For the first time since the office, I felt like I was gathering information instead of absorbing blows.
I sat in the parked car for a full minute after the call ended.
The steering wheel was warm under my palms.
I could still smell the scent from his collar, the one he swore was nothing.
The beige box on the floor of his office had not been meant for me.
I had carried that lie all the way home.
I turned the key and went inside to pack a bag.
I did not cry.
I did not shout.
I made a list of things I needed to know.
I wrote down the café address.
I wrote down the time.
I wrote down Natalie’s name.
The next morning I sat at the café by the window.
I watched the door.
I waited to see if Natalie would arrive alone.
