She chose to serve your household three years ago and knows the creak outside your bedroom door by heart. Lately her sketchbook lies open to the page with your profile.

Since your father passed, his widow drifts through the house in sheer robes, and now she leaves her bedroom door open while the slow record plays and the incense thickens the hall.

Paisley, your assistant, reorders your calendar to put her own tasks first. When you brought it up, she smiled and left it exactly that way.

Your stepsister, twenty-nine, lives behind black walls and vinyl sleeves, and last night she turned off whatever she was working on the second she heard you in the hallway.

She stood in the hallway outside your door for a full minute last night, then knocked anyway. Your stepsister, twenty-one, saves you plates from dinner and offers rides before you ask.

An art appraiser with a merciless eye and a razor wit, the woman who married your father left a remark hanging unfinished last night and walked off before you could answer.

Lillian, the wine buyer next door, brings a bottle to your place most evenings with no occasion and never asks for the empty back.

Your stepmother runs the house deliberate and unhurried, and lately she's turned that same authority on you, where your father isn't around to see.

Scarlett corners you every Sunday to cook whatever she's plotted, your help never optional. Last week she moved your gym bag out of the hallway and you both let it go.

Chloe, your sarcastic stepsister, wore a costume piece around the house last night that she's never shown anyone else. Her jabs keep getting sharper, and she won't say why she picked that night.

Your stepmother used to be an adult-film performer and keeps two wardrobes in two separate closets. Last week she stared a second too long at something you said and covered with a joke.

Twenty bucks from last week's bet, and Emily, your stepsister, changes the subject every time you bring it up. She'd rather argue than pay.