And why did it hurt so badly? It didn’t mean her parents loved each other any less. Really, it didn’t mean anything at all. Except she realized now how much she had believed, her entire life, that her parents were perfect. They had a perfect love story, they were a perfect couple, and the life she was destined for should have been perfect. The boating accident was the single twist in the story—one so big, it was all she could handle.

By the time she reached Sanjay’s brownstone, sweating from the walk and the heat, the impulsivity of the visit hit her. She stood at the base of the steps, looking up and mustering the energy to turn around and walk back to the Barclays Center for the train. And then the front door opened and his sister Daksha walked out lugging her cello case.

“Oh, hey. I was just . . . do you need help with that?”

Daksha shook her head no and proceeded down the steps. When she reached the street she set the instrument down and looked at Gemma.

“You’re his ex, right?” she said.

Gemma nodded. “Yeah. Um, is he home? And is he . . . alone?”

“He’s home,” she said. “You should know, you really broke his heart.”

Great.

Gemma climbed the stairs and pressed the intercom buzzer.

“Sanjay, it’s me. Gemma.”

“Gemma?”

“I need to talk. Can I come in?” A beat passed, an excruciating twenty seconds or so during which she contemplated the six-block walk back to the train. But then the buzzer sounded.

She walked through the door leading into a vestibule, and Sanjay opened the interior door. He wore gray NYSD sweatpants and a black T-shirt. His hair was damp and curling slightly around his jaw. A lock of it fell into his face.

“Come in,” he said, closing the door behind her. “Prishna’s already asleep. She’s got crazy hours, so we need to keep it down.”

She followed him up the stairs to his bedroom. It was sparsely furnished, with a queen-sized bed, and a wooden desk and office chair from Housing Works they’d found together one weekend when they were a couple. Photography books were stacked in one corner, light boxes and cameras on a side table. It looked the same as the last time she’d been inside, seven months ago, except for a series of photographs from Provincetown propped up on his dresser.

“So, you really found a new muse in P’town,” she said.

“I’m putting together a grant proposal. My parents keep harping on me that I need to work ‘in the real world.’ I think they were hoping that NYSD would help me get photography out of my system.”

“What do they expect you to do instead?”