Three Days

I came back to London on a Thursday carrying a bag of clean clothes and one photograph Mette had let me take of the scarf after we had settled its treatment. The repair was almost invisible at first glance. When I looked closer, I could see the small structure holding it. I wanted Felix to see why I was proud.

Rafi had asked me to meet her at the shop before the first client arrived. She had moved the fitting-room mirror. The press stood under the window as she had planned. A row of neat cloth samples hung behind the counter, and beside my old price list was a new one with her handwriting on it.

“I didn’t change your prices,” she said before I could ask. “Those are mine for work I take in. I wrote up the split for the shared costs.”

I read it. She had been…