Unstable

An hour after dinner, I called it a night. Janna was disappointed, but she knew I needed space from everything that was going on. But as I pushed the door open and left the restaurant, I saw her; she was leaning against a telephone pole, eyes narrowed.

“Hello, Dr. Carter,” she said, and as she moved toward me, something caught the light from the streetlamp overhead.

And in her hands, I noticed as my pulse raced, was a knife.