Pictures.
Black and whites.
Jordan and Leanne—the woman I replaced—in bed. It looks like the hotel room where we used to meet in Boston.
“He won’t be lonely.”
Is this supposed to make me angry, or feel better about being kidnapped and tortured? He mocks me so that my insides chaff with bitterness.
“None of this matters to me, or anyone else in your new life,” Broc adds, “but it might help you forget. I can’t imagine you expected him to be faithful when you weren’t yourself.”
Underneath the photographs of Jordan are ones of me with Pedro in Bolivia, and Terry Harris of the cable wire service. Jordan and I never had anything exclusive. Why should this bother me? It does, but I keep that to myself.
“It’s all over, Michelle.” His voice is kind. Then he pulls the pictures from my han
