Mark finally reached for the bag, but he didn’t put it in his lap. He tossed it onto the passenger seat as if it didn’t matter. He looked at Stacy one last time, his eyes filled with a mixture of shame and profound sadness.
“I’m leaving you and your mom,” he said. The words hit like a physical punch. Before Stacy could even scream his name, he hit the gas. The old Ford roared away, leaving a cloud of exhaust and a shattered daughter behind.
Stacy stood frozen at the window, the cold wind biting at her face. Customers behind were honking, but her world had gone silent. She fumbled for her phone, her fingers shaking so hard she nearly dropped it.
She hit his contact, praying for him to pick up, to say it was a joke. But the call didn’t even ring. It went straight to a cold, digital voicemail. He hadn’t just driven away; he had vanished.
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