My bubbly daughter returned from her dream class trip silent, angry, and frightened. I assumed something had gone wrong in Los Angeles—then her teacher called and revealed how little I knew.
I had raised Lily alone for fifteen years, which meant I was accustomed to being both the comforting parent and the one who imagined every possible disaster.
When worry threatened to overwhelm me, I repeated the same words.
“Let’s deal with what we know.”
Lily’s father had left after learning I was pregnant. I told her that much whenever she asked, but never much more.
The truth was that I had loved him deeply. I had imagined a wedding, a small house, and
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