Paige pressed both hands over her mouth. When she lowered them, she was crying.
“It’s not what you think,” she whispered. “But Mer… what I did might be worse.”
“Worse?” My voice cracked. “What could possibly be worse than you and my husband sneaking around behind my back for a year?”
“Lying to you,” she said. “For a lot longer than that.”
“How much longer?”
She didn’t answer. She just looked at me with those wet, frightened eyes.
“Get out,” I said, even though it was her room. “No. I’ll go. I can’t look at you.”
“Mer, please. Just one more day. Tomorrow, I swear —”
“You’ve had thirty-seven years of tomorrows, Paige.”
I slammed her door so hard the picture frame on the hallway wall fell and cracked. I didn’t stop to pick it up.
CHAPTER 3: THE DRIVE HOME
We didn’t sleep. Paige sat on the edge of her bed and I stood by the door, and she kept saying the same things over and over.
