The last day arrived on a Thursday.
Ordinary Thursday. Grey sky, coffee going cold, Frank's shoes in the hallway, Phoebe's homework on the table, the plant on the windowsill doing its quiet green thing in the limited morning light.
Fina got up at six thirty.
Made coffee.
Stood at the kitchen window.
Looked at the plant.
Thought about sixty days ago. The bar. The rush. The man at the far end who had been there for forty minutes with a barely touched drink and blue eyes that were doing something methodical and focused.
*I'm here for you.*
She had said yes because of Frank's fees and Phoebe's coat and the landlord's countdown.
She was still here because of something that had no countdown and no contract and no reason except that it was the most real thing she had.
She picked up her
