I stare at the screenshot.
Then I enlarge it with two fingers because I need to be absolutely certain I am reading what I think I am reading and my eyes are not doing something creative out of stress and sleep deprivation.
I am reading it correctly.
The name at the top of Derek's conversation is Tasha.
My Tasha.
Tasha Mercer, my best friend of twelve years, who I called when I left, who made me food and did not push, who I asked to be my reality check, who I have been feeding information to every single day since this started.
I cannot breathe properly.
The screenshot shows three messages. Sent last night after ten pm.
Derek: I need to know where her head is. Is she actually serious about the divorce or is there still a way through?
Tasha: She is serious. But s
