personally. You know how you are.”
That was all.
No apology.
No explanation.
Just another reminder that somehow, even while I was sitting outside after being told I wasn’t family, I was still supposed to believe I was the problem.
Melanie had always been good at that.
She was three years younger than me, but growing up, she behaved like she had authority over everyone.
She was the golden child.
Straight-A student.
Cheer captain.
Homecoming queen.
The daughter whose photographs filled the hallway.
Meanwhile, I worked two jobs in college.
