*Chloe, I’m tired of fighting. Let’s meet for lunch. Just the two of us. No lawyers.*

I held my breath, watching the screen.

The three dots appeared almost instantly.

She was typing.

Then they vanished.

Then they appeared again.

My heart hammered against my ribs in the quiet cabin of the car.

Finally, the message came through.

*Okay. The bistro on 17th. One o’clock.*

I checked the dashboard clock.

It was twelve-fifteen.

I pulled out of the parking lot and merged into the midday traffic, my grip tight on the steering wheel.

As I drove toward downtown, my mind raced with the mechanics of what I had to do.

I had to be perfect.

I had to look defeated, pale, and desperate enough to make her feel safe.

I turned the corner onto 17th Street, the high-rise buildings towering over me like concrete giants.

I parked three blocks away from the bistro to ensure she wouldn’t see my car arriving.

I walked the remaining distance under my umbrella, the wind whipping the hem of my coat.

Through the glass door of the bistro, I could see her.