Chapter 2

"That's Mrs. Wells," Lily said without missing a beat. "Our new housekeeper."

My hand, halfway raised to wave at her, froze rigidly in the air.

The little rich girl beside her wasn't finished. She strutted right up to my car window, wrinkling her nose dramatically as if my very existence offended her.

"I knew it," she scoffed to the other girl. "No way Lily's mom drives a dump like this, looking like a total wreck. Our moms match their manicures to their handbags. This one? She’s not even fit to carry their shoes."

I waited for Lily to step in. To say something. Anything.

Instead, the second girl covered her mouth, giggling. "Seriously, her hair looks like it hasn't been washed in days. Lily, your family's hiring standards are really tanking."

"Whatever, it's an adult thing," Lily snapped. She was annoyed, but not at them. "I'm leaving."

My hand dropped onto the steering wheel.

Lily waved a bubbly goodbye to her friends. But when she reached the passenger side, she deliberately hesitated. She shot a paranoid glance over her shoulder, making absolutely sure no one important was watching, before practically diving into the seat.

"Go," she ordered.

I pulled out into the traffic in suffocating silence. Lily clutched her expensive dance bag to her chest like a barricade.

"Care to explain that?" I finally spoke.

Silence.

"Lily. I am talking to you."

She didn't even turn her head. "Explain what?"

"Calling me the housekeeper."

Her shoulders instantly hiked up to her ears. "Can you just stop picking me up?" she deflected.

I slammed the brakes a little too hard at a stop sign. "Excuse me?"

"Send the driver," she shot back. "Or literally anyone else."

"I am your mother."

Lily finally turned to look at me. Her eyes raked over my body from head to toe, dripping with judgment. "What are you even wearing?"

I glanced down at myself. Faded jeans, an oversized sweatshirt, practical flats. Clean, but definitely wrinkled.

"You always look so exhausted," Lily muttered, curling her lip. "Miss Mia is completely different. Miss Mia wears beautiful dresses every single day. She smells like flowers, and her hair is always perfect. Daisy said she wants to be just like her when she grows up."

The words lodged in my throat like shattered glass. I wanted to scream at her—to tell her that I was carrying her sibling, that I spent every morning violently throwing up, that I hadn't slept a full night in months just to keep this family running.

But my throat seized up. A single, humiliating tear slipped down my cheek. I furiously scrubbed it away with the back of my hand.

The second we parked at home, Lily unbuckled and sprinted straight to her room, slamming the door.

I stood alone in the deadly quiet hallway, staring into the entryway mirror.

Was this really what I had become?

My skin was sickly pale. Stray hairs jutted out everywhere in a frayed mess. The collar of my sweater was permanently stretched, the cuffs fraying at the edges. My own daughter would rather claim I scrubbed toilets than admit I belonged to her.

I dragged myself to the master bedroom and wrenched open my closet doors. Toward the back hung my past life: tailored silk suits, designer evening gowns, vibrant colors. I reached out, running my fingers down the cool, smooth sleeve of an emerald dress.

When was the last time I even tried to put one on?

My phone buzzed against the dresser. A text from Ethan: [Coming home soon. Need to talk.]

I stared at the screen, then looked back at the silk dresses. I quietly shoved the clothes back and clicked the closet shut.

It was completely dark outside by the time the front door finally unlocked. I stepped out of the kitchen as Ethan walked in.

He was in the entryway, wrestling off his shoes with his phone pressed tightly to his ear. The second he caught sight of me, his eyes widened and he aggressively tapped the screen, hanging up without a goodbye.

"You're still awake?" he asked, his voice a pitch too high.

"I live here, Ethan. And I was waiting for you. You said we needed to talk."

"Right. Yeah." He nodded too quickly, slipping his phone into his pocket. "Did you, uh... you picked Lily up from dance today?"

I narrowed my eyes. "I did. Why?"

"Nothing. Just asking." He dodged my gaze, making a beeline for the living room and sinking heavily into the sofa.

I followed him in, sitting squarely on the accent chair opposite him. He shifted uncomfortably, refused to meet my eyes, and loudly cleared his throat.

Ethan leaned forward, interlacing his fingers in a nervous, overly casual gesture. "Look, I actually have some incredible news. Lily snagged a massive opportunity."

He didn't wait for my reaction, rushing right into the pitch. "A residential dance intensive in Montana. It’s run by an elite company. They almost never take kids her age, but they're making an exception. She’s one of only five girls selected on the entire West Coast."

"Montana." I kept my voice dangerously perfectly flat. "For how long?"

"The whole summer break." Ethan rushed to fill the silence. "They have world-class instructors. Plus, Mia insists this is absolute gold for Lily's private school applications. She says admissions boards eat this stuff up—"

Mia. It was her again.

"When?" I cut him off, my tone sharper now.

Ethan blinked, losing his rhythm. "What?"

"When did this come up, Ethan? When did Lily tell you she wanted to move to Montana for three months?"

He shifted his weight under my stare. "A couple of weeks ago. We’ve been sorting out the details. I just wanted to wait until the spot was one hundred percent confirmed before I bothered you with it."

A couple of weeks ago. Right when my morning sickness was at its absolute worst. While I was practically bedridden, vomiting every morning, my husband and 'Miss Mia' were busy planning to ship my eight-year-old daughter across the country.

I stood up so abruptly that Ethan shrank back a fraction of an inch. Martha, our actual housekeeper, was just walking past the archway with a stack of towels.

"Martha," I called out, not taking my eyes off my husband. "Tell Lily to come downstairs. Right now."

"Hey, there's no need to make a scene—" Ethan started, standing up as well, his face flashing with guilt.

"I'm not making a scene. I'm talking to my daughter."

A minute later, soft footsteps hesitated on the stairs. Lily stepped into the living room, lingering near the doorway. She was twisting her fingers into the hem of her shirt, deliberately avoiding my gaze. She already knew.

"Your dad tells me there's a summer camp," I said, the betrayal burning tight in my chest. "In Montana. A three-month trip that you two have been keeping a secret."

I took a step toward her. "Did you know about this, Lily?"