My best friend of 37 years suddenly asked me to take one LAST photo together during our beach trip. When I asked why she said “last,” she gave me an unsettling smile and whispered, “Because tomorrow, you’re going to find out who I really am… and you may never want to see me again.”

My hands shook as I typed it in.

I went to his messages. Paige’s name was near the top. Their last conversation was from the week before he died.

I scrolled up.

Russ: We can’t keep this from her forever.

Paige: I know. Please just give me time.

Russ: You’ve had a year, P.

Paige: It will destroy her. You know it will.

Russ: It’s destroying her NOT knowing. She just doesn’t realize it yet.

Paige: The beach. This summer. I’ll tell her at the beach. Please.

Russ: If you don’t, I will. I mean it.

I scrolled further back. Months of it. Can you meet Thursday? Same café. I’m parked out back. Did she ask where you were? And photos. A blurry selfie Paige had sent, sitting in a booth at a diner I didn’t recognize, her eyes red. Russell’s hand reaching across the table, holding hers.

Did she ask where you were?