“My couch is ugly, but the door has three locks.”

She showed up with her brother and a car full of laundry baskets.

I packed a few clothes, the folder of hospital bills, my mother’s photograph, and a notebook where I had written everything I remembered about the restaurant.

I left the apartment with a police incident number in my pocket.

At Elena’s place, we sat on the kitchen floor because her couch was covered in the blankets she had piled there for me.

“I heard what Dennis did,” she said.