It was last night’s chicken, right? Yes, of course. It had to be.

Because the alternative was simply too terrifying.

Chapter Two

Can you spy the orange-and-white fishy?” Renee Rhodes asked Lincoln, pointing to the saltwater tank. “You have to look hard because he swims fast!”

The toddler nodded, fixing his gaze on the clown fish with nose-scrunched determination.

“Great! Now see if you can spot the crab.”

He clapped his hands and wiggled his little butt.

God, kids were so sweet at this age.

After ensuring Lincoln was hypnotized by the underwater world, Renee made her way to the watercooler to fetch his poor mama a drink. Sadie looked rotten, her freckled cheeks sallow and dark circles bruising the skin beneath her eyes. A far cry from the perky babysitter who would bring her daughter Baby-Sitters Club books and Popsicle-stick craft projects.

She smiled as she held the glass under the tap. For nearly eighteen years, Renee’s calendar had been scribbled with bake sale reminders, PTA meeting times, and school performance dates. Her nights had been spent sneaking veggies into sauces, helping Tansy with homework assignments, and reading In the Night Kitchen a hundred times.

Some might find it boring, but she had loved every second.

Sadie was just starting that journey; a notion Renee sheepishly admitted made her a little green with envy.

The Landrys had bought the one-hundred-year-old cottage next to her two years ago, when the Brewers relocated to North Carolina. Prior to the Brewers, Sadie’s grandparents had lived in the home. While the Brewers had been great neighbors, Renee loved the fact that the cottage was back with the original family.

Before moving in, Sadie had had the house renovated. And, as an interior designer, she’d done an exceptional job. From the refinished hardwood floors to the recycled glass kitchen countertops and curated New England artwork, the Landrys’ cottage looked like something out of the pages of a home design magazine.

And in addition to their gorgeous home, they had the best gift of all: little Lincoln, so curious and sweet. The early years weren’t easy, of course, but the happy memories eventually won out: watching your child take their first steps on the beach or getting a lick of ice cream.

Her gaze strayed to the framed photo of Tansy on her desk. It was from her graduation last June. Her smile was big (and straight, thanks to a small fortune spent on braces) but her eyes were narrowed, the sun shining in her face. Her yellow National Honors Society cords hung around her neck and Renee’s mother’s diamond studs glinted from her ears.

My beautiful, smart girl.

Tansy was a freshman at the University of Southern California, worlds away from their little New England town.

“I’m telling you, Mom, I love it here,” she’d declared only two weeks into the term, a time when most students struggle with the first pangs of homesickness. “I never want to leave. It’s like I was always meant to be in SoCal.”