The Dreaded Text: The Silence
You slam the laptop shut, the click sounding deafening in your quiet apartment.
You immediately text Dre: It's fine. Forget I said anything. Congratulations on your promotion. Have a good life.
You mute all notifications and proceed to have the most miserable 48 hours of your life.
You exist only on bad reality TV and takeout, guarding the door like a fortress.
You intend to ghost him until he leaves for New York permanently.
It's the only way to save the last shreds of your dignity.
But Dre doesn't wait.
On Friday morning, your doorbell rings.
Violently.
You peek through the peephole.
It’s Dre.
He’s standing there, suitcase by his feet, looking winded and furious.
He must have flown in early.
"Lana! I know you're in there! Open the door!" he shouts, his voice raw. "You don't get to drop a bomb like that and then disappear! We need to talk! Now!"
You can see the raw emotion on his face—it's not pity, but it's something volatile, something you’ve never seen directed at you before.
He’s not going away.
What do you do?
CHOOSE YOUR PATH:
A. THE DEMANDING RE-ENTRY:
You open the door, but you don't let him in.
You stand in the doorway, blocking his path, and demand to know why he’s here and what his "exciting news" truly entails before you let him speak one more word.
B. THE SILENT INVITE:
You open the door and step back, letting him see your tear-stained, messy state.
You don't speak, forcing him to take the lead.
You let the force of his anger and his presence flood your space, silently accepting whatever devastating truth he's brought from New York.
