“Okay . . . well.” My chest was uncomfortably tight. “You know where to find me.”

“Yes.” She closed her eyes for a second and composed herself. “I need to get Keaton home.”

“Of course.”

“Goodnight, Henry.”

“Goodnight.”

She skirted around me and headed for the kids’ table, and I hurried out of the building without even bothering with my coat. I’d get it another time.

When I got home, I felt like putting my fist through a wall, or taking a sledgehammer and smashing that bathtub to bits. It didn’t even make sense how upset I was—Sylvia and I had only slept together a handful of times. It’s not like I was in love with her. This shouldn’t be so painful. So what the fuck was my problem?

I undressed in agitated, jerky movements, viciously scrubbed my teeth, and thumped myself into bed, punching my pillow several times before burying my head in it. But I couldn’t sleep.

After a while, it came to me, in Sylvia’s own voice—something she’d once said.

I missed the life I thought I would have.

Being with Sylvia had given me hope for a second chance.

And right now, it felt like that hope was gone.

20. Sylvia

Twenty

Sylvia

I got Keaton home and into bed, wondering if I should bring up what he’d seen earlier tonight or just let it go. In the end, he was the one who braved the topic.

“Mom?” he asked as I was tucking him in.

“Yes?”

“Are you and Mr. DeSantis . . .” he started, clearly uncertain how to end the question.

“No,” I said. “We talked about it, and we do like each other a lot, but we’re just going to be friends. I’m sorry if what you saw upset you.”

“Okay.”

“Did it?” I ventured. “Upset you?”

“Kind of. I don’t know.”

I nodded. “I understand.”

“It’s not that I don’t like him. I do.”

“I know, honey. And it’s okay.” I struggled to hold back the sob attempting to tear out of my chest. “Goodnight.”

“Night.”

Inside my room, I undressed, crawled into bed, and proceeded to soak my pillow with tears.

I felt like I’d let down everyone I cared about. I felt like I’d screwed up my fresh start. I felt like I couldn’t do anything right no matter how hard I tried. Was I just destined to make mistake after mistake? I’d confused and upset my children, who were depending on me. I’d gone after Henry knowing full well I had nothing to offer him. I’d allowed myself to believe something more between us was possible—and I’d allowed him to believe it too.

How was I going to face him again?

I tried to list all the reasons why he would be better off without me . . .

I was an emotional wreck. I was a single mother. I had trust issues.