My heart flips over, that insane gut feeling from the night he took out his sports car hits me again, and I find myself impulsively leaning out to look inside the bag for any card or note and see nothing. The bag is empty save for some tissue paper, yet the faint scent of familiar perfume lingers around it.

I freeze up. My hand is on the edge of the thick paper, and my stomach lurches into my mouth as I stand there motionless for a blank second. It's the perfume I wear, and I know where I once smelled it. It's a sensation like a sucker punch to the...