The envelope arrived on a Tuesday, which was Elena's first mistake—thinking Tuesdays were safe.
She slit it open with her grandmother's letter knife, the one with the serpent handle, and three photographs spilled onto her kitchen table. All identical. All impossible.
In each photo, she stood in front of the fountain at Riverside Park. Same black coat. Same red scarf. Same expression of mild annoyance, probably because some tourist had asked her to move.