Better Left Unsaid

God damn it. Not another one.

I peeled the post-it note off the empty space between lock and door handle. When we were first married they were loving reminders scattered like rose petals in the apartment: Have a good day! Love you! Then came the passive-aggressive instructions: Don’t forget the milk! By the end the neon scraps of paper were terse expletives decorating our ruined marriage.

This one was blank. Her disapproval didn’t need words anymore. I crumpled it with one hand and stuck it in my pocket. My suitcase bumped my knees as I dragged it into the hall.


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