“It’s delicious,” Monica said.

“Thank you. It has no caffeine, but one cup of this and you’ll be full of energy for the entire day. I call it my Breakfast Brew.”

Watching her mother wax poetic about her tea, it struck Monica what was different about her, and she was surprised she hadn’t realized it straight away: her mother’s hair had changed. Yesterday, she’d had gray hair styled in a pageboy, and Monica was convinced it was a wig. But that morning, her hair was even shorter, the fringe falling to the upper edges of her earlobes, and the coloring was a blend of black and silver in almost equal amounts.

Yet another wig, possibly? Regardless, Grace looked about ten years younger.

“Your hair,” Monica said in what she hoped was a casual tone. “It looks different today.”

“You noticed, eh?” Grace curled a finger around her bangs and giggled like a starlet with a secret. “Usually, I wear wigs, but today, I decided to go au naturel.”

“I noticed some gray hairs this morning, for the first time ever.” Monica ran her fingers across her scalp, sighed. “How old were you when you started to turn gray?”

“About your age, I believe. And child, I immediately colored my hair and started looking for wigs.” Grace laughed. “I freely admit to vanity, dear. A youthful look is essential if a woman wishes to secure male companionship.”

“I’m not sure yet whether I’ll be coloring my hair or wearing a wig. While it was a bit of a shock to find the gray hairs this morning, I’ve always sort of liked the idea of growing old naturally.”

“Is that so?” Grace sneered. “In your case, I doubt it matters. Whether you appear young or not, that husband of yours is going to plow the fields with reckless abandon.”

Monica frowned at the remark, but decided to let it pass. She wasn’t going to get lured into another debate about Troy’s behavior.

Grace continued: “He stepped out of the house yesterday evening after nine o’clock. Allegedly to go to the gym. He didn’t return until half-past eleven. What do you think about that?”

Grace watched her as if she’d just won a trick in a game of Spades, her lips curved in a mocking smile.

Monica carefully selected her words. “If that’s what he said he was doing, I’ll accept it at face value. He’s given me no reason to doubt his honesty.”

“You’re either willfully blind, or a hopeless romantic.” Grace clucked her tongue like a mothering hen. “Regardless, I’m not fooled—and I won’t allow this man to make a fool of my precious daughter, either.”

“Can we please talk about something else?” Monica asked.

“Of course, dear, if you wish.” Grace shrugged. “What would you like to discuss?”