“Mara?” Julie asked, her hand pausing over her files.

“I have it,” I said, leaning down to retrieve the pen.

My fingers brushed the cold floor, and for a second, I could not breathe.

My father had looked through my car window as if he owned the vehicle, as if he owned the space I occupied.

“Here,” Julie said, handing me a spare pencil from her pocket.

“Use this.”

“Thank you,” I said, sitting up straight and adjusting my cardigan.