“No worries,” I say. “Juice is fine.”

He grabs the bottle from the fridge and pours some into a glass, handing it to me.

“I’ll show you around so you can get a feel for the house, then I’ll introduce you to Bailey.”

The house is two levels. We start on the first level, walking down a long, narrow hall. “If you’re downstairs, this is the guest bathroom,” he says, showing me a small half bath with just a sink and toilet. “And just behind it is the mud room and washing machine in case you need to wash anything. Bailey can be messy and I don’t have much in the way of clean clothes for her at the moment. Everything I have is in storage until I can find a place of my own. I didn’t want to bombard my brother with all of our stuff. I don’t plan to stay too long. He’s not big on kids.”

“I’m so sorry about what happened,” I blurt out without thinking. “With your wife, I mean.”

He turns to look at me, and even though his face still looks friendly, I immediately regret saying it.

damn mouth. “I shouldn’t have brought that up. I don’t know what I was thinking. It’s just my mom told me about your conversation with her yesterday, and …” I let my words trail off, not

it happened when it did. Bailey is young enough so she won’t remember her mother and she’ll be able to move on from this. If it were to have happened when she was older, it might’ve been devastating. I’m actually excited about moving forward. My marriage was horrible from day one. I lived in a house I didn’t love, with a woman I didn’t love, and I was stuck at a job

to worry about Bailey while you’re out

too. I sound desperate. Maybe he’ll assume it’s just because I need the job and not that

have you here too,” he says. “Should we go meet

“Yes, please.”

we’re walking, he stops abruptly and turns to me. “Oh, and one other

him and I catch the glass in my hand before it falls, but not before it splashes red juice all

my god. I’m so sorry,” I say, practically in tears. I’m touching the front of him, trying to wipe the juice away but only making it

at the front of his shirt, arms out. He doesn’t look mad like I thought he would. Instead, he laughs. “That is not your fault. Not at

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