The Last Text

This short story is written for Friday Fictioneers.

PHOTO PROMPT © Sarah Potter

Another late night at the office was nothing new to her. As part of a high profile litigation team it was expected. The weather outside her office reflected her dark and cold mood.

The amount of time she spent here was taking a toll on her life outside of work. It was the reason her husband had left and her daughter was in therapy.

The sudden whistle from her cell phone alerted her of a text.

The text in the last bubble said: “This is Detective Ryan of the Detroit Police Department, please call 1-810-5555.”

The one above read: “I’m jumping.”


      • I didn’t mean to imply that you approved. It’s something I notice often, when a woman is killed climbing a mountain for instance, we hear mutterings to the effect that she was a bad mother for risking her life. You never hear it said of a man, even when the accident was particularly stupid, that he was a bad father.

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