Karen loved the frock for its elegant simplicity and lack of froufrou, but she loved it more for what it represented—a welcome to Peter’s family. The gift undid her carefully constructed lie that marrying Peter was just a necessary piece of paper so the bank would approve their home loan. Instead, the dress said love and acceptance. The contrast with her own family was stark and unforgiving, and it quickly exposed the ugly truth she tried so hard to bury. A home that was a prison. The baby sister she’d left behind. She doubled over at a twist of visceral pain and fell sobbing into Dot’s arms.

The woman stroked her hair, clearly bewildered. “I’m sorry, dear. It was supposed to make you happy.”

“I … am … h-happy.”

Dot pressed a hanky into her hands. “I think we could both do with a sherry, don’t you?”

A decade after Dot’s death, Karen still missed her loving presence in their lives.

“Hi, Mom. Good class?”

Alice’s question sent Karen’s memories scattering and she got a flash of a much younger Alice creating chaos all over the house. Whenever Karen had complained, Alice defended her actions: “It’s art, Mom, not mess.”

Karen tried not to sigh at the disarray in front of her. “What are you doing?”

“Looking for photos.”

“Why?”

Alice jumped to her feet, her face flushed with excitement. “Hilary called half an hour ago.”

“Darling, we all like Dan but after your heartbreak over Lawrence, is he really the type of man you’re looking for?”

Alice blinked, clearly confused. “What are you going on about? Why would Hilary call me about Dan?”

Damn it, Hil! Although she didn’t think Alice dating Dan came close to a good idea, right now it seemed the lesser of two evils. “What did she want?” she tried to keep her voice casual.

“There’s an art therapy job at Summerhouse. Hil gave me the details and I called the manager. She offered me the job on the spot! It’s a great hourly rate, there’s a decent budget and I’ve got total creative freedom to help the residents create life pages for a memories book. I’m so pumped!”

Karen pushed down her dismay and tried to infuse her voice with enthusiasm. “That’s great news, darling.”

“Isn’t it? It’s like the job’s been tailor-made for me.”

“I doubt that,” Karen said crisply, unable to maintain her fake enthusiasm. “It’s hardly working in fine art.”

Alice grimaced. “You’re forgetting I did some art therapy when I first graduated. Anyway …” She waved her hand over the clutter of photographs. “I thought I’d make a couple of demo pages to show the residents and get their imaginations sparking.”

Karen mustered up a faint, “Lovely,” as she pictured glitter and glue and shavings of craft paper all over the carpet. “Just promise me you’ll put everything away before dinner.”

Alice didn’t look up from flicking through a stack of photos she’d removed from an old yellow envelope. “No problem.”