REBECCA’S POV
Olivia didn’t call ahead.
She just showed up at my door at half past ten on a Wednesday morning with a folder pressed under her arm, a coffee in her hand that she hadn’t even offered to share, and that look on her face. The one I had known since we were twenty-three. The one that said she had found something and had spent time deciding how to present it and had arrived at the conclusion that the only way to present it was in person.
I opened the door wider and stepped back.
She came in, set her coffee on the hall table without asking, and walked straight to the kitchen the way she always did, like the house was already hers, like she had never needed to be invited into a room in her life. I followed her. She sat down at the kitchen table, put the folder in front of her,
