A few months ago she was packing for a trip to Paris when she began to cry. You asked her what was wrong. She said she was nervous about the trip. By the time the cab arrived she was fine. You kissed at the door. She told you to water the plants.

The day before she was due home, she called. Her voice sounded peculiar. She said she wasn’t coming home. You didn’t understand.

“You got a later flight?”

“I’m staying,” she said.

“For how long?”

“I’m sorry. I wish you well. Really I do.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m going to Rome for Vogue next week and then Greece for location work. My career is really taking off over here. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to hurt you.”