The name made me flinch.
Daniel noticed.
“Does she know?” he asked.
“Know what?”
“That the fantasy ended when you opened the door.”
I said nothing.
Olivia had texted me twice during the drive home. I had not answered. At the time, I told myself it was because I needed to think. Now I realized I had been protecting the last fragile seconds before consequence.
Daniel walked to the kitchen table and began gathering some of the papers into a neat stack.
“She won’t speak to you tonight,” he said. “Don’t try.”
“What about tomorrow?”
“That depends on Lauren.”
“She shouldn’t be making big decisions while she’s hurt.”
The second the words left my mouth, I regretted them.
Daniel turned slowly.
There it was—the old reflex. The one I had learned to dress up as concern. Deciding what Lauren could handle. Suggesting pain made her less rational. Turning her vulnerability into a reason to question her choices.
Daniel’s eyes went cold again. “She made those decisions more clearly than I’ve seen anyone make anything.”
I nodded once. “You’re right.”
He looked surprised by that. Maybe I was too.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke.
Then Daniel said, “There’s one more thing.”
My stomach tightened. “What?”
“Lauren asked me not to tell you unless you read the whole letter.”
“I did.”
He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small key ring. On it was a single brass key with a faded blue tag.
I recognized it immediately.
“The storage unit,” I said.
Daniel tossed it onto the coffee table. It landed beside the folder.
“She wants you to go there tomorrow before the attorney calls.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“She wouldn’t tell me.”
I looked at the key. The storage unit had belonged to Lauren before we married. She kept old furniture there, boxes from her teaching days, childhood keepsakes, art supplies. I had not been there in years.
“Why would she send me there?”
