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For the first time in a long time, a shower was not enough to combat how dirty she felt.

“I want you to read this.” That night, as she sat at Delia’s island counter, she handed Mr. Smith’s letter to her current girlfriend. “It might make you uncomfortable, but I want you to know, this is where it all began.”

Delia gingerly unfolded the paper and perused the handwritten words of a high school teacher who knew better than to ever look at Helena the way he did. It plays in my mind, over and over. How important she had felt. How mature. How grown up and ready to take on the world, all because her teacher was a pervert.

The letter ended up on the counter. “I’ve got my opinions,” Delia said.

“Do any of them not include violence?”

“A few. I mostly think about you. How you must have felt in that situation.”

Helena hesitated. “How do you think I felt?”

The letter slightly crumpled under Delia’s hand. “Confused. But then like you were on top of the world. The coolest teacher in your school liked you.”

“It was a dream come true,” Helena said with a labored sigh. “If I could, I’d take it all back. Go back in time and stop it from happening. That way, everything could keep on the way it was. Nobody would have been in trouble. We wouldn’t have had to move. My new teachers in Olympia wouldn’t have whispered about me, the other moms wouldn’t have felt so sorry for me. But… I’d want to keep the memories. Does that make me a bad person? That I don’t regret it?”

“I think it makes you human.” Delia got up from her stool and rummaged for something in the junk drawer beneath her microwave. “Humans are complicated. We know the right things to say to placate the people around us, but we keep our real opinions about our own experiences to ourselves. I did some messy shit when I was your age. It fucked some people up. But I don’t regret them. Maybe, though…” She pulled out a lighter. “I’d wipe their memories. So I wouldn’t feel guilty about not feeling guilty.”

She handed Helena the lighter. “What’s this for?” As if she had to ask.

Delia nodded toward the letter.

Wasn’t it interesting how quickly a piece of paper burned?

Helena entered the nearest luggage store and traded in the Louis Vuitton for a standard set of Paravel. She was sad to see the cheerful yellow depart behind the counter, but she knew she was better for it. Nobody had influenced this decision. She was no longer reminded of Irene when she inevitably jet-set to somewhere new and with a better person.

I’m free.

Delia was the right amount of excited to have Helena temporarily move in while they figured out where to take their relationship, a serious conversation they put on hold until after they returned from Monaco. That trip was still a week out, though. To celebrate the occasion, however, they went to The Dark Hour Saturday night once Helena was out of her old place.

Where it all began.

Delia was already tipsy on a drink when Helena kissed her cheek and excused herself to watch a show on the main stage. Delia was deep in conversation with a woman she had met for the first time and wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to learn more about the ins and outs of Balinese real estate. As the Singaporean woman with a penchant for diamonds and dazzling smiles lightly flirted with Delia – and soon realized it wasn’t going anywhere – Delia recognized most of the other women heading up to the Diamond VIP area.

What she never expected was a hostess tapping her on the shoulder and asking her to follow.

“Be sure to tell my girlfriend where I am,” she said to the hostess before ascending the stairs to the VIP lounge that overlooked most of the club. “She’s watching the show.” Delia could see it from above as soon as she arrived in the lounge, where she was flagged down by Mira Whitfield and a few of their mutual acquaintances.

My, my. A veritable who’s-who. Many of the local scene were there, including Elena Zelenko from Electric Star infamy and her best friend Astrid, Tara’s girlfriend. And was that Petra, Elena’s right-hand woman and the one courting Astrid’s stepdaughter? Well, well. Why was Mira hanging out with them, and what did they want with her?

“Have a seat, Benoist,” Mira said, when the mood shifted at the large VIP table they all shared. “We’re going to make this quick while your girlfriend is distracted.”

“Excuse me…” Delia was put into a spotlight she had not anticipated but wasn’t about to reject. “Ladies, you all look swell tonight. Is that a new Dior dress, Astrid? It suits you.”

She blushed. “Thank you.”

Delia sat in the seat next to Mira. “So, what’s this about? I don’t owe any of you money, and I haven’t done anything to offend. Yet you’re all looking at me like I’ve hit your dogs. What is it? Ugh, was it my father? Someone at The Boyle Group?”

Elena narrowed her eyes from across the table. “Your girlfriend. Helena, isn’t it?”

Something dour descended upon the table. “Yes?” Delia cautiously asked.

Everyone but Elena exchanged awkward glances. She was the only one offering Delia the benefit of approaching this like a grown woman. “She’s lying to you. Like she lied to Mira in a professional capacity.”

“What is this about?” Delia’s heart leaped into her throat. Lying? About what? Already, Delia’s mind ran a marathon in a minute, going over every potential mistruth or misunderstanding that might ruin their budding love. “What has Helena done?”

Petra slid a small piece of paper across the table. Delia snatched it before anyone else had the chance. Helena? It was a copy of her state ID. From Washington, not Oregon, like the one she entered The Dark Hour with.