Six months after I moved into the cottage, I got a text from a number I did not recognize.
Unknown: Clara. This is Marisol. I need to talk to you. I know you don't owe me anything, but I need to tell you something.
I stared at the message for a long time. Marisol. The woman Adrian had left me for. The woman who had co-signed the lease. The woman whose name I had not said out loud since the meeting in Dana's office.
I did not want to talk to her. I did not want anything to do with her. She was a part of the old life, the life I had built and lost, and I had spent six months trying to put it behind me.
But I could not stop thinking about the message. What could she possibly want? Apology? Explanation? Warning?
I did not answer for two days. Then I typed a reply.
Clara: What do you want
