folder.
Receipts.
Parking stubs.
Maren’s birth certificate.
A DNA test.
Every piece of the parallel life I had sensed but never understood.
I closed it.
“I need you to leave.”
Adrian looked up.
“For how long?”
“I don’t know.”
He nodded slowly.
That mattered.
He didn’t argue.
Didn’t accuse me of overreacting.
He packed a small bag and stayed with his brother.
For ten days, we barely spoke except about practical matters.
My blood pressure.
The baby’s appointments.
Bills.
Our dog.
On the third day, Maren texted me.
I nearly
