Shirley Thorne's heartbreak began on her social media feed.
[Dinner in the bedroom. Not bad.]
Caption: A pre-packaged meal on a tray table.
[Sharing a link: A dissertation on how to cook a male chauvinist pig?]
The article's image: A textbook on male virtue.
[Every day is post-WWII.]
Caption: The art of strategy in a Cold War mentality.
Meredith Rowan, who checked her feed daily, saw Shirley's various pointed posts and couldn't resist sending her a private message.
[Shirley, what's been going on with you lately...]
Shirley Thorne didn't even have to think, simply copying and pasting from her saved replies.
[I'm fine. Just posting random stuff.]
She gave the same dismissive reply to every curious soul who asked, which led everyone to believe she wasn't "just posting random stuff" at all. There had to be a deeper problem.
