Portia Moore - He Lived Next Door
Page 29
by Unknown
He looks at me with worry and concern, and a moment later, his face is hard and his expression has gone cold. “Do you want me to make him leave?”
His voice is low and bitter, which makes my stomach drop. I can’t take more fighting, more confrontation, confusion, and anger. Is this all that’s left of my family? No. It can’t be. I want to fix it, but how do I fix it when I’m broken? How do you fix yourself after you break?
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