“No,” I said.
“What?”
“No, Rachel. I’m not going to fix this.”
“Jenna—”
“I’ve been fixing things for you my whole life. The bike. The dress. Kevin. Every time you broke something, I fixed it, or I got over it, or I pretended it didn’t matter. Because Mom said you needed more attention. Because Dad fixed the wheel instead of saying anything. Because it was
easier.” I took a breath. “This one, I’m not fixing. This one’s yours.”
“You’re really not going to help me?” Her voice went high. “I’m your sister.“
“I know,” I said. “I was your sister, too. Every single day. Even when you were in hotels with my
husband. I was still your sister. You just forgot.”
She didn’t say anything.
“I hope you’re okay someday, Rachel,” I said. “I really do. I hope you figure out why you do the
