A small, white picket fence squared off about a fifty square foot section of grass right at the edge. A yellow wooden gate granted access to the area and I held my breath as I pushed it open and walked through, moving blindly to a stone bench that sat in the middle of the fenced-in area. I felt my eyes fill with tears when I walked around in front of it and saw a two-foot tall stone angel perched on the end of the bench, his serene, cherubic face looking down and his arms spread open by his wings as if he were just waiting for someone to hold him.

I managed to hold it together as I stared down at the beautiful memorial to our son, knowing in my heart that Cole had placed it here. I was able to keep my tears in check and continue to breathe as I thought about Cole coming here, building the fence and hauling the stone bench out to end of the property so that whomever sat here could look out at the ocean below. What finally broke me was the inscription carved into the seat of the bench. I knelt down in front of it, rested my cheek on the cold stone and ran my fingers over the words like I’d done so many times lately at my son’s grave, letting the tears fall down my cheeks.

I’d been a mess ever since. I picked up the phone at least a hundred times to call Cole, but what the hell would I say at this point? Thank you for the gifts and for what you did for our son and, by the way, I still don’t want to have anything to do with you? I could never say those words to him because they just weren’t true. Every day I spent without him just made me more conscious of how empty my life was. I thought I held the monopoly on grief because I went through the pain and horror of losing our son all on my own, but I couldn’t think that way any more. That bench, that inscription… it just proved how much Cole was hurting, as well. He’d lost something, too. He’d lost a child he never got to hold in his arms or even know existed until it was too late. At least I got seven months of feeling him grow and move in my stomach and that one final moment, no matter how painful it was. I got to hold him in my arms, run my fingers through his hair and kiss his little head. Cole had nothing but the stories Parker had told him and the pictures in the album she shared with him. In the span of one week, he’d found out he’d lost a son and his entire family had lied to him, his mother killed his sister and then I walked away. I know it was what I needed at the time, but how do I know it was the right thing? I thought I was justified in walking away because he’d hurt me. I never even considered the hurt he himself was shouldering.

When I told Parker a few days ago that I was thinking about going away for a while to clear my head, she made me promise not to go anywhere for at least twenty-four hours. I’d told her about the bench and her silence on the other end of the line proved she’d known about it. I wasn’t angry that she hadn’t told me. It was obviously something Cole needed to do for himself and the fact that he did it alone, giving his son his last name the only way he could, made my heart ache for him.

While I packed my bag and searched the internet for a secluded, quiet location to lick my wounds, Parker called in reinforcements. By noon the following day, she was standing on my front porch with Layla and Gwen in tow, all three of them sharing the same devious smile. Parker grabbed my bag from my room while Layla and Gwen grabbed my arms and dragged me out to the car.

I bitched the entire drive to the airport about how they couldn’t just throw me in a car and not tell me where we were going, but as soon as we drove up to Layla’s private jet, I forgot about being mad. The lush, leather interior of the plane and the expensive champagne we sipped on the hour and forty-five minute flight momentarily washed away my troubles.

When the chauffeured car Layla had waiting for us at the airport drove past the Welcome to Napa Valley sign and I saw the sun setting on acre after acre of grape vines with the mountains in the distance, I forgot about my irritation. When we pulled up to the Villagio Inn and Spa and I stood in the Tuscan-inspired lobby while Layla checked us in and Gwen grabbed a bottle of wine and four glasses from the bar, I couldn’t help but smile. Even though San Diego is only a little over an hour flight or a nine-hour drive from Napa Valley, this was my first taste of California’s wine country. I quickly realized that it wouldn’t be my last.

As it turns out, Layla had a tour stop at the Robert Mondavi Winery’s outdoor concert venue and Parker rallied the troops, calling both of the women and telling them I was in serious need of girl time. Layla left her tour bus in Washington State and brought her private jet to San Diego and Gwen put her new husband, Austin, on daddy duty, leaving him home with her seven-year-old daughter, Emma, while she hopped on the next flight out of Nashville to be here. I had only met these women in person once, right before Cole left for the Dominican, but they dropped everything to come out here the minute Parker told them I needed them.

I was initially afraid that this week would be all about rehashing my life and the decision I’d made to walk away from Cole, but these women each understood in their own way what I am going through. Garrett had hid his feelings for Parker for years and, when she told him she felt the same way, he didn’t believe her and he walked away. After Layla suffered through the worst possible betrayal from her mother and her friend, she needed Brady, but he left because he thought he wasn’t good enough for her. Gwen escaped with her daughter from an abusive husband, only to be stalked and almost killed by a woman she’d thought was her best friend. Austin got a taste of what it was like to be a husband and a father and he thought he wasn’t man enough for the job, so he walked away from both of them.