dead. The scent of her mother's perfume-lavender and old books-was gone. I

ed to read-all of it had vanished. The entire space had been transformed into a monument to Hillary's vanity. It was a walk-

ide Murphy had been

e's bones. Without a word, she walked to the nearest rack of clothes and, with a smooth, delib

echoed from the doorway. She rushed in, her face

chillingly calm. "I'm taking out the tr

w!" Hillary screech

eans it belongs to me," Chloe stated, her voice flat and absolute. "

Tears welled. "I know you hate me, sis,"

on. He took in the scene-the overturned rack, Hillary's tear-strea

oved to Hillary's side, wrapping a protective arm around her shoulders.

. A vulture picking at a carcass. But looking at them now, at the easy

"When?" she asked, her voice barel

y, a flicker of guilt in his e

r. Her voice trembled, but she held his gaze. "Answer

te, don't," she sobbed. "It'll only hurt her more." It was a masterful p

pressure of her stare was relent

, his voice laced with irritation. "A mon

s the month her mother's medical bills had tripled. The month she had worked three jobs, taking every grimy,

sleeping with

l clarity. She started to laugh. A raw, broken sound that was more sob than mirth. She laughed

er, bewildered by her

, all the betrayal, all the grief of the past five years was channeled into he

ted with his jaw wi

trickling from the corner of his mouth. He looked at h

her gaze sweeping over the tw

ing with cold fury, "was for the

he door. "Now take your fiancée, and ge

tears, were fixed on them, two

ging with the finality of a death sentence, "we ar