“Wait for me under the third lamppost,” he begged her. “I’ll meet you there at midnight and we’ll start a new life. Just you and me.”
He was late, bruised ribs trying to cripple him, but he was there. She just wasn’t.
The minutes ticked by, etched into his soul like the cuts were on his skin. One hour, two. He burned through an entire pack, growing gray and bitter, kept rooted by dimming hope.
A voice startled him, amused and chilling. Not the one he was waiting for. “You shouldn’t have waited,” she stayed just out of the lamp light. “I don’t blame you, but you shouldn’t have.”
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