The road turned mean under an early September snowstorm. Icy switchbacks knifed along a drop so steep the birch clung to the slope out of stubbornness. The Glenn Highway vanished behind our truck in sheets of white as we climbed toward Chickaloon, mountains folding inward, dark and close. Wind pressed against the truck like it wanted inside.
Content Note: This story contains a brief reference to suicide. Please take care while reading. The ringing phone dragged me out of a dream. I rolled toward the noise and groped for the phone. Sleet pecked at the windowpanes like fingernails. A distorted voice slid into my ear. Walk away from the case. Accidents happen. I jolted upright. A sudden weight landed on the bed. My collie Zeke, warm breath stirring my chin. His dark eyes met mine, they way…
Maggie carried herself like the model professional—pressed blazer, polished nod, expression set to neutral. Her pen sketched blood. On the legal pad half hidden by her keyboard tray, she wrote in small script, Sixteen Ways to Kill Your Managers. Number one: staple gun to jugular. Efficient. No mess. No evidence trail.Number two: office chair ejector seat, fifth-floor window. Add parachute? Optional. Ken’s voice cut across the room, booming through his story. Maggie angled her ear, catching the punchline just in…
My dogs turn in smug unison when the door clicks shut on the guy they can’t stand. The collie lifts his chin like he just won a courtroom case; the golden narrows her eyes with the glow of someone who escaped a family Zoom call. “Don’t gloat.” I nudge the collie’s rump with my foot, and he absorbs the tap like a weighted pillow with opinions. A chuckle drifts from the kitchen, warm as the overhead light pooling against…
Three months after Kara’s last text—I found the answer—I parked at the Summit Creek trailhead. I’d torn through her left-behinds for a clue—found only a Post-it written on the run: Summit > South Spur > Ridge. I killed the engine. The trail, a half-swallowed scar, pulled me in. Devil’s club towered sky-high. Bear scat gleamed. A single bird called out—one long, metallic whistle that pierced the trees and died. I kept moving—not because I believed Kara had found the answer,…
I didn’t get the house. Not the Lexus, the lake lot, the gilded dental practice or the damn espresso machine I bought him the year he started molar sculpting. I got a one-room cabin. Ninety miles south of Anchorage. No plumbing. A stove that belches smoke. A roof that drips snowmelt onto my bed. Daniel handed it over like a favor. Like a pat on the head for staying quiet. Like I wouldn’t notice he kept everything else. He tossed…
I hadn’t returned to the cabin—not since the bear. Now, alder branches clawed at my sleeves as I climbed the ridge, snagging like they meant to stop me. The wind rattled through spruce needles, brittle with rime. Snow fell in hard, wind-blown flurries that needled my neck. The brush closed behind me, a trapdoor slamming shut—no path back, only forward. Cold chewed through my jacket and sank deep. Late May on the Kenai Peninsula never pretended to be spring. I…
I catch the flinch in your eyes.Do you think I chose to live like this?I once owned a bed, a sofa, and a kitchen table.Hope sat beside me in the mornings, warm in the steam of my coffee.My hands held dreams.My hands cradled children.Then, the ground crumbled under me. If you see a woman huddled on the street, take another look.I see a survivor.A woman who raised herself from the wreckage—and walked.My scars tell stories of love lost and nights…
Lost in the woods. Tracked by danger. A choice she can't outrun. When I’d started the hike, solitude had felt like a gift—space to breathe, to let the silence scour away the months of second-guessing and what-ifs. Time to decide what comes next. Now, as stingy sunlight bled away, unease pooled under my ribs, spreading with every breath. Massive storm clouds, bellies swollen with rain, crouched over the mountains. The wind bared its teeth, snapping through my jacket. …
When you spotted me, your face slammed shut. Judgment flashed from your eyes—quick as breath, but I caught it. Then you sped up. Were you afraid I might reach for you? When you laid eyes on me, who did you see? A woman hunched against brick, wrapped in layers? Look again. I see a survivor. A woman who raised herself from wreckage and kept walking. My scars tell stories of nights survived, of battles fought with nothing but breath. Do…
