Mr. Jefferson

Nicole retreated to the bedroom, the suffocating silence of the breakfast table still ringing in her ears. She peeled off her workday attire, the fabric clinging to her damp skin. She slid into tight, charcoal-grey spandex that hugged the curve of her hips and a racerback top that strained against her chest.

John leaned against the doorframe, his eyes dull and his shoulders slumped from weeks of unemployment. He watched her lace up her sneakers, his expression unreadable.

"You're heading out?" he asked, his voice devoid of energy.

"I need to clear my head, John. Just a quick run."
"Daniel is still in the living room," he noted.

Nicole paused, her fingers tightening around the laces.

"I know where my brother is."

She stepped outside, the morning air biting at her skin with a crisp, metallic scent of impending rain. Her sneakers pounded the pavement in a rhythmic thud, a heartbeat echoed in the asphalt. She pushed her pace, muscles burning and sweat beading along her spine, trying to outrun the mental image of Mr. Jefferson’s smirk. The park loomed ahead, a sprawling expanse of emerald grass and towering, ancient oaks that filtered the sunlight into jagged shards of gold.

As she reached the edge of the koi pond, her chest heaving, the sharp chime of her phone broke the tranquility. She pulled the device from her armband, the screen illuminating a message from the one man who owned her silence.