“Marcus,” Rachel stammered, stepping forward. “You’re… you’re early. I can explain—”
“Explain what, Rachel?” Marcus’s voice was dangerously calm, though his fists were clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. “Explain why my mother has been sleeping on cardboard under an overpass while you’ve been living in the house I bought for her with my brother?”
Thomas spat his cigarette onto the porch. “It’s my house too, little brother. Or did dear old Mom forget to tell you about the inheritance?”
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