“What is this?” I asked, voice thin.
“Oh, sweetheart,” she said, like I was a child who didn’t understand how the world worked. “Paige needs more space. She has so many activities. And this room has better light. We’re turning it into a walk-in closet for her, and you can take the guest room.”
Paige was her daughter from her first marriage. She was fourteen then, pretty in a magazine way, with hair that always looked freshly blown out and a smile that could turn on and off depending on who was watching. She stood behind Victoria, chewing gum, eyes flicking over me like I was a piece of furniture being moved.
I looked at my father. He was in his work clothes, a suit jacket slung over his arm, briefcase in hand like he’d just walked into the wrong scene.
“Dad?” I said.
He hesitated, then gave my shoulder a pat. “It’s just a room, kiddo. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”
Just a room.
But it wasn’t.