I stared at the yellow legal pad lying on my kitchen table.
Todd had always struck me as a man who preferred numbers to conversations. He worked at the plant, kept his bills organized in neat folders, and rarely spoke unless he had something practical to say.
Now he stood in my little kitchen with his shoulders hunched and his hands shoved into his jacket pockets.
Michelle sat beside him, twisting a tissue between her fingers.
Neither of them looked comfortable.
“Go ahead,” Todd said quietly. “Read the first page.”
I pulled the legal pad closer.
Continue reading on next page…