Van

Julia was an absolute vision. She was the flower I’d told her she was—her petals opened. She was strong and fierce like the blossom that survived the rain, taking the nourishment that came in a heavy downpour. Instead of weakening her, she grew stronger, her stem straighter, and her bloom brighter. Despite what Madison had done to both of us, Julia was fresh and bright as the fucking sun; she lightened the room.

While Julia wore blue ...