It hurt the way she wanted it to. Not terribly, but enough. She closed her eyes and remembered their breakfast. She’d taken Spencer to a place she’d known he’d like, a diner. They’d chosen a booth by the window, looked out onto the morning. Palms swayed in the breeze. Pigeons pecked at scraps on the sidewalks. She’d pushed the last two pieces of bacon to the corner of her plate, a gift for her baby brother, who was fifteen years old and not a baby. Who wasn’t hers after all.
