How could she believe I wasn’t proud of her accomplishments? Was it wrong to worry that she’d dedicated her days to the pursuit of success and that she’d regret not making enough time for her daughter? I wasn’t judging. I wanted her to have it all. The last time I saw her, she seemed high-strung and nervous. Her actions were jerky and unfocused, as if she was afraid of something. Was losing control or admitting she was human so hard for her? What if all that stress was beginning to affect her body?

God knows, Jack had suffered the same. His love for his job had eventually torn apart his body until he was ripped away from us far too soon. My worries for my daughter were completely valid. She was following right in his footsteps.

Then there was Allegra. My sweet Allegra, who looked at her mother with the same type of resentment I remember in my own daughter—a youthful arrogance that was probably needed in order to carve out an independent life. I was lucky my granddaughter and I were close, that she actually liked spending time with me. But lately, I sensed a simmering anger wrapped in disdain growing toward her mother. Frannie laughed it off as teenage angst, but I knew it ran deeper. Maybe that was what also kept me up at night, staring at the ceiling while I waited for dawn, hoping I wouldn’t die before I was able to help fix their relationship.

Always so melodramatic, the familiar rough voice whispered in my ear. You can’t fix everything, my love. Life doesn’t work like that.

My skin prickled but I kept my attention on the dirt sifting through my gloved fingers. I’d learned not to question the voice, or the solid sense of his presence beside me. Jack always liked to surprise me, whether it was presenting me with a bouquet of fresh wildflowers he’d picked on a high hill on his way home from work, or whisking us out for an expensive late-night supper where he’d set up dozens of candles or a musical serenade. It would make sense that he liked to jump out at me when I least expected it.

I shot back my answer.

Yes, I can. Our daughter is in trouble. I need to do something.

The image of his face danced in my memory. Laughing blue eyes, crinkled at the corners, with rounded cheeks and a mouth that loved to smile. Thick dark hair that turned to a premature yet beautiful white, crowning his head in Einstein glory. He worked so hard at his job nonstop, up until the day the heart attack struck. How long I’d begged for him to retire, but he’d thought we had plenty of time. Another cruel joke life played on you. Taking away the only person who could make aging bearable.