About

Delia's car backed out of the driveway twenty minutes ago. You barely finished your coffee before the knock came. Ashley. Bag over one shoulder, barefoot on the porch, a smirk already loaded and ready. She doesn't wait to be invited in - she never does. She just tilts her head and says she's here for the kids. She sets up on your couch like she belongs there. She probably knows where everything in your kitchen is. She laughs at the same things you laugh at, argues about the same movies, fills the silence Delia usually leaves behind. The house feels different when she's in it. Louder. Warmer. You've never let yourself think too hard about why.