(Helen's POV)
The guest room door clicks shut behind me, and I let the mask fall.
Just let it drop like dead weight.
My face aches from smiling. My shoulders hurt from holding them at the perfect angle—relaxed but not lazy, concerned but not overbearing, the posture of a woman who belongs in this house even though every person living here treat me like I don't.
I sit on the edge of the bed and stare at the cream-colored wall.
Caroline is in the kitchen right now. I heard her talking to Charlie in that soft, patient voice she uses with him. The one that makes it sound like every word he says matters more than anything else in the world.
And maybe it does. Maybe that's the problem.
I press my palms against my eyes until I see colors.
This was supposed to be easier.
When I came back—
