may happen tomorrow or it may not. That is between you and your employer.”
Then I glanced at our daughter.
“Your baby has a 104-degree fever. That is the only priority that matters tonight.”
Sylvia started.
“Rachel—”
“I’m not finished.”
For once, she stopped.
“I know you love Ethan.”
Her expression shifted.
“I have never doubted that.”
Then I said the part I had avoided for three years.
“But I have watched what your version of love has allowed him to remain.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means
