The weeks pass slowly, but finally winter break approaches and I begin packing for the trip, thinking that for this trip I need more casual stuff and less fancy “cruise wear,” as Kai put it. I go shopping downtown, buy a few new swimsuits—two-pieces, something I haven’t worn since before the kids were born—as well as fun skirts and tops. Packed, I set my suitcase back in my closet so the kids won’t see and then turn my attention to the clothes they’ll need for the week in Palm Springs with their dad.

But Thursday after school, when I go to Jessica’s room to pack, I find her facedown on her pale pink carpet, her Barbies strewn around her in various states of dress and undress, her head buried in her arm.

“Jess?”

She doesn’t lift her head, just turns it slightly. I glimpse tears streaking her cheek, and everything in me squeezes tight. Kneeling next to her, I put my hand on the fragile little-girl bones of her back. “Jessie, what’s wrong?”

Again, just that small shake of her head even as her back heaves under the palm of my hand. She’s crying, crying hard, and I can’t bear it. “Jess, talk to me, baby.”

“I can’t.” Her voice is agonized, strangled.

“Why not?”

“Because.”

“Because why?”

Finally she lifts her head and her wet blue eyes find mine and she stares at me helplessly, stares at me as though she’s lost all hope.”I’m never going to be happy again.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I have to go to Daddy’s tomorrow.”

“But you love going to Daddy’s.”

“But I’ll miss you.”

“You’ll be back soon.”

“But then I’ll miss Daddy.” She sniffles and scrubs at her eyes, but the tears keep falling.

For a moment, I can’t speak. I just look at her and I see her face, the heart-shaped face with the stubborn chin and tiny nose, the pink cheeks, and the intensely blue eyes. She has golden-colored hair—from Daniel, not me—yet while she looks angelic she breathes fire, and my fiery angel is positively heartbreaking now. “But you know you’ll see Daddy again soon,” I whisper huskily, reaching out to touch her cheek and then one of her loose tangled curls.

“But then I’ll miss you.” She draws a ragged breath, and fresh tears well in her eyes. “I’ll never be happy again because I’ll always be missing someone. You, and then Daddy, and then you.”

Please God, don’t make it this hard for them. Don’t make them hurt this much.