MasukZoe’s POV:The problem with having parents who are a love story is that everyone knows about it.Not in the way where your parents are embarrassing at the school gates or kiss in front of your friends or say things like we just love each other so much in that voice that makes you want to leave the country. My parents are not like that. My parents are actually quite contained about the whole thing which makes it worse because the story gets out anyway and when it gets out it has the quality of something real which is considerably more difficult to recover from than something embarrassing.My mother designed the community center three blocks from our school.My father’s company is in the building everyone can see from the main road.There’s a painting in the corridor between the two community center buildings that is literally a picture of our family if our family were shapes and if you look at it long enough, you can see the gap at the bottom of the garden wall which I specifically hel
Anastasia’s POV:It was an ordinary morning.That was the thing I kept coming back to. Not a significant one. Not a morning that had announced itself as the kind worth remembering. The children were at school and Lucas was at his desk in the study down the hall and I was in the studio with the new notebook open and the library annex sketches spread across the desk and outside the window, the garden was doing what it did.Ordinary.And yet.I put my pencil down and sat back in my chair and looked at the room.The blue painting on the wall. Isla’s. The one Zoe had said knows what it is. The one that had been here since we moved in and that caught the morning light in the particular way it had been designed to catch it by a woman who understood exactly what she was making.The box in the drawer where I kept the things that marked time.The photograph on the wall. The four of us at the groundbreaking. Lucas covered in mud, one arm around me. Noah with the ceremonial shovel. Zoe with the u
Anastasia’s POV:We were at her kitchen table when she said it.Eve was asleep in the other room and Dean was at a late meeting and the apartment was quiet in the way it got when Eve was down and neither of us felt like going home yet and Simone had opened wine and we were sitting the way we had always sat, without agenda, just two people who had been through enough together that sitting in the same room without doing anything was its own kind of good.She had been quieter than usual.Not sad. Not distant. Just turned inward in the way she got when something was moving through her that had not finished moving.I did not ask.She would say it when she was ready.She said it about an hour in.“I’ve been thinking about something,” she said.“What?” I said.She looked at her wine.“When Dean proposed,” she said. “In the car outside my building. He said he had loved me since before he knew what to do with it.”“I remember,” I said.“I did not say that back,” she said. “In the moment. I sai
Anastasia’s POV:The firm turned five.Not with ceremony. Not with anything that announced itself. I noticed it on a morning when I was looking at a contract and saw the date and realized that five years ago, I had walked into Celeste Dupont’s office with a portfolio and sat across from her while she looked at it for four minutes and said I start Monday.Five years.I sat at my desk and thought about what the firm was now versus what it had been.When I arrived, it was twelve people and three active clients and a reputation built over twenty years on Celeste’s specific vision of what design should be. When she left, it had been eight people and two clients and a name on the door that still said Dupont and Voss and which I had eventually changed.Now it said Voss Design.Simple. No partner name. No history to navigate. Just the work and the name of the person doing it.We were fourteen people now.Not large. I had not wanted large. I had wanted right, which was a different thing, and r
Anastasia’s POV:Eve Mercer at nine months old had opinions.Not expressed in words yet but in the particular clarity of a person who knew what she wanted and made that known without ambiguity. She wanted to be held facing outward so she could see everything. She wanted specific people and would make her preference known when she did not get them. She wanted to be in the middle of whatever was happening and would protest with considerable volume if placed at the edge of it.She had Simone’s focus and Dean’s stubbornness and something entirely her own that neither of them could account for, a quality of attention that made you feel when she looked at you that you were being assessed and filed.Zoe recognized it immediately.The first time Zoe held her, about three months after Eve was born, she had looked at Eve and Eve had looked back and Zoe had said she is paying attention and Simone had said yes she is and Zoe had said good and had held her with the careful focus of someone who und
Anastasia’s POV:We were not asleep yet.The house was quiet and the children were down and the city was outside doing what it did and we were lying in the dark the way we sometimes lay in the dark when neither of us was ready to stop the day yet but neither of us had anything specific to say.It was comfortable.That was the thing about it. The silence had been comfortable for a long time now, not the silence of two people avoiding something but the silence of two people who had said enough things that the quiet between them had weight and warmth instead of absence.Lucas spoke first.“Do you ever think about the penthouse?” he said.I looked at the ceiling.“Sometimes,” I said.“What do you think about it?” he said.I thought about what I actually thought about it rather than what I was supposed to think about it.“I think about the flowers,” I said. “The ones I arranged on the table nobody ate at. I think about how much time I spent on those flowers.”He was quiet.“I knew,” he sai
Anastasia’s POV:“You have paint on your face.”I looked up from the mood board spread across my desk and found Celeste Dupont standing in my office doorway in a cream blazer and reading glasses pushed up on her head, looking at me the way she looked at everything, like she had already figured it o
Anastasia’s POV:“If you tell her about this meeting I will make sure you never work in this city again. Do you understand me?”I stood completely still in the entrance of my own home with my keys still in my hand and my heart doing something complicated inside my chest.That was my husband’s voice
Anastasia’s POV:Simone called at exactly eight forty three the next morning while I was standing in my kitchen in my pajamas staring at the coffee machine like it had personally offended me.“Tell me everything,” she said before I finished saying hello. “And I mean everything. Dean told me Lucas c
Anastasia’s POV:I wore the burgundy dress.Simone had picked it out three weeks ago during one of our Saturday shopping trips that were less about buying things and more about reclaiming the version of me that used to have opinions about what she put on her body. It was fitted without being aggres







