Despite everything, I laughed. It came out of me sharp and sudden, almost a sob.
Rachel looked over at me and started laughing too. Then both of us were laughing so hard she had to pull into the right lane and slow down, tears running down our faces, two women in their fifties howling in a Honda on the interstate.
It wasn’t funny.
It was absolutely, completely not funny.
But it felt like something heavy breaking loose inside my chest.
When we finally caught our breath, I forwarded every screenshot to Officer Hale.
Then I called the attorney who’d handled my divorce, a calm, gray-haired woman named Patricia Ng who’d once told me, “Diane, the most dangerous thing you can do with a man like Mark is keep explaining yourself.”
It was Saturday. She answered anyway.
I told her everything.
When I finished, she was silent for a moment.
