“This time, it had to be true?” Betty rages, hands balled into such tight little fists that the blunt black of her nails must be digging into her palms. “It couldn’t be like all your other made up bullshit?!”

Everything’s made up, Inez wants to tell her; love, anger, hurt - it’s all just stories in the end, but she knows that won’t go over well, and besides, Betty’s nice - she deserves better than James - so instead she just shrugs, and says, “Sorry,” and doesn’t add that she wishes it was, too.