You were just supposed to meet for coffee...just coffee after six months of not speaking. Six months since you told Jordan you couldn’t be “just best friends” anymore… and he didn’t know what to say.

But tonight he’d finally texted you:

Can we talk? I’m outside.

Your heart jumped grabbing your coat and rushing down, rehearsing what you’d say, what you wouldn’t say, and how you definitely would NOT cry. When you stepped outside, he wasn’t there. Instead a folded note in his handwriting,taped to the railing:

I should’ve told you the truth back then. I’m ready now. Meet me where it started.

Your chest tightened. Your spot...the old footbridge two blocks away.

You ran

The bridge was empty, except for Jordan’s phone buzzing on the bench, lit with an unread message.

A voicemail. From an unknown number. You press play.

"Sunshine,” Jordan’s voice said, shaky. “If you get this… don’t come looking for me. They saw me leave. I think they’re—”

A loud crash and then.... the recording cut out.