y counter-offensive. It w

ak from her, that we' d had a fight and I needed space. They were disappointed but understood. My mom, her breath still

moments, the rage simmering inside me. In my past life, Molly had used my Instagram posts about his gigs to "accidentally" run into us. She' d

t it was cool and mysterious. We met at his apartment, went to movies in different neighborhoods, and I only told him about his next gig

eo was on stage, and he looked over and smiled at me. For a s

I saw

was talking to the bassist, laughing at something he said. How? How did she know? I

Leo came over,

talk," he said, n

could feel the cold dread

den, but... it' s Molly. We were just talking, and she just ge

gave him a small, sad wave, as

me. "I'm sorry, Ga

e bar fading into a dull roar in my ears. The humiliation was just as sharp, just as public

ned. I walked out of the bar and into the cool Portland night. The rage was back, stronger than before.