I’ve started this post six times and deleted it every single time. My hands are shaking as I type this seventh attempt. If you’re reading this, it means I finally…
I left her gasping. Not dramatically—no slammed doors, no final scream. Just the soft click of the hospital room latch at 3:17 a.m. while the monitors beeped their indifferent rhythm.…
Not one lie—hundreds, stacked like Jenga blocks inside a body that learned early how to smile on cue. My name is whatever you need it to be. My laugh is…
I still smell the gardenias. They were everywhere that night, thick in the humid July air, pinned into her veil, woven into the arch where she would say “I do”…