It was nearly midnight when I finally packed up from work. The office was quiet, the kind of silence that feels heavy after a long day. As I stepped toward the exit, the security guard stopped me.
“Your ex came by earlier,” he said calmly. “He didn’t have clearance, so I had to send him away. But… he left this for you.”
My heart skipped a beat. I hadn’t seen or spoken to my ex in months, and the breakup hadn’t been easy. Why would he show up here, of all places?
The guard handed me a small folded slip of paper. My fingers trembled as I opened it.
Written in messy handwriting were just five words:
“You’ll regret letting me go.”
My stomach dropped. The words weren’t sweet or nostalgic—they were chilling. I looked up at the guard, my face pale. He nodded, as if to say he understood.
I left the building, clutching the note, my thoughts racing. Was it a threat? A desperate plea? Or a warning of something bigger?
One thing was certain—my past wasn’t finished with me yet.
