The Knocking Started Right After She Told Me He Was Mine

a brown delivery jacket layered under a black parka. Mid-forties maybe. Thick neck. Red face. Snow clinging to the shoulders. He wasn’t huge, but he had that compact, brick-wall build some men get from years of loading things with their backs and their bad moods.

A white van sat at the curb with the engine running.

No company logo.

Just a dented side continue reading …