Logan
The park wasn’t supposed to get under my skin.
It was overgrown, half-rotted, and completely useless in terms of optics. No press platform. No dignitaries. Just cracked stone, tangled vines, and the memory of someone who used to believe in playgrounds and benches and places for children to feel safe.
And Emily. Moving through that ruin like she belonged to it.
No, that wasn’t right. Like it belonged to her.
I’d expected something symbolic. Maybe a display of sentimentality she could leverage later. But she hadn’t looked for a camera once.
She didn’t even seem to care if I said yes to helping her. She just wanted me to see it.
That stayed with me.
Now, hours later, I sat at my desk while a breeze rattled the window, flipping the edge of a legal report I’d already read twice.
