I was scared. Scarred. Damaged in places that couldn’t be seen.

I would never feel completely safe in a relationship again. I would always doubt the promises he made. I would never be able to put him first, the way he deserved.

Then there were all the things about me that Brett hated.

I cried easily. I liked sappy movies. I listened to Christmas music starting on November first. I wore short skirts. I liked Michigan more than California. I preferred hugs to diamond bracelets. It sometimes took me a long time to reach orgasm—although that hadn’t really been an issue for Henry.

But maybe the strongest case against me where Henry was concerned was my infertility. Granted, the issue of having children together should probably not matter until two people have had at least one actual date, but we weren’t twenty-five and flippant about the future. The reality was that Henry wanted children, and that would never happen with me. It couldn’t.

How could I have thought we made sense?

Because it felt so good with him. So easy. So right.

But in the end, it didn’t matter—I had to give him up.

After a sleepless night, I came downstairs so early, my mother was the only one up. She took one look at the bags beneath my bloodshot eyes and asked me what was going on.

I broke down and told her the whole story—minus the dirty sex stuff—over cups of coffee at the kitchen table. How I’d felt so drawn to Henry as soon as I’d moved back. How we spent so much time just talking and opening up to each other. How easily we understood one another and how good it felt to be wanted that way again. She listened, nodding in sympathy, and fetched me a box of tissues when I couldn’t hold back the tears.

“Oh, darling, I’m so sorry,” she said, rubbing my arm. “How terrible for you.”

“Tell me I’m doing the right thing, Mom,” I begged, blowing my nose.

“You’re doing the right thing, Sylvia.” Her eyes filled too. “Being a mother is the hardest job there is. I can’t imagine doing it on my own. And there will be many times in your life where your own needs have to be put aside for those of your children.”

“I know,” I blubbered.

“But it’s the most rewarding job too,” she went on. “Raising you girls gave my life such beautiful purpose. Seeing you grow up has been the most fulfilling experience of my life. When you’re happy, I feel it in my soul.” She took my hand. “And when you’re sad and struggling, it breaks my heart. So I know how you feel when you look at Whitney.”