Leftovers

Sick of eating leftovers, I decide on a morning jog.

I haven’t been back in Georgia since Ryan called off the wedding. Didn’t think his would be the first face I’d see when I entered my childhood home after three years.

I stop and bend over, hands on knees, heaving in air. A car slows to a stop next to me by the curb.

Why won’t he let me suffer in peace?

“How ’bout some coffee?”

“What about your wife?”

“You mean your sister?”

It’s so stuffy in that house. No matter how far I run, I can’t get away.

Don't Keep It to Yourself. Write It Down!

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