Depressy27

She rose slowly, her hands brushing the seat as if she expected it to fade beneath her touch. The moment her feet touched the ground, a man in a tailored suit approached. His face was kind, his posture composed, and his voice carried the soothing clarity of someone used to explaining difficult things.

“Wanda Maximoff?” he asked, inclining his head. “I’ll be your coordinator. My role is to help you… transition. You’ve had a long, beautiful life. Ninety-four years.”

The words settled over her, not harsh, not shocking—just true. Wanda nodded slowly, piecing together the last moments she remembered: her family surrounding her, the weight of time pressing on her lungs, the quiet goodbye.

The man smiled softly. “This place is the junction. Everyone passes through here before moving forward.”

Wanda swallowed, her voice breaking on the very first thing that rose in her heart. “My wife… Y/N. She passed before me. A year ago. Please, tell me—”

“Wanda.”

Her name. Spoken with a warmth that froze her where she stood.

The coordinator’s explanation dissolved as Wanda turned, her breath catching in her throat.

There she was.

Y/N stood just a few steps away, looking as though the years had been peeled back—her hair gleaming, her smile radiant, her body young and whole again. Twenty-seven, the same age she had been when Wanda first fell in love with her.

“Y/N…” Wanda whispered, her hands trembling.

The smile on Y/N’s face softened into something that was all love, all patience, all home. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Wanda’s body moved before thought could catch up. She ran, her feet hardly touching the ground, and when Y/N opened her arms, Wanda launched herself forward, burying herself against the chest she had missed every single day for the past year.

The world fell away. All Wanda knew was the warmth of those arms, the press of Y/N’s lips against her hair, the tears neither of them tried to hide.

Seventy years together on Earth. A year apart in death. And now, at last, eternity in each other’s arms.

“I was so scared I’d have to wait forever,” Wanda sobbed, clinging tighter.

Y/N kissed her temple, laughing softly through her tears. “Forever doesn’t exist without you. I promised you—we’d always find each other.”

Wanda pulled back just enough to see her, her palms still framing Y/N’s face. Her lips trembled, her breath shallow.

“Where… where are we? Is this heaven?”

Before Y/N could speak, the coordinator stepped closer, his voice gentle but steady, like a practiced guide. “Not heaven, not exactly. This is the Junction. It’s the central crossing of the afterlife—a place every soul passes through.”

Wanda’s brows furrowed as she looked around, taking in the golden light, the endless horizon beyond the platform, the faint hum of something vast and alive.

“The Junction is where you decide,” the coordinator explained. “Each soul must choose where they want to spend eternity, and with whom. Sometimes, that choice is simple. Other times… not so much.” His eyes softened as they flicked between Wanda and Y/N, still clinging to one another. “For the two of you, I think the choice has already been made.”

Wanda’s throat tightened, her grip on Y/N’s hands instinctive. “So… we stay together?”

Y/N squeezed her fingers reassuringly, her smile the same one that had carried Wanda through seventy years of life. “If that’s what you want. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. I was just waiting for you.”

Wanda let out a trembling laugh, half a sob, half a sigh. “You waited a whole year.”

“A blink,” Y/N whispered, brushing her thumb across Wanda’s knuckles. “After seventy years at your side, I’d wait a thousand more if it meant this moment.”

The coordinator smiled faintly, watching them but not intruding. “That’s the beauty of the Junction. Time no longer binds you. Choices do.”

Wanda turned to him, her eyes still wet, her voice steadier now. “Then my choice is her. Always her.”

The golden light surrounding the platform shimmered, as though acknowledging the truth of her words. Y/N pulled Wanda closer, resting her forehead against hers.

“Together, then,” Y/N murmured.

“Together,” Wanda echoed, her lips brushing Y/N’s as she spoke.

The coordinator inclined his head. “Very well—”

Before he could continue, a ripple of golden light shimmered near the edge of the platform. Another figure appeared—a second coordinator, taller, more commanding, yet with an unmistakable warmth in his eyes.

“Wanda Maximoff,” he said, his voice both gentle and urgent. “I’ve been waiting… seventy-two years, exactly, for you.”

Wanda froze, her heart skipping a beat. “Waiting… for me?”

“Yes,” he replied, stepping closer. “The Junction is not just a single path. There are more options than most souls realize. Choices you may not have considered, even with eternity at your fingertips. You must breathe. Think deeply. Consider carefully before stepping forward.”

The first coordinator glanced at Wanda, hesitating, but remained silent.

The new coordinator extended a hand, pointing toward a figure standing a few paces away. Wanda’s breath caught in her chest.

Vision.

He looked exactly as she remembered him at twenty-two, bright-eyed, gentle, smiling with that same quiet intensity that had once made her heart flutter in high school. The memory of their love, so brief yet so profound, surged through her. Her first love, her first heartbreak.

Before Wanda could gather her thoughts, Vision took a step forward, then another—until he was standing right before her. Without a word, he opened his arms.

“Wanda,” he said softly, his voice a balm to her aching heart.

Wanda’s chest tightened. She looked down at Y/N’s hand still holding hers, the warmth and love she had just felt, and felt the impossible tug of two lifetimes of love. Tears pricked her eyes as she released Y/N’s hand, stepping forward into Vision’s embrace.

She buried her face against his shoulder, letting herself feel the familiar comfort, the memory of the love they had shared, the sweetness of a life cut far too short. “I… I can’t believe it,” she whispered, clutching him tightly.

Vision held her just as fiercely, resting his chin gently atop her head. “I never left, Wanda. Not truly. I’ve been waiting for you here.”

Then, a soft voice cut through the haze of memory and longing.

“Wanda…?”

She froze. The warmth in Vision’s arms suddenly felt heavy, uncertain. Wanda pulled back just enough to look over her shoulder. Y/N stood there, eyes wide and full of concern, her hand reaching out as if to anchor Wanda back to reality.

“Y/N…” Wanda’s voice wavered, torn between the past and the present, the lifetime she had shared and the first love she had lost. Her chest tightened painfully. She stepped away from Vision, guilt and longing colliding in her heart.

The Junction shimmered around them, silent but alive, waiting.

Y/N’s voice was soft, trembling, but firm, “Wanda… what’s happening? Are you okay?”

Wanda’s tears spilled freely now. She wanted to answer, to explain, to reconcile the impossible tangle of her heart. But words failed her. All she could do was look at the two people she had loved so fiercely, and feel the weight of the choice that now lay before her.

Wanda’s chest heaved as she stood frozen between the two people she loved during her life. Vision’s gentle presence was like a balm to her soul, yet the warmth and familiarity of Y/N’s hand, the lifetime of shared memories, called to her in a way nothing else could.

Sensing Wanda’s turmoil, Y/N stepped forward, her voice calm but firm. “Vision… please, step back.”

Vision’s brow furrowed, but he nodded, releasing Wanda gently. “I… understand,” he said softly, his eyes lingering on her with quiet longing before stepping aside.

Y/N turned her attention fully to Wanda. “You just arrived,” she said, her tone soft but steady. “Everything is… overwhelming. That’s okay. You don’t have to make sense of it yet. You’re still confused, and you have every right to be.”

Wanda’s lips trembled. “I… I don’t know what to do.”

Y/N smiled gently, extending her hand. “It’s ok. Let’s go rest first. I’ve prepared a place for us here—our room. Somewhere you can rest, breathe, and begin to sort through all of this. No choices need to be made yet.”

Wanda took Y/N’s hand, allowing herself to be guided by the hand that had been her anchor for seventy years. The touch was grounding, familiar, and safe.

Y/N led her down a softly glowing corridor, the Junction fading behind them into golden light. They arrived at a room suffused with warm sunlight, furnished in a way that felt like home—but better, more peaceful, timeless. A window overlooked a garden that seemed to stretch infinitely, flowers blooming in impossible colors, the air rich with the scent of lavender and rain.

“Sit,” Y/N said softly, gesturing to a plush chair by the window. Wanda did as she was told, her body heavy with exhaustion, her mind still racing.

Y/N knelt in front of her, taking both of Wanda’s hands in hers. “Breathe,” she murmured. “You don’t have to choose right now. Not yet. Just be here. With me.”

Wanda exhaled slowly, letting the tension drain from her shoulders, the warmth of Y/N’s hands grounding her. For the first time since arriving at the Junction, she felt something like peace.

“I… I don’t even know where to start,” Wanda whispered.

“Start anywhere,” Y/N replied, smiling. “I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere. Not now. Not ever.”

The room was quiet but full of possibility, and for the first time since crossing into the Junction, Wanda allowed herself to simply be—held, safe, and utterly loved.

After a while, Wanda leaned back in the chair, her hands still entwined with Y/N’s. The soft sunlight spilling through the window, the scent of the garden drifting in, and the quiet presence of Y/N gradually calmed the storm in her chest.

Y/N tilted her head, her fingers brushing lightly over Wanda’s knuckles. “How are you feeling now?” she asked softly, her voice warm and patient.

Wanda took a slow, deep breath, letting it fill her lungs before releasing it. She blinked, trying to gather her scattered thoughts. “A little… better,” she admitted, her voice still trembling. “It’s just… all of this. I didn’t expect… I didn’t expect to feel like this. Seeing you both…”

Y/N gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “I know,” she said. “It’s overwhelming. You’ve only just arrived. There’s no rush, my love. You don’t have to figure everything out at once. Not who, not where, not anything. Just… start by being here. With me.”

Wanda’s lips quivered, and she nodded, a small, tentative smile breaking through. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I… I don’t think I could face any of this without you.”

Y/N smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair from Wanda’s face. “Then don’t,” she said simply. “I’m here. That’s enough for now.”

And for the first time since stepping into the Junction, Wanda felt a fragile sense of calm, a thread of certainty woven through the confusion—because Y/N was here, guiding her, waiting with patience and love.

---

Later, the quiet of the room wrapped around them like a blanket. The golden light shifted into something softer, like twilight. Wanda and Y/N lay together on the bed, the sheets cool and smooth, the air gentle and still.

Wanda rested her head on Y/N’s chest, listening to the steady, reassuring rhythm that had once lulled her to sleep countless nights before. Her fingers traced idle patterns against Y/N’s side, as if reminding herself that this was real, that Y/N was truly here.

“They missed you, you know,” Wanda murmured, her voice quiet but filled with emotion.

Y/N’s hand stilled where it had been running through Wanda’s hair. “Our kids?”

Wanda nodded against her. “Yes. The boys, Tommy and Billy, and Lyla… they missed you so much after you were gone. Every day…I missed you so much.” Her voice cracked softly, but she pressed on. “They were all there when I… when I went, too. Right at my side. Holding my hand. Just like you would’ve been if you could.”

Tears stung Y/N’s eyes as she pressed a kiss into Wanda’s hair, her arms tightening around her. “I’m glad,” she whispered. “I hated leaving them… leaving you. But knowing they were with you, that you weren’t alone…” Her voice broke, and she swallowed hard. “That’s all I could’ve hoped for.”

Wanda lifted her head just enough to meet Y/N’s eyes, her own shimmering with tears.

“We had a beautiful life, right, my love?” she whispered, her voice trembling with both longing and gratitude.

Y/N’s gaze softened, and she lifted a hand to caress Wanda’s cheek with the gentlest touch. Her thumb brushed away a tear as she smiled, her own eyes glistening.

“The most beautiful life,” Y/N said quietly. “Better than anything I could have dreamed. You… our kids… every laugh, every fight, every kiss, every morning I woke up with you beside me—it was all beautiful. Because it was ours.”

Wanda’s lips quivered, a tear slipping down her face as she leaned into Y/N’s hand. “Even the hard years?”

“Especially the hard years,” Y/N murmured. “Because we faced them together. You were my home, Wanda. Every moment of my life that mattered was with you.”

Wanda’s breath hitched as she leaned up, pressing her lips to Y/N’s. The kiss was unhurried, lingering, filled with the weight of all their years and the relief of finding each other again. Neither of them pulled away for a long while—they simply stayed there, holding, kissing, and letting eternity begin with them.

---

The next day, Y/N laced her fingers through Wanda’s as they walked together, guided by a coordinator down a path of shimmering light. “I want to show you one of the places we could spend forever,” Y/N said with a little smile, her eyes glowing with excitement.

Wanda tilted her head, curious. “You’ve already been looking?”

“I thought I’d have to wait longer for you,” Y/N admitted softly, squeezing her hand. “But I wanted to be ready. To have something to show you.”

The light around them shifted, and then suddenly they were there—standing on soft, golden sand that stretched endlessly in both directions. The waves rolled in, gentle and warm, sparkling as though kissed by starlight. The air carried the salt of the sea, mingled with the faint sweetness of blooming flowers nearby.

Wanda inhaled deeply, her lips parting in awe. “It’s… perfect.”

They laid out together on the sand, basking in the sun that warmed them without ever burning. Wanda closed her eyes, her head resting back against Y/N’s shoulder as they soaked in the peace of it all. “I could stay here forever,” she whispered, the breeze catching in her hair.

But then—

“Wanda.”

The voice was soft, familiar, and it made Wanda sit up, her heart skipping.

Vision was standing just a few paces away on the sand, the sun painting his figure in light. He looked as young and gentle as ever, his eyes locked only on her.

Y/N’s body tensed beside her, though she kept still, watching Wanda carefully.

Wanda’s breath caught in her throat. “Vision…” she whispered, the paradise around them suddenly feeling complicated, fragile.

Her chest tightened as she looked at Y/N. She gently leave a kiss on Y/N’s cheek as she slowly pushed herself up from the sand. Y/N’s hand slid from hers, reluctant but gentle, letting her go. Wanda smoothed her dress down unconsciously, her heart pounding as she took careful steps toward the man standing just beyond the tide.

“Vision…” she whispered again, the name strange and familiar all at once on her lips.

He smiled, that same boyish smile she had fallen for so many years ago. “You look just as I remember you,” he said softly. “No—brighter. Time has been kind to you, Wanda. How old were you in this appearance?”

Her throat tightened, “I was twenty-seven…” She continues, emotion welling up. “It’s been… seventy-two years,” she said, shaking her head slightly in disbelief. “I never thought I’d see you again.”

“I’ve been waiting,” Vision replied, his eyes steady, almost pleading. “The moment I left, I knew I would wait until the day you came here. I had so much I wanted to give you. So much time I thought we’d have… taken from us.”

Wanda’s eyes shimmered with tears. She remembered the young woman she had been at twenty-one, so full of love and hope, standing beside him in a white dress, certain their forever had just begun. And then—just like that—it was gone.

“You were my first everything,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “My first love. My first heartbreak.”

Vision reached out a hand, stopping just short of touching her. “But that doesn’t mean it has to end here. Eternity is a chance to finish what was taken from us. To finally live the life we were meant to live.”

Wanda’s breath caught, her heart twisting. Behind her, she could feel Y/N’s eyes on her—not pulling, not demanding, just waiting, patient and steady, like always.

Caught between the love that had begun her story and the love that had carried her through it, Wanda stood in the golden sand, unsure which way her heart would lead.

Wanda’s lips parted, her chest rising and falling as she searched for the right words. Finally, she drew in a breath, her voice quiet but steady.

“Vision… after you died… I remarried.” Her throat tightened as she glanced over her shoulder at Y/N, sitting on the sand watching with patient eyes. “I built a life with her. A family. We had children, grandchildren… seventy years together.” Her voice broke slightly. “She was my home.”

Vision nodded slowly, his expression softening rather than hardening. “I know,” he said gently. “I saw. I was glad you found happiness, Wanda. Glad you weren’t left to face the world alone after I was gone.”

Wanda blinked at him, surprised. “You… you were glad?”

“Yes,” Vision said firmly, stepping just a little closer, though still careful not to intrude. “Because I loved you. And when you love someone, you want them to have joy, even if it’s not with you.” He paused, his eyes glimmering with longing. “But eternity is different. Here, time doesn’t steal from us. Here, we can… have something again. Even just a little. I’m not asking you to undo your life with her. I just…” His voice softened, vulnerable. “I want some time with you. To finish what we never had the chance to.”

Wanda’s breath caught, tears threatening to spill. She turned her head slightly, her gaze flicking back to Y/N—the woman who had been her partner, her anchor, the mother of her children, her forever. Y/N didn’t move toward her, didn’t interrupt. She only watched, her face full of quiet strength, waiting for Wanda to choose.

Wanda stood trembling, caught between the ache of unfinished love and the weight of a lifetime fully lived.

---

Later that day, back at the place Y/N had prepared for them, the golden glow of the Junction softened into a dusky twilight. The room was quiet, filled only with the distant hum of the infinite garden outside.

Wanda sat perched on Y/N’s lap, her legs straddling her waist, arms wrapped tight around her neck. Her cheek rested against Y/N’s shoulder, her breathing uneven. She wanted to speak, but every time her lips parted, no words came out. Instead, she held on tighter, as if clinging to Y/N might delay the inevitable conversation.

Y/N’s hands rubbed soothing circles against her back, patient and unhurried. She had felt this before—this silence, this weight in Wanda’s embrace. It always came when Wanda’s heart was tangled in something she couldn’t quite put into words.

Finally, Y/N tilted her head, pressing a gentle kiss to Wanda’s temple. Her voice was soft, steady, carrying no judgment.

“It’s okay if you want to spend some time with Vision.”

Wanda stiffened, pulling back just enough to look at her, eyes wide and shimmering. “You… you knew?”

Y/N gave her a small, sad smile, brushing a thumb across her cheek. “You always hold me like this when there’s something heavy on your heart. I knew the moment you curled up on me.”

Wanda’s throat tightened, and her hands cradled Y/N’s face, desperate, guilty, loving all at once. “I don’t… I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” Y/N assured gently, leaning into her touch. “I know what he meant to you, Wanda. He was your first love, the one you lost before you were ready. That kind of wound doesn’t just disappear, even after a lifetime with me. If spending some time with him helps you find peace… I can live with that. We have eternity now. I’m not afraid of losing you.”

Wanda’s tears spilled over, her chest heaving with emotion. “But what if you do? What if—what if I choose wrong?”

Y/N shook her head slowly, her hands sliding down to squeeze Wanda’s waist, grounding her. “There isn’t a wrong choice. There’s only your heart. And I trust yours, Wanda. I always have.”

For a long moment, Wanda stared at her—at the woman who had been her anchor through every storm, her partner in every joy and every hardship. And then she crumbled, pressing her forehead to Y/N’s, her tears dampening both their cheeks.

“I love you,” she whispered fiercely, like a vow. “No matter what happens, no matter what I feel when I look at him, I love you. You’re my home.”

Y/N closed her eyes, letting the words sink deep, her arms tightening around her. “And I love you. Enough to let you do what you need. Even if it means sharing a little of eternity.”

Wanda kissed her then, desperate and trembling, her lips tasting of tears and devotion. Y/N kissed her back, steady and patient, as though she could hold every broken, conflicted piece of her together with nothing but love.

When the kiss broke, Wanda whispered against her lips, “Promise me… you’ll never let go.”

Y/N smiled faintly, brushing her thumb across Wanda’s jaw. “Never. Not in life. Not in death. Not in eternity.”

---

In the days that followed, Wanda found herself walking beside Vision more often. He would appear at the Junction or at the different places the coordinators showed them, always with that gentle smile, always eager to share a memory.

At first, it was small things — the way he used to sneak her notes between classes, the songs they danced to at prom, the day he asked her to marry him under the blooming cherry trees by the old library. Wanda laughed through tears at the recollections, letting herself be seventeen again, twenty-one again, alive in the warmth of that first, fleeting love.

Sometimes, Vision would take her hand and guide her through recreated versions of those days — a school gym glowing with fairy lights, a quiet kitchen with a half-burnt cake they tried to make together. And Wanda, though she knew this eternity wasn’t real in the same sense, still let herself smile, still let herself feel the way she had once felt.

But each night, when she returned to her room, to Y/N who was always there waiting. Y/N never questioned, never reproached — she only welcomed Wanda back with open arms, brushed her hair gently, and listened as Wanda whispered, “We used to do this… he remembered that…”

And though Y/N smiled and kissed her temple, Wanda could hear the quiet ache beneath her silence.

---

The river sparkled under a soft golden light, its surface rippling gently as if carrying whispers of the past. Wanda sat on a checkered blanket beside Vision, the basket between them filled with the same foods they once shared in their youth — strawberries, homemade bread, a bottle of cheap wine that somehow tasted richer here.

“It feels exactly the same,” Wanda murmured, running her fingers over the rim of the glass. “Like no time has passed at all.”

Vision leaned back on his elbows, smiling at her the way he had when they were just kids daring to dream of forever. “That’s the beauty of this place. Here, we are not bound by years or endings. We can hold on to what we lost.”

Wanda’s lips curved into a soft smile, though her chest ached. “I lost you too soon.”

“And I lost you,” Vision said quietly, his eyes fixed on hers. “I waited, Wanda. For so long, I waited.” He reached over, brushing his thumb across the back of her hand. “I don’t want to steal you away from the life you had after me. But I would give anything for a little more time with you now.”

Her heart twisted. His touch was familiar, comforting, like a chapter she had thought was closed but had been reopened with startling clarity. She let herself lean into it, for just a moment, listening to the river flow, imagining what might have been if fate had been kinder.

Vision’s eyes softened as he gazed at her, the sound of the river filling the silence between them. Then, almost hesitantly, he asked,

“Do you remember… that night after the spring dance? When it rained so hard the power went out in the whole town?”

Wanda’s breath caught. She did remember.

“You were wearing that green dress,” Vision continued, his voice low, almost reverent. “We ended up at your parents’ porch, soaked to the bone. You made me sit on the step, and you said—” He chuckled faintly, shaking his head. “You said if I ever wanted to kiss you, I’d better do it before we both caught pneumonia.”

Wanda laughed softly, the memory washing over her like a wave. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

“How could I forget?” His eyes searched hers. “It was my first kiss. My first everything.”

Her chest tightened, a bittersweet warmth blooming inside her. She could almost feel the rain again, the thrill of being young and invincible, of believing love alone could protect them from the world.

Her lips parted slightly as the memory tangled itself around her heart. She was twenty-one again, standing on that porch, rain dripping from her hair, the world small and simple.

“Wanda…” Vision whispered, his hand cupping her cheek just as he had all those decades ago. Before she could breathe, before she could think, his lips pressed against hers.

It was tender, familiar—like stepping into a dream she’d once left behind. For a heartbeat she let herself sink into it, tasting the ghost of their youth.

For a moment, Wanda didn’t move. The kiss lingered—gentle, achingly familiar, pulling her back into the innocence of being twenty-one, when she believed love could only ever be pure and eternal.

Her eyes fluttered closed, her hand rising almost unconsciously to rest against Vision’s chest. The world around them blurred, and for that fleeting instant, she let herself be carried away by what they once were.

But then, like sunlight cutting through fog, she felt it—Y/N’s laughter in her mind, the echo of shared mornings and whispered promises, the weight of seventy years side by side. The home they built. The children they raised. The woman she had chosen again and again.

Her lips trembled as she pulled back, not abruptly, but with the softness of someone returning from a dream.

“Vision…” she whispered, her voice thick, conflicted. Her hand lingered against him for a heartbeat longer before she let it fall to her lap.

Vision searched her face, his thumb brushing along her cheekbone as if trying to hold on to her warmth.

“You still feel it, don’t you?” he asked softly, hope flickering in his eyes. “What we had—it’s still here. I know it.”

Wanda’s breath caught. She wanted to deny it, to insist it was only memory, only nostalgia—but the truth was harder. She had felt something. The echo of their love, brief but once so strong.

Her silence stretched between them, and Vision leaned closer, his forehead nearly touching hers.

“Wanda… we were robbed of time. Just one year of marriage. Do you know how often I thought about what could have been, if I hadn’t stepped off that curb?” His voice wavered, raw. “I’ve waited seventy-two years for you. Please… don’t turn away from us yet.”

Her heart pounded. The ache of his words pressed against the life she had lived with Y/N, a life Vision hadn’t shared but was no less real.

Wanda’s chest heaved, her hands gripping the blanket beneath her as she stared out at the river, trying to steady the storm inside her.

“I…” she began, then faltered, words failing her. She could feel Vision’s gaze on her, patient but insistent, waiting for a reply that wasn’t coming.

Her mind raced—memories of their youth, the stolen moments of first love, the laughter and kisses that had defined a lifetime, all clashing with the warmth and constancy of Y/N, the life she had built after his death.

“I can’t…” she whispered finally, her voice almost lost in the breeze. “I… I need… time.”

Vision nodded slowly, as if he had expected no less. “I can wait,” he said softly, his hand retreating but leaving the warmth of his presence lingering near her. “Take all the time you need, Wanda. I’ll be here. I’ve waited this long.”

Wanda closed her eyes, leaning back against the blanket, letting the sun warm her face. She didn’t know what the next step would be, or how her heart could hold two loves at once—but for the first time, she allowed herself to simply feel. Conflicted. Alive. And free to decide, in her own time.

---

Over the next few days, Wanda found herself torn between two worlds.

With Vision, she wandered through recreated memories—quiet afternoons in sunlit kitchens, rain-soaked walks through the town they had once known, laughter echoing across the riverbanks. Every moment felt achingly familiar, and every touch reminded her of the girl she had once been: fearless, young, and in love for the first time.

Yet, each evening, she returned to Y/N. Y/N was always there, waiting in their room in the Junction, patient and steady. She didn’t question Wanda, didn’t demand answers—she only offered warmth, quiet understanding, and the constancy of seventy years of love.

“Did you enjoy your day?” Y/N would ask softly, brushing a hand through Wanda’s hair as they lay together.

Wanda’s heart tightened. “I… I did,” she admitted. “It’s just… seeing him again. Remembering. It’s overwhelming.”

Y/N smiled gently. “I know. Memories can be like that. But you always come back. That says more than anything.”

And Wanda did come back. Each time. Because Y/N wasn’t just a memory; she was home, the anchor of every choice Wanda had ever made after Vision’s death. Yet, the spark with Vision refused to fade entirely—reminding Wanda of the girl she had once been, of first love, of what might have been.

Caught between the past and the life she had chosen, Wanda began to understand that eternity wasn’t about choosing one love over another—it was about embracing the fullness of her heart. Still, the decision weighed on her, as the Junction held infinite possibilities, and her heart stretched across decades of memories, loyalty, and longing.

---

Today, Wanda was with Y/N. The morning sunlight spilled through the Junction’s ever-shifting skies, painting everything in soft gold. Y/N had taken her hand, guiding her along a winding path that seemed to shimmer with possibility.

“I want to show you something,” Y/N said, her eyes sparkling with quiet excitement. “I think you’ll love it.”

Wanda followed, her heart lighter than it had been in days. There was a calmness in Y/N’s presence that no memory, no nostalgia, could match. Each step felt natural, like returning to a home she had never truly left.

The path opened onto a wide, flowering meadow. Wildflowers in impossible colors swayed gently in the breeze, and a small stream curved through the center, its water sparkling like liquid crystal. The air smelled of sun-warmed earth, honey, and something uniquely them.

Wanda gasped softly. “It’s… beautiful.”

Y/N smiled, tugging her closer. “I thought you’d like it. I wanted you to see a place that’s ours, a space where we can just… be. No memories pulling at us, no choices pressing down. Just us.”

They wandered through the meadow hand in hand, the sun casting long, golden shadows behind them. Y/N leaned into Wanda, resting her head on her shoulder. “I wanted you to feel that even here, eternity can be gentle. That there’s peace waiting for you in the present, not just in memory.”

Wanda closed her eyes, inhaling the scents and the warmth of Y/N’s presence. For the first time since arriving at the Junction, the tug between past and present softened. She realized she didn’t have to choose yet—not today. Not while she was here, in this moment, with Y/N guiding her.

When Wanda opened her eyes again, she saw Y/N’s bright, mischievous smile. Before she could react, Y/N scooped her up into her arms, spinning her around effortlessly.

“Hey! Y/N! Put me down!” Wanda laughed, the sound spilling freely over the meadow, mixing with the hum of the wind and the chirping of birds.

“Never!” Y/N teased, twirling her again until both of them were dizzy with laughter.

They finally toppled onto the soft grass, but when they landed, Y/N was the one beneath, breathless and grinning as Wanda lay sprawled over her. Both of them burst into laughter, Wanda pressing her forehead against Y/N’s chest as she tried to catch her breath.

“You’re impossible,” Wanda giggled, lifting her head to look at her.

“And you’re perfect,” Y/N murmured, brushing a strand of hair from Wanda’s face.

Her cheeks warmed, and Wanda shook her head with a smile. “Say things like that again, and I’ll have no choice but to kiss you.”

Y/N smirked, eyes flicking down to Wanda’s lips. “Then I’ll keep saying them.”

Before Wanda could reply, Y/N lifted her head just enough to close the distance, their lips meeting in a warm, lingering kiss. Wanda’s hands pressed against the grass on either side of Y/N’s shoulders, steadying herself as she leaned in, deepening the kiss.

They broke apart only when breath became necessary, foreheads touching, both giggling softly.

“I missed this,” Y/N whispered, her hands resting gently at Wanda’s waist. “I missed you.”

“And I missed you,” Wanda admitted, her fingers brushing along Y/N’s jawline. “I forgot how much fun we could have. Even here, in… this place.”

Y/N smiled up at her, voice tender. “Then let’s never forget again.”

Wanda lowered herself back into Y/N’s arms, kissing her once more, laughter and warmth surrounding them as they lay tangled together in the meadow—two souls rediscovering each other, for however long eternity allowed.

The laughter between Wanda and Y/N hung in the air, mingling with the scent of wildflowers, when a sudden presence made Wanda tense.

“Wanda.”

Vision stood at the edge of the meadow, his expression calm but insistent. “I came to spend time with you.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed slightly, her jaw tightening, but she kept her voice measured. “You had your time yesterday,” she said, her tone cool but firm. “And I didn’t say anything. So why must you interrupt us now?”

Vision’s eyes flashed, a mix of frustration and longing. “You had a whole lifetime with her!” he spat, his voice trembling with the weight of decades lost. “I’ve been waiting seventy-two years for even this small moment!”

Wanda froze, sensing the tension coil between them. She looked at Y/N, her gaze softening but serious. Y/N recognized the look immediately—the one Wanda always gave when she didn’t want Y/N to argue or when she needed her to be the mature, more patient one.

Y/N exhaled slowly, her chest rising as she pressed a gentle kiss to Wanda’s cheek. “Go back to your time with him,” she murmured softly. “I’ll go back to our room.”

Wanda’s lips parted, calling after her. “Y/N—”

“It’s okay,” Y/N said firmly, though her eyes lingered on Wanda a moment longer. Then, with a final, small smile, she rose and walked away through the meadow, leaving Wanda standing amidst the flowers, torn between past and present.

Wanda watched her go, the echo of Y/N’s presence lingering in the golden light, and swallowed hard. She knew she had to choose her next steps carefully—because eternity was no longer just about memories, it was about the love she carried in her heart, in that very moment.

Wanda’s heart clenched as she watched Y/N’s figure fade into the meadow’s light. Guilt washed over her, sharp and immediate. I shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t have let her leave like that, she thought, panic rising.

“I… I need to go after her,” Wanda murmured, turning instinctively toward the path Y/N had taken.

Vision stepped closer, his hand gently resting on hers, stopping her. “Wanda… stay,” he said softly, his voice calm but persuasive. “She’s not a kid. She’ll be fine. You don’t have to carry everything right now.”

Wanda shook her head, conflicted. “But I—”

Vision smiled, leaning just slightly closer, his eyes searching hers. “Look at me. Just for a moment. Let me be here with you. I’ve waited seventy-two years for any time with you. Don’t push it away because of guilt that doesn’t belong to you.”

Wanda hesitated, the words tugging at her heart. Because she also felt guilty he waited for that long. Slowly, she allowed herself to stay, letting her fingers entwine with his.

He leaned in, brushing a kiss across her temple, then whispered, “You’re here now. Let me show you… let me remind you what we had. Don’t think about her—just for a little while, be with me.”

And as he spoke, guiding her to sit beside him on the riverside blanket, he began telling a story from their youth—a prank they pulled in high school, a song they danced to under the stars. Wanda felt herself laughing, caught in the warmth of nostalgia, her guilt lingering in the background but dulled, as Vision skillfully distracted her with memories and the comfort of their shared past.

Even as a part of her mind ached for Y/N, another part was here, drawn irresistibly to the first love she had once thought lost forever.

---

As the golden light of the Junction began to fade into a soft evening glow, Wanda finally rose from the riverside, her heart heavy and tangled. Vision’s stories and laughter still lingered in her ears, but the guilt she had tried to push aside now surged forward.

She walked back along the familiar path, each step slower than the last, until she reached their room. The door was slightly ajar, the warm light spilling into the corridor like a beacon.

When she stepped inside, Y/N was there, sitting on the edge of the bed, calm and serene as ever. Wanda froze for a moment, the weight of her realization pressing down on her. I let her go. I let Y/N leave me. And she didn’t complain, she didn’t scold… she just left.

Her chest tightened. She knelt by the bed, dropping to her knees beside Y/N and cupping her hands in hers. “I… I’m sorry,” she whispered, voice trembling. “I should never have let you go like that. I—”

Y/N lifted a hand, brushing her thumb lightly across Wanda’s cheek. “Shh,” she murmured, “it’s okay. You missed him. I get it.” Her voice was calm, but Wanda could hear the effort behind it—the swallowing of jealousy, of insecurities that bubbled up despite all the years they had shared.

Wanda blinked, guilt tightening her chest. “I… I didn’t want to hurt you,” she whispered.

Y/N shook her head gently, pressing her forehead to Wanda’s. “I know. And you didn’t. That’s why I’m telling you—it’s okay. You can spend time with him, remember your past… before we go to our eternity. I know you missed him, Wanda. It’s only natural.”

Tears welled in Wanda’s eyes, gratitude and relief mingling. “You… you really mean that?”

Y/N smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair from Wanda’s face. “I do. Because I love you. And love isn’t about keeping you from the past—it’s about letting you be whole, so you can choose your future freely. And I trust that future will be with me.”

Wanda leaned into Y/N, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. “You’re incredible,” she murmured, voice thick. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

“Don’t think about that,” Y/N whispered, her hands holding Wanda’s face gently. “Just… go. Take your time. I’ll be here when you come back. Always.”

Wanda nodded, swallowing hard, and for the first time in days, she felt a fragile peace settle over her. She could finally honor both her past and her present—without fear, without guilt—because Y/N had given her permission to feel it all.

---

In the following days, Wanda allowed herself to step fully into the moments with Vision. They wandered through sunlit parks, revisited memories of high school mischief, and laughed over shared inside jokes from decades ago. For brief hours, she felt the thrill of being young again—the warmth of first love, the comfort of a connection lost too soon. She felt loved, remembered, and alive in a way that made her chest ache with bittersweet joy.

And yet, no matter how absorbed she became with Vision, she always returned to Y/N. Each evening, she would find herself in their room, Y/N waiting patiently, her presence steady and comforting.

Vision often appeared at unexpected moments, breaking up their quiet time, eager to pull Wanda back into the past he cherished so deeply. And each time, Y/N said nothing. She swallowed every flicker of jealousy, every pang of insecurity, quietly trusting Wanda’s heart.

Wanda noticed, of course. She saw the way Y/N would simply smile and let her go, the way she hid her emotions with gentle grace. It tugged at her own conscience, reminded her of the depth of Y/N’s love and faith.

Y/N’s silence, her patience, and her unwavering trust carved a calm certainty in Wanda’s heart. No matter the pull of nostalgia, no matter the intoxication of first love, Y/N’s presence grounded her. She was reminded that love could be both thrilling and steady, fiery and enduring.

Every night, as Wanda lay with Y/N, she whispered, “I’m so lucky to have you.”

Y/N would smile softly, brushing a hand through Wanda’s hair. “I know,” she murmured. “And I have faith you’ll choose us. Always.”

And with that faith, Wanda allowed herself to experience both—reconnecting with Vision while remembering the life and love she had built with Y/N—her heart stretching across time, memory, and eternity, until it could hold them both without breaking.

---

A few days later, as Wanda wandered the Junction with Vision, a gentle shimmer in the air announced the arrival of the coordinators. Their forms were serene, yet their presence carried a quiet authority that made Wanda stop mid-step.

“Wanda Maximoff,” one of them spoke, their voice smooth and calm. “Your time to decide is approaching. You must choose where—and with whom—you wish to spend your eternity.”

Wanda froze, the words hitting her harder than she expected. She glanced at Vision, whose expression softened, but the tension in her chest only grew.

“You have few days remaining,” the coordinator continued, “but soon, a decision will be required. Neither time nor hesitation will extend this moment indefinitely.”

Wanda’s stomach tightened, and she felt a sudden pull between two points in her heart, Vision, the echo of first love and lost youth, and Y/N, the steady, unwavering love she had shared for seventy years.

Vision reached for her hand, his thumb brushing her knuckles. “We still have time,” he murmured. “Just a few more days.”

Wanda nodded, but her gaze shifted involuntarily toward the path leading back to their room. She knew Y/N was waiting, patient and faithful, offering her the freedom to remember, to feel, and to choose.

Later that evening, as she lay with Y/N, holding her close, Wanda whispered, “They said I have to choose soon.”

Y/N pressed her cheek to Wanda’s temple, brushing her fingers through her hair. “Then take these days wisely. Remember both parts of your heart, Wanda. And know… I trust you.”

Wanda closed her eyes, feeling the weight of the decision pressing gently against her chest. The days ahead would be filled with laughter, memories, and longing—but she knew, deep down, that whichever choice she made would need to honor all the love she had carried across a lifetime.

---

Later that evening, as she lay with Y/N, holding her close, Wanda whispered, “They said I have to choose soon.”

Y/N lifted her head slightly, brushing a gentle kiss against Wanda’s temple. “Do you… know where you want to spend eternity?” Wanda asked softly, her voice heavy with the weight of impending decision.

Y/N shook her head, a small, reassuring smile on her lips. “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “Wherever you want to go… I’ll be there. As long as I can spend it with you, anywhere is fine.”

Wanda’s throat tightened. She felt the warmth of Y/N’s love surrounding her, patient and unwavering, and yet a sharp pang of guilt stabbed at her heart. Vision had waited for seventy-two years—decades stolen from him, spent longing for her presence. And here she was, torn between the past and the life she had built, unable to make a choice.

“I…” Wanda began, her voice trembling. Tears pricked her eyes, and she pressed her forehead against Y/N’s chest. “I want to be with you… I do. But… he waited so long. I can’t stop thinking about that.”

Y/N’s hand traced gentle circles along Wanda’s back. “I know,” she whispered softly. “I can see your heart is big enough to hold both. That’s why I’m not afraid. You don’t need to apologize for remembering. Just… promise me that, in the end, you’ll follow your heart.”

Wanda exhaled shakily, feeling the tight knot of guilt and longing slowly loosen under Y/N’s understanding. She wanted to cry, to laugh, to clutch Y/N and never let go. And somewhere deep in her chest, she realized that the next few days wouldn’t just be about choosing—they’d be about honoring all the love she had ever carried.

---

Over the next few days, Wanda found herself constantly pulled between the past and the present. She spent hours with Vision, revisiting memories, laughing at their youthful antics, and savoring the warmth of first love.

But Vision, while tender and charming, also revealed a streak of childish insistence that made her heart ache in a different way.

“You know,” he said one afternoon as they sat by the riverside, tossing pebbles into the water, “Y/N already got her chance.” He crossed his arms, pouting slightly. “Seventy years, Wanda. Seventy years! That’s a lifetime. She had you, all of you. This—” He gestured toward himself, eyes gleaming with quiet intensity, “—this should be mine too.”

Wanda flinched at the bluntness of his words, torn. “Vision… she’s waiting for me too,” she whispered, guilt twinging through her chest.

“Waiting doesn’t mean she owns your heart,” Vision countered, leaning closer. “I waited seventy-two years! Do you know how long that is? Do you know what it feels like to live a lifetime, hoping one day I’d see your face again?”

His voice trembled slightly, though his eyes were firm. “I’m not trying to take her away from you. I just… I deserve some time too. Just a little. Please, Wanda.”

Wanda’s chest tightened. She could see the ache behind his stubborn insistence, the loneliness he had carried for decades. And yet, Y/N’s calm patience and unwavering faith haunted her thoughts.

“I… I can’t ignore either of you,” Wanda whispered, pressing a hand to her chest. “I want to honor both of you… but I don’t want to hurt either of you.”

Vision let out a frustrated sigh, but his hand found hers anyway. “You won’t hurt me,” he murmured. “Just… promise me you’ll let me be here, just a little longer, before your final choice.”

Wanda nodded, closing her eyes, letting the rush of love, guilt, and longing swirl within her. She was caught between two worlds—the playful, insistent first love, and the steady, patient love that had carried her through seventy years. And she knew that the next few days would test her heart in ways she had never imagined.

---

Each day, Vision’s presence pressed on Wanda’s heart in ways she hadn’t expected. He followed her through the Junction’s recreated streets, popped up during moments she shared with Y/N, and constantly reminded her—sometimes bluntly, sometimes with a mischievous glint—that Y/N had already had her chance.

“You can’t deny it,” he said one morning, sprawled lazily on a park bench while Wanda stood beside him, torn. “She had seventy years. Seventy! That’s enough. You owe me this, Wanda. Just a little time. Isn’t that fair?”

Wanda clenched her fists, the conflict roiling inside her. “Vision… you’re not wrong, but—”

“Then don’t overthink it!” he interrupted, leaning closer. His eyes softened, but his words carried that impatient edge she remembered from when they were young. “I’ve waited for decades. You don’t get to waste this on guilt or indecision. Just be here with me. Let me remind you of what we had… what we can still feel, if only for a little while.”

Later that afternoon, when she tried to meet Y/N in their room, Vision appeared again, blocking the doorway with that determined, boyish grin. “Wanda! You’re avoiding me. I saw you smiling at her—don’t do that. That smile belongs to me, too.”

Wanda felt her stomach twist. She wanted to push past him, to run back to Y/N, but Vision’s hand reached for hers, warm and familiar. “Come on,” he said softly, tugging her toward the riverside. “Just one more afternoon with me. That’s all I ask. Just one more.”

Y/N, sitting quietly in their room, sensed Wanda’s absence but said nothing. She didn’t interrupt, didn’t complain. Instead, she waited, knowing that Wanda’s heart would return to her when the time was right. She swallowed every flicker of jealousy and insecurity, grounding herself in trust.

And Wanda, caught between Vision’s persistent pull and Y/N’s patient love, felt the tension tighten like a rope around her chest. Every laugh, every touch, every nostalgic story with Vision reminded her of lost youth—but each thought of Y/N reminded her of the lifetime she had chosen and the life still waiting for her in the Junction.

Her heart stretched across decades, memories, and love, and for the first time, she truly understood how difficult a choice eternity could demand.

---

Y/N’s POV

Today was the day. The last day. Y/N had waited for this moment with quiet certainty, though her heart still fluttered like a bird in her chest. She had no doubt Wanda would come back to her—but the reality of it, the finality of the decision, still made her pulse quicken.

Wanda had asked her out, choosing to spend the day together before making her choice. And so they wandered through the Junction, hand in hand, finding quiet spots where the light fell softly and the air smelled like something between nostalgia and possibility.

They talked, laughing and sometimes tearing up, remembering the life they had shared.

“Do you remember the first time we met?” Wanda asked softly, her voice tinged with vulnerability.

Y/N nodded, smiling at the memory. “You were sitting on that park bench, looking like you’d carried the weight of the world on your shoulders. I could see it in your eyes—grieving, lost. And somehow I thought… maybe I could make you smile again.”

Wanda chuckled, a small, bittersweet sound. “You did. I remember thinking, ‘Who is this fearless woman who refuses to let me hide behind my sadness?’ You sat beside me, cracked a joke, and somehow… I felt lighter for the first time in two years.”

“And that was the beginning,” Y/N murmured, squeezing Wanda’s hand. “The first time we laughed together. The first time your heart started to open again. I knew then I wanted to be by your side, to bring you back to yourself.”

They smiled at each other, letting the memory wash over them like sunlight through leaves. Then came the first kiss, the awkward but electric moment in the quiet park as they shared their fears and hopes. Every touch, every word, every shared glance from that day forward had led to a life full of love, laughter, and family.

Their steps carried them to a sunlit glade, where Y/N rested her head against Wanda’s shoulder. “Our wedding,” Wanda whispered. “I can still feel your hand in mine as we said our vows.”

Y/N’s eyes glimmered with tears she refused to hide. “I can feel it too. Every promise we made… every word, every touch… it was real. It is real.”

They sat down beneath a flowering tree, and Wanda’s hands traced Y/N’s, warm and steady. “And our children,” she murmured. “When we found out I was pregnant… I was so scared. But you—” Her voice broke slightly. “You made it the happiest moment of my life.”

Y/N smiled, brushing a strand of hair from Wanda’s face. “You made it ours. Every step, every sleepless night, every laugh and cry… it was ours. And it still is.”

Wanda leaned into her, resting her forehead against Y/N’s. “I’ve missed this,” she whispered. “I’ve missed you.”

“And I’ve missed you,” Y/N said softly, wrapping her arms around Wanda and holding her close. “All along. I knew you’d come back. I trusted you. And now… now we can just be.”

Y/N pressed a gentle kiss to Wanda’s temple, her heart swelling with the quiet joy of decades spent together, the happiness of a lifetime renewed, and the promise of eternity waiting just beyond the horizon.

They sat in silence for a while, the gentle light of the Junction casting soft shadows across the room. Wanda’s hand rested lightly in Y/N’s, but the air between them was heavy with unspoken truths.

Finally, Y/N spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “You chose him, right?”

Wanda’s chest tightened. She looked down at Y/N, the warmth of her touch grounding her, but she could feel the truth in Y/N’s words. She had known it in her heart even before she had said it aloud.

Y/N nodded slowly, tears glimmering in her eyes. “I knew,” she murmured. “I knew you chose to spend your last day with me… because you chose Vision. You chose to spend eternity with him.”

Wanda swallowed hard, guilt and love swirling together like a storm. “I… I did,” she admitted, her voice breaking slightly. “I love you, Y/N. I’ve spent a lifetime with you—seventy years—and it was the best life I could have ever imagined. Every day, every laugh, every moment with you… it was perfect. But… I needed to see the life I once dreamed about. I needed to see the time I could have had with him.”

Y/N’s hands trembled slightly in Wanda’s. She took a shuddering breath and finally broke, tears spilling freely. “I had faith in our love,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I trusted you, Wanda. I always knew your heart belonged to me, no matter what. But hearing you say it… it still hurts.”

Wanda cupped Y/N’s face gently, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “It’s not about love,” she said softly, her own tears glimmering. “I love you—with all my heart, with all my being. Nothing could ever change that. This… this is about a life I once imagined. About remembering a dream I had, about experiencing the time I never got to have. But it doesn’t change what we had… or what we will always have.”

Y/N pressed her forehead against Wanda’s, letting herself breathe through the ache in her chest. “I know,” she whispered. “I know your heart is mine, always. And I’ll let you see your dream, because I love you enough to do that. But promise me… don’t forget us.”

Wanda nodded, pressing a soft kiss to Y/N’s lips. “Never. You are my life, my home, my everything. And this… this is just a small chapter, a dream I need to live. But you—you’re forever.”

Y/N let the words settle between them, tears and trust mingling in the quiet of the room. And for all the ache and longing, she knew that love—true, enduring, unshakable love—could survive even the choice of a lifetime.

---

Wanda took a deep breath, her fingers brushing against Vision’s as they stood before a softly glowing door in the Junction. With a quiet nod, they stepped through together.

The world shifted instantly, and Wanda blinked at the scene before her. The air smelled of blooming flowers and fresh bread from the small bakery at the corner of the cobblestone street. Sunlight spilled over the quaint rooftops of the little town she and Vision had once called home—a town they had chosen for eternity, a place frozen in the memory of their first year together after they married.

“This… it’s perfect,” Wanda whispered, turning to Vision. His eyes shone with the same quiet intensity she remembered from their youth, and his hand found hers, fingers intertwining naturally.

They wandered through the streets, taking in every detail—the little café where they had shared their first married breakfast, the bookstore where Vision had surprised her with poetry, the park bench by the fountain where they had sat for hours talking about dreams too big for their young hearts.

“I never imagined it would feel like this,” Wanda murmured, leaning into him. “Like we never left. Like it’s still ours.”

Vision smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “That’s the beauty of this place,” he said softly. “We get to live it fully, uninterrupted. A life we dreamed of, all over again.”

They moved through the little town hand in hand, laughing, remembering, and savoring the simple, everyday moments that had once defined their happiness. Wanda could feel the warmth of their short, sweet life together—every smile, every conversation, every quiet evening they had shared.

Even as a small ache tugged at her heart for Y/N, who she had left back in the Junction, Wanda let herself immerse in this dreamlike slice of life, understanding why she needed this time. She was revisiting a chapter she had longed for, remembering the life she had once dreamed of living with Vision—a brief but treasured part of her heart.

She wandered through the cobblestone streets, hand in hand with Vision, laughing softly as they passed the little café where they had shared their first married breakfast, and pausing by the park bench where they had spent long afternoons talking about hopes and dreams that once seemed too big for their young hearts.

“It’s… exactly how I imagined it,” Wanda whispered, leaning against Vision as they watched the sun shimmer on the fountain’s water.

Vision smiled, his quiet intensity ever-present. “A life we almost had, but now we can live it again, even if only for a little while,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

Wanda closed her eyes, letting the warmth and familiarity wash over her. Every laugh, every whispered memory, every gentle touch reminded her of the life she had once longed for. And though a part of her heart ached for Y/N’s patient love waiting back in the Junction, she understood this time with Vision was not a betrayal—it was a chance to honor a dream she had carried for decades.

Each moment here, fleeting yet vivid, was a reminder of how vast and complex her heart could be: capable of loving deeply, holding onto memory, and cherishing the people who had shaped her life, past and present alike.

---

For days, Wanda allowed herself to be fully present in the life she had always imagined with Vision. Every morning began with the soft golden light spilling through the windows of their small home, the aroma of fresh bread from the bakery downstairs mingling with the scent of flowers in the garden.

She laughed as she cooked breakfast with Vision, their hands brushing over eggs and toast, stealing little kisses between bites. They revisited the routines of their first year together—morning walks through the quiet streets, afternoons in the park, evenings sitting on their little balcony watching the sun dip below the horizon.

Everything felt achingly familiar and perfectly new at the same time. The way Vision would tilt his head, eyes shimmering with quiet wonder, the way he always noticed the smallest details, the way he remembered the words she said months ago as if they had been spoken yesterday—everything was just like it had been when they were first married.

They held each other in the garden as rain began to fall softly, laughing as they ran under the downpour, spinning and twirling like they were young again. They spent quiet nights by the fireplace, sharing stories, dreams, and laughter, wrapped in the warmth of their home.

Wanda felt a happiness that was simple, deep, and unhurried. In this little town, in this life they had recreated, she could almost forget the rest of the world, almost forget the choice that still awaited her back in the Junction.

For a brief, perfect while, she could be simply Wanda—the young woman who had married her first love, living the dream she had carried for decades. And every day with Vision reminded her why she had loved him, why she had imagined this life, and why it had mattered so much, even if only for a fleeting moment.

---

They sat at the small kitchen table, sunlight spilling over the checkered cloth. Wanda had prepared a simple meal, risotto with wild mushrooms, something she had perfected over the years. It was creamy, fragrant, and comforting—the kind of dish that reminded her of home.

Vision picked up a fork and tilted his head, eyes curious. “What is this?” he asked, his voice soft but inquisitive.

Wanda smiled brightly, brushing a lock of hair from her face. “It’s mushroom risotto. Y/N’s favorite.”

Vision’s brow furrowed slightly, and he took a tentative bite. His expression twisted ever so slightly. “I… don’t think I like it,” he said gently.

Wanda laughed, a light, melodic sound that filled the kitchen. “Oh, I remember the first time I made this for her. I burned the mushrooms, added too much wine, and it was a disaster. But she loved it anyway. She laughed at me, kissed me, and said it was the best meal she’d ever had.”

Her eyes sparkled as she recounted the memory, her voice full of warmth and joy. Vision watched her, noting the way her smile lit up, the way she laughed, and the way her whole being seemed to glow with the memory of Y/N.

But then, gently, he reached across the table and laid his hand over hers. “Wanda…” His voice was soft, but firm, a calm current under the warmth of his words. “Stop talking about the past. You’re here with me now. We should enjoy our time together, not dwell on memories that are not mine.”

Wanda’s laughter faltered, a small blush creeping up her cheeks. She glanced down at her hands, feeling the familiar tug of guilt and longing twist in her chest. Vision’s words weren’t harsh—he spoke with care—but they carried the quiet weight of ownership, of wanting her attention fully, exclusively.

She nodded slowly, forcing a smile, trying to let go of the warmth of the memory. “Of course,” she whispered. “I… I’m here, with you.”

But even as she said it, a small part of her heart ached for Y/N, for the life they had shared, for the laughter and love that had shaped her in ways nothing else ever could.

As days passed in the little town, Wanda began to notice subtle differences in how she experienced life with Vision compared to the life she had shared with Y/N.

She cooked breakfast one morning, trying to replicate the little rituals she and Vision had once done, but her movements felt off—she reached for the coffee pot differently than Y/N would have, and the toast never came out quite the way she remembered from her mornings with Y/N. When she set the table, the napkins weren’t folded like Y/N had done, the plates didn’t feel arranged “just right,” and even the laughter she shared with Vision felt lighter, missing the depth that Y/N’s presence had always brought.

While walking through the park, Vision reached to hold her hand in a way that was gentle but distant, and she realized that Y/N’s touch had been warmer, more instinctively reassuring, always guiding her. Even small things—how she had once curled up in the living room reading, the way Y/N would brush strands of hair from her face before every meal, the soft teasing whispers as they fell asleep—felt irreplaceable.

Wanda tried to share these memories, hoping to explain her feelings. “I remember when Y/N and I used to sit by the window in the morning, and she’d let the sunlight hit just right, so we’d wake slowly together,” she said one evening, voice soft and wistful.

Vision’s expression tightened slightly. “That is in the past, Wanda,” he said firmly, yet gently. “Y/N belongs there. We are here, now. You should focus on this life with me, not the life you left behind.”

Another time, she laughed remembering a little prank Y/N had pulled—switching the sugar with salt during a baking experiment. “Y/N would have never let me get away with that,” Wanda said softly.

Vision’s brows knitted. “That is not part of our life. That was in the past. Let it remain there.”

Even when she reached for the old songs she and Y/N had danced to on quiet nights, Vision frowned. “She had terrible taste. I hate this song. That why I told you the past cannot interfere with our present, Wanda. You are with me now. Enjoy it.”

Gradually, Wanda realized that the life she shared with Vision, while pleasant and familiar, felt incomplete. Every joy was tinged with a subtle wrongness, every laugh muted by comparison to how Y/N had shared it with her. And the more she tried to immerse herself, the more she noticed the invisible threads pulling her thoughts, her memories, and her heart back to Y/N—the steady, patient love she could never forget.

---

One Afternoon

Wanda and Vision wandered through the small grocery store in their little town, the warm sunlight streaming through the windows. Wanda’s eyes lit up as she spotted a small display of chocolate-covered marshmallow treats, a snack that immediately brought back memories.

“Tommy used to love these,” she said softly, smiling at the memory. “Well… Billy didn’t care for them much, but Lyla… she loved them too. Not just because of the taste, but because Y/N liked them. She always made sure the kids had their favorites.”

Vision froze, his jaw tightening slightly. His gentle demeanor gave way to a rare, sharp edge. “Stop,” he said quietly at first, then a little more firmly. “I don’t want to hear about children that are not mine. That is all in the past. Y/N is in the past, and those children… they belong there. Not here.”

Wanda’s smile faltered. The lightness in her chest, the warmth of sharing a memory, was abruptly snuffed out. She stared at the treats in her hand, feeling a sting she couldn’t quite put into words.

“I… I wasn’t trying—” she began, but Vision cut her off a little louder.

“No, Wanda. This life… this is ours. You cannot let the past interfere with it. You cannot drag what no longer exists into the present.”

Her chest tightened. The words weren’t cruel, but they carried the weight of dismissal, the invisible wall between what she remembered and what Vision wanted her to embrace. She went quiet, the small smile fading entirely.

For the first time since stepping into this dream-life, Wanda felt an undeniable ache, a hollow note running through the happiness she had been chasing. Every laugh, every gentle touch, every memory she had tried to share now felt impossible to voice. She realized, with a sudden clarity, that no matter how perfect the recreated life was, it could never replace what she had with Y/N—the life she had built, the children she had raised, the love she had shared over seventy years.

And in that quiet moment, standing in the grocery store with Vision watching her, Wanda understood that her heart was no longer capable of pretending.

---

After that day at the grocery store, Wanda found herself wandering the quiet streets of the little town, Vision’s hand in hers, but her heart no longer fully there. She had come here seeking a dream—a glimpse of the life she might have had if fate hadn’t taken Vision from her—but slowly, painfully, she began to understand the truth.

The chapter she had imagined with Vision had ended decades ago. That life was beautiful in memory, yes, but it was a memory, not the present. Her home, her true happiness, was elsewhere—with Y/N, with their children, with every quiet, chaotic, and perfectly imperfect moment they had shared over seventy years.

She thought of Y/N’s smile, the way she had always held her hand in times of fear, the soft teasing in her voice, the way she made Wanda’s heart race even after decades, even when their hair was gray and their bodies aged. Vision, for all his charm and gentleness, lacked that spark—the effortless, magnetic pull that Y/N had carried with her always. He was polite, protective, and insistent, but childish in ways Y/N never was, and every insistence, every boundary, only reminded Wanda that this life was not hers.

The comparison became unavoidable. Vision had waited seventy-two years, and now, in this recreated life, he wanted her full attention, full devotion—but it felt constricting, a shadow over her own heart. Y/N had never done that. When Wanda spoke of the past, of the memories she had with Vision long before, Y/N never told her it was “just in the past.” She had listened, smiled, held Wanda close, and promised her happiness, always letting Wanda know that every joy, every laughter, every sorrow they had shared mattered—and would continue to matter.

Wanda’s chest tightened with both love and regret. She had gone chasing a dream, thinking it would fill some emptiness—but the emptiness only existed because she had tried to deny the life she had built, the love she had nurtured with Y/N.

And now, Wanda found herself sitting on Vision’s lap, her arms wrapped loosely around his neck, her head resting against his shoulder. She wasn’t sure how she had ended up here—maybe it was instinct, maybe it was the familiar ache of trying to gather her courage before speaking—but the moment she settled into him, she realized something was wrong.

This was what she had always done with Y/N. Whenever words failed her, whenever her mind was tangled and her heart felt too heavy, she would climb onto Y/N’s lap, curl into her, and let the warmth of her body and the steady rhythm of her heart calm her. Y/N had always known what it meant. She never rushed her, never pressed her, never made her feel small. Y/N would simply hold her, stroke her back, and whisper, It’s okay, my love. Take your time. I’m here.

But Vision didn’t hold her.

His hands trailed down her sides, lingering too low, his lips brushing against her neck as if her silence was an invitation to something physical. His touch wasn’t grounding—it was insistent. When Wanda gently pulled back, murmuring, “Could you just… hold me?” she saw his expression falter.

“Wanda,” Vision said softly, but there was a faint impatience beneath his voice. “We’ve been apart for so long. Don’t you think… it’s time we gave ourselves what we were always meant to have?”

Her chest tightened. She shook her head slightly, her voice fragile. “I… I don’t want that right now. I just… need to breathe. To be still. Please.”

But instead of pulling her closer, instead of reassuring her, Vision’s hands stilled in hesitation. A flicker of frustration crossed his face, quickly masked by a strained smile.

“You’re still caught in the past, Wanda,” he murmured, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “But you’re here now. With me. Why dwell on memories when we can create something new?”

Wanda’s heart ached. It wasn’t just the words—it was the absence. The absence of patience, of understanding, of the quiet safety she had always felt with Y/N. With Y/N, silence had been sacred, a space where love was felt without needing to be spoken. With Vision, silence was a void he wanted to fill, even if it meant pushing her into something she wasn’t ready for.

Her arms tightened around him briefly, not from desire but from sorrow. She buried her face against his shoulder, whispering so softly it almost broke her own heart to admit:

“This… doesn’t feel right.”

Vision froze, confusion flickering in his eyes. “What do you mean?”

Wanda pulled back just enough to look at him, her tears glimmering. Her voice cracked as she whispered, “I just want you to hold me.”

For a heartbeat, silence stretched between them. Then Vision’s jaw tightened. His eyes darkened, not with tenderness but with something sharp, wounded pride.

“You were the one who sat on me,” he said, his voice low, edged with frustration. “What did you expect, Wanda? You can’t… you can’t touch me like that and then ask for nothing. You were seducing me.”

Wanda froze, her breath catching. The words cut deep, colder than she expected, and for a moment she couldn’t even form a reply. “No,” she whispered, shaking her head, her tears spilling freely now. “That’s not what I meant. That’s not what I was doing. I just—”

But he was already shifting beneath her, his hands firm as he lifted her off his lap and set her aside. His movements weren’t cruel, but they lacked gentleness, as though he couldn’t bear to look at her.

“I can’t do this right now,” Vision muttered, standing swiftly. His expression was closed off, hard in a way that was so unlike the boy she remembered. Without another glance, he turned and strode out of the room, the door closing behind him with a muted finality.

Wanda sat there, stunned, her chest tight and aching. The absence of his arms—the simple, steady comfort she had begged for—felt louder than any words could. She hugged herself, trembling, the echo of Y/N’s embrace flooding her memory. Y/N would never have pushed her away for needing too much, for needing *just to be held.*

Her tears fell harder, and in that broken silence, Wanda finally understood the truth: this wasn’t love. Not anymore.

---

Few Days Later

They were sitting on the little balcony of their recreated home, the warm sun bathing the street in a golden glow. Wanda had just finished arranging some flowers, her mind still swirling with memories and realizations about where her heart truly belonged.

Vision leaned back slightly, his expression thoughtful. “Wanda,” he said, his voice calm, “do you think… we could… have children here? Would that be possible in this place?”

Wanda froze mid-motion, the petals of the flowers trembling slightly in her hand. Her stomach twisted instantly, a sharp, involuntary reaction. Disgust, mingled with shock, bubbled up through her chest.

“Children?” she echoed, her voice cold and sharp, though she tried to rein it in. “Vision… no. Just… no.”

Vision tilted his head, a faint anger in his expression. “I don’t understand… Why not? We are together here. This life is ours—why would it matter?”

Wanda took a step back, pulling slightly from his presence. Her heart raced, and the lightness she had felt in this dream-life suddenly felt heavy and suffocating. “It… it matters because it’s not real, Vision. It’s not our life. This is a memory, a recreation, a fantasy. You can’t just… create a life that never existed. Not like that. And I—” She clenched her fists, trying to steady herself, “I would never do that here. Not with you. Not like this.”

Vision’s serene mask cracked. His eyes sharpened, his voice dropping, edged with bitterness. “Not with me? Wanda… you sat here with me, in this life. You sat on me, touched me, looked at me as if you wanted something more. And now you tell me it was nothing?”

Her breath caught, her tears glimmering. “I just wanted you to hold me,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

But instead of softening, he gave a humorless laugh, wounded pride lacing every word. “Hold you? You were seducing me. Don’t twist this, Wanda. You can’t play with me like that.”

Her eyes widened at the accusation, pain rushing through her chest. “That’s not true—”

Vision’s expression hardened, but his voice softened into something coaxing, almost manipulative. “Fine. But… we can try sometime, right? We can try to have children on our own here. So you’ll stop talking about the ones you had with that person from your past.”

The words struck like a blade. Wanda’s stomach twisted, her heart lurching with anger and grief all at once.

She shook her head, stepping away fully now. “No. Stop. This isn’t what I came here for. You… you can’t replace them. You can’t replace my children! You can’t replace my Y/N. I can’t—” Her voice broke, and she turned toward the door, moving away from the recreated town and the illusion of a life she no longer wanted to cling to.

The realization settled over her like ice, the fantasy with Vision had never been hers to live fully. It was a chapter closed long ago. And the only life she truly belonged to, the only love she could not deny, waited for her back in the Junction.

Wanda turned toward the door, but before she could step away, Vision’s angry voice followed her.

“Wanda… wait,” he said, moving closer. His hand reached for hers again, but she hesitated. “What’s the matter? This is our life. This is our future. Why are you running from it?”

Her chest tightened, a mix of frustration, guilt, and lingering affection colliding in her heart. “Vision… it’s not real. This isn’t… our life. Not really. You’re… you’re in my memory, a dream of what could have been. You are the one in my past, not Y/N.”

His head tilted slightly, his tone pressing, insistent. “But you chose me! We spoke of this once, Wanda. We dreamed of it—children, a family, a future together. Why should it matter that it happens here, in this place? Why should she matter more than what we imagined?”

Wanda pulled her hand back, shaking her head. “Because it’s not Y/N. Not my home, not my heart. Everything I did, every life I built—that was with her. With our children. You… you’re a part of my past, and I needed to see it, to remember it. But this… this is not what I want. Not anymore.”

Vision’s eyes softened, but his voice remained steady, almost pleading. “Wanda… don’t you feel it? Don’t you feel the life we could have? The love we shared?”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. She swallowed hard, the ache in her chest growing sharper. “I do… I loved you once. I dreamed of this life with you. But it’s over. That chapter ended decades ago. My heart… it’s with Y/N. It always has been. Every laugh, every touch, every life we built together… it’s her. It’s ours. And no recreated town, no dream-life… can change that.”

Vision’s hand dropped slowly, his expression unreadable. For the first time, the quiet weight of reality settled between them. Wanda took a deep breath, her resolve solidifying.

“I need to go back,” she whispered. “Back to where I belong.”

Vision’s eyes darkened with frustration. “Wanda!” he snapped, his voice sharp and full of emotion. “How can you just abandon this life? This future we planned? You came here willingly! You chose to step into this life with me, and now you just… throw it away?”

Wanda flinched at the intensity, but her resolve didn’t waver. She squared her shoulders and met his gaze, her voice steady despite the ache in her chest. “Vision… I didn’t throw it away. I came here to see it, to understand the life I could have had. But it’s over. It ended long ago. You were my first love, my first heartbreak—but my heart… it’s not yours anymore. It’s with Y/N. It always has been.”

Vision’s eyes glimmered with a sharp edge, his voice low and dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, I see,” he said, tilting his head slightly, a bitter smile curling his lips. “So you came here to visit your little fantasy, and now you tell me it’s not enough. You didn’t throw it away… you chose to spend eternity with me, leaving Y/N behind. And who knows? She’s probably moved on, found someone else to share her eternity with while you were busy chasing a dream that you claim it wasn’t real!”

Wanda felt the words like a physical blow. Her chest tightened, and for a fleeting moment, doubt flickered across her mind—but only for a heartbeat.

“No,” she said firmly, her voice steady despite the pain. “You don’t understand, Vision. That’s not how it works. I didn’t abandon her. I never could. My heart… my life… it’s always been hers. She is my home, my happiness, my family. I came here to understand a path I never walked, to see a life I could have had—but it’s not my life. Not anymore. My life… is with Y/N.”

Vision’s brow furrowed, his sarcasm faltering slightly as Wanda’s unwavering gaze met his. “It doesn’t matter what you say,” he murmured, more quietly now, the sting in his voice betraying his frustration. “You’ve made your choice.”

“Yes,” Wanda whispered, a mix of relief and sorrow threading through her words. “I have. And it’s always been hers. Always Y/N.”

Her resolve solidified with every heartbeat. The dream of a life with Vision was over, and the only life she truly wanted—the only eternity she wanted—was waiting for her back in the Junction.

---

Wanda ran through the quiet streets of the little town, her chest heaving, her breath ragged, every step fueled by a growing, desperate panic. She reached the softly glowing gate—the same one she and Vision had passed through to enter this recreated eternity—and lunged toward it, her hands trembling as if sheer will could undo the past.

“I—I have to go back!” she shouted, her voice breaking. “Please! I made a mistake! I need to go back! I didn’t choose this! I need… I need Y/N!”

Two ethereal guards appeared in a shimmer of light, their forms silent and imposing. The taller one stepped forward, his face unreadable, his tone calm yet chillingly final.

“You cannot,” he said. “Once a soul has chosen their eternity, that choice is binding. Eternity… as its name implies… lasts forever.”

“No!” Wanda screamed, stumbling forward, her hands grasping at the air, at the glowing edges of the gate, as if she could tear herself back into the Junction. Her knees buckled, and she fell to the ground, shaking violently. “No! This isn’t my life! This isn’t mine! My home… my heart… my life is with Y/N! I didn’t want this! I—please! Let me go back!”

The second guard hovered near her, but did not touch, his presence calm and unyielding. “Your heart may long elsewhere, but the path you chose is sealed. You cannot return.”

Wanda’s hands clawed at the floor, her tears falling freely. Her voice cracked into a scream, raw and unrestrained. “I don’t care about your rules! I don’t care about eternity! I can’t… I can’t stay here! My life… my love… my children… Y/N… they’re all waiting for me! Please! Please!”

Her body trembled, her sobs echoing through the silent town. Panic twisted in her chest like a living thing, suffocating, unrelenting. She felt as if the world had collapsed around her, the walls of her dream-life closing in, trapping her in a golden prison of her own making.

And in that moment, the cruel, unbearable truth sank in like ice, the choice she had made—whether through hope, curiosity, or longing—had locked her out of the life she truly belonged to. She had glimpsed her true home, her true love, and now it was out of reach forever.

Wanda fell forward, burying her face in her hands, trembling, her heart shattering with every sob. “Y/N… I’m so sorry… I just… I just wanted to see… I just wanted to see what could have been…”

The guards said nothing. They remained silent, unmoving. And as Wanda’s desperate cries faded into shuddering whimpers, the weight of eternity pressed down on her like a merciless, unyielding shadow.

---

Days passed—or at least, it felt like days, though time had a strange quality here—and Wanda stayed at the glowing gate, her hair tangled, her hands raw from clutching the edges of the shimmering barrier. She refused to leave. Her voice grew hoarse from shouting, from pleading, from crying into the cold, unyielding air.

“Please! Please! Let me go back! I don’t belong here! I need… I need Y/N!” she screamed, her sobs echoing through the empty streets of the recreated town. “I don’t care about rules! I don’t care about eternity! I made a mistake! I made a terrible mistake! Please! I can’t stay here! I won’t stay here!”

She fell to her knees again, clawing at the glowing surface of the gate. Her tears ran freely now, streaking the dirt beneath her, and her chest ached with a raw, desperate emptiness. “Y/N! I love you! I need you! I never should have left you! Please! I’ll do anything! I’ll do anything! Just let me go back!”

The guards remained silently at her sides, their faces calm, unyielding. Their presence did nothing to soothe her panic; it only made the weight of finality feel heavier, more suffocating.

Wanda’s voice grew hoarse, then quiet, then broken into small, strangled whimpers. She curled into herself on the cold ground, trembling, rocking slightly as the reality sank in: she was trapped. The eternity she had chosen with Vision, once a dream, had become a cage.

Her mind flashed to Y/N—Y/N’s bright smile, her laughter, the warmth of her hand in hers, the children they had raised, the life they had built together. Each memory stabbed at Wanda with unbearable longing, each one a reminder of what she had almost thrown away, what she could not touch now.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry… I never wanted this… I just…” Her words trailed into a shuddering whisper, carried away by the empty streets.

And there she remained, day after day, at the glowing gate, a figure of desperation and heartbreak, trapped in a golden prison of a life she had once thought she wanted, while her true home, her true love, waited just beyond reach.

---

After countless days of pleading and despair, Wanda’s trembling voice finally found enough strength to ask the guards a single question.

“Is… is Y/N still in the Junction?” she whispered, her heart hammering painfully in her chest.

The guards exchanged a long, contemplative look. After a pause that stretched like eternity itself, the taller one nodded slowly. “Yes… she is.”

Wanda’s chest tightened, hope and fear colliding in a bitter mix.

The second guard raised a hand, and a shimmering screen of light appeared before her. On it, she saw a room—the familiar space she had shared with Y/N for so many years. There was Y/N, standing quietly, her hands lightly resting on a framed photograph of Wanda, her eyes soft, distant, full of longing. Wanda’s breath caught in her throat, a sob threatening to escape.

“The soul you love,” the taller guard said gently, “has chosen you for her eternity. Y/N’s heart belongs to you, completely.”

Wanda’s hands trembled as she watched. “But… I’m here. I chose…”

The guard’s voice was firm, almost sorrowful. “And because you have already entered your chosen eternity… Y/N is bound to the Junction. Eternity is not merely a place, it is a state of being. She waits for you, as she always has.”

Then, unexpectedly, a figure entered the room on the screen. Wanda’s eyes widened in shock. “Tommy…” she whispered, unable to believe what she was seeing. He looked as he had at eighteen, tall and strong, yet carrying the same mischievous spark in his eyes.

The guards spoke softly, as if the words themselves were fragile. “Tommy… Billy… Lyla… they have already passed. They chose to remain with Y/N, bound to her as she is bound to the Junction. All of them… have chosen her.”

Wanda’s hands trembled as she stared at the screen, her chest tightening with a raw, suffocating ache. “How… how have they already… died?” Her voice was barely more than a strangled whisper, panic clawing at her throat. “It’s only been… a few months since I entered this eternity. How is this possible?”

The taller guard’s voice was steady, almost cruel in its calmness. “Time flows differently here, Wanda. In the Junction… decades have passed. Fifty years have gone by. Your children… they lived their lives until their nineties before going to the junction, and when their time came to choose their eternity, they chose to remain with her.”

The words struck Wanda like a blow to the chest. Her hands flew to her face as if she could block out the reality. Fifty years. Fifty years of laughter, of love, of moments she would never again touch. All because of her choice.

She staggered backward, her voice rising, raw with desperation and guilt. “No… no! This isn’t… this isn’t fair! I was supposed to… I was supposed to be with them! I… I should have—”

The second guard’s words fell over her like ice. “Once a soul has entered their chosen eternity, there is no returning. The rules cannot be broken. Even for those they love, even for family… you cannot go back.”

Wanda sank to the ground, trembling violently, her sobs ripping through her chest. “No… no! I—I was wrong! I was so wrong! Y/N… Y/N is my home! My life! My everything! And I—” She buried her face in her hands, rocking back and forth, as the reality crashed over her like a wave. She had abandoned the one she had loved through decades, the one who had built her a life filled with laughter, warmth, and family.

“I… I left you… for a dream… for a memory… for him!” she wailed, the words sharp and bitter on her tongue. “I was supposed to stay with you, Y/N! I knew… I always knew… you are my heart! My soul! My everything!”

The sobs came faster now, raw and unrestrained. She clawed at the floor, at the glowing edges of the gate, anything to undo the impossibility, anything to tear herself back to Y/N. “I—please! I can’t lose you! I can’t lose our life! I can’t! I can’t! I was wrong… so wrong!”

Her gaze fell on the screen again, on Y/N, still and gentle, holding the picture of her. Wanda’s heart ached in ways she had never known. She saw Tommy, Billy, Lyla… all of them alive in spirit, bound to Y/N, their love and choices a stark mirror of her own failure.

Everything she had thought she wanted—the dream-life with Vision—felt empty, hollow, and unbearable. She had traded the warmth of a lifetime, of true, enduring love, for a fleeting illusion. And now, she was alone, trapped in a life that could never fill the void Y/N had always been.

Wanda fell forward, sobbing uncontrollably, her body wracked with guilt and heartbreak. “Y/N… I—please… forgive me… I never should have left you… I never… never…”

The guards remained silent, unyielding, leaving Wanda alone with the crushing weight of her mistake, the bitter knowledge that she had lost the life and the love that had always been hers.

Wanda buried her face in her hands, rocking slightly, her sobs echoing through the quiet streets of the recreated town. The weight of decades lost, of the life and love she had almost abandoned, pressed on her chest like a stone.

One of the guards stepped closer, their voice calm but carrying an undeniable gravity. “This… this is why the coordinators warned you, Wanda. Eternity is a long time for regrets.”

The words struck her like a dagger. She froze, trembling, lifting her tear-streaked face toward them. “Regrets…? You mean… I—” Her voice cracked, choking on the truth she had tried to deny. “I chose my own hell by choosing this… by leaving my Y/N?”

The taller guard’s tone was steady, almost merciless in its clarity. “Yes. You chose to step into one eternity with Vision. And now… the life you truly belong to waits elsewhere, beyond your reach. The moments you could have spent… the love you could have shared… are gone from your grasp for now. Eternity does not allow for second chances once a choice is made.”

Wanda’s knees gave way beneath her. She sank to the ground, her hands clawing at the glowing floor as if she could tear open reality and undo her mistake. “No… no… this isn’t fair! I knew… I knew Y/N was my everything! My heart! My life! And I—”

The sobs came faster, raw and unrelenting. She pressed her forehead to the ground, whispering through gasps of grief, “I was so wrong… so wrong… I should have stayed… I should have never left you… Y/N…”

The guards said nothing, their silence almost unbearable. Their words, earlier and now, echoed in her mind with cruel precision: eternity is a long time for regrets. And for Wanda, every heartbeat of that eternity now pulsed with the bitter, aching weight of hers.

Vision appeared at the edge of the recreated town more than once, his calm expression tinged with concern. “Wanda,” he said softly the first time, reaching out a hand as if to bridge the distance between them. “You don’t have to stay here alone. Come with me. We can—”

Wanda flinched, her hands tightening into fists. “No,” she snapped, her voice sharp, bitter. “Don’t. Just… forget me.”

He hesitated, confusion flickering in his eyes. “Wanda… what are you saying? I only want to—”

“Forget me,” she repeated, cutting him off. Her voice cracked, heavy with grief and anger. “Because of you… I lost her. Because I chose you… I lost my soulmate. The life I had with Y/N… the life I truly wanted… it’s gone. Don’t think for a second I want you now. Don’t think for a second I forgive myself. Just… leave me.”

Vision’s mouth opened, then closed again. He took a step closer, voice quieter, pleading. “But Wanda… we can still—”

She shook her head violently, tears streaming down her cheeks. “No! Stop. I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to hear you. You took her from me—well, not you exactly, but I let you. And now it’s too late. You’re nothing to me. Nothing. Leave me here alone.”

His expression softened, pain flickering in his eyes, but he said nothing further. Wanda turned her back to him, collapsing to the ground, her sobs shaking her body. Each visit, each attempt from Vision to reach her only reminded her of her mistake, only carved the ache in her chest deeper.

She had chosen a fleeting dream over the life that had always been hers—and now, she was left with nothing but regret, the bitter taste of the choice she made over her true eternity.

---

At first, you brushed it off, chalking it up to stress or the changing seasons. But days turned into weeks, and instead of fading, it seemed to grow heavier, like it was pulling something deep from your chest.

You'd ignored it longer than you should have, convincing yourself it was nothing.

Jenna had even teased you about it once or twice, her laughter light and dismissive as she handed you a bottle of water and told you to "take better care of yourself." You'd laughed along with her, but deep down, something about it unsettled you.

When the pain started—a dull ache beneath your ribs every time you took a deep breath—you knew you couldn't ignore it anymore.

That's when you made the call.

The appointment came and went in a blur.

The doctor had been kind but direct, asking questions you couldn't answer with certainty. How long had the symptoms persisted? Had you noticed anything else? Fatigue, weight loss? You'd nodded at some points, shook your head at others, feeling like each response was pulling you further into a place you didn't want to be.

"We'll run some tests," they'd said, their tone neutral, almost too neutral. "Just to be safe."

You'd left the office that day with a sinking feeling you couldn't quite explain, like a storm cloud had settled just over your shoulders. But even then, you told yourself it was nothing.

It had to be.

When the call came, days later, their voice was calm but edged with something you couldn't place.

The voice on the other end, professional but cautious, had asked if you could come in—today. It wasn't a suggestion; it was an urgency wrapped in sterile politeness, and that was when it hit you—that it wasn't nothing.

The drive to the clinic had felt like an eternity. The silence in the car had been unbearable, but every time you'd reached for the radio, your hand had fallen back into your lap. Music felt too loud, too intrusive, as if it would force you to acknowledge the knot in your stomach that had been tightening since the moment you hung up the phone.

The streets blurred past you, familiar landmarks losing their meaning. All you could focus on was the road ahead and the gnawing thought that something was wrong—something worse than you wanted to admit. Your hands had gripped the steering wheel so tightly your knuckles turned white, and at one point, you'd realized you were holding your breath without meaning to.

By the time you'd pulled into the clinic's parking lot, your chest ached—not just from the persistent cough but from the weight of your anxiety.

You'd sat there for a moment, staring at the sliding glass doors, wondering if you could just... drive away. Pretend the call never happened. Pretend nothing was wrong.

But then you'd thought of Jenna. Her face had flashed in your mind—her smile, the way she always seemed to know when something was bothering you, even when you tried to hide it. You couldn't hide this forever, and if you didn't walk in now, it would only get worse.

The waiting room had been quiet, save for the soft hum of a fish tank in the corner and the occasional murmur of voices. You'd checked in at the front desk, the receptionist's cheery smile making your stomach twist, and then found a seat near the window.

The minutes stretched on.

There had been an older man across from you, his hands trembling slightly as he flipped through a magazine he clearly wasn't reading. Beside him, a woman with a scarf tied around her head stared at the floor, her expression distant.

You couldn't stop wondering about their stories—what they were going through, what battles they were silently fighting. Compared to them, your cough and aches felt trivial, like you didn't belong in this space.

You'd convinced yourself, even as you sat there, that you were wasting everyone's time. That whatever was happening to you couldn't possibly be as bad as what these people were enduring.

Maybe it had been an overreaction to come at all, you thought, even though you knew deep down that wasn't true.

When your name was finally called, your heart jumped into your throat. You stood, legs feeling unsteady beneath you, and followed the nurse down a hallway that smelled faintly of disinfectant and something metallic.

She'd led you to a small room and asked you to wait for the doctor, her smile kind but fleeting, as if she knew what was coming.

The seconds ticked by in excruciating silence. Your eyes had scanned the walls, landing on a framed picture of a mountain range, a feeble attempt to make the space feel less clinical. It didn't work.

When the door opened, Dr. Patel had stepped in, clipboard in hand, his face calm but serious. He'd greeted you with a nod, his usual warmth muted, and gestured for you to sit.

You'd perched on the edge of the chair, your hands clenching and unclenching in your lap. Dr. Patel had sat across from you, his gaze steady but unreadable as he placed the clipboard on the desk.

"I wanted to go over the results of your tests," he'd begun, his voice measured, like he was trying to soften the blow before it landed.

He'd turned his computer screen toward you, the image of a scan glowing faintly against the dim light of the room. He'd pointed to an area on the scan, circling it with the cursor as he explained the findings.

The words he used were clinical, detached, but you caught enough to piece it together. Something about nodules, abnormalities, and how the mass in question hadn't been there before.

And then he'd said it. The word you'd been avoiding, the one that made everything crash down around you.

Cancer.

You'd felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. For a moment, you couldn't breathe, couldn't think.

The word echoed in your mind, bouncing around like it didn't belong there. You'd stared at the scan, your eyes unfocused, as Dr. Patel continued to explain the next steps—biopsies, treatments, consultations—but his voice had become background noise.

You hadn't cried, not then. You'd just nodded numbly, your hands gripping the arms of the chair so tightly you thought they might snap. Your chest had tightened, the ache you'd been ignoring now unbearable, but you'd forced yourself to stay still.

When the appointment ended, you'd walked out of the clinic in a daze. The world outside had felt too bright, too normal, like nothing had changed when everything had.

You'd sat in your car for what felt like hours, staring at the steering wheel as the weight of it all pressed down on you. And for the first time, you'd thought about what this meant—not just for you, but for Jenna.

How would you even begin to tell her? How could you?

She was the person you turned to when things felt too heavy, the one who always knew how to make everything seem a little less impossible. But this time... this time felt different.

You'd closed your eyes, leaning your head back against the seat, trying to imagine how the conversation would go. You could see her face so clearly in your mind, the way her brows would furrow, her lips parting as she searched for the right words.

You could almost hear her voice, the way it would waver as she asked, "What does this mean? What do we do?"

And that's where your mind stalled—because you didn't have the answers.

You didn't know what it meant, not really, and you definitely didn't know what to do. The idea of seeing that kind of fear in her eyes, of being the reason her world tilted off its axis, made your stomach twist.

Then there was her work. Jenna had always been busy, but lately, it felt like the world was pulling her in a million directions at once.

She'd been running from set to set, juggling interviews, photo shoots, and endless calls with her team. You'd seen how tired she was, how she tried to hide it behind a bright smile whenever she came home, but you could see the strain in her eyes.

How could you add this to her plate?

The thought hit you like a punch to the gut, the realization settling in with a kind of brutal clarity. If you told her, it wouldn't just be your burden anymore—it would become hers, too. And that wasn't fair. Not when she already had so much to carry.

You'd opened your eyes, staring at the dashboard, trying to convince yourself that waiting wasn't the same as hiding. It wasn't like you were lying to her, not really.

You just needed time to figure things out, to understand what this meant and what came next. Maybe once you had more information, once you knew what the treatment would look like or what the prognosis was, it would be easier to tell her.

Or maybe that was just an excuse.

The truth, the part you didn't want to admit even to yourself, was that you were scared. Not just of the diagnosis, but of what it would do to her.

Jenna was strong—stronger than anyone you'd ever met—but this felt like too much, even for her. You couldn't bear the thought of seeing her break under the weight of it, of watching her world shift because of something you couldn't control.

And then there was the selfish part of you, the part that didn't want to see the pity in her eyes. You didn't want her to look at you differently, to start treating you like you were fragile or broken. You didn't want this to define you, not yet, not in her eyes.

So you'd made the decision, sitting there in the stifling silence of your car. You wouldn't tell her—not now, at least. You'd keep this to yourself, at least until you knew more, until you could figure out how to explain it without falling apart.

It wasn't an easy decision. In fact, it felt like the hardest thing you'd ever done. But as you sat there, the weight of it all pressing down on your chest, it felt like the only choice you had.

You thought that, for now, you'd carry this alone.

But after a while, things felt different.

The days had turned into weeks, and with each passing one, the weight of the secret grew heavier. It wasn't just the diagnosis itself; it was the way it bled into every part of your life, a shadow you couldn't shake.

And Jenna—she'd started noticing.

It was small things at first, things that were easy to dismiss or laugh off.

You'd caught her watching you more closely when you coughed, her brow creasing ever so slightly. "Maybe you should get that checked out," she'd said once, the words half-teasing but laced with genuine concern. You'd waved her off with a smile, promising it was nothing, but the look in her eyes had lingered.

Then there were the nights when you'd felt too drained to do much of anything. Jenna had curled up beside you on the couch, her hand brushing against yours as she asked, "Are you feeling okay? You've seemed... tired lately."

You'd blamed it on work, on stress, on anything but the truth, and she'd let it go—though not without a small frown tugging at her lips.

The tipping point had come a few nights ago, when you'd caught her staring at you in the mirror.

You'd been brushing your teeth, the rhythmic sound filling the quiet bathroom, when you noticed her reflection watching yours. "You've lost weight," she'd said softly, her voice more curious than accusatory.

"I haven't noticed," you'd lied, avoiding her gaze.

She'd hesitated, her arms crossing over her chest as she leaned against the doorframe. "Maybe we should book a check-up or something," she'd suggested, her tone light but her eyes serious.

You'd shrugged it off again, changing the subject, but the way her gaze lingered on you made it clear she wasn't convinced.

And that's what finally pushed you to make the decision. You couldn't keep brushing her off, couldn't keep pretending everything was fine when it clearly wasn't.

She was already worried, even if she didn't fully realize it yet. And sooner or later, she was going to piece things together on her own.

So when she told you she finally had a night free—no calls, no meetings, no obligations—you decided it was time.

The two of you had been planning this date for weeks, trying to carve out time amidst the chaos of her schedule. It wasn't anything extravagant, just dinner at your favorite little spot downtown, but it felt significant in a way you couldn't quite explain.

You told yourself it was the right moment, that you couldn't keep putting this off. You didn't know where this illness would take you next or how much time you had before the symptoms became impossible to hide. The coughs were more frequent now, the fatigue harder to mask. It was only a matter of time before Jenna noticed something you couldn't explain away.

This wasn't how you'd wanted to tell her—not like this, over a quiet dinner on what should've been a happy night. But you didn't see another choice. You couldn't keep lying to her, and you couldn't bear the thought of her finding out some other way.

As you got ready for the evening, the weight of the decision settled over you, heavy but resolute. You weren't sure how you were going to say it or what words you'd use, but you knew it had to be now.

Tonight, you'd tell her.

You'd been rehearsing the words in your head all day, trying to prepare yourself for what felt impossible to say.

But now, sitting in the car, you couldn't ignore the way the air seemed heavier, weighed down by something you couldn't name, and Jenna—Jenna wasn't herself.

She'd been trying to act normal, you could tell. Humming along to the radio, her fingers drumming against the steering wheel like she always did, glancing over at you every so often with what you guessed was meant to be a reassuring smile.

But there was a tension in her movements, a stiffness that wasn't usually there.

It was subtle, barely noticeable if you weren't paying attention. But you were paying attention.

Her hands gripped the wheel a little tighter than usual, her knuckles pale against the leather.

Her gaze lingered too long on the road ahead, as if she was focusing on anything but you. The way she adjusted the air conditioning, even though it didn't need it, or fiddled with her bracelet, slipping it up and down her wrist—these weren't things Jenna usually did.

Your chest felt tight, and not from the illness.

Had she figured it out? Had she found something—a paper you'd forgotten to throw away, maybe, or a note scrawled hastily with an appointment reminder? You'd been so careful, but the thought that you'd slipped up sent a sharp pang of anxiety through you.

You replayed everything in your head, scanning for mistakes, for signs. She hadn't said anything outright, but that only made it worse. If she had found something, she wouldn't confront you about it—not Jenna. No, she'd let it fester, trying to give you space, trying not to pry. But that didn't mean she wouldn't act differently.

And she was acting differently.

Even the silence between you felt louder than it should have, thick and charged with something unspoken. You'd always been able to sit comfortably with her in quiet moments, sharing space without the need to fill it. But this wasn't that. This was an entirely different kind of silence, one that pressed down on you like a weight you couldn't shrug off.

Your mind raced, chasing every possible scenario. Maybe she'd pieced it together herself, noticed more than you thought. Jenna wasn't oblivious.

She'd seen you brush off dinner more often than not, heard the cough that hadn't gone away, seen how you'd flinched the other day when she wrapped her arms around your ribs from behind. She'd even asked, once or twice, if everything was okay.

"You're sure you're fine?" she'd said a few nights ago, her brows knitting together in concern as you forced down a glass of water to stop the coughing fit. You'd laughed, waved her off, told her you'd been pushing yourself too hard at work.

And maybe she'd believed you. Or maybe she hadn't.

The thought gnawed at you as you stared out the window, the glow of passing streetlights streaking across your vision.

You turned to look at her, and for a moment, she felt impossibly far away. She was still Jenna, your Jenna, but there was a distance now, something fragile and strange sitting between you. Her profile was calm, unreadable, her lips pressed into a line that wasn't quite a frown but wasn't a smile, either.

You tried to convince yourself that you were imagining things, that your own guilt and nerves were making you see something that wasn't there. But deep down, you couldn't shake the feeling.

When she finally pulled into the restaurant parking lot and shifted the car into park, she sat there for a moment, her hands still on the wheel.

"You okay?" she asked, her voice steady but quieter than usual.

"Yeah," you answered quickly, too quickly. "You?"

"Of course," she said, the words slipping out a fraction too fast.

Her smile came next, bright but brittle, like it might crack if you looked at it too closely. And as she turned away, unbuckling her seatbelt and reaching for her purse, you caught a glimpse of something in her eyes—hesitation, maybe, or something close to it.

You didn't know what it meant, but it lingered, heavy in your chest, as the two of you made your way inside.

The restaurant was warm and softly lit, the kind of place where the low hum of conversation mixed with the faint clink of silverware on plates. You'd picked it because it was one of your usual spots—familiar, comfortable, with memories stitched into every corner. But tonight, none of that comfort seemed to settle in.

You couldn't stop picturing how the night might unfold, how Jenna might react once you finally told her. Would she cry? Would she be mad—at you, at the world, at herself for not noticing sooner? Would she try to fix it, as if sheer determination could somehow erase what was already happening?

The thought of her being mad was the one that stuck, looping endlessly in your mind. Would she think you'd waited too long to tell her?

Or worse, would she be upset that you'd told her at all, that you'd burdened her with something so heavy when her life was already so full?

You could see it so clearly—her soft features hardening, her voice laced with frustration as she asked why you hadn't come to her sooner. Why you hadn't trusted her enough.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your nerves from spiraling further out of control. But it didn't help that Jenna was acting off. You'd been together for two and a half years—long enough to notice when something wasn't right. And tonight, something definitely wasn't right.

She was trying, you'd give her that. She smiled when the waiter brought the menus, chatted with him about the specials like she always did, and even reached across the table to brush her fingers lightly over yours. But her smile didn't quite reach her eyes, and her touches felt more like a distraction than a comfort.

When the waiter came back to take your drink orders, she didn't hesitate. "A glass of the house red," she said, her voice steady, almost automatic.

You were about to do the same—it was your thing, after all. A little tradition you'd fallen into on dates like this. But the doctor's voice echoed in your mind: Avoid alcohol, caffeine, anything that might add strain. So instead, you said, "I'll just have a Diet Coke, please."

Jenna's head snapped up, her brows knitting together as she looked at you. "No wine?" she asked, her tone light but curious. "Since when do you skip wine?"

You scrambled for an excuse, heat rushing to your face as you waved it off. "Just... not feeling it tonight. Wanted something lighter."

Her eyes lingered on you for a moment, like she didn't quite believe you but wasn't going to press the issue. "Alright," she said, leaning back in her chair. But there was a flicker of something in her expression—confusion, maybe, or concern. You couldn't tell.

As she turned her attention back to the menu, you tried to steady your breathing, but your chest felt tight. You knew she noticed things, little things, even when you thought you'd been careful. And now you couldn't help but wonder if she was piecing them together in real time, one by one, until the truth clicked into place.

You looked down at your hands, twisting the napkin in your lap as the nerves swirled in your stomach.

You weren't sure how much longer you could keep this up—pretending everything was fine, acting like tonight was just another date. Because it wasn't. And you weren't sure how to tell her that without everything breaking apart.

And still, you couldn't shake the feeling that she already knew.

But you tried to keep the conversation going, forcing yourself to focus on Jenna and not on the crushing weight of your own nerves.

She talked about work, the projects she was excited for, the roles she'd recently turned down. You asked questions, nodded at all the right times, even laughed softly when she mentioned something funny one of her co-stars had done. But the way she was looking at you—it made it impossible to relax.

Her gaze was soft, too soft, like she was trying to protect you with just her eyes.

There was a sympathy there, gentle and unspoken, that only made your stomach churn harder. Did she already know? Had she pieced it all together? The thought gnawed at you, turning every word you said into an effort just to keep up the act.

By the time the food arrived, you were too nervous to eat. The plate in front of you looked like it belonged to someone else—steaming, perfectly plated, entirely untouched.

You picked at it, moving the food around your plate, but your appetite had vanished. Every nerve in your body was screaming, the weight of what you were about to say threatening to crush you.

You didn't understand why. You loved Jenna. You loved her more than you could ever put into words.

She was the reason you smiled when you didn't feel like it, the reason your laughter didn't sound hollow. She was the first person you thought about when you woke up and the last one before you fell asleep. She was your person.

And that's why you had to tell her.

You told yourself that over and over again. This wasn't just about you. Jenna deserved to know. If there was anyone you wanted to be the first to hear, it was her.

Not a friend, not a family member—Jenna. Because no matter how terrifying this was, no matter how much it hurt, she was the one who deserved to know the truth.

You tried to convince yourself that it didn't matter how she'd react, that you'd find a way to deal with whatever came next. Whether she stayed, whether she left, whether she cursed you out for not telling her sooner—it didn't matter.

This illness was a part of you now. There was no escaping it, no undoing it, no pretending it wasn't there. And if Jenna didn't want to stay, you'd have to accept that, too. But you couldn't let her find out some other way. You had to be the one to tell her, no matter how hard it was.

A little while into the dinner, you glanced up from your untouched plate, the words balanced precariously on the tip of your tongue. You were going to tell her. Right now.

But then you noticed Jenna again. She was fiddling with the edge of her napkin, her fingers smoothing and crumpling it over and over.

She hadn't touched her wine glass in minutes, though she'd ordered it with enthusiasm. And when she wasn't fidgeting with the napkin, she was twisting her bracelet up and down her wrist or tapping her nails lightly against the table.

Her nervousness was palpable, radiating off her in waves. And it made you pause.

She looked like she already knew. Like she was bracing herself for something—maybe for you to say it out loud. The realization only made your own nerves spike higher, your throat tightening as you tried to steady yourself.

What if she was waiting for this moment? What if she'd guessed and had been dreading it ever since? It was impossible to tell, but the thought made the words stick in your throat, suddenly too heavy to push out.

You took a shaky breath, gripping the edge of the table to ground yourself, but the question remained, lingering in your mind like a storm cloud: Did she already know.

The silence between you was thick and unyielding, like a barrier you couldn't push through. You stared at your untouched plate, willing yourself to speak, to just get it over with. Your heart hammered in your chest, each beat echoing in your ears, and you felt like you were teetering on the edge of something vast and terrifying.

Just say it, you told yourself. You've rehearsed this a hundred times. Just say it.

But the words didn't come.

Your throat felt dry, the air between you charged with everything unsaid. And then, in that fragile quiet, you finally opened your mouth, the beginnings of your confession trembling on your lips.

"I—"

You barely got the first sound out before Jenna interrupted you.

"I need to talk to you about something."

Her voice cut through the moment like a sharp blade, and your eyes snapped up to meet hers. She froze, realizing she'd interrupted, her brow furrowing in apology.

"Sorry," she said quickly, her hands lifting slightly as if to physically backpedal. "You go first."

The tension in her expression, the nervous energy radiating off her, should've made you more anxious. But instead, you felt a wave of relief so profound it nearly knocked the breath out of you.

You didn't want to say it.

You didn't want to tell her, to put it into words, to make it real. Because once you said it out loud, there'd be no going back.

The illness that had already seeped into every corner of your life, consuming your thoughts and your body, would become something undeniable. And it wasn't just your burden anymore—it would become hers, too.

So you nodded quickly, your voice barely above a whisper. "No, it's okay. You go."

Jenna hesitated, her eyes scanning yours as if to make sure you meant it. Then, with a small, almost imperceptible sigh, she shifted in her seat, her fingers tangling together in her lap.

You watched her, noticing for the first time how truly nervous she looked. Her hands moved constantly, fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve, twisting her bracelet, pressing her palms flat against her thighs.

For a fleeting moment, your mind latched onto something completely irrational: Was she going to propose?

The thought felt absurd, but it burrowed into your brain anyway. The way she was avoiding eye contact, the way her fingers clasped and unclasped like she was gripping something small—it all seemed so... deliberate. Like she was holding onto something important.

You could almost picture it: a velvet box, hidden in her jacket pocket, the hinge creaking as she opened it to reveal something glittering and perfect. Her nervousness would make sense then. Proposing was a big deal, a life-changing moment, and Jenna would want to get it exactly right.

It had to be that. Maybe it was wishful thinking, your mind scrambling for anything to distract you from your own nerves, but for a second, you almost let yourself believe it.

Then Jenna spoke, and it all came crashing down.

She didn't look at you right away. Her gaze dropped to her lap, where her hands were still fidgeting, and she swallowed hard before starting. "I've been thinking about this for a while," she said softly, her voice barely audible over the hum of the restaurant.

Your stomach dropped.

Her words were slow, halting, like she was trying to choose them carefully but wasn't quite sure how. She glanced up at you briefly, her eyes heavy with something you couldn't place—sympathy, maybe, or regret—before looking down again.

"It's just..." She paused, exhaling shakily. "With everything going on—with my career, and the projects, and traveling all the time... it's a lot. And I know it's not fair to you."

You didn't respond. You couldn't.

"I'm barely home," she continued, her voice trembling slightly. "And when I am, I'm... distracted. By work, by everything I have to do. I feel like I'm constantly being pulled in a million different directions, and no matter how hard I try, I can't... I can't give you the time or attention you deserve."

Her hands tightened in her lap, her knuckles pale against her skin. She looked up at you again, forcing herself to meet your gaze even though it clearly took effort.

"You've been so patient with me," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "So understanding, even when I didn't deserve it. And I hate that. I hate that I've let things get to this point, where I feel like I'm failing you."

She gulped, her Adam's apple bobbing as she struggled to steady herself. "I've been thinking about this for a long time," she repeated, almost as if she was trying to convince herself now.

The words hung heavy between you, suffocating in their weight.

"I just... I think it's for the best if we—if we break up."

The final words came out like a whisper, but they might as well have been a shout. They echoed in your head, over and over, until they drowned out everything else.

She was still looking at you, her expression raw and vulnerable, waiting for you to say something—anything. But you couldn't.

Because in that moment, it felt like the ground had opened up beneath you, pulling you into a freefall you couldn't escape.

For a moment, you couldn't even process what she'd said. It didn't feel real, couldn't feel real. The restaurant around you blurred into nothing—voices faded into static, the clinking of plates and glasses became a distant hum. All you could hear was the sound of her words echoing in your mind.

Break up.

You blinked, and suddenly your throat was tight, your chest heavy, and your vision stung with tears threatening to spill over. You tried to swallow, but it felt like there was a lump lodged in your throat, growing bigger with every second of silence that passed.

All you could manage was a quiet, broken, "Oh."

It was barely a sound, barely anything at all, but it carried everything. All the confusion, the hurt, the disbelief—it was packed into that one syllable that trembled out of you. And the moment it escaped, you felt like you were collapsing from the inside out.

Your hands trembled slightly as they rested on your lap, and you clenched them into fists to steady yourself.

But it didn't work. Your chest felt like it was caving in, your stomach churning violently as if you were going to be sick. You suddenly felt more ill than you'd ever felt before, like every bit of strength you had left was being drained out of you all at once.

You blinked again, and a tear slid down your cheek before you even realized you were crying.

Jenna didn't look away.

Her gaze stayed locked on you, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears, and that only made it worse. It made your chest tighten further, your throat burn hotter. Because why was she crying? Why was she crying?

If she thought this was the right thing to do, if she believed that breaking up was the solution, then why did she look like she was on the verge of breaking, too?

The thought stirred something sharp and bitter in your chest—something close to anger.

You didn't want to be angry, not at her. You loved her more than anything, more than yourself, more than anything you'd ever known in this world. But in that moment, it bubbled up anyway, unbidden and ugly.

How could she say this was for the best and look like she was about to cry? How could she sit there, tearing you apart with her words, and act like she felt guilty about it? Like she didn’t want to do this but was doing it anyway.

If she didn't want to do it, then why was she?

Your hands unclenched, trembling as you wiped hastily at your face, trying to erase the tears that kept coming. But it was no use. They kept falling, hot and relentless, leaving tracks down your cheeks that you couldn't hide, even if you tried.

"Okay," you whispered, though it wasn't okay. Nothing was okay. But you didn't have anything else to say. Your mind felt blank, empty except for the deafening echo of her words and the ache that spread through your chest like wildfire.

Your lips parted like you were about to say more, but nothing came out. There was so much you wanted to ask, to scream, to cry, but the weight of it all held you frozen. You could only sit there, staring at her through the blur of your tears, wondering how it had come to this.

Why now? Why like this? Why, after everything you'd been through together, was this the moment it all fell apart?

Your heart felt like it was breaking, splintering into a million pieces you didn't know how to put back together.

You stared at her, searching her face for something—anything—that might explain this, that might soften the blow. But all you saw was sadness and guilt and resolve. And that, more than anything, made you feel like you might throw up.

You didn't know how to respond—what could you say? Everything felt so wrong, so heavy, and all you could do was sit there, your throat too tight to speak, your heart too shattered to form words.

And Jenna, maybe out of nervousness or guilt—or both—began to ramble again. Her voice was softer now, tinged with a slight tremor, like she was trying to steady herself but couldn't quite manage it.

"I—I've just been thinking about this a lot," she said, her words spilling out in a way that didn't quite connect. "With... everything. My work, how busy it's been, and I don't know. I've been trying to figure it out, and it's like—like maybe it's just too much."

Her fingers fidgeted in her lap, twisting her rings and pressing into her palm as if she could ground herself that way.

Her gaze flicked up to you, then away, then back again. She looked like she was searching for something—understanding, forgiveness, anything—but couldn't seem to hold your eyes for more than a second at a time.

"It's not that I don't care," she added quickly, almost desperately, her words tripping over themselves. "You know I do. You know I care about you so much, and that's why—" She stopped mid-sentence, pressing her lips together hard, her brows furrowing like she didn't know how to finish the thought.

Her voice was uneven when she started again. "I just—everything's so complicated right now. With filming, with traveling, and—and I feel like..." Her words faltered again, and she let out a shaky breath, her shoulders sagging as if the weight of her own thoughts was too much.

Her sentences were fragmented, scattered, like she didn't fully know how to explain herself. It wasn't an argument, wasn't a definitive declaration—it was just... messy.

And that made it worse.

Because nothing she was saying felt concrete, nothing felt like a real reason. It was all just vague, unfinished thoughts that left you sitting there, trying to piece together what she actually meant. Trying to figure out if she even knew what she was saying.

Jenna swallowed hard, her throat bobbing as she glanced down at her lap again. "I don't know how else to say it," she murmured, almost to herself, her voice barely audible.

But that didn't make it any clearer.

All you could do was sit there, still frozen, still unable to speak, as she rambled on, her words tangling together in a way that felt more like she was trying to convince herself than explain anything to you.

And it felt like every word she said was chipping away at something inside you, leaving you raw and exposed and aching.

You couldn't even process the idea of why she was doing this, because she wasn't giving you a reason—she was just... saying things. Vague, messy things that didn't feel like they added up to anything but heartbreak.

"What were you going to say?" She asked, clearly getting the point of her rambling not helping anybody at the table. You felt your stomach twist violently. Her tone was soft, hesitant, like she was trying to patch the cracks she'd just shattered into existence, but it only made everything worse.

You stared at her, your heart thudding heavily in your chest. Was she serious? Did she really think she could just ask that now—after everything—and act like it hadn't happened? Like you weren't sitting here, choking on the weight of her words, trying to make sense of it all?

You couldn't believe it. And yet, part of you could. This was so her—to try and smooth it all over, to shove the pieces of normalcy back into place even when it was painfully obvious they didn't fit anymore. But you could see it in her face, in the way her lips trembled and her eyes flicked nervously over your expression. She knew it wasn't working. She knew this was ridiculous.

Still, you couldn't answer right away. Because, what could you even say?

What you were going to say—what you needed to say—wasn't something you could tell her now. Not after this. Not after she'd sat across from you and torn everything apart, leaving you to sit here, raw and exposed, trying to make sense of her fragmented reasoning.

You couldn't tell her. You couldn't tell her that you were sick. Because now it would look like a desperate attempt to make her stay, to guilt her into taking it all back. And that was the last thing you wanted.

No—more than that, it would make it real. Actually real. Saying the words out loud, to her of all people, in this moment, would make it something you couldn't take back. And you weren't ready for that. You weren't ready for any of it.

"It was nothing," you muttered, your voice flat and quiet, barely recognizable as your own. You stared at the table, refusing to meet her eyes, because the weight of her gaze was too much to bear. "Just... nothing important."

You hoped she'd leave it at that, though you could tell from the way her expression softened into something unbearably sympathetic that she didn't believe you. She was probably going to ask again, probably going to try to dig deeper, but you couldn't give her more. Not now. Not like this.

She didn't press you for more, but the silence that followed felt louder than anything she could have said. You didn't look at her, didn't dare, because you knew what you'd see—concern, confusion, maybe even guilt—and you couldn't take it. Not after everything.

You tried to focus on the table in front of you, the half-empty glass of soda that had gone warm, the plate of untouched food that suddenly felt miles away. But your mind wouldn't stop racing.

This wasn't how you'd imagined it. None of it.

All the words you'd rehearsed, the courage you'd spent all day building, the carefully planned moment—it was gone now, swept away like it had never existed. And no matter how much you wanted to, no matter how desperately you wished you could take it all back, it was too late.

Too late to say what you'd come here to say. Too late to stop what she'd said instead. Too late to fix whatever had been shattered between you tonight.

And now, you'd have to face it all alone.

The waiting rooms. The cold sterility of hospital walls. The appointments that stretched on longer than the days themselves. You'd prepared yourself for those things, or at least tried to, but you'd never prepared for doing it without her.

You couldn't blame her. You wouldn't. But that didn't make it hurt any less.

You swallowed hard, willing the tears to stay put, and reached for your glass, if only to give your hands something to do. The carbonation fizzed on your tongue, sharp and bitter, but you barely tasted it.

And as Jenna's gaze lingered on you, hesitant and uncertain, you told yourself the same thing you'd been trying to believe all night.

You would be fine. You had to be.