Petty Theft

Even after the twenty minute bus ride, and the six flights of stairs, Jen couldn’t justify why she had come here.

To confront him? No, that wasn’t right. He’d just charm his way out of the argument anyway. Bastard.

It was revenge. Some way to pay him back for all the snot and Kleenex, the tacky pop songs about breakups, the sleepless nights. Bastard.

She knocked twice. No reply.

Finding his key under the flowerpot, as she’d done so many times before, Jen let herself into his apartment.

She inhaled deeply, finding the familiar scents of post-basketball game sweat and aftershave, with traces of Chanel No 5. He could take down all their pictures, send back her stuff in cardboard boxes, say goodbye in a hundred variations, but her scent still lingered. The thought was comforting.

Jen allowed herself to wander through, ignoring photos and post-its of his new bride to be. Bastard. And at last, she found a way.

A diamond ring, accidentally left behind. The perfect theft.

It should have been hers, anyway.

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