IRIS

After a short drive, he stops at a quiet meadow just on the edge of the forest, the kind of place that seems pulled from a dream.

The grass is soft and green, dotted with little white and yellow wildflowers, and there’s a blanket spread out with a wicker basket waiting. A small bouquet of daisies sits in the middle, tied with a thin ribbon.

“You did all this?” I ask, eyes wide, voice barely above a whisper.

He shrugs casually, though I know the lie immediately. “I had some help. But mostly… I just wanted it to be perfect for you.”

I feel a rush of warmth at...