Her mother reached across the table, laying a hand briefly over Gwen’s. “You don’t have to be the best at both right now — careerandmarriage. But you do have to decide which one matters more in this moment. Because it seems like your marriage cannot exist with your current priorities.”
Gwen’s throat tightened. “I thought I was building a life for us. Every late night, every project. I thought if I built something big enough, it would carry us both.”
“And maybe it could have,” her mother said, not unkindly. “But if Maggie never felt carried, then it wasn’t working the way you hoped. That doesn’t mean it can’t. It just means you have to build it differently.”
Gwen looked at her, surprised by the note of compassion under the critique.
Her mother smiled faintly. “You’re my daughter. I want you happy. Whether that’s in the corner office or at home making muffins with your kids. But don’t let this drift away without making the choice yourself. You deserve better than that. So does she.”
Gwen gripped her mug tighter, the ceramic biting into her palms. She didn’t answer. Couldn’t. The question ofcareer or marriagesat heavy in her chest, the kind of decision that promised to break her open either way.
Her mother, seeing the look on her face, reached for her coffee again. “You don’t have to decide today.”
The silence stretched until Gwen forced herself to breathe. “Thank you, by the way. For still helping both of us with the kids.”
Her mother waved it off, as if the words embarrassed her. “You know I love spending time with those little angels.” A faint smile tugged at her mouth. “I’m here whenever you — or Maggie — need me.”
Gwen nodded, swallowing against the tightness in her throat. “I know.”
For the first time, she admitted silently: she couldn’t have both. The title. The life. One would kill the other.
And she didn’t know which she was ready to let go.
CHAPTER 27
Maggie
The Traverse Cityairport barely counted as an airport — two gates, one security line, carpet designed by someone’s grandma in 1987. Maggie shuffled out with her carry-on dragging behind her and spotted Izzy immediately: standing on a bench, arms windmilling, yelling, “Maggie!”
Kiera tugged her down, mortified but grinning.
Maggie laughed, dragging her bag across the tile. “What, no sign?”
Izzy jumped down and enveloped her in a hug. “You’re late.”
“I’m on time.”
“Which is basically late.”
Kiera hugged her next, warm and grounding. “We’re glad you’re here.”
“Better than Colette threatening to stage an intervention if I didn’t get out of town,” Maggie said and let herself be swept toward the parking lot.
The air outside was crisp and pine-tinged, carrying thefaint sweetness of lake water. Maggie inhaled like she could bottle it.
Izzy tossed her suitcase into the SUV. “All right. Buckle up. Lake house awaits.”
“Wait,” Maggie said, climbing into the back seat. “Snacks?”
“Better,” Izzy said. “Pie.”
They stopped at a clapboard bakery with a crooked sign readingGrandma’s Secret Pies. The place smelled like butter and cinnamon heaven. Kiera carefully debated flavors like it was a test; Izzy just declared, “Cherry and apple, done.”
“Blueberry,” Kiera countered.
“Fine. Three. But we are not getting rhubarb. Rhubarb is a scam.”
Maggie raised her hand like she was swearing in at court. “I’ll eat anything you put in front of me.”
