My stepfather demanded I pay for his daughter’s new house — but what he didn’t know was that my mother had been hiding a 19-year secret that would change everything.

Nick tried to act tough about it, but I remember hearing him cry behind his bedroom door at night. I didn’t understand the mechanics of divorce. I only understood absence.

“Mom, why did Dad leave?” I asked once, curled beside her on our sagging couch.

She stroked my hair gently. “Sometimes adults make choices that hurt people,” she said softly. “But we’re going to be okay.”

She meant it. She always meant it.

But okay was a generous word.