Because she needed him to become evidence.
“You wanted proof that mine wasn’t any different,” I said softly. “If Andrew failed your test, then what Eric did would finally make sense.”
She looked at me. Then away again.
“Maybe.”
“And if Andrew didn’t fail?”
She picked at a peeling corner of her phone case. When she spoke, I had to strain to hear it.
“Then maybe it wasn’t relationships that were broken.”
I waited.
“Maybe it was just mine. Maybe it was just me.”
I pulled into our driveway and turned off the engine. Neither of us reached for the door.
After a minute, she said, “I wasn’t trying to take Andrew from you.” She finally met my eyes, and hers were wet. “I swear I wasn’t. I just needed to know.”
My hand found the door handle, then paused.
“Being heartbroken explains why you needed proof,” I said. “I get that. I do.”
She watched me.
“But it doesn’t explain why my ‘no’ stopped mattering to you.”
Her fingers went still around the phone.
And this time, she didn’t argue. She just nodded, very slowly, like the words had landed somewhere she couldn’t argue with.
Part Six: The Top Shelf
Inside, Kayla laid the ugly robe back over the kitchen chair, smoothing it out with more care than it deserved.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
I waited.
“Not for being heartbroken. I’m still pretty committed to that part.”
A tiny, watery smile. Then she looked down at the robe.
“I’m sorry I made you prove your boundary made sense before I’d respect it. You shouldn’t have had to.”
“Thank you,” I said, and I meant it more than I could say.
“I’m not ready to move out tomorrow.”
“I’m not asking you to.”
So we sat down at the kitchen table and gave “temporary” a real shape. Kayla would keep applying for jobs. Once she had a paycheck, she’d chip in something small. We’d go through the room listings together and pick a move-out date that was realistic, not rushed.
“And no more tests,” I added.
Andrew walked in right then, arms full of grocery bags.
“That should honestly be a house rule.”
Kayla pointed at him. “Nobody asked you.”
“He’s allowed to speak in his own kitchen,” I said.
Andrew set the bags on the counter. “Thank you, Amanda.”
Kayla rolled her eyes, but there was no bite in it anymore.
Then Andrew turned to me, and his voice went quieter.
“And next time something affects both of us, I won’t hide behind ‘she’s your sister.’ I’ll stand next to you.”
“Good,” I said. It came out thicker than I intended.
Kayla groaned. “Are you two seriously going to get emotionally healthy right in front of me?”
“Probably,” Andrew said. “Feel free to move out if it’s too much.”
She threw a dish towel at his head.
The next morning, I heard the shower running before seven. Andrew was at the table with his coffee when footsteps came down the stairs.
He glanced at me.
I glanced back.
Kayla walked in wearing the ancient blue robe from our linen closet — faded ducks marching across the pockets, one sleeve noticeably shorter than the other.
She went straight to the coffee maker.
Andrew said nothing.
Neither did I.
She reached for the bag of beans Andrew orders online — then stopped, her hand hovering.
“Is it okay if I use these?”
