The week is busy, and it goes by so fast, it almost seems like I miss it. In some ways, it feels like nothing has changed. Charlotte has school. I practice piano for hours every day. Caleb gets called in for extra shifts at the hospital, so he’s gone more than usual.

We barely see each other until Thursday night. He comes home late and I can tell by his face and the way he walks in the door that he’s exhausted. He still pulls me into his bedroom, murmuring in my ear how much he missed me.

I missed him too. But he’s worth the wait. And this time, I set the alarm on my phone before I fall asleep. I don’t want to give up sleeping wrapped in his arms, but I also don’t want a certain little girl to find me in her daddy’s bed.

He’s stuck at the hospital late again on Friday, and I can tell Charlotte is starting to feel his absence. She’s more withdrawn, even with me, and she only picks at her dinner. I read with her until her bedtime and a surprise call from Daddy perks her up quite a bit. He promises he’ll be home tomorrow and he’ll spend time with her then.

I keep Charlotte busy on Saturday morning so Caleb can sleep in. She helps me make pancakes and then I set her up at the table with paints and some big sheets of poster board. It’s almost eleven before Caleb comes down, looking rumpled and sexy in plaid pajama pants and a t-shirt. Charlotte jumps down and runs to him and he scoops her up. It melts me every time I see the way he hugs her.

He brings her back to the table and she shows him her paintings. One is a garden with trees and lots of flowers. Another shows four stick figures next to a house.

“Who is this, Bug?” he asks, pointing to the first figure.

“That’s you,” she says, then points to the other figures. “This is Linnea, this is me, and this is Noah.”

“And where are we?” he asks.

“We’re home,” she says. “That’s our house, except Linnea planted pink flowers in the front.”

“Did she?” He meets my eyes and winks. “That sounds very pretty. What’s this one?”

She pulls out another picture. “This is me playing piano.”

Caleb points to a bunch of circles lined up in rows at the bottom of the page. “What’s this?”

“Those are people,” she says.

“Are those people listening to you play?” he asks.

I stare at the picture. She painted herself playing in front of an audience. I meet Caleb’s eyes, hoping he realizes what a step this is for her. His surprised expression tells me he does.

“Yes,” she says.

“Where is this?” I ask.

“At school,” she says.

Caleb and I make eye contact again, like we’re both afraid to say the wrong thing and startle her tender little heart. Both hoping this means she’s having some kind of breakthrough.

“Do you want to play piano at school?” I ask gently.

She tilts her head, looking at her picture, and twists her lips. “I think maybe yes. Ms. Peterson said if we want, we can do something for the parents at first grade parent night. Lily in my class is going to say a poem, and Nicholas is going to show some of his gymnastics.” She purses her lips again, still staring at the painting, like she’s imagining herself playing in front of an audience. “I think I can play Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.”

I’m so excited, I think I might burst. I never would have thought she would decide to play in front of an audience so soon. Granted, she plays beautifully. I’ve called her a natural more than once, and I’m not exaggerating. She could play that song in her sleep and play it perfectly.

Caleb looks like he might actually have a tear in his eye. He kisses her head. “That sounds wonderful, Bug. I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks, Daddy.”

I glance at the time. “Hey Bug, I think Grandma and Grandpa are going to call in a couple minutes.”

“Do you mind helping her log on?” Caleb asks. “I’m going to make some coffee.”

“Sure.”

I get up and go to the desk next to the kitchen and boot up the laptop. When I lived with my parents I always talked to Charlotte on Skype when they did—and Caleb was never part of it. I knew he was around—sometimes we could hear him talk in the background—but he didn’t join in the calls.

I didn’t blame him for being distant. When Melanie died, my parents pushed Caleb—hard—to move to Michigan with Charlotte. His refusal left them furious, but he stood his ground. They said some awful things about him in those days—things I’m sure they never realized I heard.

To his credit, he always let them stay in Charlotte’s life. He sent them pictures and videos when she was a baby, and welcomed them into his home when they wanted to fly out to visit. When she got a little older, they started doing Skype calls so she could see and talk to them. Caleb never got in the way of that, although he tended to stay off screen.

It’s no surprise when he ducks into the kitchen and busies himself with making himself coffee and breakfast while I get Charlotte set up at the desk. She doesn’t actually need my help; she knows how to do it all herself. But I sit with her anyway.

The call comes through and she clicks the mouse to answer. I adjust the webcam so it’s focused on her and stay quiet while my parents gush over how big she’s getting.

“How’s school?” my mom asks.

“It’s fine,” Charlotte says. “We’re working on how to write a sentence and using periods and question marks.”

“That’s excellent,” Mom says. “What else have you been learning?”

“We have a butterfly habitat with caterpillars,” Charlotte says.

“Are you learning about the life cycle of the butterfly?” my dad asks.

“Yes,” Charlotte says. She explains the stages of butterfly development while my parents nod along.

“Good, I’m glad they’re teaching you science,” Mom says. “It’s one of the most important disciplines.”

“I’m playing piano too,” Charlotte says. “I can play Mary Had a Little Lamb.”

“That’s nice,” Mom says, and I try to ignore the disinterest in her voice at Charlotte’s mention of music. “What else have you been up to?”

“Noah came to my house to play,” Charlotte says. “And Linnea had a sleepover with Daddy.”

I freeze and my face goes hot. Both my parents look at me and I desperately wish I hadn’t pulled up a chair to sit next to Charlotte. I could be standing in the kitchen, watching from a distance. But I can’t duck out of view now.

“Oh,” Mom says. Her expression is in sharp detail on the screen—arched eyebrow, thin lips pressing together.

I glance back at Caleb. He sets down his mug and moves like he’s going to come over and talk to them, but he pauses when I meet his eyes. I shake my head slightly and mouth, No.

“I wanted to have a sleepover in my room, but we just had a pajama party,” Charlotte continues. “Miss Megan says I can spend the night at their house with Noah sometime. We might go to the park with Noah next week, if it isn’t raining.”

“Won’t that be fun,” Mom says with mock sweetness.

I try to head this off. “Mom, she doesn’t mean—”

“We’ll discuss this later, Linnea,” Mom says, cutting me off. My dad hasn’t said a word, but I can see the tightness in his jaw.

My eyes flick to Caleb again. His face is clouded with anger and I give him another tiny head shake. I really don’t want him jumping in on this right now. Especially not in front of Charlotte.

I sit in tense discomfort while my parents talk to Charlotte for a few more minutes. I had no idea Charlotte knew I’d spent the night in Caleb’s room. I’ve only done it twice, and both times I didn’t think she’d noticed. I guess I underestimated her. She notices everything—just like I always did.

My parents don’t say another word to me, nor do they ask to talk to Caleb. They tell Charlotte goodbye and when the call ends, Caleb comes over and kisses the top of her head.

“Why don’t you go upstairs and play for a little while, Bug?”

“Okay, Daddy,” she says.

He stands next to the desk, his coffee back in his hand. “Are you okay?”

I take a deep breath, but my stomach is already in a knot. No, I’m not remotely okay. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Do you want me to call them?” he asks.

“What would you say?” I ask.

He shrugs. “That they don’t have anything to worry about, and you’re a capable adult who can make her own choices.”

Yeah, that would go over well. “No, it’s okay. You don’t need to call them.”

“Are you sure?” he asks.

“I’m sure.”

My phone rings on the table behind me. I know it’s her. I close my eyes for a second as a wave of anxiety rolls through me.

“You don’t have to take that if you don’t want to talk to her,” he says. “What happens between us is private. It isn’t anyone else’s business.”

It rings again and I stand.

“Linnea.” He puts a hand on my arm. “You don’t have to.”

“She’ll just keep calling if I don’t answer. I’d rather get it over with.” I grab my phone off the table and answer as I walk upstairs to my room. “Hello?”

“Linnea.” My mom’s voice is cold and unemotional. “What is going on in that house?”

I close the door and sink down on the edge of my bed, feeling like a little kid who got caught sneaking a cookie—which was about the worst thing I ever did as a child, although the way my parents treated me, you’d think I was born rebellious. “Nothing, Mom.”

“I have a hard time believing that,” she says.

“Mom, it’s not—”

“I thought your father and I made it clear what we expect of you,” she says. “We’ve done everything in our power to give you as many opportunities as we can. But you have to uphold your end of the bargain.”

“Yes, I know—”

“Have you followed up with the Colorado Symphony yet?” she asks, cutting me off again. “I passed on the director’s contact information to you weeks ago and you haven’t told me what’s going on. When is your audition?”

She’s asking me about auditions? Now? “I didn’t get an audition.”

There’s a heavy sigh on her end of the phone. “Linnea, we talked about this. You have to use the time Charlotte is in school for practicing. If you aren’t putting in the time, what do you expect?”

“I practice every day.”

“Then why didn’t you get an audition in Colorado?”

“I don’t know.”

“You have to stay focused,” she says. “That’s the only way you’re going to achieve your dreams. People who allow themselves to become distracted are the ones falling by the wayside in life. They don’t amount to anything.”

I put a hand over my forehead. “I’m not distracted.”

“Clearly you are,” she says. “I didn’t expect this situation to carry on as long as it has.”

“Mom, you told me to move here,” I say.

“Until Caleb could find someone reliable for my granddaughter,” she says.

“That’s not what you said at the time,” I say.

“That’s precisely what I said. We didn’t pay for a very expensive music degree for you to be a nanny.”

“Then why—”

“Caleb needs to find someone else,” she says. “As soon as possible.”

“I don’t think that’s really up to you, Mom.” I wince. I can’t believe I just said that to her.

She’s silent for a moment, and when she speaks again her voice sends a chill up my spine. “Linnea, if there is something going on between you and that man, you are going to put an end to it. Immediately.”

“Mom—”

“I’m going to assume my daughter is smarter than that,” she says. “I raised you to be an intelligent, capable, independent woman. A woman who would not be lured in by an older man.”

My throat is dry and my voice barely works. “Lured? That’s not—”

“I think we’re finished here,” she says and I grind my teeth together in frustration. “You know what needs to be done. I expect you to do what’s best for your future.”

I mumble a reply that might sound like I’m agreeing with her.

“Good,” she says. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

I drop my phone on the bed next to me and bury my face in my hands. My palms are sweaty, my heart racing, and I can’t stop shaking. I hate how she does this to me. Every time. She makes me feel so helpless. My mind goes blank, my body trembles, and it’s all I can do to choke out short replies. Forget trying to stand up for myself. I can’t when she won’t stop talking long enough to let me think.

In the aftermath of her phone call, a hundred comebacks race through my mind. All the things I should have said mock me. I’m so frustrated at how I freeze up when I talk to her. She’s my mother; I shouldn’t feel like I’m facing down a judge who might sentence me to life in prison. But the fear and anxiety that hits me when she lectures makes me feel like my life is in the balance. Like she has control and there’s nothing I can do.

There’s a soft knock on my door.

I take a deep breath. “Yeah?” I wish I wasn’t so shaky.

Caleb comes in and closes the door behind him. Without a word, he sits next to me. I lean against him and he wraps his arm around me, drawing me in close.

He kisses the top of my head. “You okay?”

The safety of his embrace and the warmth of his body melt away the worst of my anxiety. I relax against him, no longer trembling, and the sick feeling in my stomach starts to fade.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” I take another deep breath. “She mostly just lectured me about practicing and auditions and staying focused.”

“You practice all the time,” he says.

“I know.”

“I don’t want to say anything bad about your mom, but…”

“It’s okay. I know what she’s like. Don’t forget, I heard her end of a lot of your conversations with her.”

“Then you know I’m not exactly her favorite person,” he says.

I shrug. I don’t particularly want to get into what my parents think of Caleb. Or what they’ll think when—or if—I tell them I am indeed dating him.

“It’s really not their business,” he says, his voice soft. “This is about you and me, and no one else.”

“Yeah.” I sit up straighter and he gently rubs up and down my back. “It doesn’t matter what she thinks anyway.”

“No, it doesn’t.” He rubs my back a few more times. “Want to go get another tattoo? Maybe somewhere really visible on a webcam?”

That makes me laugh.

He touches my chin and leans in for a soft kiss.

“Thanks,” I say.

“I was going to take Charlotte out for some daddy time, since I’ve barely seen her all week,” he says. “But if you want us to stay home, we can.”

“No,” I say. “Don’t. She needs that. I’m fine. My mom just… she does this to me. It’s okay.”

He places his hand alongside my cheek and looks me in the eyes. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” I say. “Go have a daddy-daughter day with Bug. I’ll be here when you get back.”