In October, My Husband Left a Manila Envelope on Our Kitchen Table and Walked Out Into the Rain
“Then I’ll bring them myself.” The line clicked off.
Lynn was watching me.
“Who was that?”
“Somebody who works at the firm.” I set the phone face down on the rug.
“She’s coming Friday.”
I got up and walked out onto the porch.
The porch light was on.
The yellow sheet hung at eye level on the oak door, one corner already lifting in the damp, and the case number ran across the top in print too small to read in that light.
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