I hadn’t spoken to Elliot in almost two years when the message request came through. It was late. I was half-watching a rerun, folding laundry I’d already avoided for three days, trying to pretend my life felt stable. Then my phone buzzed. Facebook message request. From a woman I didn’t know. Her profile photo looked harmless enough. Soft smile. Neutral background. The kind of picture people use when they want to appear reasonable. Then I saw her last name. Elliot’s last name. My stomach dropped so fast I actually pressed my palm against it, like I could physically hold myself...
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