I ended the call before she could continue. I stared at the blank screen for a moment.

Then I picked up my keys and looked at myself in the mirror.

“I won’t scream. I won’t collapse,” I said aloud. “But I will look her in the eye.”

I didn’t know what waited beyond her front door — only that staying home would let the guilt keep speaking for me.

Rosie’s new house sat at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac, freshly painted, green and gold balloons tied to the mailbox. Music spilled into the street, laughter loud and easy.

I parked across from the house and watched guests carry wrapped presents inside.

Nancy loved green balloons.

The thought nearly brought me to my knees, but I forced myself forward, walking past neighbors holding plates of food.

A woman from my book club touched my arm. “Cassie… I didn’t expect to see you here.”

I attempted a smile. “I wasn’t sure I’d come back either.”

She gave my arm a gentle squeeze and moved on.

Rosie opened the door before I knocked. For a split second, surprise flickered across her face before she replaced it with a wide smile. “You came,” she said, a warning beneath her tone.

“Yes,” I answered. “We need to talk. You scheduled your housewarming for the day of Nancy’s funeral.”

Her eyes flicked to the people behind me. “Could you not say that so loudly? “If you do this in front of everyone, Cassie, I’ll tell them you’re unstable. I’ll make sure they believe it. Mom even chose me over you.”

“I’m not whispering about my child, Rosie.”

“You’re bringing down the mood, Cassie.” She flashed another smile at someone waving from the sidewalk. “Come inside before you freeze.”

I stepped inside, scanning the room. Streamers draped from the ceiling; guests laughed; someone poured wine. No one met my eyes for long.

Not a single black dress. Not a single hushed voice. Just music loud enough to pretend grief was something you could ignore next door.

I was certain my daughter’s name hadn’t been spoken once in this house.

Rosie pulled me into the hallway.

“Don’t make this about you, Cassie,” she said.

“You made it about you,” I replied. “You chose the day I buried her.”

She exhaled sharply. “Today worked. I’m not postponing my life because you’re falling apart.”

“She was seven.”
Rosie’s lips tightened. “And I’m thirty-two. People are here for me.”

I held her gaze. “Then look at me and say it: balloons mattered more.”

Her voice sliced through the hallway. “You’re wearing sadness like a costume. Get over yourself!”

A hush settled.

People had begun to notice the tension. Neil, Rosie’s husband, stood near the dining table, swirling his drink.

“Rosie,” Neil said gently. “Maybe we should step outside —”

“Not now, Neil,” she snapped.

“Cassie deserves a moment.”

I looked at him. “Did you know about this?”

He met my eyes, regret heavy there. “Yes, I knew.”

“Neil — don’t you dare…”

He set his glass down. “Everyone, I need your attention.”

Heads turned. Conversations faded into an uneasy quiet.

“Most of you know that Nancy died in a crash last week. What you may not know is Cassie was never supposed to drive her that morning.”

Rosie’s face drained of color. “Stop this.”

Neil’s voice rang steady across the room. “Rosie insisted Cassie take Nancy across town so we could finish setting up for this party. She told Cassie to take Maple, even though there was construction.”

I shut my eyes.

“She said, ‘It’s only a few minutes faster,’” Neil went on, his voice faltering. “Like minutes were worth more than safety.”

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