Apples Never Fall

by Liane Moriarty

It was true she hadn’t let her children help in the kitchen. They were too messy and loud and she didn’t have the time or patience to be the sort of mother to smile lovingly while a floury-faced child cracked eggs onto the floor.

When she looked at photos of her children when they were little, she sometimes thought, Did I notice how beautiful they were? Was I actually there? Did I just skim the surface of my entire damned life?)