“Tyler has a daughter.”
Silence. Then: “I’ll call the others.”
Margo hung up and gripped the edge of her kitchen counter. Through the window, she could see the ocean,calm and indifferent to the earthquake that had just hit her life.
A daughter. Tyler had a daughter. Sixteen years old.
She moved through the familiar ritual by muscle memory. Coffee—decaf, because they’d need to sleep tonight. The good cups, not the everyday ones. Wine, because the Circle women would need it. Crackers and cheese, because her hands needed something to do.
Her phone buzzed. A text from Meg.
I know you must have questions. Tyler needs to be the one to explain. I don’t even know the story yet.
Margo stared at the message, then typed back.
Just tell me why she’s here.
Three dots appeared, disappeared, appeared again.
He needs to tell us both. Soon, I hope.
The first knock came at seven sharp. Vivian, because of course it was. She took one look at Margo’s face and pulled her into a hug.
“Whatever it is, we’ll handle it,” Vivian murmured.
Eleanor arrived next, followed by Nadine and Letty together. They filed into Margo’s living room with the efficiency of women who’d weathered crises together before.
“Wine?” Eleanor asked, already reaching for the bottle.
“Please,” Margo said, sinking into her chair. “Pour generously.”
They settled in, waiting. Margo took a breath.
“Tyler came home from Australia today. With a sixteen-year-old daughter none of us knew existed.”
“A daughter?” Letty said faintly. “But how—when?—”
“No.” Margo’s voice was steady, bewildered. “His daughter. Stella.”
“Stella,” Vivian repeated. “Pretty name.”
“She looks exactly like him.” Margo reached for her wine. “Same eyes, same chin. There’s no question.”
“Sixteen,” Eleanor calculated. “So when Tyler was?—”
“Twenty-three. That workshop in Australia.” Margo shook her head. “All those trips. Twice a year, sometimes more. I thought it was just for work.”
“Maybe it was,” Nadine suggested gently. “Maybe he was visiting her?”
“For sixteen years?” Margo’s voice cracked slightly. “Without telling us?”
Silence fell. They all knew what she wasn’t saying—that Sam wasn’t here. That her daughter had been gone for years, chasing her art, and might miss this entirely.
“What do you know about the mother?” Vivian asked.
“Nothing. I texted Meg but she says Tyler needs to explain.” Margo’s frustration showed. “I don’t even know why the girl is here.”
“Summer vacation?” Letty suggested.
