Whitney decided that it wasn’t worth running around all night worried. And if Dillon returned the truck at midnight rather than in the afternoon, would she really be so worse off? 
    But as the night grew later, Whitney found that she wasn’t getting tired. She was only getting more stressed, more worried, more furious. 
    She tried laying down in bed, tried reading a boring old book she’d kept from a medieval theology class in college, tried taking deep breaths between sips of red wine, but couldn’t sleep. More than the truck, she kept remembering moments of living with Dillon. The disrespect for her things, for her time, for her worries and anxieties, they weren’t new. They were a speed bump the two of them drove over every day of their relationship, but which only Whitney ever seemed to notice.  
    At 4am, still awake, Whitney got a call from an unknown number. It was the police letting her know that a truck registered to her had been crashed and abandoned. 

The End