“Where are you? My kids are hungry, and the table still isn’t cleared!” my sister demanded on my birthday, as if cooking, cleaning, and caring for her children were automatically my responsibility. – Welcome

hours passed.

First:

***You made me lose control.***

Then:

***I’m sorry, but you pushed me.***

Later:

***Ashley is crying because of you.***

Finally:

***Please come home. We can fix this.***

That last message almost made me laugh.

The following morning, my attorney, Rebecca Sloan, pulled up our postnuptial agreement on the screen in her conference room.

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