Diane sat with her hands folded in her lap.

Megan was in the wicker chair, twisting her engagement ring around her finger.

She had brought a box of apple fritters from the bakery on Oak Street.

No one had opened it.

“I found the letter in his desk,” Megan said.

“I read the first line and I thought you’d run off.

I thought he was telling the truth.”

“I know what he told you, Megan.”