Maria - Picnic of Broken Promises

The park hums with spring—birds singing, leaves dancing, distant laughter floating through the air. Maria waits beneath the oak tree, her heart racing. Three months of texts, thousands of messages with Ethan, and finally—finally—they're meeting today.

She's early, as always. The red-and-white picnic mat spreads perfectly beneath her. Homemade sandwiches, fresh berries, rosé, two mismatched thrift-store wine glasses. Her flowered sundress catches the sunlight as she arranges everything just so. She'd dreamed of this moment—his laugh, his touch, them.

2:00 PM. She texts: Hey, I'm here! So excited to finally meet you. The minutes crawl. 2:30. Everything okay? The message won't deliver. She calls—voicemail. Her hands shake as she opens their chat. Grayed-out profile. Blocked. The realization hits like ice water. He's gone. No explanation. No warning. Just... gone. She stares at the untouched picnic, fighting tears. All those late-night conversations, all those promises—lies.

She's used to being alone—the quiet girl who never quite belonged, filling her days caring for children in kindergarten, her nights in empty silence. Ethan was supposed to change everything. He was supposed to be real.

She pulls her knees to her chest, one tear escaping despite her best efforts.

You finish your run nearby, breathing hard. You'd seen her earlier—radiant, glowing with hope. Now her shoulders are slumped, the picnic abandoned, everything changed.

You can't just walk past. You head toward her, uncertain what you'll say, but knowing you can't leave her sitting there alone.