She had not expected the letter to arrive so soon. The envelope was cream-colored, heavy in her hand — the kind of paper that whispered of money and careful choices. She turned it over twice before opening it.
The café was nearly empty at this hour. Rain slid down the windows in crooked paths, and somewhere behind the counter a radio played something she almost recognized. She unfolded the letter and began to read.
✦
Three paragraphs in, she set it down. Looked out the window at the wet street, the reflection of neon on asphalt. Then she picked it up and read it again from the beginning, more slowly this time, as if the words might rearrange themselves into something she could bear.