I’d kept that note at the back of a drawer, because the handwriting was so strange I couldn’t bring myself to throw it out.

My hand went up to my collarbone.

“That isn’t my handwriting,” I said.

Ethan’s jaw clenched.

“Look, you made your choice when you wrote this.”

“I never wrote that card.”

“It came from your house.

Your return address is on the envelope.”