too warm, not too cool—all velvety night air and starry sky and soft, caressing breezes wafting off the river a few blocks away. I sat next to Vani on one backless bench, her calves draped over mine; on the opposite bench, Zadie and Emma had propped their backs against each other in a failing effort to keep Zadie upright. Periodically she’d lurch to the side, spinning her arms, and Emma would grab her before she fell over. Compton and Hannah flanked us in chairs at each end of the table, Hannah dozy and pink-cheeked with her feet curled under her, Compton’s tiny figure still straight-backed despite her ability to down twice the amount of sparkling wine as the rest of us. At one point, Dec came out brandishing a couple of Cavas in one hand, their glistening green bottles clinking against one another as he walked.

“Bottle service,” he said, grazing the top of my head with a kiss before sliding onto the bench next to Zadie. “Whoa! Maybe we should cut you off.”