Kate’s baby boys were growing up, too. Kindergartners now, they were beginning to make their own friends and choose their own clothes and selectively answer her questions. In the blink of an eye, they, too, would be approaching adolescence, pinning magazine pictures to their bedroom walls and demanding privacy.

So fast . . .

She stood on the porch a few minutes longer, until the sky was charcoal-gray and the stars appeared above the distant city, then she went back inside, locking the door behind her.

The house was quiet, empty downstairs. As she made her way through the living room, she picked up several toy dinosaurs that lay scattered in front of the TV.

Upstairs, she turned the doorknob quietly, opening the door to the boys’ room, expecting to see them sleeping. What she saw was a tent of sheets on William’s bed, and the telltale light from a flashlight glowing through the red and blue Star Wars images.

“I know two little boys who are supposed to be asleep.”

Giggles erupted from the makeshift tent.

Lucas was the first to emerge. With his spiky black hair and gaptoothed grin, he looked like Peter Pan being caught by Wendy. “Hi, Mommy.”

“Lucas,” William hissed from inside, “pretend you’re sleeping.”

Kate went to the bed and gently pulled the sheets back.

William stared up at her, flashlight in one hand, gray plastic T. rex in the other. “Oops,” he said, then laughed.

Kate opened her arms. “Give Mommy a hug.”

They launched themselves at her, enthusiastic as always. She held them tightly, smelling the sweet, familiar baby shampoo scent of their hair. “Do you guys need another bedtime story?”

“Read us about Max, Mommy,” Lucas said.

Kate reached for the book and settled in her usual position—seated against the headboard, legs stretched out, with a boy tucked on either side of her. Then she opened Where the Wild Things Are and began to read. Max was halfway through his adventure when they fell asleep.

She tucked William in, kissed his cheek, and carried Lucas to his bed. “ ‘Night, Mommy,” he murmured as she put him down.

“ ‘Night.” She turned off the flashlight and left the room, closing the door behind her.

Across the hall, Marah’s door was shut; a slice of light ran beneath it.

She paused, wanting to go in, but it would just start another fight. Nothing Kate said or did was right anymore, and in the weeks since the modeling fiasco, it had grown even more tense. Instead, she knocked on the door, said, “Lights out, Marah,” and waited for her daughter to comply.

Then she walked down the hall and went into her own room.

Johnny was already in bed, reading. At her entrance, he glanced up. “You look exhausted.”

“Marah,” was all she said. All she had to say.

“I think it’s more than that.”

“What do you mean?”