Oh no, here we go, welcome to the shit show

She wanted to tell Rowan about him. She needed to. But every time she tried to imagine the words, they tangled up into something messy and heavy and impossible.

It wasn’t just fear of being judged.

It was fear of being abandoned.

Her stomach twisted.

The couch shifted as Emma flopped down beside her, a bag of trail mix in hand.

“You’re brooding,” Emma said around a mouthful of almonds.

Sutton made a face. “Am not.”

“Are too.” Emma nudged her sisters shoulder. “You’ve got your broody face on. Eyebrows all furrowed, staring into space like a sad indie movie protagonist.”

Sutton sighed and closed her laptop. “It’s not that dramatic.”

Emma arched a brow. “Okay, drama queen. Then tell me what’s going on.”

Sutton hesitated, chewing the inside of her cheek.

“It’s Rowan,” she finally admitted. “I just… I feel like I’m lying to her.”

Emma leaned back against the couch cushions. “Because you haven’t told her about AJ?”

Sutton nodded, gaze dropping to her lap. Her fingers twisted together in her hoodie sleeves.

“We’re getting closer,” she said, voice soft. “We talk every day. About stupid stuff and serious stuff and everything in between. I feel like I could really… fall for her.”

Emma smiled gently. “That’s amazing, Sutton.”

“It should be.” Sutton swallowed thickly. “But it’s like… there’s this wall between us that she doesn’t even know is there. And every day I don’t tell her, it gets taller. Stronger. I keep thinking: what if she finds out and feels betrayed? What if she thinks I don’t trust her?”

Emma was quiet for a moment, just reaching over to tug playfully at a strand of Sutton’s hair.

“Listen,” she said, “you’re not a villain because you’re scared. You’re protecting your kid. You’re protecting yourself. That’s not lying. That’s surviving.”

Sutton exhaled slowly, the knot in her chest loosening just a little.

But not enough.

AJ let out a squeal of laughter, slapping his bear with enthusiasm. Sutton smiled despite herself, reaching over to smooth his blond hair.

“I hate feeling like I’m hiding him,” she whispered.

“You’re not hiding him forever,” Emma reminded her. “You’re waiting until you feel safe. There’s a difference.”

Sutton wasn’t sure it felt different.

Her phone buzzed again, pulling her attention.

This time she opened it.

Rowan: Hey, you. Not to sound creepy, but I miss talking to you even when it’s only been a few hours. Also, is it weird that I really want to hear your voice instead of just texting?

Sutton’s heart gave a painful little thud.

God, Rowan was so good.

So warm and real and funny.

Exactly the kind of person Sutton had always dreamed about but never truly believed she deserved.

And Sutton was keeping such a huge piece of herself locked away.

She quickly typed back:

Sutton: Not weird at all. I’d love to talk too. When AJ’s down for his nap, maybe I can call?

As soon as she hit send, Sutton winced.

She hadn’t meant to type “AJ.”

Panic flared.

But Rowan replied instantly, as if it hadn’t registered:

Rowan: Sounds perfect. I’ll be waiting by my phone like a total dork.

Sutton let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

Another narrow escape.

But how many more could she survive before the truth ripped its way out of her?

She tucked her knees to her chest, resting her chin atop them, staring out the window at the thickening clouds.

Sooner or later, the storm she was brewing would have to break.

⸻

Later that afternoon, after Sutton had finally coaxed AJ down for his nap with two stories and a lot of cuddles, she called Rowan.

Hearing her voice was like stepping into warm sunlight.

“Hey, stranger,” Rowan teased, her Tennessee accent wrapping around the words like a hug.

“Hey yourself,” Sutton said, smiling.

They talked about everything and nothing—favorite foods (Rowan’s guilty pleasure was gas station taquitos), worst first dates (Sutton’s included an allergic reaction to sushi), and whether pineapple belonged on pizza (Rowan was pro, Sutton was vehemently anti).

It felt easy.

Natural.

Dangerously good.

At one point, after a particularly terrible joke about nurses being professional “flu fighters,” Rowan laughed so hard she actually snorted.

Sutton’s heart melted into a puddle.

“This is gonna sound crazy,” Rowan said once they’d both stopped laughing, “but I really feel like I’ve known you forever.”

“Me too,” Sutton whispered.

There was a long pause. Comfortable. Intimate.

Then Rowan spoke again, her voice softer now:

“So, what do you think? Should we make a plan? To meet?”

Sutton’s stomach flipped. Hard.

“Yes,” she said, barely above a whisper. Then stronger: “Yes, I’d like that.”

Rowan’s smile was audible through the phone. “I’m already looking at halfway points between Grandville and Nashville.”

Sutton laughed, a little breathless.

“God, you’re serious.”

“Dead serious. I don’t wanna wait another two months. Life’s too short, right?”

Sutton bit her lip, heart hammering.

Life was too short. And Sutton wanted this. She wanted to see Rowan’s face in real life, to hear her laugh without a phone between them. To know if the connection they shared was as real as it felt through glowing screens.

But the fear was still there, gnawing at the edges of her joy.

The fear that once Rowan knew everything—the beautiful parts and the broken ones—she wouldn’t want Sutton at all.

She tucked her legs under herself and stared out the window again.

The sky was darkening.

Maybe it was fitting.

A storm was coming.

And Sutton wasn’t sure she could stop it.

AJ was already tucked into his crib, having worn himself out after a thrilling half-hour of running-and falling-in circles around the living room in his Batman onesie. Now, the house was blanketed in stillness, the baby monitor glowing on the side table like a nightlight for Sutton herself.

She flicked through her texts before opening her Tumblr DMs. Her heart did that now-familiar flutter when she saw the notification.

Rowan: Okay I have to ask—was the girl who played commander Lexa in “The 100” grown in a lab? Because that woman’s face… it’s a weapon.

Sutton barked a laugh, quickly typing back.

Sutton: Not just her face. That voice?? That way she talked?? That girl speaks and my taxes pay themselves.

Rowan: I’d marry her AND Clarke. At the same time. With matching rings. I’d change my last name to theirs. Start our own clan..

Sutton: Rowan Kom Lezkru sounds powerful. I’d join that clan.

Rowan: LMAO… I’d let you.

Their banter flowed like water now, a rhythm they’d settled into without even realizing it. Every night for the past couple months, they talked—about everything and nothing. It started with books and shows, but soon expanded into daily annoyances, childhood stories, career woes, and occasionally, quiet admissions of fears they didn’t say out loud to anyone else.

Sutton found herself looking forward to it more than she wanted to admit. It was ridiculous, wasn’t it? Getting attached to someone she’d never even heard speak aloud. But Rowan had a way of making her feel… seen. Like the version of herself that still existed beyond diapers and early shifts and exhaustion.

She reached for her water bottle and read Rowan’s next message.

Rowan: So today I had this patient who insisted on calling me “Nurse Ellie” the entire time, and no matter how many times I corrected him, he just smiled like, “Sure, Ellie.”

Sutton: At least it’s cute. One of my patients today called me “Satan Wixx.”

Rowan: …please tell me you wore red scrubs.

Sutton: Worse. Purple ones. He said it was the color of evil.

Rowan: He’s not wrong. Purple is sus.

Sutton: This feels like slander against Prince.

Rowan: Never. I’d never disrespect the purple rain king.

Sutton smiled, leaning her head back against the couch cushions. The house smelled faintly of lavender from the diffuser she’d turned on earlier, and she allowed herself to close her eyes for a second, letting the comfort of Rowan’s words settle over her like a weighted blanket.

Then, another message popped through.

Rowan: Hey, random question. What’s your go-to comfort movie?

Sutton sat up, grinning. That was an easy one.

Sutton: “Bend It Like Beckham.” Hands down.

Rowan: Oh my God, yes. The queer undertones. The late ‘90s vibes. The soundtrack? Flawless.

Sutton: I wanted to be Jess. Or date Jess. Or just… be in that movie forever.

Rowan: You totally give off Jess energy, honestly. Like, tough but soft? Loyal? And secretly hot in a hoodie?

Sutton stared at the message, cheeks warming. She didn’t know how Rowan did that—slipping compliments into casual conversation like it wasn’t a big deal. Like she wasn’t turning Sutton’s insides to soup with just a few words.

She took a deep breath and replied.

Sutton: Okay, that’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me this month. Your turn. What’s yours?

Rowan: “Fried Green Tomatoes.”

Sutton: Another queer-coded classic. Your taste is impeccable.

Rowan: I cried when I first saw it. Idgie and Ruth had me in a chokehold.

Sutton: They still do.

Rowan: You know, if we ever meet, we should have a movie night with all the best sapphic cinema. I’ll bring popcorn and wine.

The words hit Sutton like a gentle jolt. If we ever meet.

She bit her bottom lip, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. It wasn’t the first time the idea had crept into her mind, but it was the first time it had been said—typed—out loud. Real.

Would they ever meet?

And if they did… what would Rowan think of her? Of AJ?

Would she think Sutton was a liar for not saying anything sooner?

She hadn’t meant to keep AJ a secret. It just felt safer, somehow, to preserve this one part of her life where she was just Sutton. Not “Mom” or “the girl who kept a rape baby.” Just a 26-year-old nurse who liked fanfiction and PB&J sammiches while having 2 a.m. conversations with a beautiful stranger.

Still, she needed to say something. Soon.

But not tonight.

Tonight, she wanted to stay in this warm little bubble of what-if.

Sutton: You really think we’d vibe in real life?

Rowan: I think we already do. You make me laugh. You make me feel… safe, somehow. Like I don’t have to be anyone but myself. I like that.

Sutton swallowed hard. Her fingers trembled slightly as she typed.

Sutton: I feel that way with you too.

There was a pause.

Then…

Rowan: Then maybe we should think about meeting.

Sutton’s stomach flipped. She read the words again, then again, heart thudding like a slow drumbeat.

Sutton: You serious?

Rowan: Yeah. I mean… we talk every night. I already feel like I know you. I’d love to actually meet you. Even if it’s just for a weekend.

Sutton: I think I’d like that.

There it was. The line crossed. The shift from fantasy to possibility.

Sutton leaned her head back again, this time letting herself smile fully. It wasn’t a commitment, not yet. But it was something.

Something real.

Just as she was about to say more, the monitor crackled. AJ let out a little whimper, half-asleep, before settling again with a soft sigh. Sutton got up quietly, crossing the room and peeking into his nursery. Her heart softened at the sight of him—his soft curls stuck to his forehead, one chubby hand clutching his blanket.

“I love you so much, baby boy,” she whispered. “Always.”

She returned to the couch and typed one last message for the night.

Sutton: Let’s keep talking about it. I’ll figure things out. But yeah… I’d really like to meet you too, Rowan.

The reply came a second later.

Rowan: You just made my whole week, Sutton Wixx.

And somewhere, deep inside, Sutton felt something shift. Not just flutter. Not just hope.

The baby monitor crackled slightly, and Sutton instinctively turned to look at it, heart lifting at the quiet rhythmic breaths it transmitted. AJ was asleep. Finally. He’d fought bedtime like a tiny warrior, complete with pouty lips and his soft fists clutched around his favorite dinosaur pajama top. But he was asleep now. His chest rising and falling in the quiet lull of dreams. Sutton let out a soft breath. One small victory for today.

Her thumb flicked lazily up her phone screen, pausing every so often on a fanart of a book character she loved or a quote that hit too close to home. She stopped when she saw a reblog of The Freshman, a Choices book she had replayed more times than she could count. The post had a drawing of the main characters—bright, hopeful, full of life—and in the tags, someone had written, “Still my comfort story. I would’ve dated Becca and made MC a single mom with a law degree if I could.”

Sutton chuckled and reblogged it, adding her own comment: “If Becca and MC don’t end up together in the Choices multiverse, I will riot.”

Not ten minutes later, a notification popped up.

rowansheart commented on your post:

“RIGHT?! Finally someone who gets it. Becca was such a queen. And MC being a single mom? Kind of love that idea.”

Sutton blinked, then clicked the profile. The icon was a minimalist sun and moon design, the blog neat and curated—mostly fanfics, book rants, and cozy aesthetics. The bio said simply: “Rowan. 28. Nurse. Southern vibes and fictional crushes.”

Something about it made Sutton smile. She replied back.

“This is my hill to die on. Becca redemption arc, let’s go.”

She set the phone down for a moment, staring up at the ceiling. A yawn crept up on her, but she fought it back. She wasn’t ready to give in to sleep yet. Night was the only time she had to herself. The rest of her hours belonged to scrubs and IV lines and patient charts—and at home, to baby wipes, lullabies, and AJ’s endless energy.

She picked the phone back up, heart giving a small jump when she saw another reply.

“I have a whole headcanon that MC became a lawyer after everything and is raising her kid on her own in a city apartment with Becca as the flirty roommate who eventually confesses her love during a snowstorm.”

Sutton grinned. She could picture it clearly. And just like that, a conversation was born. They kept going back and forth—Rowan was sharp, witty, warm. It felt natural. Easy. The way good conversations were supposed to feel, with no pressure or performance.

Minutes turned to hours.

They talked about other books, their favorite tropes (Rowan hated love triangles, Sutton loved a good rivals-to-lovers), what it was like being a nurse in their respective corners of the world. Sutton found herself laughing out loud more than once—genuine, belly-deep laughs she hadn’t felt in longer than she cared to admit. She didn’t mention AJ. She never did. Not because she was ashamed, but because she was protective—fiercely so. The world could be cruel and judging, and she wouldn’t let it touch her son.

Not again.

Not after how he came into it.

Her smile faltered for a moment. Her gaze drifted toward the photo on her nightstand—a small frame holding a candid shot of her holding AJ in the hospital room. Her mother had snapped it on the first day she became someone’s mother. Sutton’s face had been pale, eyes ringed with fatigue, but she was smiling. Holding AJ like he was the only light in the universe—and maybe he was.

The memory of that night—the worst night of her life—pushed at the edges of her mind like a dark tide. Joe. The name felt like glass on her tongue. She hadn’t said it out loud in two years.

She had begged him to stop. Slurred and scared, trying to push him away, saying no again and again and again. But he hadn’t listened.

And in the aftermath, she blamed herself. The drinking. The clothes. The trusting. God, how could she have trusted anyone?

For weeks, she’d lived in a fog of shame and disbelief. Then came the test. Two lines. A heartbeat.

She had driven out to the lake that day. Sat in the car with the windows down and screamed until her throat was raw. She didn’t know what to do. How could she raise a child from something so cruel? But in the end, she’d looked down at her belly, her hands shaking, and whispered, “I’ll love you anyway. I’ll love you so hard it’ll erase him.”

And she had.

AJ was her everything.

A soft ping drew her back. Another message from Rowan.

“Sorry, I get carried away when I talk about fictional stuff. It’s just… it makes me forget the real stuff for a while, you know?”

Sutton paused. Her fingers hovered over the keys.

“I get that. Escaping into stories is safer than letting people in.”

A beat.

“Exactly. You get it. Most people don’t.”

Sutton stared at that line for a long time.

The room was quiet except for the monitor and the rustle of wind. Outside, the city buzzed faintly in the distance, a lullaby of late-night sounds. Inside, Sutton sat with her phone against her chest and eyes fixed on the baby photo beside her.

Maybe, she thought, maybe this was the start of something.