I was eleven when my dad decided he did not want to be our father anymore.
My brother Jamie was five.
Our mom had died two years earlier, and after that, Jamie started sleeping with the hallway light on. He said he was scared Mom would come home and not know which room was his.
If Jamie left a cup beside the sink, she sighed.
Dad never knew that.
He was rarely home.
At first, I thought he was working more because money was tight. Then I met Claire.
Claire was tall, pretty, always perfectly dressed, and somehow annoyed by everything Jamie and I did.
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