My ex-mother-in-law, Diane Hale, went pale so fast it looked like someone had pulled the color out of her face. Trevor stopped moving entirely. His younger sister, Vanessa, who had been reaching for a piece of toast, lowered her hand like she had touched something burning hot.
“No,” Diane said immediately, almost by reflex. “That’s not funny.”
“I’m not joking.”
Trevor hurried down the rest of the stairs, gripping the banister. “Megan,” he said sharply, “do not start this.”
I turned my chair to face him. “You mean now? Or do you mean two years ago, when you begged me to liquidate part of my settlement account so we could beat the cash offer on this place? Or maybe last summer, when your mother kept calling it ‘Trevor’s family home’ at dinner parties?”
Diane’s mouth opened, then closed again. Trevor’s jaw tightened.
