I stared at the text for a long time.
The number had no name attached to it.
No area code I recognized.
Just those two sentences sitting on my screen like a door I hadn’t decided whether to open.
My hand was shaking when I pressed call.
It rang twice.
“I wasn’t sure you’d call,” the woman said.
Her voice was calm.
Careful.
Like someone who had rehearsed this moment and was still nervous anyway.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“My name is Diane.
I’m a family law attorney.” A pause.
“I used to work with your stepsister’s husband.
With Marcus.”
I looked back at the nursery window.
The little lamp was still glowing behind the yellow curtains.
“What does Marcus have to do with this?”
“Everything,” Diane said.
“Can you meet me?
Not at the house.
Somewhere public.”
I drove to a coffee shop three blocks away.
I don’t remember parking.
