ISABELLE
“Where did I put that paper?” I muttered, working through the files in my drawer.
My eyes landed on a photograph, and my hands stilled.
I picked it up and leaned back in my chair, just looking at it. Dave and I. His arm around the small of my back, both of us smiling at the camera like we had everything figured out.
“I wonder if he was already sleeping with her when this was taken,” I said quietly to no one.
I stared for a moment longer, waiting to feel something. I didn’t. Just a kind of detached curiosity — the way you might look at a photograph of someone you used to know.
I’d heard that intimacy deepened emotional attachment. Maybe that explained why letting go of Dave had been easier than I expected. We’d never crossed that line. And maybe that was the reason.
Then Mat
