He was right, of course. “Anyway, I’m glad you’re there. I love you.”

“I love you, too. We’ll get through this.”

Eileen opened her tote, took out the envelope, and laid it on the table. “Actually, I was calling for another reason. Thank you, by the way, for taking my car in today.”

“I’m happy to do it.”

“But there was an envelope on your windshield this morning. I meant to leave it for you, but with everything, I forgot.”

“An envelope? That’s weird… Oh, I bet it’s from Carl next door. We were talking last week. He’s started selling insurance on the side, trying to make some extra money. He hit me up. I didn’t know what to say. We don’t need to be messing around with insurance right now. He was going to put together some quotes.”

“Do you want me to open it?”

“Sure.”

Eileen bent back the brass tabs holding the flap in place.

“I’d say just throw it away, but I’m probably going to have to talk with him and find a way to tell him we’re not interested right now. God, I hate when friends try to sell you shit. No,” Eric said to the kids, his mouth away from phone. “I did not say the S word… Well, how about you mind your own business?”

Eileen reached into the envelope and pulled out several thick pages.

As she stared down at the pages in her hand, she vaguely heard Eric ask the kids, “What do you want for dinner?” She didn’t breathe. A sickness rushed through her bloodstream, stunned her senses, paralyzed her limbs.

They were large, eight-by-eleven-inch black-and-white pictures. There were six. Her fingers gently pushed them apart, spreading them out across the table to reveal different scenes, different settings, but always the same main characters. Each picture a punch in her gut more powerful and painful than the last.

She stared at them.

There was a handwritten note in black ink torn from a spiral notebook paper-clipped to the photo that most clearly showed Eric and Lauren’s faces. The note was signed—Dave, Lauren’s husband.

A man in a dark gray suit walked toward her table. Pulling a black carry-on suitcase, he held his phone in his free hand as he spoke into the headset attached to his ear. His eyes swept over the table as he passed by, then met hers for the briefest of moments, understanding igniting between them before he looked away. Eileen heard him keep speaking into his headset. “What was that? Yeah, sorry… Brian’s quotas weren’t met for that quarter.”

She looked around, suddenly remembering she was in an airport surrounded by people. A woman with two small children sat at a table only three feet away, their paper-wrapped tacos half eaten.

“Eileen?” Eric asked. “Are you there? Can you hear me?”