Bradsh

or of the living room, surrounded by the ghosts of a life that was never real

al was a prison sentence. Letting her go wasn't ju

ang and rang until it timed out. My thumb hovered over the screen, my anger mixing with a

d try, some

el

nd arrogant. A voice I recognized from the so

ne C

e asked, a bored

is was. He was enjoying this, the son of a bitch.

drawled. I could hear the smirk in

age when I heard shuffling on the other end. "Give me the pho

age of them together, of him answering her phone like h

asked, her vo

ky breath. "We nee

stling, as if she was moving to a dif

m not going to be your backup plan, your safety net. Y

apped, her tone shifting from surpr

maining photo of us-one from a vacation two years ago

"I'm giving you exactly what you want. A clean break.

tion. "You're just hurt. You had major surgery, you're no

of her, calling me cruel. "A cr

this. You're

ing face in the photograph. "For the fi

efore she c

se, the glowing screen of my phone offering the only illumination. I sm

s a huge, professionally shot photo from our engagement party. We

I pressed it against Diane's smiling face. The canvas sizzled and began to brown. A

k ash. The fire was the only light in the room, a warm, destructive glow where her