Time Bomb: Jay
For two weeks, I hadn’t heard from Mallory. Not really. My texts had evolved from ‘left on delivered’ to ‘left on read.’ At work, she barely looked at me. She didn’t even speak to me unless it was explicitly work related: “Corner,” “Behind,” “Table five-thirty-two is looking for you.” Even if she was putting on an act at work for Tiffany’s benefit, there was no reason for her to ignore me outside of Stella’s too. I had the slow, dumb, and numbing realization that she hadn’t been sick. She was mad at me. I had to fix things. My logic was thin, and the risk was astronomical. I shouldn’t have been driving around the fancy neighborhood she lived in searching for a familiar blue Subaru. It would only take one nosey neighbor deciding my rusted Honda didn’t belong there for everything to com
- Writer
