Marisol saw my face.
“Oh, Elena.”
“I’m fine.”
“No one who says that while crying over string cheese is fine.”
I laughed through the tears.
She sat beside me.
“Tell me.”
So I did.
Not everything.
Not the financial details I barely understood.
But enough.
The photograph.
Northbridge.
Ethan.
Adrian.
Claire.
Seat 14B.
When I finished, Marisol leaned back slowly.
“Well.”
“That’s all you have?”
“I’m deciding whether your life is a mystery novel or a very complicated tax audit.”
“Helpful.”
“I try.”
Then she took my hand.
“What do you believe?”
I looked at her.
“No one has asked me that.”
“Then everyone is doing this wrong.”
I stared at our joined hands.
“I believe Ethan lied to me.”
“Yes.”
“I believe he may have had reasons.”
