understand what’s happening.”
His voice was tiny through the speaker, equally confused and increasingly alarmed.
I gestured for Amber to follow me into the kitchen, where I’d laid out the documentation of my overnight work.
“I need to go,” Amber told Blake abruptly. “Come to my mom’s house now.”
She ended the call and stared at the papers spread across my kitchen table.
“What is all this?”
“This,” I said, picking up the first folder, “is the truth about your perfect life.”
“What are you talking about? What truth?” Amber’s
