He signed his name on the three designated lines at the bottom of the pages.

The sound of the pen scratching against the paper was the only noise in the room.

When he finished, his attorney took the pen and signed as well, before sliding the documents back to Vance.

“It’s done,” Vance said, rising from his seat. “The court will schedule the formal plea entry for Tuesday morning.”

The defense attorney stood up to leave, but Grant remained seated.

“Wait,” Grant said, looking at me. “Tessa, wait.”

I remained in my chair, watching him.

He reached into the pocket of his sweatshirt with his left hand, pulling out a folded piece of white notebook paper.

He pushed it toward the middle of the table.

“I wrote this,” he said. “It’s an apology. To you, and to Evelyn. I want you to take it. Keep it for her so she knows I’m sorry.”

I looked at the folded paper.

The blue lines were visible through the cheap paper.

“I am not carrying your letters, Grant,” I said, my voice calm and even.