the folder on my laptop containing every vendor contract, receipt, and confirmation.
I scrolled slowly through the documents.
Myra Templeton.
Myra Templeton.
Myra Templeton.
I wasn’t sure why I kept staring at my name.
Something inside me was taking inventory.
I tried once more.
I asked Jessica to meet me for coffee.
Just us.
No Diane.
No Gail.
She agreed, then arrived forty minutes late in workout clothes with her phone faceup between us like a timer showing how little time I deserved.
“Look,” she said before I’d even finished
