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“I need to leave. I need to think. I need to think about everything. I need to think about the book, us, about whether I can separate the author side of me from the woman who is standing in front of you, who loves you because right now, I don’t know if I can.”

“Ember, don’t do this.”

“No, Everett, this isn’t like last time. This is about me and about whether I can look at myself in the mirror knowing that the best thing I’ve ever written came from the family I love, from their pain.”

I didn’t wait for him to say anything. I turned and ran down the hall. I heard him get up from his chair, his footsteps following me.

“Ember, please, we can figure this out.”

I picked up the bag I’d packed and my coat and laptop bag and turned to face him.

“I’ll call the agency tomorrow. I will make sure there is someone here for Sophie. There is a binder in the kitchen. It contains everything I’ve written regarding Sophie. Her allergies, routine, games she likes, things she struggles with, foods she will eat.”

“Ember, stop.”

“Oh, the password to the learning app is dinosaur123, all lowercase. She will constantly tell you she hates math, but what she really needs is for you to sit with her for the first five minutes to give her a confidence boost,” I said, my voice cracking again. “Oh, and promise me you won’t cancel the party. She really needs this. Promise me.”

His jaw was tight, and his eyes were glassy with tears he refused to allow to fall.

“I promise,” he muttered.

I nodded, then picked up my bag and reached for the door handle.

“Goodbye, Everett. Thank you for everything.”

I stepped out into the cool fall air and pulled the door closed behind me.

Chapter Ten

Everett

When I came downstairs at five-thirty, the kitchen was dark. I stood in the doorway and looked at the counter where she normally sat with her laptop, her mug of coffee steaming beside her. The kitchen was spotless. I walked over to the coffeemaker and started a pot of coffee.

I turned around and saw the binder she’d told me about. It sat on the counter where she’d left it. I opened it and stared down at the first page. She had added notes all over the place.

Sophie’s Morning Routine (in order, do not skip steps)

1. She will try to skip brushing her teeth. She will tell you she has done it, but she hasn’t.

2. Breakfast. French toast (use brioche bread, the thick kind), or scrambled eggs with cheese. She does not like oatmeal or cereal.

3. Warm apple cider with breakfast, not cold. She will never tell you this, but cold cider makes her sad because Rebecca (her mother) would always warm it up for her, especially in the fall.

I closed the binder and closed my eyes. My throat ached and my chest hurt. I’d just sat down with my coffee when I heard footsteps on the stairs. Sophie appeared in the kitchen doorway in her pink dinosaur pajamas, her stuffed velociraptor under her arm. She looked around the kitchen, then at me, and then over to the counter where Ember’s laptop should have been.

“Where’s Ember?”

“She had to go home for a while,” I said, taking a sip of my coffee. “She needed to go home and spend some time with her mom.”

Sophie climbed up on her stool and rested her head in her hands and stared at me.

“Are you hungry?”

Sophie nodded. “I want French toast.”

“Okay, French toast it is,” I got up and made my way over to the stove.

I quickly made up a couple piece of French toast and put the plate down in front of her. She looked down at the plate and then up at me with a frown.