I nodded.
Robert stood.
Before he reached the door, I asked one more question.
“You said you knew where Logan was three months ago.”
He stopped.
“Yes.”
“What changed?”
“He left my house.”
“Where did he go?”
“To look for you.”
I stared at him.
“He couldn’t find you?”
“You left your old apartment.”
“I couldn’t afford it.”
“He went to the diner.”
My heart skipped.
The diner.
I had stopped working there five weeks earlier when my pregnancy became too exhausting.
“He spoke to Marisol,” Robert said.
Marisol.
My former manager.
“She wouldn’t give him your address.”
A surprising warmth spread through my chest.
Of course she wouldn’t.
Marisol had once told me, “If that man comes asking questions, he’s bringing answers first.”
“She told him you were safe,” Robert continued. “But she said if you wanted him to know where you were, you would tell him yourself.”
