She didn't answer.
She didn't respond to either the first or second message I sent. Not even the voice memo I left with more honesty than I've shown anyone in years.
And I knew.
Before the screen showed "Read," before the silence settled like a knife in my chest, I knew.
She was with him again.
Jason. I knew before the notification came through that she'd seen it.
Of course, she was.
I stood next to the Bugatti, door still open, the evening breeze rustling the hem of my coat as I stared at the empty sidewalk she'd run down not even ten minutes ago, door still open, the evening breeze rustling the hem of my coat as I stared at the empty sidewalk she'd run down not even ten minutes ago. Her father had tried to stop her, called her name like it still meant something.
She ran because of him.
The screen in my hand dimmed. I tapped it again. Still nothing. No dots typing, no reply.
Just silence.
