He bombarded her with text messages all day long. Inanities about where he was working and what he was having for lunch. Funny little anecdotes about his day. Reeling her into his life. Mildly bemused if not a little irritated at the banality of them. she gradually began to enjoy his little messages and relaxed into the daily rhythm of the regular contact. It showed an interest that was reassuring. It made her feel good.
Until, out of the blue they stopped. No signs. No warnings. Just a sudden drop off. So she asked if everything was ok. Yes of course came the reply. She messaged later and the reply took hours to a basic ‘how’s your day going?’. The same bollox she’d had to stop work and reply to for the last 3 weeks.
It wasn’t the set up for a fall she couldn’t fathom. It was the little manipulations. The suggested idea that she must have imagined it all. The cowardice. The adolescent behaviour from a middle aged man.