Chapter 1: The Cold Touch of Lilac
I realized the scarf was gone the moment the biting Seattle wind slashed at my exposed throat. Just a minute ago, by the transit center gate, the soft lilac fabric had been a warm embrace against the chill. Now, the collar of my wool coat flapped open, and the freezing night air immediately bit into my skin. I froze beneath the flickering amber halo of a streetlamp, my gloved hand frantically patting my shoulder, my eyes scanning the darkened, leaf-strewn asphalt. The bus stop sat less than two hundred yards away. Tall privacy fences hid the glowing windows of the suburban homes nearby.
The scarf could have slipped off on the steps of the bus, or perhaps near the convenience store when I was blindly digging through my leather tote for my keys. I muttered a bitter curse under my breath and pivoted on my heel. David had given me that scarf just four days ago for our seventh wedding anniversary.
At breakfast, he had slid a slender box tied with a silver ribbon next to my steaming coffee mug. He sat there, his chin resting on his steepled fingers, watching intently as I unwrapped the crisp tissue paper. “Wool and silk,” he had murmured, his voice smooth. “The kind you like.”
I had touched the fabric, genuinely surprised. I asked if he had braved the boutique himself or if his assistant had played personal shopper. He chuckled, claiming the saleswoman had pushed something garish and flashy, but he had immediately pictured this muted lilac shade against my complexion. He had smiled at me then—a ghost of the warm, boyish grin he used to wear when we were first building our lives together.
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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