“If I hadn’t shown you Tasha’s post, you wouldn’t have known about the dress.

You wouldn’t have texted him, and he wouldn’t be mad at us.”

“Sadie, look at me,” I said, reaching across the table for her wrist.

“I should have kept quiet,” Sadie said.

She slowly pulled her arm back and turned toward the hall.

“I always make things harder for you.”

Six minutes later I followed Sadie down the hall into her little bedroom.

She was standing by her closet door holding the faded blue thrift store dress by its cheap wire hanger.