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There had to be a way to share things with my readers without feeling so exposed.

I looked over at my girls and Reese, who was still chatting with the dark-haired guy. I thought of the other man, who’d had the easy, practiced moves of an experienced father. My chest twisted at the sight.

We were doing fine. I wasn’t tragic. I was thriving. And the apple pie post would clinch it. I hadn’t said anything personal whatsoever on that post and it was doing… fine. Not great, but fine.

My phone buzzed in my hand, startling me. I’d been lost in thought and the screen had locked. But the banner that popped up saidOne new comment.It was as if the universe had known what I was thinking.

It was fine. If this one was anything like the others, it would help boost me further from that dark place my mind seemed to want to take me.

I tapped it open, holding my breath.

BellaEatsFan7:OMG I’m so sorry. My heart just breaks for you.

The air exploded out of me like a popped balloon, my stomach sinking with it.

How? How had this person taken this happy little post and found something to feel sorry for me in it? I scanned the words I’d published, looking for anything I might have let slip. I hadn’t said a word about going to an appointment with the pediatric neurologist like I normally would have. I didn’t mention Joe’s birthday having passed last week.

Then I saw it. It was the tiniest thing, something only my longtime readers would pick up on. I’d mentioned how I’d probably take this pie to Thanksgiving dinner next month and had written, ‘for most people, Thanksgiving is a special time for being with the people closest to you.’

Any reader of my blog would know that in my case, I wasn’t most people. My girls and I had a gaping hole in our family where Joe had been. With all my previous posts as evidence, it was as good as stitched into every word I’d written.

I glanced at my phone. Still half an hour before the appointment. Angry now—at myself, not the reader—I turned it off altogether.

It was a stupid idea to have intertwined my livelihood and my life. The worst.

I got up and walked over to my girls, who’d migrated to the play equipment. “Is it time yet, Mom?” Emma asked when I reached them.

“Not yet,” I said, getting down and pulling both girls into a hug.

This was what mattered. That both girls were healthy and happy.

Emma was the worrier. My chest twanged as I pulled back and looked at her. “Are you okay?”

I nodded. “Never better.”

“Does that mean we still have time to play?” Macy asked.

“Yes.”

“Come on Emma!” she yelled at her sister, who after one last curious look at me, followed Macy in a dash over to the climbing dome.

When I stood I saw Reese was on her way over to me, her face lit up. Her chat with that guy must have gone well.

“I’m going to go,” she said as she approached.

I pasted on a smile. I didn’t need to ruin her good mood. “On your own?”

“Yes,” she laughed.” Then she quirked a brow, inspecting me. Sisters always knew. “You okay?”

“Totally,” I said.

She folded her arms.

“It’s nothing. Just another pity comment. It’s fine though, not that bad.” I waved it off as if it was nothing, even though it was one more kick in my side. Besides, saying it sounded ungrateful. The commenter had cared enough to say something nice. I should take it that way.

“Okay,” said Reese. She glanced over her shoulder at the guy she’d been talking to. He was on his phone now. She was distracted. Happy.

“Did you have a nice chat with Mr. Hot Dad?”