“It doesn’t fit the display,” she told Lauren.
“It’s from my mother’s house.”
“Then perhaps it belongs there.”
Lauren didn’t object.
Not because the picture meant nothing to her.
Because she had grown afraid of contradicting the woman whose approval she wanted.
That was the part of the story I wouldn’t understand until much later.
PART 4 — WHAT ETHAN HAD BEEN TOLD
Ethan Price was thirty-two, three years older than Lauren.
He worked in commercial architecture.
He came from money, but he wasn’t careless with it.
When Lauren first described him, what impressed me wasn’t his family’s wealth.
It was a story about a coworker whose house had flooded.
Ethan had spent an entire weekend helping remove damaged furniture and install temporary flooring.