Stale cigarette smoke surrounded me. Mom had quit smoking in the trailer house ten years ago, but smoking in the attached one-car garage when it was chilly out didn’t offer a lot of ventilation. The smell matriculated into the house. I found it oddly comforting. An old scent that reminded me of home and simpler times.

Mom patted my back as I sobbed in a heap on the floral sofa that was older than I was. They don’t make ’em like that anymore, her rough voice said each time I offered to buy her a new living-room set. I could still afford to buy her a living-room set. Even without the trust.

Fifty million.

I inhaled a shuddering breath and let another sobbing moan echo off the walls.

“Aw, hell, Katie.” Mom didn’t have a nurturing bone in her body, but she rubbed my back. If I couldn’t go back to my home, this was the only place I wanted to be.

My family was the definition of trailer trash, but they told the truth, no matter how crude and decorated with swear words it was. A few “ain’ts” never hurt anyone.

At least my empty marriage with Aiden had shown me how much I missed the loud, crass love my parents and brothers showed each other.

“I don’t understand why you have to divorce him,” Mom said.

“Mom!” I wiped my eyes with my sleeve and sat up. “He lied.”

She flopped one purple sweats–clad leg over the other. “It’s a lot of money.”

I sniffled and grabbed a tissue. “He treats me like crap,” I mumbled as I wiped my nose.

She narrowed her eyes and leaned toward me. “What?”

“He treats me like crap.”

“You never told me about that.”

I never talked to anyone about my marriage. I might’ve had to admit it was failing otherwise. I might’ve had to reevaluate how my own personal Prince Charming had turned into the Wolf of Wall Street. I’d never seen the movie. I didn’t know if it was an accurate parallel, but dammit. I’d married Aiden King!

And I was divorcing him.

“Do I need to send Mattie after him?” Mom’s tone was menacing, like she was asking if she needed to order a hit. With my oldest brother, Matt, that could be the same thing.

“No, Aiden wasn’t abusive.”

“Then what?”

“He ignored me.” I was a forgotten accessory when we went out. I was there, but if someone else was talking to him, he focused on them—an endearing trait for everyone but the wife losing one hundred percent of his attention.

Mom cocked a brow. Her way of telling me to elaborate. An effect of having a daughter that was her polar opposite.