When he was discharged from the hospital, she wasn’t there to pick him up. He texted her and asked when she’d get there, and all he got in reply was confirmation that it was over between them.
“Drive yourself. I left your key where you can find it. Go geocaching for it, you weirdo,” said the text, along with a set of coordinates.
Google Maps led him here, to this fence on the edge of an empty concrete lot. That lot used to be the site of the K-Mart his dad had worked at, way back before it was torn down. He doubted she knew that. She didn’t like to hear about his happy childhood; it always made her think of her unhappy one. And every conversation had to be about her.
He liked geocaching; she knew that much. But she’d never understood it. She hated that he spent one weekend of every month off camping and hiking with friends. She was always invited, but she never came, and she was always angry that he wouldn’t give in to her stupid power games and stay home with her, being miserable away from what he found fun just to please her.
He was glad she’d called it off. He hadn’t had the stomach for a breakup. He’d kept trying, and she’d loved his pleas and begging, hadn’t she?
And now she had made the ultimate power play. Because here he was, with a broken hand and not enough working fingers to get the key ring off the chain-like fence.
**
Image Source: r/writers
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