If the annual round-robin announcements my mother sent at Christmas were to be believed, Quentin was on the fast track to becoming an internationally renowned neurosurgeon. The thick, floral-white letter tucked into the padded, lavender-scented envelope rarely contained a mention of me, and I was certain they sent me the annual update merely as a reminder of what I’d messed up and lost, and as an overt signal to not bother visiting them anytime soon unless I met their exacting standards. Jack knew most of this, but I’d justified withholding some of the details about my past because we were all guilty of hiding things when we met someone we liked, I mean really liked, a person with whom we could imagine spending the rest of our life, but who might not feel the same if they knew all our ugly little secrets up front. Except I hadn’t only withheld the information at the beginning, I’d never shared it at all.

“Lily?” Sam’s voice tore me away from the memories of my dysfunctional family. “Do you want to spend the night at my place? The spare room—”

“No. I have to prepare a few things for work.”

“You’re going in tomorrow? Are you serious?”

Sliding my empty mug across the coffee table with my toes so I could stretch out my legs, I noticed the gray tinge on top of my white sock, reminding me I should’ve showered or at least changed my clothes. “I can’t sit here all day. I’ll go mad.”

Sam nodded, watched me for another few seconds before standing up. “I have to pack. You’ve got my cell number. Call me as soon as you hear anything. And even if you don’t. Okay?”

“I will, I promise.”

I accompanied him to the front door, where he gave me a hug and a fatherly kiss on the top of my head. “I can’t believe this is happening, Lily. You know how much I think of Jack.”

“Thank you,” I whispered, grateful he hadn’t spoken about him in past tense. I closed the door behind him, relieved to be alone again, yet scared because it meant I had too much time for my mind to wander the desolate roads I didn’t want to travel. Sinking back down on the sofa, I allowed myself to wonder if I’d ever know the truth about Jack if he failed to come home. And then I wondered if it might be better if I didn’t.