CHAPTER 3 Mary Pauline Lowry
Surely Caitlyn had mailed out invitations to her other guests two months before, and a save the date had gone out two months before that. My invitation she’d kept squirreled away, perhaps hidden in plain sight on her bedside table, under a stack of true crime novels and plays full of characters who were always shouting and tearing at their hair in an attempt to express their toxic love. She’d probably lifted the books every couple of days and ingered the invitation, asking herself: Should I? Shouldn’t I?
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