The parking lot was almost empty.
The air was cold enough to sting my cheeks.
I unlocked my car, placed the pillow across the back seat, and tried to find a position that didn’t hurt.
The seat belt buckles dug into my side.
My knees had nowhere to go.
The windows fogged within minutes.
I kept one hand on my phone and the other over my stomach while every sound outside made me nervous.
A truck passed on the road.
Someone shouted in the distance.
A car entered the parking lot, slowed near me, and then drove away.
I told myself Ryan would come looking for me.
Surely he would lie awake, realize what he had done, and rush downstairs.
He didn’t.
At 6:32 the next morning, my phone buzzed.
For one hopeful second, I expected an apology.
Instead, I saw a text from Ryan.
You can come upstairs now.
