“Are we going to the house?” she asked.

“No,” I said. “We’re going to my apartment. It’s close to the river.”

“Is Dad there?”

“No,” I said. “Your father is still in Hawaii. He won’t be back for a few days.”

“Did he call you?” Dylan asked.

“He did,” I said. “We had a talk.”

“He was so mad, Mom,” Dylan said, looking out the window as we merged onto the highway. “He said you took everything. He said you ruined his life.”

“Your father has a very dramatic way of looking at things,” I said.

“Valerie was crying because she couldn’t buy some bag she wanted,” Chloe said, her voice dripping with teenage disdain. “She kept saying her credit card was declined at the boutique.”

“Well,” I said. “Sometimes plans change.”

“I’m glad we’re here,” Chloe whispered.

She reached over and took my hand.

Her fingers were cold.

I squeezed them tight.

We arrived at the apartment.

The kids spent the afternoon unpacking their things into the spare rooms.

The apartment felt smaller with three of us, but it felt warm.