He sent it on a Saturday morning from his own phone.
Not through Garrett. Not through Dante's number, which had become the channel for things that needed a third party between them. His own phone, his own number, which she would not have saved because he had never texted her directly from it. Not during the marriage, when they had lived together and had not needed to. Not after, when there had been nothing to say and then things that had been routed through proper channels that had held both of them at the correct distance.
He had stepped outside the proper channels.
He had written the message in the study and looked at it for six minutes and then sent it without changing a word.
He put the phone on the desk and sat at what he had done.
He did not know if she would save his number. He
