The stench of stale beer invaded her nostrils, as Michelle stood staring at the text on the screen. Her heart flip-flopped within her chest, and her hand shook as she tried to decode the poorly spelt message. She understood before she read it what it was going to say, and did not want to know further.
‘It’s over, Shel. The last two months have been hell. I won’t take the push-pull anymore.’
Five years brought to an end, just like that, with a 10c text message. An ironic grunt hissed the air from between her lips, her brain working ten to the dozen with schemes and excuses. Shel’s right eye ticked as the blood flow throbbed in the base of her brain. Shoving the mobile into her pocket, she ran her hand through her hair, trying to ease the panic welling within her.
She’d show him. She’d bloody show him.