MIRANDA
I was soaking in the tub, doing my nightly ritual, trying to calm my nerves so I could sleep, when my phone rang.
At first, I thought to ignore it, but the possibility that it could be Shawn—that he had had a change of mind—had me reaching my lavender-scented, bubbled hand to the stool just by the head of the tub and collecting my phone.
A knowing smile touched my lips as I saw his name blinking on the dial. I answered after waiting for a few beats, my fingers tracing the sleek edge of the device; it was best not to have him thinking I had been waiting for his call.
“Hello…” I kept my voice stark, like a petulant girlfriend, but the voice that answered me wasn’t my Shawn’s, and it had me sitting upright in the tub, the warm water sloshing against the porcelain.
“Who is this?
