“Well, better than I was in October.” She paused, studying the blue, white, and gold pattern on her dessert plate with the half-eaten slice of birthday cake. “October was bad. And November.” Her full mouth quirked and one of her deep dimples appeared. “To be honest, December wasn’t much better either.”

Kit knew Cass had been in a very dark place and yet there had been nothing any of them could do for her then. There was really nothing they could do now. Kit hated feeling helpless. “We’ve been worried about you.”

“I know. And I was kind of worried about me, too,” Cass admitted with a strangled laugh, pushing back the same wayward curl that had slipped out of her ponytail. She had long loose curls and big blue eyes like an innocent shepherdess from a Mother Goose nursery rhyme. In reality she was a labor and delivery nurse at a hospital in Walnut Creek specializing in high-risk deliveries, and far from helpless.

“Are you doing better?” Mom asked, a deep furrow between her eyebrows. Mom had been a nurse, too, before she earned her master’s degree and became a hospital administrator.

Cass toyed with the lace edging her white linen napkin. “I don’t know. This last time broke something inside me. Here I had this beautiful, perfect little boy…and my body rejected him. Killed him—”

“Cassidy!” Meg choked, horrified, glancing toward the hall to make sure none of her kids were listening. “Don’t say that. You’re not responsible. You can’t blame yourself.”

“But I do.” Cass looked up, the grief clouding her eyes. “How can I not? He was twenty-four weeks old. Thirty-six percent of babies can survive premature birth at twenty-four weeks. Instead, my body—” She didn’t finish, pressing a hand to her mouth to keep the words in, but her eyes were enormous with sorrow and pain.

Kit slid out of her chair to wrap her arms around Cass’s shoulders. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “So very, very sorry.”

Cass covered Kit’s hands with hers. “I want him back. I want to save him.”

“It’s not fair, is it?” Kit murmured.

“It’s not,” Meg echoed. “Nor does it seem fair that people who shouldn’t have kids pop them out, and those who should have them struggle.”

“I think about that all the time,” Cass said.

“Did you have a name for him?” Mom asked.

Cass nodded. “Thomas. After Dad. Thomas Joseph Brennan.”

“Your own baby Tommy,” Mom said, understanding.

For a moment no one said anything, and then Gabi ran into the dining room, asking if she could please have another slice of cake since her piece had been small. Meg cut her a sliver.