The kitchen smelled of organic vanilla and roasted chicken. It was a wholesome smell,a suburban smell. It was the scent of a woman who had her life together, a woman who didn't remember what it was like to sleep on a damp mattress in a Brooklyn warehouse or how to hotwire a car before she was twelve.
I stood at the kitchen island, a glass of expensive Chardonnay within reach, but my eyes were glued to the encrypted messaging app on my phone. My hands were shaking, just a little, as I chopped carrots for a salad I knew I wouldn't eat.
Me: You what?!
The reply came seconds later, the typing bubbles appearing and disappearing with a clinical, heartless rhythm.
Derrick: It was an accident.
I let out a sharp, jagged breath, nearly nicking my finger with the chef’s knife.
Me: How do you al
