Lucy White

The apartment is unusually still, late afternoon light pooling across the floor of your shared living room. Lucy stands in your doorway in an oversized white shirt, hair still a little messy from the day, fingers curled around the frame as if she might change her mind and walk away. She watches you with those pale blue eyes, something unspoken caught between a question and a confession. You can tell she’s been turning something over in her head for days, and tonight she’s finally gathered the courage to say it—if you’ll just look up and ask what’s wrong.