That reminded me of what I’d done to my left hand in the church that morning. The wound was wrapped in a beige bandage now, but the pain underneath was sharp. How could I have been so stupid and selfish? My son needed me. I didn’t have the luxury of wallowing in pain and self-harm as I had as a student. I could never do that again.

I crept down the hall to Teddy’s room. Since I’d put my son to bed, he’d already summoned me back three times. In the last instance, he’d been upset to the point of tears that he couldn’t find his floppy-eared stuffed rabbit, who had fallen on the carpet. Since his mother’s death, every loss—however temporary—hit him frighteningly hard. I cracked the door open and felt tremendous relief at the sight of my son, asleep, hugging Bunny tightly. Reassured, I closed the door and made my way back to my room. As I did, I heard a crash and a shriek from the kitchen.

I hurried down the stairs to the first floor and headed to the back of the house. There was a stained-glass window with a red flower over the kitchen door, illuminated by the light inside. Opening the door, I found my stepmother kneeling on the floor, picking up the remains of a shattered wine bottle with her bare hands. Guilt surged through me; I should have checked on her that afternoon, but I’d forgotten to. An elastic bandage was wrapped around her wrist.

“Ursula, are you all right?”

“Theo! How are you keeping?” she asked with a bright smile, as if we were having a social visit. Her diamond drop earrings glittered in the bright artificial light, and there was red lipstick smeared on her teeth. She was wearing a somber black dress as if she were finally ready for the funeral.

“What happened?”

“I dropped a bottle, dear. Don’t make a big deal of it.”

I heard footsteps behind me, and Theo’s nanny, Gloria, appeared, wrapped in a fluffy pink robe. “Oh, no! Are you okay, Mrs. Thraxton?”

“I’m fine, fine. Just ungeschickt, as my husband always reminds me.” Ursula meant clumsy. Her accented English was so fluent people usually assumed she was British, but German words popped out of her mouth when she was dead drunk, as she very clearly was at that moment.

“I can clean up,” Gloria offered.

“No, I’ll do it,” I said. “Thank you for everything today, Gloria. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”

Gloria leaned closer. “She’s been coming over all the time,” she whispered. “I think your father is cutting off her supply earlier and earlier.” She gave Ursula a concerned glance and retreated from the room.

The wine was still spreading over the Italian tile floor. I looked for a mop and bucket and couldn’t find either.