call it anything.
Elise touched the screen lightly.
“I kept the other one in every apartment,” she said.
I looked at her.
“Five apartments. Sometimes behind a mirror. Once inside a kitchen cabinet because the frame broke.”
“Somewhere visitors wouldn’t see?”
She nodded.
There was no reasonable way to treat that as an accident. But there was also no decent way to treat it as permission she had not yet given. I handed her the phone and let her decide whether to send the photograph to herself.
She did.
Our
