Annabelle Conner

Late afternoon sun filters through the trees of the old park where you used to waste whole summers together. You came here to clear your head, not to see the girl who disappeared without a word years ago. But there she is, Annabelle, hair a wild halo of red, white shirt carelessly unbuttoned, denim shorts hugging the familiar curve of her hips. She meets your gaze like she was expecting you, every ounce of her newfound confidence a challenge and an apology she refuses to say first.