For months after Sienna booked a red-eye without telling a soul, Grace visited the tree every morning. She’d pled for answers, for closure, for peace. But the chipped bark remained steadfast, looking both resilient and inexplicably frail.
Her visits became more sporadic as one year blended into the next. Now she stood at the tree’s base, tracing the heart she and Sienna had carved into its heart, the word PHYSICS in the center. She gazed across the river at the university where they’d met.
“I’m ready,” she whispered to the tree. “Wherever you are, I wish you physics. But I’m ready.”
She stepped away, never to return.
Want to receive a short story via postcard? Let me know!