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Liz: My ex’s truck is in my parking lot

I don’t think he’s seen my car yet but it’s just a matter of time

Can you please come to my place?

Joe: I will be there in 10 min

Do not invite him in at any cost

If he insists on talking, you can drive separately to a nearby restaurant

Liz: Okay

Yeah, that’s a good idea

I will wait for you here

Thanks for coming

Joe: Of course baby

Anything you need

I sit in my car, trying to calm my breath. Time passes slowly. Five minutes feel like an eternity. Where the hell is Joe?

There is a knock on my window. A cold chill runs down my spine. Fuck. Joe isn’t here yet.

Jake has recognized my little blue car.

I don’t dare turn my head toward the knock.

He knocks again, harder.

My throat feels tight, my hands are actually shaking, as I reach toward the button that opens the window.

There is no one but us in the parking lot. If Jake hurt me, killed me, there would be no witnesses. He could be gone before Joe arrives.

Why am I thinking about him hurting me? He’s never hurt me before—why am I so terrified now?

“Lizzie, I need to talk to you,” I hear him through the window.

It’s only then that I turn to face him. It’s dark outside, and it’s cold and windy, March in Wisconsin. Jake is bundled up in a jacket of his that I remember well, the one made of thick leather with a faux shearling lining. His nose is red and his hair is windswept. He doesn’t look scary. He looks like he’s freezing. He looks familiar and a bit vulnerable, and the terror that rose through me subsides a little.

“Lizzie.”

He’s always called me Lizzie, like everyone at home did. It’s such a little-girl nickname. It’s been bothering me for a long while from everyone except family. I told him that. I told him how much I preferred Liz. He stuck with Lizzie because he said it was too hard to change, that it’s what he’s used to calling me now.

I crack open my window. “What do you want, Jake?”

“I want to talk.”

“There’s nothing to say.”

“You just disappeared. I haven’t seen you in months.”

“You broke up with me. What else is there to say?”

“There’s plenty to say! How could you just up and leave?”