Victoria sat on the building’s ledge, her bare feet dangling into the oblivion.
She had been waiting for the lunch crowd below to thin out before committing the unthinkable. Then she spotted a bird fluttering in the crisp autumn air before watching it land on the stone ledge beside her.
Anyone else would swear it was a sign. Not Victoria. She didn’t believe in signs. But now, on her possible last day, an eastern bluebird appears. Her beloved aunt’s favorite. The one they used to watch together in grandma’s backyard garden.
A freaking eastern bluebird.
Because of course it was.
The Weekday One Hundred 