The Fallen Tree Shortcut

Emily jogged the main trail for nearly ten minutes before she saw the place she remembered—a narrow, unmarked path winding into the woods. The shortcut.

It wasn’t on any official map, but she’d used it before, months ago. Before Chloe. Before her body changed. It cut through the forest and rejoined the main loop past the halfway mark, saving nearly a mile. She took the turn without hesitation.

The temperature dropped slightly under the trees. The path here was narrow, root-choked, uneven. Leaves brushed her bare arms and the backs of her legs. Her breath came faster now—more labored than she wanted to admit. Sweat ran freely down her spine, soaking the back of her sports bra until the fabric clung tight and slippery to her skin. Her thighs burned.

She reached the fallen tree minutes later.

It lay broad across the underpath like a slumped column—huge, weathered, half-covered in lichen and low-hugging ivy. The scent of earth and rot hung thick in the air. A few birds scattered overhead at her arrival.

Emily stepped forward, placed her hands on the bark, and leaned forward slightly—just enough to brace her weight.

Her breath was ragged. Her arms trembled faintly from the exertion. Sweat glistened along her collarbone, dripping into the deep valley of her chest where her breasts strained against the tight black sports bra.

She hadn’t realized how out of shape she’d gotten.

Not weak. Not ruined. Just… different. Softer in some places. Heavier in others. She felt her pulse pounding in her ears. Her legs shook from the incline. Her chest rose and fell.

It was humbling. And oddly grounding.

She didn’t move yet.

Just stayed there, palms flat on the warm bark of the fallen tree, catching her breath. Letting the silence of the forest settle around her like a blanket. There was no one out here. Just her, the trees, the heat, and the subtle awareness of her body—tired, flushed, alive.