Greg.
I ignored it.
Again.
Again.
Again.
At 10:30, a rideshare stopped outside.
Sarah stepped out in heels and a cream coat, already furious.
She shoved her key into the boutique door.
Nothing.
She tried again.
Then she looked through the window.
She saw me.
Neither of us moved for several seconds.
Then she began pounding.
“Beth!”
I calmly finished my tea.
She hit the door harder.
“Open this door!”
I unlocked it.
Sarah stormed through.
“What did you do to my car?”
I lifted an eyebrow.
“Your car?”
“Don’t play games!”
I opened a folder on the counter.
“The title is in my name. The loan is in my name. The insurance is in my name. And for twenty-two consecutive months, the payment came from my bank account.”
Her expression shifted.
“That was temporary.”
“So was living in my house.”
She stared at me.
Then her eyes landed on the cardboard box.
