After My Father’s

and the emotional depth of a scented candle. She had disliked me since I refused to invest in her “curated domestic wellness platform,” which turned out to be a subscription box of beige napkins.

She held up her phone.

Recording.

“Miles,” I said. “Move.”

“This is still my home.”

“It is jointly owned. Move.”

Vanessa lifted her chin. “Carrie, maybe today isn’t continue reading …