“You’ve spent five months looking at these pictures trying to figure out whether my face turned out badly?”
Her cheeks reddened.
“Basically.”
“Zoe, faces change.”
“I know.”
“I have lines I didn’t have at 19. My skin changed. Everything changed.”
I touched the photograph.
“But this picture doesn’t tell you whether I was happy.”
She looked at me.
“I was terrified.”
“Why?”
“Because you were coming.”
That got another tiny laugh.
“I thought I’d be a terrible mother. I thought I’d do everything wrong.”
“Did you?”
“Frequently.”
Mark snorted.
I ignored him.
“Pictures don’t tell you whether a woman is winning or losing. And neither does her face.”
Zoe touched her swollen lip.
“I feel stupid.”
“Good.”
Her head snapped toward me.
I smiled slightly.
“You should feel a little stupid. You’re 16 and secretly let someone inject filler into your face.”
“Mom.”
“I’m still furious.”
“I know.”
“We’re finding out exactly who did this. And your father and I are dealing with that together.”
Mark nodded.
“And Miranda?”
That was his question to answer.
He exhaled.
“Miranda has a lot to answer for.”
Zoe looked down.
“She’s going to hate me.”
“No,” Mark said. “We’re not doing that.”
“What?”
Zoe started crying again.
