I remembered this next part. I’d been so taken by the conversation that I’d briefly forgotten the lights, the stage makeup, the video and the tape. “Exactly. I’m guilty of playing that game myself.” I thought here of Cricket and Wallis, the pain we’d been through. “I felt my only option was to cover up my father’s behavior. I didn’t think there was another way that would allow me to keep my family afloat. I know other women, too, have been convinced that they have no good options in the wake of a man’s bad behavior. Because, if we draw attention to it, history tells us what will happen—we’ll be blamed for being complicit, for being permissive, for being too dumb to see him for what he was, or for somehow encouraging him to act that way in the first place.”

“So, how do we escape this cycle?” Monica asked. “How can we change the future?”

“Sharing our lived experiences is one option, though I know how challenging this can be. It absolutely was for me.” Here I paused. “It was my sister, actually, who helped me evolve. She demonstrated, time and again, that being vulnerable and opening up isn’t a sign of weakness. It’s a sign of strength, of trust in oneself and empathy for others. I want to embrace this new approach now, for myself and for my family. And, maybe, for women who’ve been persuaded that it’s best to stay quiet. Because I have to ask this question—best for whom?”

I glanced at Wallis, hoping she’d be pleased to hear this, but she had gotten a notification on her phone, and was now absorbed with something on Instagram. Shit, I saw her mouth.

I scooted closer to her. “What is it?”

“Daisy,” Wallis whispered, moving her phone to her chest to hide her screen. “Have you seen it?”

“Seen what?” Cricket asked, leaning in.

“Why don’t you just tell me, Wallis?” I said, beginning to fear. “What do I need to see?”

Wallis motioned for us to follow her into the kitchen, then reluctantly held out her phone. I stared down at a black-and-white picture of a diamond solitaire on a ring finger.

“Who is that?” Cricket asked, peering over my shoulder at the social media post. “Is that? Oh. Oh, no, is that someone who Blake...?”

“No,” I said, finally able to process what I was seeing. I gripped the counter. “No, it’s Ari. It’s Atlas’s girlfriend.” She’d tagged her location as London. Under the photo, this caption: WHIRLWIND! Then heart emojis. So many hearts.

“She’s in London.” Wallis, stating the obvious. “Did he really propose to her?”

“He texted me this morning,” I managed. “He told me that he wanted to talk when he got back.”

“Oh, Atlas,” Wallis murmured.