ROSE’S POV
I have thought about that balcony every day for seven weeks.
Not continuously. Not in the consuming, obsessive way of a woman who cannot move past a single moment. More in the way a splinter works, most of the time you forget it there, and then something catches it at the wrong angle and the discomfort is sudden and specific and reminds you that something is still lodged beneath the surface that you have not yet dealt with.
The trip had been Edmund’s idea.
That was what I had told myself every time the balcony returned to me. Edmund had suggested it, Edmund had booked it, Edmund had appeared in my office doorway on a Tuesday afternoon seven weeks ago with the particular quality of energy he carried when he had decided something and was pleased with the decision. He had sai
