Trevor stepped through the front door expecting crying babies, dirty bottles, and the exhausted wife he had left behind. Instead, the house was almost silent. My sister was sitting on the couch holding one twin while my mother fed the other. Two packed suitcases stood beside the stairs, and on the kitchen counter was a folder from a family-law attorney. I had not changed the locks or thrown Trevor’s belongings outside. I had simply arranged somewhere safe for the girls and me to stay while we decided what came next.
He stared at the suitcases. “What is this?”
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