At the age of five she has already come to terms with one of the life's harshest lessons: that the world isn't fair.

Willa’s big blue eyes, Willa’s dimpled-cheeked smile. Tiffin’s shaggy blond mane, Tiffin’s cheeky grin. Kit’s yells of excitement, Kit’s glow of pride. Maya’s face, Maya’s kisses, Maya’s love. Maya, Maya, Maya . . .

The sight of such aching beauty would infuse his soul with pain.

I want to tell her that I can't pull her down. I want to tell her that she has to let go of my hand in order to swim. I want to tell her that she must live her own life. But I sense she already knows that these options are open to her. And that she, too, has made her choice.

It's horrible being ashamed of someone you care about; it eats away at you. And if you let it get to you, if you give up the fight and surrender, eventually that shame turns to hate.

As the light begins to intensify, so does my misery, and I wonder how it is possible to hurt so much when nothing is wrong.

The words fire from my mouth like bullets, ricocheting off the walls before I can even register what I'm saying.