“That is not why we had you, pumpkin!” Trevor spoke up finally, reaching forward and taking Mary’s hand, guiding her back down to the couch. “We had you because we wanted a child. We wanted you. The day you were born was the happiest day of either of our lives.”

Mary blinked at her father, then turned and blinked at her mother. “Then why don’t either of you treat me with respect?”

Her words sucked the oxygen out of the room.

“Mom, you’ve belittled me and ragged on me for as long as I can remember. In my twenties, I wasn’t accepting enough dates, you didn’t like Cora, you wished I wouldn’t spend so much time with Tiff. In my thirties, you wanted me to get over their deaths like that.” She snapped her fingers. “You demanded that I date, but men who were too old were not family material, men who were too young were embarrassing. You beat me down on every occasion you could, hoping to break me into wanting exactly what you want. But neither of you stopped to see what I wanted. You’ve only been to my shop four times in six years. And I built it from scratch. You know how hard that is? You haven’t been there since the break-in. You barely offered any support to me at all on that front. And, Dad, you never stand up for me. Maybe once a year you’ll say one little thing on my behalf, but you never actually stand between me and Mom. How am I supposed to interpret that? These behaviors, they are not respectful. And I was right to tell you that I won’t be coming back until you apologize. Because even now, Mom, I finally bring a man home and you’re still not happy. It’s so clear to me now. If I get married, you’ll be telling me I’m too old to wear white or a certain cut of wedding dress. If I have a kid, you’ll always be reminding me that I’m older than the other mothers and what a shame that is. There’s no way to please you! And shame on me for thinking that there ever was! Because either you accept me, love me for who I am, Mary Freaking Trace, or you don’t get to have me in your life anymore. The end!”

Mary stood up, took one wobbly step toward the middle of the room, and John was instantly at her side, steadying her.

“Mary!” her mother called after her.

But Mary didn’t stop. She went all the way to the front hall, where she shoved her feet into her sandals and flung open the front door. John didn’t even have time to tie his shoes before he was out, after her, into the night.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE