too,” I whispered to the stone. “And I didn’t even know.”
I stayed until my hands went cold. Then I pulled out the paper Nolan had pressed into my palm before I left, the one with Marta’s address written on it.
Part of me wanted to tear it in half. That would have been easier. Cleaner. I could go home and pretend none of this had happened.
But I thought of Nolan’s shaking hands. I thought of the woman with only weeks left, sitting in some kitchen somewhere, waiting to
