Hours later, it’s when she falls asleep in my arms, that I make up my mind. She won’t approve, and she won’t go along with it. I know what I must do.

* * *

My dad is still stuck in the conference room, so I wait in his office for my mom to arrive. She comes in, all smiles and arms spread wide for hugs. “It’s good to see you, Harbor.”

“You too, Mom.” Lark and I spend time with our families, together and alone. She’s taught me that no matter what, family is most important. I couldn’t agree more.

My parents pulled me from my own misery. They told me I mattered. Even when the lies took over the truth, they gave me a chance to come back from the ashes. They loved me privately despite the sins they thought I’d committed and got me help. They loved me publicly and came to my defense when everyone else pointed the finger at me.

I don’t want to disappoint them, but I’m worried I’m about to.

“No classes?” my mom asks, sitting in a chair next to mine and putting her bag on the floor.

“I have two hours on Thursdays at lunchtime.”

“Ah.” She starts to take off her coat and drapes it over the back of the chair. “It’s starting to warm, but we’re not quite there.”

“No, we aren’t.”

She looks at me, her eyes seeing the concern in mine. “I hope you’re okay.”

“I am.”

“And Lark?”

“She’s good.”

A soft smile appears. “That’s good.”

The door opens, and my dad comes in, grumbling. “I spend my days in meetings instead of litigating. I should have saved myself the money and gotten a business degree instead of going to law school.” He stops to kiss my mom and then bring me in for a quick pat on the back. “How’s everyone?” His eyes travel between the two of us. “Anything I need to be worried about?”

My mom replies, “Harbor called the meeting, so I’m in the dark just like you, Port.” She turns to me. “What’s going on?”

I don’t know why my palms are sweating. I rub them over my jeans and just spit it out, “I need your help to send Lark to medical school.”

My dad asks, “Okay, what does she need? A recommendation?”

My mom is quiet but curious, her voice soft when she asks, “I thought she got into the schools she wanted?”

“She did. That’s the thing. Her hard work has paid off, but . . .” My dad sits forward, steepling his fingers. “She can’t afford it. The scholarships didn’t come through like she was expecting.”

“Ah,” my dad hums and sits back in his chair, turning his attention to Mom.

She asks, “We don’t usually hold fundraising for a specific person, but more qualified applicants who apply. It could be very tricky to do something like that because we file as a nonprofit.”