Amara's POV
The text arrived at 4:47 PM.
I was in the kitchen making dinner when my phone buzzed on the counter. Noah was at the table finishing his starter rocks list, which had grown to fourteen entries and now included a hand drawn index and what appeared to be a rating system based on stars and small fossil symbols.
I looked at the notification.
Unknown number.
Manhattan area code.
I knew before I opened it.
I stood at the stove with the wooden spoon in my hand and read the message and then read it again and then set the spoon down carefully on the rest beside the pot because my hand was not entirely steady and I did not want to drop it.
I know a lawyer's letter was the wrong approach. I'm sorry. I'd like to talk. If you're willing. No lawyers. No conditions. Just a conversatio
