Two s a CrowdChapter 4
Where I discover that I can't kill the woman I married. I had been back in New York for two days when the package arrived. It lay at the centre of my desk and was the size of a shoebox. The address was handwritten. I knew the familiar curls, the generous lettering. Maybe I shouldn't open it, I thought, while my fingers were already opening it. The box was crammed with balled-up white tissues. On top lay the yellow piece of paper I had left on her chest while she was sleeping. It had...