NOVA
He was already in the building when I arrived.
I knew because his truck was in the garage. Same spot. Same dent in the door panel that I pretended not to know the origin of. I parked three rows over, sat in my car for forty-five seconds longer than necessary, and then walked into the facility with my tablet under my arm and my face arranged for a day of pretending yesterday hadn’t happened.
Yesterday had happened. Every word of it. His voice saying *you’re mine* in my office like he was laying claim to a piece of property. My voice comparing him to the men I’d spent my childhood surviving. The silence after, thick enough to choke on, and then the door closing and the sound of his footsteps in the corridor, fast and hard, heading away.
I had said things I meant. That was the proble
