Chapter Eleven

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Charlotte fingered through the tax letters. Normally Xander was the one to handle the bills.

She'd taken up a job at the cafe. It was close enough that she'd be able to ride her bike to it every day. She couldn't go back to college yet. She was way behind in her bills and she wasn't quite ready to go back anyway. It was bad enough that she had to get a job already, after all, she'd been jobless and hopeless only less than a month ago.

She'd actually come a long way.

Then she thought about how she'd handled seeing Mitchel and frowned. She should probably apologize for her anger and move on, but whenever she saw him, she would freeze up.

Mitchel was the one who was in that crash. His daughter hadn't died and he didn't either. That was enough for Charlotte to blame him for Xander's and Vega's deaths.

It was been a bit unfair that Charlotte had blamed him for something that wasn't his fault. After all, his car had been shoved forward by another into her husband's car. Charlotte really should have blamed that other driver, but they were never identified. By the time Mitchel had called 911, the third car was in surprisingly good enough of a shape to drive off.

What Charlotte should have been doing was trying to figure out who they were. But there had been no traffic camera and it had been dark out for 30 minutes before the crash. Mitchel, when giving the police report, claimed he hadn't been able to see what color car it was, only that it was small.

Instead of focusing on that, something that might have kept Charlotte's sanity, she had wallowed in her misery for a year.

Thumbing to the bottom of the box of tax letters, Charlotte reached a yellow envelope.

Her breath caught.

There, in small but familiar writing, was her name.

Charlotte ripped open the envelope, hoping for-- actually, she didn't know what she was hoping for. A singular piece of paper was inside. Charlotte pulled it out and unfolded it, holding her breath.

Then her shoulders sagged.

She wouldn't be reading this anytime soon.

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