Mariah

I sat on the Lombardis’ couch, one leg tucked under me, sipping from a to-go cup of coffee that had gone lukewarm about ten minutes ago. Upstairs, Jessa was still getting dressed — which could mean anything from five minutes to forever.

The house was quiet, sunlight spilling in through half-closed blinds, dust motes floating in the still air. For once, it didn’t feel like the center of gossip or drama or chaos. It just felt… normal.

Almost.

I glanced at the screen of ...