The decision to find Eva didn't feel like a choice. It felt like a biological imperative. It was the last piece of shrapnel working its way to the surface of my skin. I couldn't go into therapy, into that careful excavation of 'us, with her still as a phantom. I needed to see her as a person. To shrink the symbol l'd made of her back down to human size.
I found her through the hotel. A discreet call. I pretended to be a guest who'd left an earring at the bar. I asked if the bartender with the platinum curls might have found it. The voice on the phone gave me her manager's email address. I wrote a different truth.
My name is Maya. We met in Room 56. I need to talk to you. Not for that. For closure. I included my number. I half expected — maybe half hoped — she would ignore it. She texted
