flip-flops (10)

It didn’t feel like betrayal. It felt like a breath. On her way back to the car, she passed a stall selling handmade flip-flops. Bright ones. Unworn. A pair in green caught her eye. Not Jamie’s color.

Something new. She bought them. She didn’t know if she’d wear them. But she liked the idea of starting with something her own. The rubber felt soft in her hands, strange yet comforting.

She imagined the sound they’d make on pavement, light and free. Maybe she’d take them to the beach next weekend—alone. The thought didn’t sting this time. It felt, quietly, like possibility.