“He died in a car accident when you were one.”

“Oh.” Jill looked down with a furrowed brow. “Did he know about me?”

“No.”

She shook her head and turned away. Can I mourn someone I never had? She wondered if it would have made a difference if he had lived longer. Would she have been able to know him? Would he have sought her out? Would he have shown her the love she never had or felt? Her heart began to race and her breathing quickened.

Her mother’s shaky voice interrupted her spiraling thoughts. “I’m sorry, Jillian.”

Jill nodded but she remained silent. The apology felt heavy on her heart. It had been something she’d wanted to hear her entire life, but now she didn’t know if it even changed anything. She had been robbed of a father, one who seemed like he would have loved her if his love for her mother was any indication. She felt cheated, and it made her sick to her stomach. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“Why do you stay here? With Douglas? You obviously don’t love him.”

“No, I don’t. But I don’t have anything else. I might as well stick with what I’ve done to myself.”

“Don’t you want more?”

“No. My ‘more’ has been gone a long time.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. She walked to the drink cart and poured herself another glass. She held it in her hands and moved closer to the fireplace, staring down at it once more. Without turning toward Jill, she said, “Be better than me, Jillian. Fight for your more. For your something special. Don’t give up like I did.”

Jill sat still, not wanting to break the strange mood that had come over the room. All the words entering her brain felt inadequate. Never had her mother poured out her heart like that. Probably to anyone. Maybe only Greg. Then she lost him because she chose money and family pride over love. That wasn’t any better than Jill choosing work over Reagan. But Jill had something her mother never did—a second chance. She promised herself she wouldn’t waste it.

“I won’t,” she blurted, her resolve strengthening.

Her mother murmured an acknowledgment but remained facing the fireplace. She straightened as she emptied her glass in one long gulp. “Have a good night, Jillian.”

And with that, the mask her mother usually wore returned. Jill placed her glass on the coffee table. With one last look at her mother’s stony form, she left.

Chapter Twenty-Five