If Derek had done this before, it meant his entire life with me was a calculated lie.

It meant the fire wasn’t an accident, and it wasn’t his first time trying to destroy someone for money.

We parked two blocks away from the diner to avoid being followed.

The diner was an old-fashioned place with neon signs and red vinyl booths.

The smell of grease and coffee hit us as we walked through the door.

A bell chimed above our heads.

Marisol walked straight to the counter and ordered a coffee, pretending not to know me.

I walked toward the back, looking at the few customers scattered in the booths.

An elderly couple was eating pancakes near the window.

A truck driver was reading a newspaper near the kitchen.

In the far corner, a woman sat by herself, staring down at a cup of black coffee.

She wore a wide-brimmed hat and large sunglasses, despite the dim lighting inside.

Her hands were clasped tightly around her mug, her knuckles white.

As I approached, she raised her head.

Even behind the sunglasses, I could see the tension in her jaw.