By three o'clock on Saturday, the house was packed.

Brittany wore a white dress and diamond earrings. Her mother, Sharon, wore leopard print and kept telling people how proud she was of her daughter for “marrying so well.”

I walked around with a tray of drinks in my apron. Ethan stood by the door, taking coats. Brittany gave tours. I heard her in every room.

“This is going to be my walk-in closet... We're ripping out this whole kitchen... This was the old piano. It's going.”

In the living room, a lady asked her about Dad's first wife.

Brittany lowered her voice, but not much.

“Oh, she ran off to Asia. Abandoned the kids. Can you imagine? Steve's been raising them all by himself. Well, until I came along.”

Ethan, standing by the coats, went bright red. His eyes filled up.

I put down my tray and went to stand next to him.

Then, at 3:47, the doorbell rang.

Ethan looked at me. I looked at him.

I opened the door.

Mom was standing on the step with a suitcase, still wearing her travel clothes, her hair tied back.

“Hi, baby,” she said.