Page 1 of None Of Your Business

One

One year ago

Rowan

Piper’s car is parked crooked in the driveway. That’s how I know.

The front door is unlocked, so I push it open with my shoulder, kick off my shoes without looking, and step inside. My keys bite into my palm hard enough to leave dents.

The house is blazing with light. Every lamp is on. Every window glows against the dark street, as if the house were trying to warn the neighborhood.

Then the smell hits me.

Bleach.

So much bleach it makes my eyes sting.

Piper’s voice carries from the living room. “Mom, please just sit down.”

My stomach drops just before I round the corner and come to a stop.

The sofa is shoved into the middle of the room. Mom is on her hands and knees, scrubbing spotless hardwood with frantic, jerky movements.

Dad stands near the hallway, looking helpless in a way I can’t process right now.

Piper curls into herself at the edge of the couch, white as paper.

Madison still isn’t here. The air feels off without her, like we’re all waiting for the real adult to arrive.

I’m suddenly hyperaware of everything. My hands. My breathing. The way everyone keeps looking at me like I walked in carrying answers.

I’m twenty-five years old. I misplace parking tickets and forget to buy milk. I have never known what to do in a situation like this.

When I finally hear the front door open and then close, I breathe a sigh of relief.

Madison walks in without looking at me, her focus already on the living room. She’s wearing that mask she wears when everything is about to fall apart.

I cross to Piper and pull her into the kitchen. She’s shaking so violently she can barely stand, and the second I touch her, she folds into me like a little kid.

My wrist twinges under her grip, but I don’t let it show.

“I’ve got it,” Madison says as she enters, though her voice already sounds strained.

She crouches in front of Mom. “Mom, stop. Look at me.”

Mom doesn’t stop scrubbing.

“The nursery, Madison,” she says frantically. “We didn’t prepare the nursery. The baby is coming, and the floors are filthy. Arthur won’t help. He just stands there, but it has to be perfect. Everything has to be perfect.”

Piper lets out a tiny, broken sound against my shoulder.

“Mom,” Madison pleads. “There is no baby. Piper’s wedding is soon, remember? There is no baby.”

She reaches down to pull Mom upright, and Mom snaps.

She lunges at her. Her fingers clamp around Madison’s forearms hard enough to leave bruises.

“You don’t understand!” Mom shrieks. Her eyes are huge and unfocused, darting around the room like she’s seeing things none of us can. “You’re always trying to stop me. You’re just like them. You want to keep me in the dark.”