The note was written in purple ink on a page torn from a spiral notebook, and by the time I reached Dakota’s front steps I had crushed it into a ball in my fist. I could hear Tony behind me in the street.
“Jennifer! Jen, wait. Please.” I didn’t wait. I didn’t look back. I walked up her three concrete steps, past the pot of yellow mums she’d set out the week she moved in, and I stood in front of her red door with my heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my ears. I was fifty-one…