She began to refer to herself as the product of a broken home.

"Don't be ridiculous," Annie said. "Your expiration date has expired, Miranda."

Separation is a positive thing, Felicity explained to Joseph. He heard her, but pretended not to. He waved the waiter over. He was tired of getting divorced. If everyone would just get down to business and do what was right, it would all be taken care of. When he thought of Betty, he thought of her in the apartment. That was where she belonged. For him, Betty was suddenly but utterly in the past, but so was the apartment, parts of the same memories, a different life, a life he was leaving behind. So, yes, separation was a positive thing. Yes, yes. But now it appeared he would not only have to separate from Betty, he would also have to separate Betty from her apartment.

"How are the stepdaughters doing?" Felicity asked when they'd ordered.

Joseph never called them his stepdaughters. They were his daughters. He must have shown his distaste for the word. Felicity's wide eyes opened just a bit wider. Her lips parted. She said quickly, "I haven't seen them around the office. I miss them."

"So do I."

"Poor Miranda. What a scandal."

"Double whammy."

"It's no wonder she doesn't come around. The poor woman is probably afraid to leave the house."

For a moment, Joseph did not connect the word "woman" with Miranda. She was a girl, always had been, always would be. If she were a woman, what did that make him?

"Time flies," he said, pouring himself another glass of wine. "I used to read them their bedtime stories. Now they're women with scandals."

"Well, not Annie. Nothing scandalous about that one."