“You were fifteen.”

“I was all she had,” she answers softly. “She was all I had.”

I squeeze her hands a little tighter, running my thumbs along hers.

She forces a smile. “The next day, I went to school, and people spoke to me. I didn’t want them to feel sorry for me, but it felt like a bridge, you know, to finally being in a place that might understand me, somewhere I might make friends. Everyone was so kind. They asked how I was and said I saved the performance. All I did was talk her down and take her home, but their appreciation and understanding felt nice. I didn’t feel alone anymore.”

She shifts in her chair, bringing it closer. “So, when I came home that day and found Mom loading the car with our stuff, I just… I fell apart, Grady.”

“So, it does happen?”

“Rarely,” she chuckles. “But yes. She wanted to move, to wipe the slate clean for the next town. That’s what always happened. She’d go through a bad breakup or job situation, and we’d leave just as I started feeling comfortable. I hated it.” She leans back.

“What happened?”

“I told her I wasn’t going. She could stay with me and get better or leave and fend for herself. She threatened to take me anyway. I was fifteen, after all, and didn’t have a say. I told her if she tried to force me, I’d tell social services about her myself. Her illness mortified her, one reason she struggled to manage it. I said I’d be better off without her. She agreed, so she left.”

I nod, knowing it must’ve been difficult to say. Hard to hear, too. My biggest concerns at fifteen were having time for video games and making the varsity team in baseball. She had to survive—I can’t imagine her life.

“Didn’t people know you were alone?”

She shrugs lightly. “After The Sound of Music, I think people understood. Mr. Pike, Peter’s grandfather, knew. He looked after me and probably assuaged any worries about me from the community. I had a job, good grades, and never made trouble—I kept my head down, paid the bills, and never gave anyone a reason to be concerned. If someone asked about her, I’d say she was on a trip or visiting relatives. I finally started saying that she’d become an airline attendant. It didn’t take long for people to stop asking.”

“What about your mom? She’s never reached out or returned?”

She scoffs. “No. She’s sent cards over the years, always from a different place. Mel must talk to her. She sent a card for the wedding.”

“What’d it say?”

“I didn’t open it. I haven’t opened any of them.”

“Why not?”