Anxious Drives
Every time I drove past Roger’s place, a knot twisted tighter in my stomach. Her car was always there, but never her.
The sight of it parked so steadily felt like taunting proof she was inside, maybe even trapped. I’d watch, waiting for movement or a sign of life beyond the ordinary.
“Come on, Sarah,” I’d mutter, hoping to see her, just once, unlocking that door to let the world in.