•3 weeks ago•
0
•0
The envelope had no return address, just her name written in letters cut from magazines like something out of a bad thriller. Sarah nearly threw it away. Nearly.
Inside, a single photograph: her standing in front of the coffee shop yesterday, same red coat, same leather bag. In the corner, a timestamp. 11:47 AM. She remembered that moment—she'd been checking her phone, reading the text from Marcus saying he'd be late. Again.
But she didn't remember anyone taking her picture.