Within weeks, Dad was posting photos online with a woman named Tessa, who looked barely older than me. Rooftop bars, wineries, beach resorts. He bought new clothes, whitened his teeth, got an expensive haircut.
Nora checked his social media daily. “You’re really going to keep watching this?” Ben asked.
“I want to know what kind of person he thinks he is now,” she snapped.
Meanwhile, Mom kept cooking dinner for seven. The first time, she automatically set an extra plate at the table, then froze. I quietly removed it. “It’s okay,” I said.
“I know. I know. I’m fine,” she whispered—but she wasn’t.
One night, I found her staring at an old photo. “Do I really look that different?” she murmured. “Is that all I am now? Something that got old?”
“Mom,” I said firmly. “No. He did.”
She looked back at the photo. “I gave him everything.”
And she had.
We started stepping in harder. When she had a lawyer’s appointment, Nora grabbed her keys. “I’m coming.”
