She opened the passenger door and settled into the seat, bringing a faint whiff of vanilla body spray into the cold car.

“Hi, Mom,” she said, glancing over at me with quiet, hopeful eyes.

“Did you get your errands done?”

I sat behind the wheel, holding it tight and forcing a smile as Sadie got settled in the passenger seat.

At seven o’clock Tuesday evening, the high school gym smelled of floor wax, damp winter coats and cheap cafeteria coffee.

I found an open spot on the second row of the wooden bleachers and set my black purse down on the cracked varnish beside me.

Two rows down, Tasha sat in the middle of three other senior moms, her blond hair catching the harsh overhead lights every time she turned her head.