He watches her stumbling up the hill towards him, the hem of her gown soiled and wet.
He’s not hiding, simply waiting to be found.
“Why?” she says, on reaching him.
“We had something beautiful,” he says, “why wasn’t it enough?”
She shrugs, spreading her upturned palms.
“I wanted everything to be perfect.”
Down in the valley, their guests pick half-heartedly at the banquet, before retrieving their gifts and heading for home.
The village hall is silent, save for the gentle whisper of balloons nudging each other, and the endless drone of bluebottles feasting on the uncut, frosted pink wedding-cake.
Six hundred miles and two nights with less than three hours sleep – but still good to meet up with the family after way too long. Inspiring photo-prompt this week from the Friday Fictioneers genial host, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.