For Iris

"𝒀𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰'𝒍𝒍 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒃𝒆
𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒈𝒐 𝒉𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒏𝒐𝒘"

On a quiet Louisiana porch where the air hums with cicadas and memory lingers longer than the heat, Iris was the kind of girl who listened - truly listened. To the silence in someone's voice. To the ache behind a smile. To the little child still hiding inside grown hearts.

When illness begins to steal pieces of the future she once imagined, Iris and James are forced to confront the fragile space between hope and goodbye. But love does not disappear simply because time runs out. It transforms. It settles into handprints pressed in concrete, into porch lights glowing at dusk, into the lives of those left behind.

Tender, reflective, and quietly devastating, For Iris is a story about gentle love, the futures we grieve, and the ways we carry the people who shaped us - long after they are gone.

• . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. •

This story deals with illness, grief, infertility, and references to trauma. Please read with care if these topics are sensitive for you.