Lizette hadn’t thought about this in years, but the memory still infuriated her. How dare that boy, who was clearly to blame, be so upset? She was the mother. She got to be upset. Lizette’s world was falling apart, her boyfriend had just dumped her, and here was this kid, so consumed by love for her daughter that he had to be physically dragged away. Genevieve was a child. She hadn’t even lived yet. Why did she get that kind of adoration, when Lizette had never experienced it? It wasn’t the order of things. It wasn’t fair.
