She didn’t want his kiss. She wanted him to know how hard it was to make all the pieces keep moving. She wanted him to help, not because she told him or gave him a list, but because he saw their life, their children…her. She wanted him to notice what needed attention because he cared—not because it was assigned.

That was the fight last night, and that was how it ended. Well, and with a bottle of cab as she finished the dishes and Eric retreated to his office for the work he’d brought home.

Fifteen minutes before everyone needed to be in the car.

She sat back in the kitchen chair she used when working on her laptop in the kitchen, felt the tears slide down her cheeks, and considered the implications of calling it a “mental health” day for everyone—not even waking the kids up. Let them sleep, the dogs sleep, the lunches go unmade, the laundry sit in the wash. Crawl back into bed herself even.

Twelve minutes.

An email alert slid onto the screen.

“News: Clare Collins”

Eileen stared at the rectangular notice box for the full five seconds it remained on her screen until it slid back off. She shouldn’t. She didn’t have time. Plus, there was the whole already “emotionally vulnerable” state of affairs. Reading internet alerts about her sister was almost guaranteed to make her more “emotionally vulnerable.” She had promised herself, weeks ago, that she was going to turn these notifications off.

She stood up and walked to the bottom of the stairs. “Ryan! Paige! Cameron! Get up! Get ready!” she shouted before heading back to her computer.

Just a quick look, she told herself.

When she had learned you could do this, years ago, she thought it would be an easy way to keep up on any of the latest news about her sister and her books. Eileen never dreamed she would end up getting anywhere between five to ten alerts a day. She had always known her sister was a successful author. She could plainly see the evidence of it on the shelves of every store she walked into that sold books. It was only after she started reading about every book tour, new book contract, foreign rights deal, charity luncheon, celebrity book club endorsement, film adaptation option—only after seeing regular and daily evidence in the news of her sister’s extreme success—that Eileen realized Clare was much more than a successful author whose books flew off the shelves and into shopping carts.

No. Her sister, Clare Collins, was, according to Forbes, one of the Ten highest paid authors in the world. Eileen remembered that morning, four or five years ago, staring at that ridiculously high number next to her sister’s name sitting at the number-six spot on the Forbes list.

Fourteen million.

Dollars.

In a single year.