Chapter 1

One day, my daughter asks me, “Mommy, is Daddy dead?”

I freeze.

That’s when it hits me: for a whole year, Sophie hasn’t gotten so much as a call or a card from her father.

So when summer break starts, I take my daughter to the city where he works.

We’ve barely stepped past the brunch café on the ground floor of his building when the owner looks up and smiles at Sophie.

“Well, look who it is. Hey, Bella.”

Then he turns to me.

“Small iced latte with oat milk, light ice — the usual?”

I stop dead.

Sophie and I have never once set foot here.

Before I can answer, a woman walks into the café, holding a little girl’s hand.

“Marco, small iced latte with oat milk, light ice. You know me.”

She calls out with the ease of someone who comes here every day.

Marco looks from the little girl beside her to Sophie, and his face changes.

He slaps his forehead, sheepish.

“Oh God, I mixed you up. The girls look so much alike.”

“Same card on file? The Visa ending in 1803?”

“Yep. Put it on Nate's tab.”

A chill goes through me.

Nate. That’s my husband’s name.

The card ending in 1803. That’s my husband’s card.

The woman follows Marco’s gaze to Sophie. Her eyes widen.

“Oh my God, Bella, look. She looks just like you!”

I look at the little girl holding the woman’s hand.

About the same age as Sophie. And those eyes... those are Nate’s eyes, exactly.

“Bella?” My voice shakes. “That’s your daughter?”

The woman doesn’t notice my expression go cold.

“Mm-hmm.” She smiles brightly. “My little girl.”

Then she’s already sliding into a booth with her daughter.

Without even looking at the menu, she calls out, “Marco, two seafood Benedicts, please.”

I glance up at the menu on the wall.

Fifty-eight dollars each.

Marco nods cheerfully, then turns to me.

“And for you and the little one, honey?”

“Just a plain bagel, please.”

The cheapest thing on the menu. Four dollars.

He blinks. “Just the one? Nothing for you?”

I shake my head. “I’m not hungry. Just for her.”

I’m starving. I just can’t make myself spend the money.

Nate sends me eight hundred dollars a month. That’s it.

Back home, his father is dying of stomach cancer, and his mother has been bedridden for years.

Every dollar has to stretch. I'll spend ten minutes in a grocery aisle comparing prices on eggs, milk, whatever vegetables are on sale.

I stayed up nights for a whole month making handmade earrings to sell on Etsy, just to scrape together the money for the bus tickets that got Sophie and me here.

The woman pulls a pack of Wet Ones from her Birkin, wipes down the table, then flashes me a warm smile.

“Hey, if you don’t mind, want to share the table? The girls seem to be getting along.”

Sophie sits down and shyly points one small finger across the booth.

“Mommy, that girl’s dress… it’s just like mine.”

I look. Both girls are wearing the same pink floral sundress.

Except her dress is crisp and structured.

Sophie’s is pilled and wrinkled.

The woman notices too. Her hand flies to her mouth, delighted.

“Oh my God, it really is meant to be!”

“My husband ran all over Paris last month hunting this dress down for Bella. Limited edition Bonpoint, almost a thousand dollars.”

“Where did you get yours, hon?”

My chest tightens until it hurts. I got Sophie’s on SHEIN. It was twelve dollars.

And last month, Nate really did go to Paris.

Before he left, I was frantic. Sophie’s daycare was calling about overdue tuition.

I called him and begged him to send an extra two hundred.

His voice was full of irritation.

“Money again? Chloe, I’m on a work trip. Do you think I’m made of cash? Can you cut me some slack for once?”

And then he had no problem spending a thousand dollars on a dress for his other daughter.

My eyes drop to Sophie’s wrinkled little dress. I make myself smile.

“Just something I picked up.”

A moment later, Marco brings the plates over.

One heaped with smoked salmon and poached egg. One lonely plain bagel.

Sophie is so sweet. She tears off a small piece and holds it up to my mouth.

“Mommy, have some too.”

I shake my head. “Mommy’s not hungry.”

The woman glances at the suitcase beside our booth and sighs.

“Where’s your husband, if you don’t mind me asking? Why are you doing this alone?”

“He… he’s very busy with work.” I look down.

“No man's ever too busy to show up for his own kid.” She purses her lips.

“Look at my husband. He’s swamped at work, but he’s home every night on the dot to be with us.”

“He always says work is supposed to give us a better life. What’s the point of making all that money if you lose sight of what actually matters?”

I listen quietly, and swallow the ache in my throat.

“You’re lucky,” I say. “He must really love you.”

“Oh, he does.” Her face lights up.

“He used to travel constantly too. But ever since we moved to this city three years ago, everything changed.”

Three years ago was exactly when Nate got “relocated” here.

Sophie was two.

He held me tight at the airport, his voice breaking.

“Chlo, once I get on my feet out here, I’ll bring you and Sophie out. I swear.”

“I’m going to give you the life you deserve.”

I believed him.

So I stayed in our little Ohio town, day and night, caring for his father, his mother.

I waited three whole years.

And what do I get in return?

He has built another family. In another city. With another woman.