Page 237 - My FlipBook

T R A I L O F C R U M B S

“Shut up,” Greta said, but it was halfhearted. Guilt.
She had seen Roger wilt under her words. But he deserved
it, didn’t he? Yes. He’d hurt them and was wrong. So
wrong. Then why did she feel a pang thinking about her
brutality? She knew the answer even as she asked herself
the question. She loved him. On some primal level, it
hurt seeing him hurt. All of his wrongs aside, it crushed
her to see him old, tired, small, devastated. “He didn’t

look good, Ash.”
“Boo-hoo,” Ash said. “How did we look the day we woke
up to an empty house?”
She didn’t know what to say, how to explain the full-on
war waging inside of her.
“Wait.” Ash stopped short. “Is he still downstairs?”
He didn’t wait for her answer before bounding across the

kitchen and thumping down the stairs to the basement.
Greta trained her ears on the open basement door but didn’t
get up and follow. Ash’s turn. He walked back upstairs with
less energy. “No one home.”
What did this mean now? Roger still had a key to the
basement suite. He could come and go anytime. Was he
moving back in? Did Elgin know? And would Elgin still offer
to let them stay if Roger came back? Greta suddenly felt
unsettled in her seat, like the floor might give way at any

moment and drop her back downstairs.
All morning Greta eyed her phone constantly. That
was the worst thing about Roger—the coming and going.
Here now. Gone again. Maybe her reaction had driven him

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