He showed up.
He stayed.
So when he eventually told me he had met someone, I wasn’t angry.
We were sitting in his kitchen after Sunday dinner when he said,
“I need to tell you something.”
“Okay.”
“I’ve been seeing someone.”
He watched my face carefully.
“How long?”
“Three months.”
“Tell me about her.”
Her name was Claire.
She taught third grade.
She was warm, according to Emmett.
Kind.
Patient.
And Margot had met her twice and seemed to like her.
“Are you happy?” I asked.
“I think so.”
Then he hesitated.
“Is that okay?”
“Being happy is always okay. Phoebe would have wanted that.”
I meant it.
I never wanted Emmett to spend the rest of his life frozen inside grief.
When he eventually decided to marry Claire, I supported him.
I attended the wedding because I wanted their marriage to succeed.
That needs to be understood.
What happened later had nothing to do with jealousy over my daughter being replaced.
It had everything to do with a five-year-old girl in shiny shoes who had spent two weeks telling everyone she was going to be in Daddy’s wedding pictures.
I heard Claire clearly.
The bridal suite door was slightly open.
I had been looking for Margot, who had spent the previous hour with the bridal party because Emmett wanted her to feel included.
Then I heard Claire say:
“You’re not the most important girl in your dad’s life anymore. Stay out of the family photos.”
I stopped walking.
For a moment, there was silence.
Then Margot came through the doorway.
She was already crying.
Not loudly.
