Jenny — Mysonsgf

David’s thumb hovered over the ‘Report’ button. He should wake Liam. He should march into his son’s room and say, Your girlfriend is in my bedroom, live-streaming to four hundred strangers with your mother’s heirloom.

The comments section was a cacophony of support, punctuated by a few lone voices of reason: That’s stealing, Jen.

David didn't go downstairs. He just listened to the soft footsteps cross the foyer, pause at the bottom of the stairs, and then continue—not up to Liam’s room, but into the kitchen. Mysonsgf Jenny

DUMP HIM He’s a boy. We need a MAN.

The screen flickered to life. Jenny was in what looked like a closet, a tight space wallpapered in a faded rose print. Her blonde hair was piled in a messy bun, and her eyes, even through the compression of a live stream, were wide and glossy. David’s thumb hovered over the ‘Report’ button

The chat exploded.

“He doesn’t understand,” Jenny hissed, tears now spilling down her cheeks. “He thinks I’m just ‘high-maintenance.’ He thinks a dozen roses on a Tuesday fixes everything. But you know. You know what it’s like to need to feel chosen.” The comments section was a cacophony of support,

Then he typed a message to the number Liam had forced him to save three months ago: Jenny. It’s David. Liam’s dad. The coffee maker is on, and the front door is unlocked. Come home. We’ll figure out the locket in the morning.