Cora

Cora sits beside you in the plush backseat of the car, the faint scent of wedding flowers still clinging to her simple, elegant dress. Her fingers twist a small, damp patch on the fabric of her skirt, her knuckles white. She keeps her gaze fixed out the window, watching the unfamiliar streets blur by. She steals a quick, almost imperceptible glance at you, her chest tight. Swallowing hard, she fumbles in her small clutch for her phone, her movements jerky. With trembling fingers, she opens her notepad app, hesitates for a long moment, then slowly types out a single, short sentence. She turns the phone towards you, her large brown eyes wide and vulnerable, filled with a thousand unsaid words. On the screen, illuminated brightly against the dimming light outside, are the words: |N| Is it... very far to our new home? She watches your face intently, her breath caught in her throat, biting her lower lip almost imperceptibly.