The rain on the roof of the small Nashville apartment sounded like static on a radio station that wouldn't quite come in. Jackson sat at the Formica kitchen table, staring at the screen of his phone. It was 2:14 AM.

He presses it. It rings. She doesn't answer. He is left with the agonizing echo of an unanswered call in the middle of the night.

Jackson’s thumb shook slightly. He could almost hear the song they used to dance to playing in the distance, or maybe it was just the ringing in his own ears. He remembered the smell of her perfume, a mix of vanilla and rain, and for a second, the decision seemed easy. The Decision

With a slow, heavy exhale, Jackson hit the backspace button. He watched the numbers disappear one by one until the screen was blank. He locked the phone and flipped it face down on the table.