Hazel's POV
“There is a letter for you,” Marisol said, wheeling into the foundation office with an envelope balanced on her lap, “and it has a prison return address on it.”
My hands went still on the keyboard. Six weeks had passed since our anniversary morning on the stage, six weeks of ordinary happiness that I still wasn't used to trusting. I told myself the ordinary days were the reward. I told myself nothing from before could reach us anymore.
I was wrong, and some part of me had known it the moment Marisol said the word prison.
“You don't have to open it,” Marisol said, watching my face. “We can burn it. I'll even do the honors.”
“I need to know what she wants,” I said. “Not knowing is worse.”
I slit the envelope with a letter opener that used to belong to my father, and unfolde
