The sentences were formal, balanced, and completely unlike the way she naturally talked.

It matched the exact language of the corporate networking templates Derek had written for his venture capital inquiries two months earlier.

She hadn’t written a single word of it.

My brother had typed the message on his laptop in the lobby while she sat beside him with her tea.

I opened my leather purse, pulled back the inner lining, and slid my father’s gold fountain pen deep into the side pocket.

I zipped it shut, fastened the purse strap over my shoulder, and didn’t send a reply.