I touched the empty space on my finger where my engagement ring used to hug, the ring Oliver sold his 1957 Corvette graduation gift for, back when we were still practically kids and lived off ramen noodles. The ring now sat taunting me from the French country accent table I’d fallen in love with during our Parisian honeymoon. When a sudden downpour pelted the cobblestone streets of Le Marais, we escaped into the vintage boutique, soaked in rain and romance. When my gaze rested on that tiny, round table, Oliver insisted I have it, shipping costs be damned. We arrived home three weeks later to find the package outside our South Side apartment doorstep, and inside, a rat infestation from the Dumpster behind our building. By the time the landlord exterminated the rats, we were in escrow on our first real home together, starry-eyed with baby fever and passion.

When the baby didn’t immediately happen and the passion faded, we had loyalty to hold us close.

Now that loyalty was gone.

“I read all the texts from Vera.” I paused. “Well, from Vera’s phone. You know that’s sick, what you’re doing, right?”

Shame pushed his face down in a frown.

“It’s the only thing I have left of her, Felicity.”

“But it’s not her. It’s her phone. And her phone could lead us to her. Whoever is texting you is messing with you. Clearly it’s some deranged person playing with your emotions.”

“No, it’s a girl who misses her dead father, Felicity.” Then Oliver proceeded to show me a succession of back-and-forth replies:

Oliver: You’re not my daughter Vera, are you?

Fake Vera: No. Just like you’re not my dad. But it feels real, doesn’t it?

Oliver: How did you get this cell phone number?

Fake Vera: I found the phone in the woods and kept it. When you texted me, you sounded so much like my dad. He died recently, but it just felt comforting to believe he’s out there missing me too. I’m sorry. I should have said something sooner.

Oliver: No, don’t apologize. It’s helped me too. My daughter went missing and you remind me of her.

Fake Vera: I hope she comes home. You seem like a great dad.

Oliver: I don’t know. I wonder if I’m the reason she left.

Fake Vera: She’s lucky to have you. I’d give anything to get my dad back.

Oliver: I’d give anything to get my daughter back too.

Fake Vera: You’re probably the only person in the world who understands me.

Oliver: Losing someone you love is the heaviest burden one can bear. Hang in there, kid.