"The soundproofing in that house—"
"Is apparently decorative. Yes. I've noticed."
Traffic light. Red. I stopped. Stared at the light with the intensity of a man who wished it would stay red forever so this conversation would have to pause for driving logistics, possibly indefinitely.
It turned green in three seconds. Because the universe hated me.
"And EMMA," Linda continued.
She was warming up now. Finding her rhythm. This was Linda Carter in full surgical-theater mode—precise, methodical, cutting with the kind of accuracy that left no survivors and very clean incision lines.
"My OTHER daughter. Standing in my living room. At 2 AM. Frozen solid. Listening to her twin sister announce her sexual superiority over her own mother. Do you know what that was like? Walking into that?"
"I can—"
