he sky outside Jenny's apartment was a dull gray, the type of overcast that made time feel like it was standing still. Inside, however, everything was in motion — emotionally, mentally, chaotically. Jenny sat on the edge of her couch, eyes red-rimmed, hands trembling. Her phone rested in her lap like a weight she couldn't lift, though she had been staring at it for the past twenty minutes.
She had drafted the message three times, each more desperate and jumbled than the last, and each deleted with trembling fingers. Nothing felt right. How did someone even begin to apologize for betrayal?
