ARIA'S POV
I knew his handwriting before I fully registered what I was looking at.
The envelope was sitting in my mailbox between a utility bill and a gallery newsletter, nothing remarkable about it except the way my stomach dropped the moment I saw it. Flynn's handwriting. Small and slightly slanted, the F always bigger than it needed to be.
I carried it upstairs without opening it. Set it on the kitchen counter and looked at it for ten seconds. Then I made dinner.
Pasta. Simple enough to make without thinking. I stood at the stove, stirred my pasta and didn't look at the counter. I ate at the kitchen table with my back to it and watched half a movie on my laptop that I couldn't have described ten minutes after it ended.
I brushed my teeth, turned off the lights and got into bed.
La
