I look at my daughter Hazel, playing in the sand. She makes me so happy. By ten months, she learned to walk, and at fifteen months, she’s turned into a true whirlwind. You have to keep an eye on her all the time, or she’ll wander off somewhere on her own. She’s completely fearless, always looking for new adventures, getting up whenever she falls, and just going, going, going.

We’re at the beach, and Carey’s running after her. He’s crazy about his niece. She wrapped him around her little finger the very first moment they saw each other. He would do anything for her, including murder, I’m fairly sure.

It’s nice at the beach, not really sunny enough for sunbathing, but warm enough. Tomorrow, Hunter turns twenty-three. I wonder whether he’s already on his way back to Afghanistan. His second deployment has to be starting within the next few days. At least that’s what Carey told me, when I begged for information.

I miss him. Every single day. I miss seeing him with Hazel, though I’m not sure you can miss something you’ve never even known. But the longing feels the same. I wish Hazel could experience her dad looking at her like her uncle does—with unconditional love.

I still hope he’ll make it back to us one day. Hazel has Hunter’s brown hair and brown eyes and looks exactly like him. Her fluffy curls—I wonder whether Hunter’s hair is curly, too, when it isn’t buzzed—are so soft I want to touch them all the time. But she’s not always up for it. It’s already happening much too often, her refusing my cuddling. My independent girl is very good at making her wishes known.

“Mommy!” she calls, laughing. Like every time she says that word, my heart cramps up with a mixture of happiness and sadness. Happiness because she’s saying mom before dad, and sadness because I would have loved to miss out on that triumph if I could have had Hunter by my side instead.

“Yes, sweetie?”

“Tum. Ball!”

I get up from my blanket and kick the little ball over to her. Smiling, she tries to pick it up but doesn’t quite catch it—and then, suddenly, she has sand on her tongue. She sits down, smacking her face with her little hands.

“Sand is ick,” Carey says, and I give him a severe look, because I don’t want him to use baby language. “Sand is gross,” he corrects himself.

“Much better,” I say and sit down next to Hazel to wipe off the sand she hasn’t eaten yet.

“Dross!” she coos cheerfully.

Carey laughs and picks her up. He swings her through the air, and she laughs boisterously. He kisses her cheek, and she beams at him. She’s definitely her uncle’s child. She only liked me for as long as she was breastfeeding.

“I have to start watching what I say now, huh?” he says contritely.

I shrug. “I just don’t want to keep up the baby language. I want her synapses to connect properly.”

“Did you hear that? Mommy wants you to go to Harvard,” he tells Hazel, sounding completely serious.

“Haawad.”

“We have to buy her a Veritas T-shirt,” I say, making Carey laugh.

“Oh no, she’s going to go to college in San Diego,” he says. “I’m not letting her go that far away, especially not when she’s eighteen.”

“Eighteen.” She beams.

Carey runs his hand over her soft head. “That’s my girl. You’re so clever.”

He looks at her the way teens look at their favorite celebrity. It’s incredible how much he adores her. It makes me so happy. Carey’s such a great young man. And considering he’s not even twenty-one, he has an amazing sense of responsibility. I don’t know what I’d do without him.

“You two.” I smile.

“Two!”

“Maybe she’s going to be a mathematician,” Carey jokes, throwing her in the air again. She squeals when he catches her. My heart stops every time he does that, but I know he’d rather chop off his own hand than let anything happen to her. She’s safe in his arms.

“Are you hungry?” I ask her. “Or are you full from all the sand you’ve eaten?”

She smiles and smacks Carey’s face. “Sand.”

He strokes her little tummy. “Had enough? Or can we fit some more in there?”

“Um-um.”

“That was pretty clear,” I say and fold the blanket. I pack our stuff while the two of them run around a bit. Carey’s a saint, because my child never gets tired.

We drive home, and I fix us something to eat while Carey gives her a bath. The bathroom is always flooded afterwards, but it’s so cute seeing the two of them together in there. I lean against the doorframe to watch them have fun. He washes her hair and arranges her soaked strands into little horns. He hands her a mirror because she wants to see herself.

She plays with the bubbles, blowing at them and making them fly around—because I made the mistake of showing her how to do that once.

“Mommy!” she calls when she sees me, proudly blowing little clumps of froth at me.

I clap my hands. “Yay, it’s snowing!”

She laughs and leans back—and falls back into the water. Before I can react, Carey has already pulled her up again. She coughs up water, looking more surprised than terrified. I kneel down next to Carey, and when she starts crying, she stretches her arms out toward me.

“It’s okay, honey,” I murmur. “It’s okay. Carey saved you.”

She nods and looks at him but snuggles up to me. I mean, honestly, staying dry is overrated, right? It’s nice to know she still needs me in times of crisis.

Carey lovingly smooths back her hair. “I’ll always save you, baby.”

She smiles at him and sits down in the tub again. I wind up the little plastic frog that can move its legs and swim in circles, even though she finds it less spectacular than we thought she would when we bought it. With her little watering can, she pours water over the frog, then over our hands and arms. And finally, over Carey’s head, which signals the end of our bath.

Carey wraps her up in her tiny bathrobe and takes her to her room to get her dressed while I set the table. When they get back, we eat together. Hazel still gets mushy baby food, but she prefers to eat what we’re eating. Or rather: she prefers to play with what we’re eating and make a great big mess. Because, obviously, she’s perfectly capable of eating all by herself, so she starts screaming if we try to help her. The little brat.

I tuck her in and kiss her, and then we wait for uncle Carey to say good night and turn on her little music box. She loves that thing. Carey bought it, obviously.

“Have you heard anything from Hunter?” I ask when we adults are finally sitting alone on the couch.

He nods. “He’s flying back to Afghanistan tomorrow. He’s in Germany at the moment.” Hunter contacted Carey asking that they stay in touch but that Carey doesn’t talk about me. Since Carey was much too happy to hear from his brother, he agreed. He doesn’t tell Hunter anything about me and Hazel, but he tells me things Hunter writes to him. Not everything. After all, I’m sure they talk about things that should stay between them. But at least I know how Hunter’s doing. I know his friend Joey was killed. And his friend Spider was heavily wounded in action and didn’t make it in the end. I also know Killian was sent to Iraq with his FORECON team. I wonder whether Hunter’s jealous. That’s something he trained for and quit just because he wanted to get away from me. Does he hate me for it? Driving him into that decision? I hope not, but it wouldn’t surprise me.

“I wish he was here,” I mumble.

Carey puts an arm around my shoulders. “Me too. Every time I cuddle Hazel I wonder what it would be like to see her with her dad.”

A tear rolls down my cheek. “Me too.”

“I’ll tell him, Mac. Sometime soon. But I want to make sure our contact is stable. It’s still too sporadic.”

“I know, Carey. I’d rather know a little bit about his life than nothing at all. Don’t rush things.”

“But it’s killing you,” he observes.

“Just about. But Hazel keeps putting me back together.”

“She’s the best.”

I smile. “She is.”

He looks at his watch. “I told you I’m going out tonight, right?”

I nod. “You did. You have a date.”

“Yup.”

“Don’t forget you have two female roommates who are very sensitive to noise.”

“Don’t worry. A screaming baby is not exactly the best soundtrack for sex, either.”

“No, it’s not.”

He looks at me. “What about you?”

“Me?”

“Are you going to be celibate for the rest of your life?”

I shrug. “I don’t want anybody else. Maybe it’ll change one day, but right now that’s just how it is.

“Okay. But… Mac…” He pauses, running a hand through his blond hair. “Hunter can’t expect you to wait for him if he keeps acting like an ass.”

I nod. “But it’s not just about him. It’s about me. I can’t have sex with somebody else if my heart belongs to Hunter.”

“Okay… But you don’t owe him anything. Remember that.”

I touch his cheek. “Hunter’s going to kill you if he ever finds out you said that.”

He laughs. “Definitely. If he ever pulls his head out of his ass. And if he does that, I’ll be able to die in peace.”

“You’re such a nut.”

“Yup. I’m going to take a shower.” He gets up and goes to the bathroom. “Oh, by the way, Shane, Jean, and Sheila are coming over in a minute.”

I jump up. “Why? God! It’s such a mess in here!”

“You need some company other than me. All you ever do is take care of Hazel and work. It’s not good for you.”

“God, Carey! Why are you doing this to me?”

“Because I love you, doll, and I don’t want you to live like a vegetable because of him. So, come on, get out of your sweatpants and get some munchies on the table.”

“I hate you,” I grumble, hurrying over to my room to get changed.

Just after Carey leaves, the doorbell rings, and I put on a smile to answer it. But when I see my friends, I have to smile for real.

“God, I’ve missed you!” I call out and give them each a bear hug.

“I’ve missed you, too!” Sheila laughs, squeezing me.

“How’s work?” Jean asks once we’re sitting on the couch.

I was planning to go back to Free at Last, but after my pregnancy, I got a different offer, and I couldn’t turn it down. The organization I’m working for now fights rape and sexual abuse all over the country. At the moment, we’re working on a campaign against victim shaming. It’s never the victim’s fault for getting raped. And it’s not true what crude misogynists claim: that many women really want to have sex but later feel embarrassed about it and end up saying they were raped.

Instead of telling women what they need to do in order to avoid getting raped, we should be educating people—especially boys—about the fact that a no is a no. Our organization has developed a comic book series about it that shows what the word “consensual” means. We’ve taken simple examples from everyday life, like borrowing your neighbor’s car. You ask him whether you can have it first. Only when he says yes do you take it. With these examples, we’re also trying to show that it’s not okay to assume if a woman has said yes once she will always say yes. To stick with the example of the car, you would have to ask whether you can borrow the car every time, rather than assuming you can have it whenever you want.

Critics say we’re lumping all boys into the same “potential rapist” lot with this campaign. But that’s not true. We need to learn how to operate a car not because we’re all potential mass murderers, but because there are certain procedures and facts we need to know. We need to learn how to use a condom because we want to avoid teenage pregnancies—not that it’s being very successful in California. And, obviously, condoms are not a hundred percent safe, anyway, as my example shows—even if you go through the trouble of getting some out of your brother’s room because you’re afraid your own stash may have expired.

But I’m pretty happy with the outcome.

My point is, though, that we’re not telling boys they’re potential rapists. We’re simply telling them what moral laws apply to situations like these. Especially in a country where rape culture is omnipresent, it’s an important lesson. I mean, we also tell our kids not to kill anybody. Because we believe they’re potential killers? No. Because there are certain moral rules we want them to stick to!

The same is true for rape.

All those misogynists think we’re trying to take a right away from them. But what kind of a right is that? The right to be violent to another person? I’ve never heard of that right.

I feel sick when I see those videos on the internet of men saying when a woman says no it just makes it a greater challenge for them. Some even top that bragging by saying if she keeps repeating no, they’ll just rape her. I don’t know what’s wrong with those people!

Anyway, it feels good not to just be treating the symptoms in one place at Free at Last but making a difference on a broader scale. It gives me a real sense of satisfaction because I know I’m making a difference for hundreds of women. And it makes me happy I’m helping turn the world my daughter is growing up in into a better place.

“Work’s great, Jean,” I say honestly. “Really. It’s a great team. I miss you guys, but I have to say, it’s a great job.”

Shane smiles. “We miss you, too. The new therapist is good, but she’s just not you.”

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“Oh, stop it.” He grins. “No need to apologize. I’m so proud of you.”

Sheila tiptoes out of Hazel’s room. “She is so precious!”

I nod. “She is. Stubborn and unpredictable, but I love her to bits.”

“Stubborn’s from her mom.” Jean grins.

“Haha,” I say sarcastically. “I think she actually gets that from Hunter.”

“Has he still not gotten in touch with you?” Sheila asks.

I shake my head. “No, but at least he’s in touch with Carey.”

“He’s flying to Afghanistan tomorrow,” Shane says.

“I know. On his birthday. Twenty-three.”

“God, he’s still a baby.” Sheila smiles gently.

“Yeah, really.”

“You miss him,” Shane observes.

“Every day.”

“Why didn’t you realize how you felt about him earlier?” Jean insists. “Why did you stick with Carter for so long?”

“Honestly, I have no idea. It was like my head had enslaved my heart.”

“He did such sweet things for you. Things Carter never did.”

“Thanks, Sheila. I know,” I retort, but my voice is gentle.

She strokes my arm. “Fucked-up situation.”

I nod. “Yes, but now the only thing that matters is that he gets back from Afghanistan in one piece.”

“Amen,” Shane says. “We can talk about what could have been for hours, but it’s not going to change anything. We all make mistakes, but people can forgive. That’s the good thing about it.”

“I can’t wait to see him again,” I say quietly.

Shane tugs on my arm. “He loves you, Mac. Don’t forget that. Even if he’s being a jerk right now. He loves you more than you’ve ever been loved before.” And as an afterthought, he adds, “And he’ll love Hazel more than anything else in the world.”

“Does he even know about her?” Sheila asks.

“I’m not sure. Carey told him I had a baby, but I don’t think he realizes she’s his. Or maybe that’s just me hoping. Because the Hunter I know would have dropped everything to come see his daughter right away.”

Shane nods. “He doesn’t know she’s his. He thinks she’s Carter’s.”

“Did he say that?” I ask.

Shane nods. “That’s the reason he’s not in touch. He’s jealous.”

“Doesn’t he know I’ve split up with Carter?”

“No. He thinks you’re one big, happy family.”

“So why don’t you tell him, Shane?” Sheila asks.

“Because I don’t want to get involved.

“But you’d be saving him from heartbreak if you just told him,” Jean says.

Shane looks at me. “I promised Mac I wouldn’t get involved.”

Jean and Sheila give me a shocked look. “Why?” Sheila asks.

I shrug. “Because I don’t want Hunter to lose everybody from his former life. Shane is important to him, and I want it to stay that way. Hunter needs positive male role models, especially since Carter is really going off the deep end at the moment.”

“But you’re just extending his pain.”

“I know. But Hunter needs a loyal friend. And he’s picked Shane.” I shrug helplessly.

Shane runs his hand over his face. “I wish it didn’t make sense, but I know what you mean. That’s why I agreed to this. Even if I just want to yell at him, Your daughter is the most precious thing in the world, you stupid bastard!”

I smile a little. “Yes, me too. He needs time, and I understand that. I wish he’d read my emails, then he’d know everything, but I guess he refuses to look at them.”

“Yup, stubborn as a mule. Maybe Hazel does get it from her daddy.” Shane grins. “It’ll be okay.”

“Yes, it will be okay,” I repeat. “He has waited for me for years. I hope he’s not going to make me wait that long, but however long it’s going to take, I’m going to wait.”

They all nod. “I met Brittany the other day,” Sheila says, changing the subject.

“Oh, really?” I ask. “Did you talk to her? Is she doing okay?”

“Yeah, she is. She complained about you at length, that you’re being such a bad friend, yada yada yada.”

“I’m not her friend.”

Sheila laughs. “Apparently, you are—and a bad one. But she’d forgive you if you called.”

“Hell’s going to freeze over before that happens.”

“Why were you ever friends with her, anyway?” Shane asks, nose wrinkled.

“Actually—I don’t know.”

We talk for ages about this and that, and promise not to let this much time pass before seeing each other the next time, but when they’re gone, I lie awake thinking about Hunter. What else is new, right? I wonder how I can make him listen to me. Or read my emails. Or call me.

I can’t think of any new ideas. He’s one of those men you can’t influence. If you try to make him do something, he gets even more stubborn. Nothing gained.

I know I said I don’t want him to take me back just because of Hazel, but right now I don’t even care whether we end up together at all. I just don’t want Hazel to grow up without such a great person in her life. And I don’t want to keep him from meeting his super cute daughter—not that I’m the least bit biased. Every day, I take pictures and videos of Hazel, recording all her progress in my diary. Because I’m sure Hunter’s coming back at some point, and I want him to feel like he hasn’t missed out on anything.

I’m already showing Hazel videos of him so she knows who her daddy is. At the moment, she’s not really getting it, but at some point, she will. I always want her to know who he is.

Hunter would be such an amazing dad, too. I have no doubt about it. He had a great dad of his own—before Carter ended up not being so great anymore.

Speaking of, I feel guilty about Carter. He moved to New York now that his sons have left the house, and I can’t help thinking I’ve cheated Carey and Hunter out of their dad. Without me, the three of them never would have ended up going their separate ways. Whenever I say that to Carey, he argues that everybody can decide for themselves how to deal with things. Which is true, but it is hard for me to accept that Carey isn’t in touch with his dad, and that Hazel doesn’t know her grandpa. I understand Carter doesn’t want any contact with me. It was wrong of me to cheat on him with his own son. But it’s still sad that Hazel’s growing up without grandparents.

I wonder what Hunter looks like now. Has he grown up more over the past two years? Grown more masculine, I mean? I imagine him with his short, brown hair, his chocolate eyes, and lots of stubble and skin dark from his days in the sun. A tan makes everyone sexier, right?

Especially Hunter. I let my hand slide between my legs, push the fabric of my panties aside, and play with my clit. I think about our only night together, the gentle sex we had. Remember that I have never felt so loved before. I circle my clit with my fingertips before slowly rubbing it. My other hand grabs my breast, kneading it softly before running my thumb across my nipple. My breath speeds up, and my nipples stiffen. I can feel myself getting wet.

I dip my fingers into the wetness and then slide back up to my pearl, which is screaming for attention. I can feel that I’m not going to take long. I’m almost there already.

But then I hear Hazel cry through the baby monitor. The kind of cry that doesn’t just stop. My moment is gone.

Sighing, I get up and wash my hands before going to her room.

“Hey, sweetie,” I coo, taking her into my arms.

Her little head rests against my chest. “Mommy.”

I was going to ween her off sleeping in my bed, but… I mean, the poor girl is growing up without a daddy… Cursing my own inconsistency, I take her to my room, put my arms around her, and, soon enough, hear her breathing grow peaceful and regular as she falls asleep.