“You’ve been cheating on me, you lying butthole! I thought you stopped being a whore, Wolf. We haven’t been married a whole year, and you’re already sleeping with someone else. I want you to pack your stuff and get out!” Gia tosses my phone at my head while we’re watching Baywatch and looks at Cora with tears in her eyes. “Cora is staying with me. I don’t care if she’s your sister, I signed the adoption papers too. I’ll fight you in court.” She balls up her tiny fist.

“Cheating with whom?” I try to pull her toward me, but she jumps off the couch.

“Don’t play dumb with me.” Her face turns red. “Sweetgirl98.” She wipes her tears with her palms. “You love her and miss her, can’t wait to have dinner with her on Tuesday.”

I pick up the phone, read the gamer tag from the PlayStation app, and smile. “Rainbow, that’s Alana. She sends me messages from her PS4.”

Ever since I got out of rehab I’ve been trying to repair my relationship with Alana. I’ve been giving her weekly updates on my life. I play video games with her and Cora online, and Gia and I go on double dates with her and Darien.

“Oh.” Guilt etches her face. And she rushes to the kitchen.

“Uh-oh, Gia is in one of her moods again,” Cora says, sitting next to me with her Nintendo Switch in her hand that I got her for her birthday three months ago, playing Super Smash Bros.

Lately, Gia has been picking fights with me for no reason. Yesterday, she came by my office just to yell at me because I forgot to take out the trash, so I fucked her to shut her up. Turns out she was just horny. She doesn’t know how to verbalize when she wants my dick.

We moved to the condo we shared. I gave Cora Gia’s old room. I sold my mansion, and Cora transferred to a private school here in New York City. Turns out she hated the school she was at; the kids were mean and bullied her because of her interest in anime.

“It’s nine thirty. Put that game away and go to bed.”

“But it’s a Saturday,” she whines.

“You’ve got ballet in the morning and a playdate with Kim,” I shoot back. Cora hangs out with her when it’s Logan’s weekend to have his kids.

“I’m too old for playdates. It’s called having a kickback, Tuxedo.” With that, she leaves the room.

As I get up from the brown couch and stroll to the balcony, closing the glass door behind me, I grab my phone from my plaid pajama pocket and dial Alana’s number. She picks up on the third ring.