Fb View Profile [better] -

He might not check for days, she thought. Maybe he’ll never notice.

She set the phone down for real this time. Outside, a car passed, headlights sweeping across her empty living room. fb view profile

You viewed David Cross’s profile. 1 minute ago. He might not check for days, she thought

She jabbed the screen, but Facebook, in its infinite indifference, offered no undo. Only the mute, damning permanence of a view . He would see it. Not a notification—worse. A quiet little breadcrumb trail of her loneliness, left on his “Visitors” tab for him to find at 2 a.m. when he couldn’t sleep. Outside, a car passed, headlights sweeping across her

“No, no, no—”

But David would know. He would see her name— Elaine Park —hovering there like a ghost at a window, and he would remember everything: the last fight, the slammed door, the way she’d said “Don’t ever talk to me again” and meant it, until tonight, when her thumb betrayed her.

Elaine’s breath stopped. She didn’t know her thumb had moved again until she saw the gray bar appear at the top of her screen: