Chapter 101

• Ruth doesn’t say a word as we unpack the last of the furniture, but her silence speaks volumes. I can feel her unease radiating through the room, mirroring my own dread. Every item we pull from the crates—every gaudy, mismatched piece—adds another layer to my regret. And yet, I keep the smile plastered on my face, wide and brittle like cracked porcelain. I nod approvingly at each out-of-place fixture, forcing cheer through gritted teeth, trying to convince both Ruth and myself that this wasn’t a mistake.
• But the illusion finally breaks when she sets down the pair of bubblegum-pink barstools by the kitchen counter.
• My composure snaps like a frayed thread.