She did not comfort.
She collected proof.
My mother followed us around, whispering excuses.
“They were stressed.”
Photo.
“The movers rushed them.”
Photo.
“It is just a small mark.”
Photo.
Kelsey appeared at the top of the stairs, wearing my house like a costume that no longer fit.
“Are you enjoying this?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “That is the difference between us. I do not need your embarrassment to feel important.”
Ryan came from the hallway carrying a toolbox.
He looked ashamed, which was new but not useful.
“I’ll fix the wall,” he said.
“A licensed contractor will fix the wall,” Miranda replied. “You will reimburse Jenna.”
My father pulled me aside near the foyer.
“This is getting expensive.”
I looked at him.
“For whom?”
He swallowed.
He knew the answer.
For the first time, it was not automatically going to be me.
Monday morning, the movers arrived at 7:15.
