But I’d never outgrown the foolish hope that my son might love me without needing something first.

The phone buzzed. The sound cut through the room so sharply I nearly flinched. For half a second, hope moved before pride could stop it.

Maybe Trevor had texted. Maybe the flight was delayed. Maybe one of the children was sick. Maybe there was some ordinary explanation that would let me put the cake away and forgive them by morning.

I turned the phone over. It wasn’t a message.

It was a social media alert.

Trevor had posted a photo.

My thumb paused over the notification. I remember that. The hesitation. Some part of me knew that once I opened it, I wouldn’t be able to pretend anymore.

I opened it. The photo loaded slowly, one bright strip at a time. There they were.

Trevor, Melanie, and the three children on the deck of a luxury catamaran, all tanned and smiling beneath a sky so blue it looked expensive. The children wore matching linen outfits.

Melanie’s sunglasses reflected the water. Trevor had one arm around her waist and the other raised in a casual wave, as though greeting people who existed only to admire him.