I couldn’t believe she’d trust anyone else with all those intimate details.

“Yes,” my mom admits, turning her swivel chair to face me completely. “Juliet helped me. She didn’t want to lie to you, but I asked her to hold the truth, if you came to her, until you were finished with the book. I wanted you to read it first.”

The strange look from Juliet makes sense now. She didn’t technically write it, but she did know about it.

“You could’ve told me all of this,” I chided. “Did you think I’d hate you? Or Dad?”

“No,” she rushes out, leaning over to take my hand as I sit down in the chair at the table. “When I found out I was having a daughter, Quinn, I honestly wasn’t happy. I was worried. I was so afraid I’d have another version of me, making the same mistakes, crying over the same types of men, and making bad decision after bad decision to make someone else happy. Someone who doesn’t deserve her.”

I’m not sure if she’s talking about Jared’s dad or mine, but I keep quiet and listen, anyway.

“That’s the hardest thing about being a parent,” she explains. “Living through heartache, bearing your struggles, learning the hard lessons the hard way, and enduring years of climbing a wall only to fall back down and have to start all over again . . .” She holds my eyes, and her voice is weighted with sadness. “The tears, the waiting, the zero sense of who the hell you are, and then one day . . .” Her voice grows lighter and she looks happy. “You wake up, and finally you’re exactly the person you’ve always wanted to be. Strong, decisive, resolute, kind, brave . . . But then you also look in the mirror and you’re fifty-eight.”

An ache hits my chest, and I can imagine a fraction of what she’s talking about. All those years, all the wasted time . . . She finally grew but at a huge expense.

“And when you have a child,” she goes on, “it’s like watching yourself start all . . . over . . . again. You want them to make the most of every moment and be the type of person you’ve finally become, but that’s the cruel joke of youth.” She smiles sadly. “No matter what I tell you or share with you or try to teach you from everything I’ve learned, it won’t hit home for you until you’ve lived it. You won’t really know what I’m talking about until you’ve made those mistakes and learned from them on your own.” She lets out a heavy sigh. “And unfortunately, that could take years.”

I slide my bag off my shoulder, absently dropping it on the floor. My mom may have been happy with her life and proud of what she’d survived, but her regrets don’t end with her.

She worries for me, too.

“I wasn’t sure I would ever let you read it,” she tells me, looking embarrassed. “Obviously, some of the scenes I wrote would be uncomfortable for you to read.”

Uh, yeah. I’ll try not to think about the episode in my dad’s office the next time I swing by his work.

“But I wrote it when you were little, and I included your dad’s side in the story, using his thoughts from some of his old letters to me that I’ve kept over the years, because I felt his side was important, too. I’ve just been concerned about you for a long time. I finally decided that if I could show you some things in a way where you could feel them for yourself, then maybe you would learn something from him and me, and what we went through, after all. The book was a way for you to live vicariously—go through the experiences without the costs and consequences.”

“Why do you worry about me?”

She leans back in her chair, shaking her head. “Maybe your dad is right. Jared was so difficult, and it was my fault, of course, but raising you has been such an easier experience that maybe I don’t know what to do with myself.”

Her eyes flash with something, like she’s practically lost in thought, and I know she’s thinking about my brother.

“Jared was just such an open book,” she muses. “If he didn’t like something, you knew. If he wanted something, he’d take it. If he wasn’t happy, he didn’t act like he was.” And then her eyes narrow so she can study me. “What do you want, Quinn? What makes you happy?” She leans forward, taking my hand. “Whatever it is, don’t wait on anyone else to give it to you. Don’t wait for it to just happen. Go get it.”

I frown, and it’s like I’m standing on a cliff, looking down onto a waterfall and everyone else has jumped—laughing and calling to me to follow—but I’m afraid of the drop.

“It’s kind of scary,” I choke out. “What if I love you all too much, and I’m afraid of disappointing you?”

“I know you love us,” she assures. “We all know, and we love you, too. That will never change.” She leans in, trying to catch my eyes. “But does it make you feel good? Sacrificing your own happiness to please others? Honey, if our love is that brittle, then we don’t deserve you. A strong person realizes that the only love you truly need in this life is the love you have for yourself. If you have that, it’s like armor. No one can stop you. No one else matters.”

“So that’s why you decided to let me read it,” I ask, looking up.

She nods.

“But why did you write it in the first place?”

“To learn about myself. To try to make sense out of everything Jason and I went through. Everything we put Madoc and Jared through.” She pauses and then continues. “We could say we were young and stupid, but that excuse only lasts so long before you realize that you were selfish and just really big assholes.”