Andrea arrived at the small café fifteen minutes early, her stomach already knotted with dread. She had chosen a public place on purpose with neutral territory, lots of people and easy escape routes. The café was bright and airy, with large windows overlooking the street and soft jazz playing in the background. She picked a table near the door, ordered a black coffee she probably wouldn’t drink, and sat with her hands clenched tightly in her lap.

Her phone lay face-down on the table. She kept glancing at it, half hoping the messages from last night had been a dream. They weren’t. The screen still showed the unread thread from...