Mara’s eyebrows lifted. “Yes.”
“Please.”
The printer under the shelf hummed to life. As the first page slid out, Rachel took her phone from her purse and opened her messages.
Derek.
She scrolled.
Most of their exchanges were logistical.
Running ten late.
Got her.
Traffic sucks.
Be there by nine.
Then she searched for the word food.
She found six messages.
Fed the kid. Don’t bother holding dinner.
Drive-thru line was insane. Running late.
She wanted a shake after class.
Rachel laid the printed attendance sheet beside her phone.
The dates matched.
Not approximately.
Not mostly.
Every one.
She checked again because coincidence was seductive when the alternative was unbearable. September fifteenth: absent. Derek: She talked me into burgers.
September twenty-second: absent. Derek: Drive-thru.
October first: absent. Derek: Feeding the dancer.
October sixth: absent. Derek: Your daughter is extorting fries from me.
Rachel felt something settle inside her, not calm exactly, but structure. Panic had been everywhere. This had edges.
