Everyone praised my composure, my ability to keep things together, and when I buried myself in work, staying late at the office and traveling more often than before, I told myself I was providing security, structure, and opportunity for my daughter.
That was when Lauren Price entered our lives.
She spoke softly, dressed impeccably, and carried herself with the confidence of someone who knew exactly how she wanted to be perceived, and when she showed interest in Grace, offering to help with school projects and bedtime routines, I felt an enormous sense of relief that I mistook for happiness.
“She needs a woman in her life,” I told friends, coworkers, and myself. “Someone consistent.”
Lauren agreed readily, smiling in a way that reassured everyone except, it turns out, the one person who mattered most.
I did not notice when Grace stopped asking me to read to her at night, and I did not question why she flinched at sudden movements, because grief, I thought, explained everything, and the truth required a level of attention I was unwilling to give.