ADVERTISEMENT
couldn’t afford Brianna’s soccer cleats.
She doesn’t knock. She walks in through the side door like she owns the place.
“We need to talk.”
“Hello to you, too, Jocelyn.”
She doesn’t sit. She stands in the middle of my kitchen and folds her arms.
“You say you’re bankrupt. Fine. But you still have this house.”
“This house belongs to Marcus and me.”
“Sell it.continue reading …
ADVERTISEMENT
