“You don’t realize how special you are,” Violet would tell her. “You make me laugh like no one else.”
And Layla believed her — or at least, she believed that Violet believed it, which was close enough.
The friendship survived high school, survived college, survived the years when Layla expected Violet to drift toward people who matched her world more naturally.
She never did.
When Layla moved to the city and squeezed herself into a tiny apartment with thin walls and a radiator that clanged all night, Violet showed up at her door with grocery bags and the kind of cheerfulness that only people who have never worried about rent can sustain.
“You need curtains,” Violet announced, looking around.
“I need rent money,” Layla replied.
They laughed. And for a while, that was enough.
The Man Behind the Estate
It was through Violet that Layla first walked into the kind of home she had only ever seen in magazines.
