CLAIRE

I was making coffee when the mail arrived. Julian was already at the kitchen table, reviewing documents from Cross Industries, his laptop was open, reading glasses perched on his nose.

He looked focused, concentrated, and completely absorbed in work.

Marcus had left the mail on the counter as usual. I sorted through it absently while the coffee brewed.

Bills, magazines, the usual stack of nothing important, then I saw a letter with Julian's name written in careful, deliberate handwriting.

No return address, something about the handwriting made my stomach tighten. I set it on the table beside Julian's laptop.

"Mail's here," I said casually.

Julian didn't look up immediately,...