PART 1
It started with the invitation, which arrived on a Tuesday in a envelope with a bird on it.
Come to the wedding with Noelle and bring the girls. You get a plus one, but we both know you haven't got anybody to bring.
Handwritten. On the card. Twenty-four words, and I read them about four hundred times in the following fortnight.
My name is Linnea. I am thirty-eight.
That is exactly the sort of thing Ramsey does.
Two years divorced, and that man still knew — to the word, in about eleven words — how to make me four inches shorter in my own hallway.
We were married for nearly thirteen years.
We have two daughters. Wren is ten and Pip is three, and there are seven years between them, and there is a reason for that which is not going in here.
And then one evening in the March, at about nine o'clock, with both girls upstairs, he told me he was not attracted to me any more.
