IRIS

It’s been days since I said goodbye to Darian.

No message, no knock, nothing.

I sit on the wooden porch, knees pulled close, fingers tracing cracks in the boards. The sky is pale, the wind whispering through pines. My heart feels hollow with worry.

I hear soft footsteps approaching behind me. Grandfather steps out quietly, in jeans and a worn sweater, carrying a firm but soft look. He claims a chair beside me and settles without a word.

“How are you doing, Iris?”

I keep my eyes forward, wind whipping at hair. I don’t answer.

He turns to me. His voice softer. “I know we’ve argued. But I need...