My daughter’s seventh birthday was supposed to be easy.

I walked out of the study and straight up the stairs to Maya’s bedroom.

The door was slightly ajar. Maya was sitting on her small pink rug, meticulously brushing the synthetic hair of her favorite doll. She had already changed out of her party dress and was wearing her comfortable cotton pajamas.

I knocked softly on the wood. “Hey, baby.”

Maya looked up. Her eyes were serious, far too perceptive for a seven-year-old girl. “Is Uncle Anthony mad at Aunt Olivia?”

I sat down on the carpet beside her, crossing my legs. I had wiped the worst of the cake from my neck and arms, but I still smelled heavily of artificial strawberry and sour milk.

“Uncle Anthony is very sad, Maya,” I said gently. “Aunt Olivia did some things that were wrong, and now grown-ups have to fix them.”

Maya put the doll down and crawled into my lap. She leaned her small head against my chest. “Did I ruin my birthday by asking that question?”

My heart shattered into a million pieces.

I wrapped my arms around her, holding her so tightly I could feel the steady beat of her little heart against my ribs. “No, baby. Oh, sweetie, no. You didn’t ruin anything. You spoke the truth. Sometimes the truth makes people angry because they’ve been pretending for a long time. But you never, ever apologize for seeing things clearly.”

“Aunt Olivia pushed you on purpose,” Maya whispered into my shoulder. “I saw her eyes get mean.”

“I know she did,” I replied softly. “And that was very wrong of her. But Mommy is okay. We’re going to be okay.”

“Is Daddy going away?”

The question hit me like a physical blow. Children absorb everything. She had heard the raised voices, the slamming doors, the raw panic in Shawn’s voice downstairs.

“Daddy made some mistakes too, Maya,” I answered honestly, refusing to lie to her. “Right now, Daddy and Mommy need to figure out how to handle that. But no matter what happens, both of us love you more than anything in the world. Understand?”

She nodded, her small fingers clutching the fabric of my t-shirt.

After half an hour, I tucked her into bed, read her two chapters of her favorite book, and waited until her breathing turned slow and rhythmic.

When I finally stepped back into the hallway, the house was dead silent.

I walked downstairs. Shawn wasn't in his study. The front door was unlocked.

His car was gone from the driveway.