“I’ve been unhappy for years, Patty.”

He said it to the window, not to me.

My thumb found the side of my index finger and stayed there.

The envelope was thick and manila, with a metal clasp that had been opened and pressed shut again.

“What is that?” I asked.

“Open it and see.” He wiped butter from his thumb onto his pants.

“You’re going to want to sit down.”

I didn’t sit.