The Worst Part of Silence

The phone buzzed at 2:17 a.m. “I told them everything.” His chest tightened. Outside,

sirens stitched the night together. He replayed the promise they’d made—no matter what,

we stay silent. Another text came through. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t live

with it anymore.” He looked at the blood drying on his hands, then at the door

as heavy footsteps climbed the stairs. The sirens stopped. And in the sudden quiet,

he realized the worst part wasn’t getting caught— it was knowing the betrayal hurt more

than prison ever would