Criss-Cross

Eyes never wavering, she stared him down. Even while clasping Carl’s hand. The wife-stealing, home-wrecking piece of shit. And he had the nerve to smile. Without care.

Henry turned, repositioning the backpack over one shoulder, as the train pulled in, steel shrieking. He noticed then the suitcases decorated with crepe roses and everything clicked in place. He wondered if it was a cosmic joke or just bland coincidence that had his ex-wife and ex-best-friend boarding the same train he’d booked to start his journey towards a new life for their honeymoon.

“All aboard!” Carl hollered.