“I have that in my head at three in the morning, and it doesn’t move.”

Rosalie lifted her hand about six inches off the sheet, and Caroline crossed the floor and took it.

“You were the only one in that house who ever looked at me like a person,” Rosalie said.

“You were scared of her.

So was I.

That isn’t the same as cruel, and I know which one you are.”

Caroline put her forehead down against the edge of the mattress and stayed there.

I took Miller’s pen off the tray table, turned to page six, and drew one firm line through the paragraph.