Lauren had to admit she had too often been willing to take advantage of that in these years since Leslie’s abduction. The burden of it all was exhausting. If her remaining child chose not to come to her with problems or fears or feelings too difficult to deal with, it was so much easier for her to accept relief than question that illusion of peace. Don’t borrow trouble, her own mother always said. Don’t borrow trouble when you can just ignore it.

She went to her daughter’s room now. A light was still glowing through the crack of the barely open door. Lauren knocked softly and pushed the door open another couple of inches.

Leah hastily swiped tears off her cheeks and pulled the covers up around her. She sat tucked up against the headboard, hugging a pillow. In that instant she looked eight instead of nearly sixteen. A little girl lost in sadness.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” Lauren said quietly, coming to sit on the edge of the bed.

“I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not,” Lauren said softly, reaching out to touch her daughter’s cheek. “Sad?”

The tears welled up and over her lashes like big raindrops. “I miss Daddy.”

“I do too, baby,” Lauren confessed, taking Leah in her arms and holding her close. “I miss him so much.”

She couldn’t help but wonder where they would be if Lance hadn’t left them. Would they have pulled themselves together by now? Would they have found some way to cope? Would they have left Santa Barbara? Or would the wound have closed up around them and scarred over, the memory of it fading over time?

Or would they have come apart at the seams? The statistics of marriages surviving the loss of a child had been against them. Guilt and blame infected relationships. The differences in how each partner handled the grief often caused resentment.

Lauren would never have given up or given in on the idea of finding Leslie. Would Lance?

“I’m doing the best I can, sweetheart,” she murmured, not sure if her words were for Leah or for her husband.

“I know, Mommy,” Leah whispered.

“Do you know how much I love you?” Lauren asked.

Leah nodded.

“Are you okay?”

She nodded again, looking down.

Lauren knew that was a lie told for her benefit, and as she had done so many times, she accepted it as truth, more willing to take the brief hit of guilt than find out what kind of disaster might be brewing behind door number two. Even if she vowed not to, she would put off changing her ways for another night, using exhaustion as an excuse.

She kissed her daughter’s forehead and told her to get some sleep, and hoped that Anne Leone was wrong.