Chapter 2

"I ran into her once, Nora. That's all." His voice turned cold. "I didn't tell you because I knew you'd blow it out of proportion. Turn one cup of coffee into something dirty."

I picked up my tote and headed upstairs.

"Nora."

I did not turn around.

Upstairs, I changed out of my scrubs, then took the photograph from the portfolio and looked at it again.

September 14.

I put it back in my tote before I got into bed.

On Wednesday morning, I opened my bedroom door.

Maren was making Ethan coffee in my kitchen.

"Black. Two sugars," she said.

Ethan smiled before he could stop himself. "You remembered."

"He stopped taking sugar six years ago," I said.

The smile disappeared. "I used to drink it that way," he said. "It doesn't mean anything."

I left for Oakridge before I said something I could not take back.

At Oakridge, I buried myself in charts and treatment notes. It was easier to focus on problems with answers than on the one waiting at home.

At lunch, Sarah glanced up at the local news playing above the breakroom sink.

“Those Calloway twins again,” she said as Gavin and Reid Calloway crossed the screen in orange flight suits—two Coast Guard rescue pilots who had pulled kayakers out of last night’s storm.

“Gavin and Reid,” I said. Maya, my oldest friend in Florida, mentioned the Calloway twins whenever they made the news.

Then my phone lit up on the counter.

Ethan: Come home by six. We should talk.

For one foolish second, hope loosened something in my chest. Maybe he had finally understood what the key, the photograph, and his lie had done.

At six, I came through the front door and found Maren in my usual chair at the dining table, her laptop pushed aside for a plate Ethan had already served.

Ethan came out of the kitchen with a second plate in his hand. He looked at me only after he had set it beside hers.

"I thought you asked me home so we could talk."

"We are talking," he said. "Maren has an early shoot tomorrow. We were just eating first."

I looked at the two settings, then at the empty stretch of table where a third place should have been.

"You didn't save me a seat."

Maren started to stand. "Nora, I can move—"

"Sit down," Ethan said quickly. Then he turned to me, irritation already hardening his face. "No one is trying to replace you."

But no one had saved me a seat either.

On the walnut console by the door, a white USPS envelope caught my eye.

CHANGE-OF-ADDRESS CONFIRMATION

Maren Cole — New mailing address: 1428 Oakridge Way.

I held it up. "You said she was leaving next Sunday."

"The repairs are taking longer," Ethan said. "She'll need another six weeks."

My stomach dropped before my brain caught up.

Six weeks. Forty-two days.

Long enough for her things to stop looking temporary.

The math was simple. I gave myself three seconds to see what it meant, then folded the envelope along its center crease.

Then I looked at Ethan.

"You decided that before you spoke to me."

His jaw tightened. "I asked you to come home so we could discuss it, Nora. Don't make helping someone sound like a betrayal."

I looked from his face to Maren in my chair, then to the two plates waiting on the table.

His text had said, We should talk.

He had already made room for her.

Mine was the adjustment.