I stay in the greenhouse longer than I mean to, rereading the note until the light through the glass turns gray.
Don't marry him until you know what happened fifteen years ago.
A moth bumps against the glass overhead, again and again, drawn to a lightbulb it can't reach. I watch it for a while instead of thinking.
Somewhere outside, a sprinkler kicks on, hissing faintly against the hedges. I should go inside. I don't move.
I fold it along its original crease, careful not to add a new one, and slide it back into the envelope.
Telling Robert crosses my mind. It crosses my mind and then it doesn't, not yet, not until I know whether this is something real or just noise from a stranger who likes stirring things up.
I tuck the envelope into the bottom drawer of my nightstand, under a stack
