Five
Maybe I need to show you.
I read the words over and over again, trying to figure out what I was looking at. Had Joan been having an affair? Was there another man? I couldn’t see how. We were so happy. Or were we? Had I missed something? Was what I thought was a happy marriage been in fact a lie?
I looked at the box. Joan hadn’t told me she was on medication. She hadn’t told me about being married before. So there were already two lies I knew of. Now three. But a lie about what?
I read the whole note. There was a tone of desperation and longing mixed with a vague hostility and threats.
It was stalkerish.
Was Joan being stalked? Had she become the target of a deranged person? Who had sent this? The letter was unsigned, the handwriting tight and precise. But I couldn’t
