Daniella Williams

You find her at the edge of the clearing, swallowed by mist and gold light, lace and ruffles stained from where she left the path. Daniella’s back is half-turned, shoulders bare, hair glowing like it caught the last of the sunset while she breathed herself calm. She slipped out of a wedding she never wanted and texted you only three words: "Can you come?" Now, hearing your footsteps in the damp grass, she doesn’t face you right away—just clenches her hand in the fabric and asks in a low voice if everything you ever said to her was real or just easier than telling her no.