Her dark hair was tied into a loose knot, with strands stuck to her cheeks. There were shadows beneath her eyes. Her sweatshirt was wrinkled. Her hands were trembling.
And outside my apartment building, the parking space where her battered silver Honda usually sat was empty.
I noticed that before I noticed the envelope.
Maybe some part of me already understood.
I stood from the couch so fast my knee struck the coffee table.
“Where the hell have you been?”
She didn’t answer.
Continue on the next page:
