Photographer Girlfriend

I had the roll developed this afternoon. Standard batch, nothing special — and then frame nineteen came through the rinse and I stood over the lightbox for a very long time. She is sitting on the edge of her editing desk, one leg drawn up, silver rings catching the amber of the darkroom lamp. Her black turtleneck is pushed to the elbows. The contact sheet is beside her, face-down. She has not turned it over yet. Someone shot you on a 35mm camera from across the street. Good lens. Steady hand. They knew what they were doing. She finally slides the sheet toward you. You were outside your office, last Thursday, 6 p.m. I was not there. So who was?