That evening, Ashley and I sat on the back porch under the stars. “Does it still hurt, cutting them off?”

“Yes.”

“Do you regret it?”

I looked at the warm light in our windows, the ball by the door, the pink blanket on the sofa. “It hurts that they were never the family I thought they were.

But I’ll never regret protecting us.”

“When you walked into that kitchen,” she said, “I was terrified you’d have to choose between them and us.”