Leah felt her eyes welling and turned toward her truck, toward Tyler. She felt her blood churning the same as the river. It was humiliating, wanting so much to be forgiven, when the only thing she'd possibly done wrong was marrying Andy to begin with. Really, how could she have known he'd turn out so rotten? They'd had some happy years. Andy wrapping a blanket over her shoulders when she was up late studying, learning the exact amount of cream she liked in her coffee. Andy's deep connection, as deep as hers, to their hometown, a sense of shared responsibility, between them, to improve and defend it. In the end, none of those things had mattered as much as his inability to ever admit he was wrong, his misplaced fervent confidence that he knew more about the people around him than they knew about themselves. Even the worst people were sometimes tender. Even liars, or maybe especially liars, knew how to be kind. She felt an urgency so deep it stung, blood-borne, racing through her whole body, to get to her son. It was up to her to keep Tyler safe, today and forever. It was up to her to be sure he only ever manifested the best of his father, if he had to manifest Andy at all.

LEAH PRESSED THE BUTTON for the secured entry at the day care, and the receptionist said “Okay,” but the doors didn't unlock. The gutters were overflowing, sending a stream of cold rainwater down her back, which pooled at her bra and released slowly, tiny drops zigzagging down onto the small of her back, wetting the waistband of her pants.

Leah stared at the security camera that she knew ran a feed right to the reception desk. They shouldn't be making her stand out here in all this rain, even though she was soaked through already, slicked with mud, a real sight, she was sure. She sucked in her breath, held it, and when she could not hold it anymore, reached for the button again. Before she pressed it, the woman's voice sounded on the PA. “I see you. Hold your horses.”

Inside, she smiled, aware that she was leaving a muddy puddle on the floor. “I'm here for Tyler.”

“You can head on back.” The woman, clearly alarmed by Leah's near-drowned appearance, picked up her phone receiver.

Leah could hardly stand the smell of the day care—sour milk, sour diapers, Lysol sprays and hand sanitizers—and today it was so cold and clammy, tantrums in the background, baby screams. The kids were as unsettled as anyone else. She could not imagine how Tyler stood it at all, and then she remembered that he didn't, not really.