she came here,” Beatrice said, calmly lifting her teacup. “You were trying to rebuild your life. I was protecting you.”
“Protecting me from what?”
“She wanted to drag you back into the marriage.”
Alex stared at her.
“She gave you an envelope with my name on it.”
Beatrice looked away.
Alex’s voice rose.
“MY NAME WAS ON IT.”
That night, he began searching records from the period surrounding the divorce.
Eventually, he found an old flagged message from Beatrice.
It had been sent to someone at his law firm.
If
