I couldn’t believe what I was seeing when I opened the door to my apartment that day. My heart skipped a beat, and my stomach dropped as I took in the chaos in front of me.
I had just gotten back from a long day at work, looking forward to kicking off my shoes and relaxing on the couch with a cup of tea. But what awaited me was far from relaxing.
Papers were strewn all over the floor, the cushions on the sofa were overturned, and the plants on the windowsill were knocked over. It looked like a storm had hit my living room, but there were no signs of a break-in.
As I slowly made my way through the mess, my eyes landed on a note placed on the coffee table. My hands trembled as I picked it up and read the words written in bold, black letters: “We need to talk.”
My mind raced, trying to make sense of what was happening. Who could have done this? And why leave a note instead of waiting to talk in person? The mystery only deepened as I realized the handwriting looked familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it.
Ignoring the mess around me, I sat down on the couch and tried to remember where I had seen that handwriting before. And then it hit me like a ton of bricks.
It was my ex-girlfriend’s handwriting.
