“Jenna. Please.”
“You had eight months to come home,” I said. “Every single night. You were sleeping right next to me. And every single night, you chose her. You don’t get to choose me now because she got
caught.”
I went inside. I closed the door. I locked it.
Then I sat down on the floor of my front hallway with my back against the door and cried until
the school bus came.
Rachel didn’t call me for three weeks.
When she finally did, it was ten o’clock at night on a Wednesday. I almost didn’t answer. Then I
did.
“Tom changed the locks,” she said. No hello. Her voice was raw. “He changed the locks, Jenna. On the house. I had to go stay with Mom and Dad. In my old bedroom. With the horse posters.”
“I heard.”
“He’s really doing it. The divorce. His lawyer sent me the papers again. With little yellow sticky notes where I have to sign. There’s a prenup. I don’t get the house. I don’t get anything. I have to
