I worked two jobs to help fulfill my husband’s dream of becoming a doctor — at his graduation, he handed me divorce papers, but just as I was walking away, one of his classmates said, “Before you leave, there’s something you should know.”

This isn’t over.*

No name.

No contact saved.

The number had a local area code but nothing else I recognized.

I took a photograph of the screen, then forwarded the message to Daniel with a single line: *Do you know this number?*

His reply came in under a minute.

*No.

But I can find out.

Don’t delete it.*

I set the phone down and sat for a moment with the engine running.

The message could have come from Nathan.

It had the right tone — controlled, warning, just vague enough to deny later.

But it could also have come from Cassandra.

Or from someone acting on behalf of one of them.

Either way, someone had my number and had been watching closely enough to send that message within minutes of me leaving the parking lot.

I drove home.

The apartment Nathan and I shared was a two-bedroom on the fourth floor of a building that had seemed temporary when we first moved in and had somehow become permanent.