Chapter Nineteen
The Argument
Tree chopping kills more than just a tree.
When I walked in on Steven scrunching his jumper into a ball, I immediately regretted it. The last thing I was up for was an argument.
“I liked those trees,” he said without looking at me.
“Oh? You never said.”
“Said?” He eyed me. “Every time I say something to you, you cry.”
I wiped a tear. Normally he’d hand me a tissue; this time he huffed.
“There’s a tissue under the pillow.” He gestured, then before I had a chance to lift the pillow, he thrust one at me with a “here.”
I muttered a “thanks.”
He muttered a “no worries,” left the room, then paced back in.
“What’s she got that I haven’t?”
“What?” I sniffed.
“Her—my sister.”
I was confused. One minute he’s talking of trees, and now Helen . . .
“I mean,
