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She nods. “Yes. We haven’t spoken in a year, but today he was at my door.”

“Is that good?”

“I . . . I don’t know.” Lia sits up and rubs her face. “Probably. Maybe. Everything got so out of hand.”

And then she tells me about how her mom didn’t invite her, how she hasn’t contacted her in months. How she forgot Lia at the airport. She tells me about the argument with her parents and how completely incapable they are of listening. With every word, I tense up more. I don’t know her parents, but I don’t need to in order to understand that they have completely failed in their duty. That’s probably not fair coming from me, because I ran away myself. But this is about Lia.

She’s so hurt, and it’s mainly because of her mother. I can’t feel any sympathy for a woman who hurts her. Screw it if that makes me a total hypocrite.

“How can someone care so little about their own children?” she finally asks, and I would like to give her an answer that’s true and not hurtful, but I can’t.

I also can’t help flinching at her words. Lia’s eyes widen in shock as the same thought runs through her head that just went through mine.

“I didn’t mean it that way. That’s different. You . . .” She falls silent when I put my hand on hers.

“I know,” I reply, even though her mom and I are somehow quite similar. Except that Olivia is four and not twenty-one. And my daughter has grandparents who adore her.

Lia is alone.

“It’s just . . . she doesn’t see me. She just doesn’t see me. And I don’t understand why. What . . . what did I do wrong?”

“Nothing,” I say immediately, without a moment’s hesitation. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“You can’t know that.”

“Yes, I can. You’re not the problem. Nothing about you is a problem. And the way your mother behaves is not your fault. It’s not your responsibility.” I look at her intently and hope she believes me. I don’t know the whole story, not all the details, but I know it’s not Lia’s fault because I know her. I know who she is.

Indecisive, she tilts her head to the side, her long blond hair falling into her face. A crease forms between her eyebrows. Then she sighs. “I can’t do this anymore.”

My stomach cramps. “What do you mean?”

“All of this. It’s . . . too much. I’m always running after everyone, and no one waits for me. Not Mom. Not Dad. And Jase . . .” Pain flashes across her face. “I messed up with Jase. I made mistakes.”

I don’t ask what mistakes she’s talking about. I don’t need to know. “Can you fix it?”

She shrugs helplessly. “No clue.”

“Do you want to try?”

“Yes.” Another sigh. She pulls her legs up, hugs them, and rests her chin on her knees. Her gaze wanders into the void, where I can’t follow her.

For a while, neither of us says a word, even though I want to ask her a thousand questions and tell her a thousand things. At some point, she lifts her head, looks at me, and my heart skips a beat when I see the fear in her eyes.

“Do you hate me?” she whispers, so quietly that I can barely hear her. I blink, needing a moment to understand what she’s saying.

“No. Of course not. Absolutely not.” I almost stumble over my words, I’m speaking so fast.

“Why not?”

“Give me one good reason why I should hate you, Ophelia.”

“Because I pushed you away. Because of everything I said to you.”

I remember her voice, her desperate gaze in my mind.

It’s not right. You have a daughter, and I have dreams.

Yes, that’s probably true. She was right about everything she said. And yet . . .