Startling me from my thoughts, my mom’s approaching footsteps clacked loudly down the hallway. I quickly threw a drape over the canvas I’d been examining and turned to the door.

“Sofia?” she inquired cautiously as she rounded the corner. “How are you doing, sweetie?”

I hadn’t spoken to anyone at breakfast and had looked positively atrocious, so it was no wonder she’d come to check on me. “I’m fine. Is it time to start getting ready?”

“Just about.” Her lips pulled into a thin smile, her eyes flitting about the room. “You want to talk about whatever happened last night? Your father told me you went out for a bit with Nico.” She came and sat on a stool next to my supply table.

I wanted to be angry with her for bringing Nico back into my life, but I had a feeling it would have happened one way or another, regardless of her interference. Instead, I just felt defeated, lowering myself onto the stool beside her. “It’s complicated, Mama. Seeing him stirs up so many emotions. Sometimes it’s good, but sometimes it hurts so bad I can’t breathe.”

“The people we love are always the ones who hurt us the most. If we didn’t care about them, their actions wouldn’t hurt.”

“I get that sometimes we hurt people on accident, but if you love a person, why would you intentionally do something you know is going to hurt them?”

“Why does a parent spank a child? Why tell your sister the guy she’s dating is an asshole? Sometimes it’s easier not to do those things, but we do them because we love that person. I’m not Nico, so I can’t speak for him, but I would be willing to bet he had a good reason for the things he’s done. I’ve seen the way he looks at you—the way he’s always looked at you—and there is no question in my mind that he loves you.”

“So, you think good intentions can absolve someone of their wrongdoings?”

“Well, that’s a broad statement if I’ve ever heard one.” She arched a brow at me. “It’s presumptive to say good intentions are always enough, but sometimes, yes, I think a person’s intent can be grounds for forgiveness. We’re all just doing the best we can. Maybe you would have done things differently, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t doing his best.”

For a second, I wondered if our conversation had more than one meaning. I wasn’t sure if I was reading into it because I knew about Dad, or if she was sensitive to Nico’s plight because of her own choices in life. Either way, I could see how her words applied to both situations and wondered if it was intentional. “I see what you’re saying, but it doesn’t make trusting him any easier, and it doesn’t erase the pain.”

“I know, baby. That’s what alcohol is for.”

I looked over at her, and we both burst out laughing. How could this woman make me want to strangle her one minute and laugh the next? Was I not entitled to a single simple relationship in my life? Of course, things with Maria were simple. She asked me about school, and I asked her how life was treating her. We both gave vague, meaningless answers and moved on. Simple. And totally worthless.