She stood up. Smoothed her shirt. Walked to the bedroom door.
“That you never, ever try to leave,” she said. Her voice was steady, but her eyes were wet. Girlfriend Tapes
Lena held up a pen. “Right where you left it.” She stood up
Inside wasn't money, or drugs, or another woman’s earring. It was a row of old VHS tapes, the plastic shells yellowed with age. Each one had a label, written in Marcus’s neat, architect’s handwriting. ever try to leave