My name is Claire Donnelly. I'm the middle child.

Lauren is the oldest. She sells luxury homes in Annapolis and drives a white Mercedes with her face on a magnet on the door. Kyle is the youngest. He works in finance in Washington, D.C., and has a big house in the suburbs, a boat, and two kids at private school.

I'm a children's librarian.

I was married for twelve years, to a man named Greg. Last year, I found out he'd been seeing someone from his office for three of those twelve years. The divorce took everything. Greg had a better lawyer. He kept the house.

I rented a studio apartment in Eastport, above a bakery. One room. A sofa that turns into a bed. A kitchen in the corner. A window that looks out at the bakery's back door, where a cat sits every morning waiting for scraps.

It's small. Kyle wasn't wrong about that.

But it smells like fresh bread at five in the morning. And it's mine. And nobody in it lies to me.

My family had been very kind about the divorce. In the family chat, anyway.

So sorry, sis. Here if you need anything. ❤️

You deserve so much better. Love you.

Now I knew what they were saying in the other chat.