“My mother did everything for my father.”

“Well, that’s their problem right there. He took her for granted.”

“She never complained.”

“Because that’s not who she is. Abby’s not going to tear your father down. Not to you.”

“I just don’t understand why she would ask him to leave now.”

“She’s been thinking about it a long time, you said.”

“I don’t understand that, either.”

John rubbed his jaw. “Okay. Say I’ve got this team. One great returning senior and a bunch of other guys. And my star, the senior, he’s all in. He comes to every practice, he busts his ass, he breaks his heart, he wins all his matches. But he’s only one player. He can’t carry the team by himself. At some point—maybe he gets injured, maybe not—the other wrestlers have to pull their weight. They have to put up points for the team to win. When Abby went into the hospital, you stepped up. Your sister stepped up. And your dad walked away.”

“He didn’t simply walk away,” I said. Remembering what Mom had said. “He had a commitment.”

“He made a commitment to your mom first. She should have been his first priority.”

“John.” I looked at him, this man I had married. “Are you sorry you decided to leave coaching? Teaching, I mean.”

“We decided together. So you could stay home with the kids.”

“But you love coaching.”

“I love you more.”

A little flare of warmth as I digested this. “Do you think my father loves my mother?”

“As much as he can.”

“He was always bringing her flowers. Every time I went to visit, she had a different bouquet.”

John didn’t say anything. I watched the blush creep up his neck and realized. “It was you,” I said. “The poinsettias, the flowers . . . They were all from you.”

“Big deal,” John said gruffly. “Anybody can buy flowers.”

“But you did. Oh, John.” I threw myself into his arms. He held me tight. This, this was real. My parents’ marriage was a fantasy, a happily-ever-after that was ending now. And, oh, it hurt to let it go. “I always wanted a marriage like my parents had,” I said, the words muffled against his shoulder.

“Then you married the wrong guy.”

“John!”

He smiled a little. “I’m nothing like your dad.”

“No,” I said, relaxing against him. “No, you’re not.” I laid my head against his chest, lightness creeping in to fill the hollow inside me. “I guess I don’t have to be like my mother, either.” Doing everything by myself. Fixing everything by myself.

“I’ve always admired Abby,” John said. “But she’s more than somebody’s mother. She’s more than somebody’s wife. She’s a strong woman. You take after her that way.”

“Thank you.” I sighed. “You’re wrong about one thing, though.”

“What’s that?”

I raised my head, smiling. “I married exactly the right guy.”

CHAPTER 25

Jo

Eric commented on my blog again. It felt wonderful, intimate, and the teensiest bit intrusive, like having him in my apartment. Correction—like having him in my apartment while everybody I knew hung around the fire escape, peering through the window and trying to figure out what we were doing.