My daughter never returned home after prom—eleven months later, something I accidentally discovered hidden inside my son’s beanbag chair turned my face completely pale.

“Hi, Rose. I’m Camila, your grandma.”

Livia’s mouth trembled at that.

A week later, I called her.

“Would dinner here feel okay?” I asked. “You can say no.”

“I’m Camila, your grandma.”

“Who’s coming?” she asked.

“Whoever you want.”

She came with Mitchell, Rose, and Natalie. Liam sat beside her. I asked Natalie if she wanted coffee. John cooked because I knew continue reading …