At four, I’m at the house. Through the open window above the sink, I can see Patsy is already in the kitchen, the velvety smell of coffee filling my head as I step up to the door. I draw up short when I see Mollie standing at the stove. Wait a second. Wait. She’s finally showing her face? What’s changed? I’m shocked—relieved—to see her. I’m also shocked she’s up this early. But the most shocking thing of all? She appears to be actively helping Patsy cook breakfast, stirring something in a pan while our chef chops some veggies by the sink. “I went on this stupid diet once where all I could have
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