The Last Glass

The vineyard slept. Music gone. Guests gone. Only the wind moved through the vines, whispering what was left behind.

She stood still, heels in hand, the air thick with everything that had been said—and everything that hadn’t. Across the gravel, her car waited in the dark, starlight soft against its curves. She crossed the distance slowly, unhurried, as if time itself had eased its grip.

The door closed, the world stilled. With the push of a button, the engine turned over, low and steady, forcing something inside her to align.

Heels off. Engine on. Everything shifts.