“We’ve tried your husband three times. Straight to voicemail.”

He’d turned his phone off.

My hand shook as I typed: Had an acci:dent. At Riverside ER. Shoulder, concussion. Can you come?

Three dots blinked, disappeared, returned. Then came the wrecking ball: Can’t leave lunch with Charlotte. Her ex is here. Call an Uber. Sorry, babe.

It wasn’t heartbreak and it was realization. In the moment that mattered most, he didn’t select me.

Patricia read my face with sad familiarity. “Is someone else coming for you, honey?”

I dialed Officer Janet Morrison, a customer I knew. “Janet, it’s Hannah Wilson. I’ve been in a crash. Could an officer notify my husband? He’s at the Sterling Room with Charlotte Thomas, by the window.”