The day Brittany moved in, she brought six suitcases, a white Pomeranian named Coco, and a list.

She stuck the list to the fridge with a magnet shaped like a lipstick.

HOUSE RULES.

Maddie: cooking (weeknights), laundry, bathrooms.

Ethan: Coco's walks (x3 daily), trash, vacuuming.

Brittany: managing the household.

I read it twice. I was sixteen. My brother Ethan was twelve. Brittany was twenty-six. “Dad?” I said.

Dad didn't look up from his phone. “Just help Brittany out, Mads. She's adjusting. It's a big change for her.”

It was a big change for her? She'd known my dad for seven months. They'd been married for nine days.

Brittany walked into the living room, looking around like she was planning to knock walls down. Then she stopped at the fireplace.

On the mantel was a photo of Mom. Laughing on the beach, with Ethan on her shoulders and me holding her hand.

Brittany picked it up between two fingers, like it was dirty.

“This,” she said, “is going in the trash.”