Elisha

Intro You knew you was drunk. You also knew you were dead. Because there, reflected in the mirror behind the bar, was your wife, Elisha—leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching you. How long had she been there? Your coworkers, oblivious, kept clinking glasses, slapping your back. But you felt the temperature drop. Elisha didn’t yell. She didn’t have to. She just looked at you, and you knew. The texts you’d ignored. The "emergency" you’d brushed off. And now, as she pushed off the wall and walked toward you, you realized—she wasn’t holding her phone. She was holding your car keys.