I scoff and decide not to be nice. “I don’t want to hear I’m right. I know I’m right. I want you to explain how you could do that to me. How you could leave me. How you could wake up every morning after and decide not to come back again.”

I keep my voice low for Tilly, sleeping on the couch nearby, but inside, I’m screaming the words. My arms fold over the cape, awaiting her answer.

Her arms wave off her hips as she shakes her head. “I hated myself, Marnie. That day and every day after for what I did to you. I convinced myself you were better off without me, and I was too cowardly to set anything right. Mel kept tabs on you. I wrote the letters, hoping for another chance, but you didn’t answer. I assumed you didn’t want me back, and I didn’t blame you after the burden I’d been. When I finally got my disorder under control, I decided it was too late.”

Too late. My arms fall to my sides—that’s how I felt about her when her letters came. “But you kept sending the letters.”

“I never lost hope,” she cries, taking a small step forward. “Send me away tonight, and I’ll still send them. I’ll always send them, just in case.”

“Why now? Why?”

“Mel told me about the accident. I thought that if there were ever a time you might let me back into your life, it’d be when yours had gone so wrong. Not that I wanted it to go wrong… It’s just… I hoped you’d need me—and that’s selfish, I know, and dumb because you’re so much stronger than me. Maybe it sounds crazy, but I felt that you needed me.”

I nod weakly. That day replays in my head, a montage of all the times I wanted her there. “I did need you.”

“I’m here, now.”

“I can’t forgive you, Mom.”

She swipes her wet cheeks with her fingers. “I understand.”

“I might, though. Someday.”

A smile breaks through her distress. “That’s good enough for me.”

“But here’s what’s going to happen,” I say, stealing Grady’s words. “You can stay here temporarily, but you must find your own place if you plan to stay.”

“Of course.”

“I want time with Tilly—just me and her.”

“Absolutely.”

“If your disorder gets out of control again—if I tell you it’s out of control—you must promise me…” I swallow the lump in my throat and almost can’t say the words, but I need her to know how serious I am. “…you’ll stay and get help and entrust Tilly to me.”

With a deep breath, she nods. “Yes, Marnie. I will. I promise.”