Charli tips her head back against the porch railing. “When Bryce went down on one knee tonight,” she says softly, “all I could see was Mom’s face.”
Matty looks at her. “Really?”
Charli nods. “She used to tell us we deserved men who’d fight for us like Daddy fought for her.” Her mouth curves. “Guess she was right.”
The swing creaks gently beneath us.
I stare down at my wine.
My chest feels tight all of a sudden.
I let out a small sigh.
Three heads turn toward me instantly.
“What?” Charli asks.
Shelby nudges my shoulder. “You’ve been quiet.”
Matty studies my face. “What’s wrong, Har?” she asks softly.
I pause carefully before answering, “I don’t have moments like that.”
They all go still.
I swallow. “I was little when we lost her,” I continue. “Too little.” My voice comes out softer than I expected. “I don’t remember her face.”
The words taste strange in my mouth.
“I don’t remember her voice. Or what she smelled like. Or what it felt like when she hugged me.”
The porch goes silent.
When I glance over, all three of them have tears in their eyes.
Matty’s hand flies to her mouth.
Shelby sniffles.
Charli wipes at her face with the heel of her palm.
“Well, damn,” Charli mutters thickly. “I never thought about that.”
Matty shakes her head slowly. “That breaks my heart,” she whispers. “You didn’t get to experience having a mother.”
I look at her.
Then I shake my head.
“But I did.”
They blink at me.
I smile faintly.
“It was you,” I say.
Their brows knit together.
