That evening I found a receipt in the trash for a storage unit across town.

I might once have treated it as meaningless.

Now I photographed it, not because it proved anything, but because too many gaps were appearing in a history I thought I knew.

Later, Colton came to bed and asked if I still trusted him.

I faced the wall, blinking at a pale stripe of light beneath the curtains.

“I want to,” I said.

He whispered, “So do I.”