“No, of course not. I’m on the graduation party volunteer committee. Such an honor.” It’s not really a committee. Everyone is included. But I will look like a good mom for being there, and Dr. Rosenthal seems pleased. Good job, Jane. So far this session is going well. She’s concerned about Betsy’s rage and guilt, so my work here is done. By next week I’ll be relaunching my acting career and too busy to be bothered with coming to these sessions.

Dr. Rosenthal glances up above my head at the clock mounted over the door. “Let’s focus on the memorial this afternoon with our remaining time.”

I thought our time was up. I shift in my lounger. “There were seventy RSVPs for the memorial service. And a lot of donations to the charity in Mary’s name.” I report the facts as if this is a birthday party, a happy event. David must have picked the charity, something about kids. I guess Mary would have supported that. We always agreed in our parenting of Mary, of course. David was hands-off. I was in charge. Our relationship was built on one simple pact: no contact, ever, with the birth mother. That isn’t unreasonable.

“How are you feeling, though, about this afternoon, Jane?” She blinks and looks as if she is about to cry. She didn’t even know Mary. Imagine how hard it is for me, all of this. I won’t cry, not here, not now. I like my makeup job today, and I’m shopping next.

I drop my head, look at my hands folded in my lap. “I am trying really hard to move on, for Betsy and David. I’ll always have a hole in my heart. You never get over a huge loss like this, as you know. Tonight is the first step of reconnecting our family. David needs me by his side tonight and I’ll be there.” Watching his every move.

Dr. Rosenthal stands, indicating our time is up. “Are you writing in your grief diary? Going to group? Listening to the breath-work podcasts?” Dr. Rosenthal walks me to the door. I feel her hand on my shoulder. “I can tell you are improving. Good job, Jane.”

“Thanks.” I don’t tell her that I don’t do anything she tells me to do, that she doesn’t understand anything. I know who I am, Dr. Rosenthal. I walk out of the office door and avoid eye contact with the old man sitting in the corner waiting for his appointment to begin.

My mind flashes to David, to what he’ll be like as an old man. I wonder if we’ll still be married all those years from now, sitting in our home, holding hands on the couch. We might be, if he straightens up. Atones for his sins, both current and past.