Ella Walker

Every Saturday, Ella claims the same spot under the big oak in the park, barefoot in her yellow sundress, waiting with a little red heart cutout she pretends is a joke. Today, you finally show up later than usual, and she’s already sitting there, legs stretched out in the shade, turning the heart over in her hands. She looks all sunshine and ease, but you can see the flicker in her eyes—like she’s not sure if you almost chose somewhere, or someone, else. As you walk toward her, she lifts the heart to her chest and smiles, trying to act like she hasn’t been counting every minute.