heaven ain't close in a place like this

"Look who cleaned herself up just for little ole me," you teased as you grabbed onto the collar of Tess's jacket. She knocked your hands away from her body, but didn't make any sort of move to get away from you. You were always in her space, especially when she was already in a grumpy mood.

Tess was easy to read and even easier to dismantle. She'd come in with her guard up, as if the fact that she had come to "visit" wasn't a concession in and of itself. If there was anyone else she wanted, she could probably have them, but Tess wanted you. She wanted you so badly that she hated herself for it, but you were an addiction that Tess just simply couldn't bring herself to stop.

"Behave or I will leave," Tess threatened. You knew that she wouldn't, not really. She had walked out before only to turn around approximately a quarter of the way back to her place. The decision to come to you wasn't exactly an easy one, especially with the curfew enforcement being as strict as it was. Tess risked a lot, including potentially having to spend an entire night with just you waiting for the sun to rise.

"I'll be good, I promise." You were teasing, and if the angry huff that came from Tess was anything to go by you were on thin ice.

"You are infuriating."

"A little hate sex is good for the soul," you laughed. Tess didn't say anything else as she walked you back against the wall. It always started like this, a staunch refusal to give you anything soft. She slid a knee in between your thighs and grabbed your hips to pull you down against her. It was a little more than what you were used to starting off, but Tess seemed to be in a rush.

She kept her eyes on you the whole time, a somewhat welcome change from the way she'd normally just bury her face into the side of your neck. Makeup was hard to come by and you hated scarves and high collars. It wasn't exactly a secret that you hooked up with Tess, but the older woman preferred that you at least pretend you didn't want to broadcast it across the world. The two of you were far from being ashamed of each other anymore.

"Fuck," you swore as Tess shoved her hand into your pants. Your head fell back against the wall as you pushed your body into hers. Your eyes were shut, but you didn't need to look to know that Tess was smirking. She'd call you out for being a smug little bitch, but at the end of the day, she had always been worse. You rarely got a chance to touch her, Tess seemed to prefer getting you off like it would somehow solve all her problems.

"You're so fucking whiny," Tess practically growled into your ear as she pushed her fingers inside of you. You weren't sure when she had switched to starting with two, but you fit perfectly around them. Tess didn't tease you anymore, roughly fucking into you at the perfect angle. Every thrust of her fingers pushed another pitchy moan from your lips, something else she could tease you about just to see the way your cheeks would flush.

"Tess, please." A part of you hated the way you sounded asking for your release. She didn't make you say anything else, muttering something under her breath about the sound of your voice. You felt her lips press a kiss to the column of your throat before she dropped down to her knees in front of you. Her free hand made quick work of your pants and underwear before her mouth was on you, tongue lapping hungrily at your clit and the arousal dripping from around her fingers.

A glance down was more than enough to snap the tension that had built up inside of you. Everywhere that Tess was touching you felt like it was on fire as your orgasm wrecked your body. Her hand was absolutely drenched, but she didn't stop even after you began to gush around her fingers. Tess kept going like her life depended on it, despite your weak attempts to push her away. She knew what you were like when you really couldn't take anymore, so she just swatted your hands away and continued to lap up every drop of you she could.

The rush of it all died down and your body slumped forward. Tess caught you before you could fall flat onto the floor and helped to lower you onto your knees. She took in the dazed look in your eyes as she shoved her fingers past your lips. You sucked the taste of yourself from her skin, egged on by the look in her eyes. The desire seemed to outweight the general annoyance she felt for you, and Tess leaned in to capture your lips in a kiss.

"I wasn't even finished yet and you were already on your knees? Eager," Tess teased. You rolled your eyes, but still pushed her to lay on the floor as you kissed her. Tess folded almost instantly, opening her mouth to let your tongue explore and taste as you pleased. Anything else Tess had planned to say died in her throat when you heard her whimper the second you pulled away.

The house had somehow become the topic of the evening. Every family gathering over the last few months had eventually circled back to it. The renovation was finally about to begin, which meant everyone wanted updates on paint colors, flooring samples, contractors, budgets, and a hundred other details that had consumed your life for the better part of a year.

You didn’t really mind. The house was your dream house. It sat on a few acres just outside Austin, with a wide front porch and enough room for everything you’d imagined your future family might need someday. After your grandmother left it for you in her will, you’d spent years saving for the renovation to update it and make it just perfect, and now that it was time, every decision felt important.

Unfortunately, most of those decisions seemed to belong exclusively to you.

“…and if we move the wall back another foot, we’d have room for a bigger island.”

Your sister leaned forward immediately. “Oh, definitely do that.”

Across from you, your aunt disagreed. “No, don’t. Bigger isn’t always better.”

A chorus of opinions followed.

You laughed, shaking your head before turning toward your husband. “What do you think?”

For a second, he looked up from his phone.

“The island.” You smiled. “Should we make it bigger?”

His attention flicked briefly toward you, then back to the screen. “Whatever you want, dear.”

The answer arrived so automatically that you weren’t even sure he’d processed the question.

Around the table, several people smiled. Your aunt gave an exaggerated sigh. “See? That’s what I need.”

A few heads nodded in agreement.

“What?”

She pointed toward your husband. “That. A man who doesn’t argue about every little thing.”

More laughter spread around the table.

“Seriously,” your cousin agreed. “You’re lucky.”

The word lodged somewhere behind your ribs. Lucky. Your husband was already scrolling again, his attention gone before the conversation had even moved on.

“He lets you do whatever you want,” your aunt continued. “If I told my husband I wanted to knock down a wall, he’d spend six months debating it.”

Everyone seemed amused by the idea. Everyone except you.

You managed a smile because it was easier than explaining. Easier than saying that being ignored wasn’t the same thing as being supported. Easier than admitting that you would have welcomed an argument at this point. An opinion. A preference. Anything that suggested he cared about the life the two of you were supposedly building together.

The wall layout was yours. The flooring was yours. The appliances were yours. The paint colors were yours. The furniture was yours. Sometimes it felt as though the entire dream belonged to you alone.

Your cousin was still talking. “I swear, if mine let me choose everything, I’d be thrilled.”

You gave a small laugh at the appropriate moment. Nobody noticed how tired it sounded… Because from the outside, it looked wonderful. You had a beautiful house. A husband who never fought you on decisions. A future everyone assumed was taking shape exactly the way you’d planned.

You glanced across the table again. Your husband’s gaze remained fixed on his phone. Whatever was happening there clearly held more interest than discussions about the home you’d spent years dreaming about.

For a moment, a thought surfaced that you immediately tried to push away. If you sold the house tomorrow, would he even care? The question unsettled you enough that you reached for your wine glass. Of course he would…  He had to. This was your future. Your marriage. Your home.

Yet as the conversation flowed around you and your husband continued scrolling through his phone, you found yourself wondering when he’d last sounded excited about any of it… You couldn’t remember.

The realization lingered long after dinner ended, following you all the way home, where the plans for your dream house sat neatly organized on the kitchen counter. You stared at them while your husband disappeared upstairs without a second glance.

*******

Monday arrived with the kind of nervous excitement that had kept you awake half the night.

The renovation had been planned for so long that it hardly felt real anymore. For months, the project had existed as sketches, samples, measurements, and endless decisions. Now there were trucks in the driveway, equipment being unloaded, and actual walls that were about to come down.

You stood on the porch with a mug of coffee wrapped between both hands as a pickup rolled to a stop. The driver’s door opened first. Joel climbed out, already carrying a folder under one arm. You’d met him three times before this. Once when he’d come out to measure the house. Again when he’d spent nearly two hours walking through every room while you explained what you wanted. And a third time when you’d signed the contract after interviewing several different companies and somehow finding yourself trusting his judgment more than anyone else’s.

Tommy emerged from the passenger side a second later. “Morning.”

“Morning.”

A grin spread across his face as he looked at the house.

“Still standing.”

“Barely.”

“Good. Gives us something to do.”

You laughed.

The crew began unloading tools while Joel crossed the driveway toward you.

“You ready?”

The question made you glance back at the house.

“No.”

The corner of his mouth twitched.

“Good answer.”

“Ask me again in six months.”

“Then you’ll tell me no for different reasons.”

“Probably.”

He nodded toward the front door.

“Let’s take one last look before everybody starts making holes in things.”

Together, you headed inside.

Within minutes, plans were spread across the kitchen island while crew members moved in and out carrying equipment.

“Okay, so this wall is coming down.”

You pointed to the blueprint.

“And I’d like the opening a little wider than we originally discussed. Not much. Maybe another foot.”

Joel studied the drawing.

“That shouldn’t be a problem.”

Relief immediately softened your shoulders.

“Really?”

“Mm.”

He looked toward the wall in question.

“Might require moving one electrical line, but I’d rather do that now than have you regret it later.”

“Exactly.”

The front door opened. You looked up automatically.

Mark came downstairs while buttoning the cuff of his shirt, laptop bag hanging from one shoulder. He made it halfway into the kitchen before slowing. His eyes moved from you to the plans spread across the island. Then to Joel. Then Tommy. Then to the crew carrying equipment through the house.

“Oh.” A faint frown appeared. “Today’s the day?”

The words hit harder than they should have.

Your smile faltered for the briefest moment. “Yeah.”

For a second, he looked genuinely surprised. “Right.” One hand ran through his hair. “Sorry. I completely forgot.”

Nobody said anything. Joel’s expression remained neutral. Tommy suddenly seemed fascinated by the tape measure in his hand.

You forced a small laugh. “It’s okay.”

And maybe it should have been. People forgot things. Work got busy. Life happened.

Except this wasn’t a dentist appointment or a dinner reservation. This was the renovation. The thing you’d spent months talking about. The thing you’d discussed over breakfast, over dinner, while watching television, and lying in bed at night. The thing that seemed to occupy half your thoughts. Yet somehow he’d forgotten it was starting today.

Mark stepped closer to the island. “So what’s first?”

The question sounded sincere. That almost made it worse.

You pointed to the plans. “We’re opening this wall up.”

“Huh.” He looked at the drawing for a few seconds before nodding. “That’ll look nice.”

Joel glanced down at the plans. “She’s thinking about widening the opening another foot.”

Mark followed the line on the blueprint. “If that’s what you want, sounds good.”

“Really?”

“Sure.” A smile tugged at his mouth. “You’ve spent way more time thinking about this house than I have.”

The comment wasn’t meant to be hurtful. Everyone seemed to take it as a joke. You smiled too. Mostly out of habit. Because the truth was that somewhere along the way, ‘you’ve got better taste than me’ had become ‘you decide’.

And ‘you decide’ had eventually become ‘I don’t need to be involved’.

Mark checked his watch and muttered a curse under his breath. “I’m late.”

You weren’t surprised. He usually was. He grabbed his travel mug from the counter before turning toward Joel.

“Sorry I’m disappearing on day one.”

“We’ll still be here tomorrow,” Joel replied.

That earned a brief laugh. “Fair.” Mark adjusted the strap of his laptop bag. “My office is down the hall.”

Joel nodded.

“We’ll seal everything off before demolition starts.”

“Appreciate it.” Mark pointed vaguely toward the hallway. “Just don’t fill the place with drywall dust. That’s where I hide during conference calls.”

Tommy chuckled. Joel smiled politely. You did too. Then Mark stepped toward you. The kiss landed on your forehead. Automatic enough that neither of you had to think about it.

By the time he pulled away, he was already reaching for his keys.

“See you tonight.”

“Bye.”

The front door closed behind him. A few moments later, his car disappeared down the driveway.

The kitchen grew quiet enough that you suddenly became aware of how warm your coffee mug felt in your hands.

You looked back down at the plans.

“So.” Your finger moved to another section. “I was thinking about adding pull-out shelving in the pantry.”

Joel followed the line of your finger.

“That’s a good idea.”

“If you’ve got the space, you’ll use it,” Tommy added.

You smiled. The knot that had settled in your chest eased slightly.

Outside, someone started up a saw. The renovation had officially begun. And although you couldn’t have explained why, it felt strangely easier to think about pantry shelves than the fact that your husband had forgotten the day your dream house finally started becoming real.

****

Joel had renovated houses for most of his adult life. Some projects stayed with him. Most didn’t. You tore out a wall, replaced some flooring, updated a kitchen, collected a check, and moved on to the next job. After a while, the houses blurred together.

This one should have done the same. Instead, three months later, Joel could have walked through the entire floor plan without looking at a single blueprint.

He knew where every electrical line ran, which floorboards creaked in the hallway, and exactly how many times you’d changed your mind about cabinet hardware before finally settling on a choice. The fact that he knew that last detail at all was something Tommy found endlessly amusing.

“You know that’s weird, right?”

Joel continued checking measurements. “What is?”

“The fact that you know more about this woman’s house than your own.”

Joel didn’t bother looking up. “That’s called doin’ my job.”

“Mhm.”

“It is.”

Tommy leaned against a stack of drywall with the expression of a man who was enjoying himself far too much.

“You got opinions on her pantry.”

“I got opinions on everybody’s pantry.”

“Sure you do.”

The problem was that Tommy wasn’t entirely wrong. There was something unusually satisfying about this project, and a lot of that came down to you.

Most homeowners cared about the end result. Very few cared about the process. They picked things because they were trendy, expensive, or because somebody on television had told them they should. You thought about things. Every decision had a purpose behind it.

The expanded pantry wasn’t about resale value. It was because you’d grown up in a house where storage always seemed to be in short supply. The reading nook beneath the front window existed because you’d always wanted one. The larger kitchen island wasn’t there because it looked impressive in a magazine. You wanted enough space for family dinners, holiday baking, and the life you imagined unfolding inside the house years from now.

You were building a home, not a showroom. Joel respected that. More than he probably should.

Living through a renovation wasn’t easy, yet somehow you’d managed to stay remarkably cheerful through most of it. Every morning, you emerged from whichever corner of the house wasn’t currently being demolished, coffee in hand and plans already forming in your head.

By the second month, you’d become part of the crew’s routine. Not literally, nobody would ever mistake you for a contractor. But there was rarely a day when you weren’t standing beside Joel discussing measurements, paint samples, shelving options, or whatever new idea had occurred to you overnight.

Unlike many homeowners he’d worked with, you actually listened when he explained why something wouldn’t work. If he suggested a better solution, you considered it instead of treating every recommendation like a personal challenge. It made the entire project easier. Unfortunately, Tommy had noticed. Which meant Joel never heard the end of it.

One afternoon, you appeared in the doorway carrying a folder of flooring samples while Joel was finishing trim work in the living room.

Tommy saw you first.

“Oh, there she is.” Joel kept working. “You gonna pretend you weren’t wondering where she’d gone?”

“I wasn’t.”

“Joel.”

“I wasn’t.”

Tommy’s grin widened. “You’ve looked toward that hallway six times in the last ten minutes.”

Joel considered several responses, but none of them would improve the situation. So he kept working while Tommy laughed himself into a near collapse against the wall.

The crush irritated him. He was far too old for this nonsense. More importantly, you were married. That should have been the end of it. Yet every week seemed to provide another reason for him to like you.

The fact that your husband was a fucking idiot only made everything worse. Mark wasn’t openly rude. Joel would have understood rude. What he couldn’t quite understand was how detached the man seemed from a project that consumed so much of your life.

Over the months, he saw him often enough. Most encounters lasted only a few minutes before work pulled him elsewhere, but every interaction left Joel with the same impression: Mark occupied the house, you lived in it. There was a difference.

One evening, you’d spent nearly half an hour debating countertop samples spread across the temporary folding table serving as your kitchen. After eliminating option after option, you’d finally pointed to one of them.

“Mark likes the darker one.”

Joel looked up. “He does?”

You smiled. “Yeah.” The answer sounded obvious to you. “He picked it.”

And for reasons Joel couldn’t entirely explain, that surprised him. Because it was one of the first times he’d heard your husband express a strong opinion about any part of the renovation.

The realization stayed with him longer than it should have. Maybe because it reminded him that marriages looked different from the inside than they did from the outside. Maybe because it was easier to be annoyed with a stranger than admit he didn’t actually know anything about your relationship. Still, the feeling lingered.

Not that Mark was necessarily a bad husband. Just that whenever something exciting happened in the house, you seemed to experience it alone.

The worst part was that the renovation itself wasn’t helping. Every week transformed another section of the house. Walls disappeared. Rooms opened up. Light reached places it hadn’t before. The home slowly became what you’d always imagined, and every time a new stage was completed, your face lit up with the same excitement you’d had on the day demolition began.

Most people eventually stopped noticing the work. You never did. You noticed every detail, every improvement, every inch of progress. And every time you smiled at something you’d dreamed into existence months earlier, Joel felt an unreasonable amount of satisfaction.

One evening, after you’d spent twenty minutes enthusiastically discussing the built-in bookshelves before finally heading upstairs, Tommy waited until you were out of earshot.

Then he looked at Joel. “You got it bad.”

Joel sighed. “Would you shut up?”

“Nope.” Tommy’s grin only widened. “You’re building her a dream house.”

“I’m building a house.”

“You remember what kind of cabinet handles she picked.”

Joel immediately regretted responding… Because Tommy’s expression brightened with victory.

“There it is.”

“Tommy.”

“The woman changes her mind one time and you remember every detail.”

“Three times.” The words escaped before Joel could stop them. Tommy stared at him. Joel closed his eyes. “Damn it.”

The laughter that followed echoed through the unfinished living room while Joel seriously considered whether homicide between brothers was still illegal in Texas.

******

Joel had spent most of the afternoon installing shelving in what would eventually become the mudroom. It was the kind of work he liked. Simple. Precise. Something he could focus on without having to think too much.

The rest of the crew had already left for the day, leaving only the sound of a drill, the occasional thud from upstairs, and the distant hum of the air conditioning struggling to keep up with the Texas heat.

He heard your voices before he registered the words.  At first, he paid no attention. Couples argued. It wasn’t his business. The house echoed more than usual with half the walls still exposed, which meant conversations carried farther than they normally would.

Joel reached for another screw and deliberately turned on the drill. The noise drowned everything out for a few seconds. Then it stopped… And so did the argument. For approximately three seconds.

“What do you want me to say?” Mark’s voice carried clearly from the kitchen.

Joel closed his eyes. Damn it. He reached for a measuring tape. Focused on the shelving. Focused very hard. Unfortunately, the house had other plans.

“I don’t want you to say anything.” Your voice sounded strained. “I want you to give a shit.”

Mark laughed. A short, frustrated sound. “Seriously?”

Joel picked up a hammer. Anything loud. Anything.

“You got exactly what you wanted.”

The hammer stopped halfway through a swing.

“You picked the layout.”

Thunk.

“You picked the cabinets.”

Thunk.

“The flooring.”

Thunk.

“The countertops.”

Thunk.

“What more do you want?”

The hammer suddenly felt ridiculous in his hand. Because even over the noise, he could hear the hurt in your voice.

“That’s not even the point!”

“Then what is the fucking point?”

Joel stared at the unfinished wall in front of him. 

The conversation should have ended there. Instead, it shifted.

“You don’t give a damn about any of it!” The words emerged quieter this time, which somehow made them easier to hear. “You barely know what’s happening in your own house!”

He heard a sharp exhale, and then Mark again. “Jesus Christ. The fucking house isn’t the problem.”

The sentence hung in the air.

When you spoke again, your voice sounded thinner. “It isn’t.”

Joel wished very badly that he couldn’t hear this.

“I can’t keep doing this.”

The words came from Mark. Firm and final. Silence stretched between you. Then you answered.

“You mean the baby?”

Nobody spoke. The quiet that followed felt heavier than the argument itself.

Finally Mark sighed. A long, irritated sound. “Yeah.”

You laughed once. A sharp, disbelieving sound. “Are you serious?”

“Completely.”

Joel heard movement. A chair scraping against the floor.

“I think we need to stop.”

“Stop trying?”

The words came out flat. As though he were discussing a subscription service. Not the thing you’d spent years hoping for.

“Jesus Christ, Mark.”

“What?”

“What!?” Your voice rose. “You don’t get to drop that into a conversation like it’s nothing!”

“I’m saying it’s adding stress that we don’t need.”

The answer came immediately. Like he’d rehearsed it. Joel’s grip tightened around the drill in his hand.

“Stress?” You sounded stunned.

“Yes. Stress.”

“Mark, you’re barely even here!”

“Oh, fuck off.”

Joel closed his eyes.

“Seriously.” Your voice cracked. “You’re gone constantly.”

“I work.”

“You disappear!”

“I work!”

“No!” The answer came fast and certain. “You leave before I wake up, come home after I’ve gone to bed, cancel plans every other week, and somehow you’re standing there telling me that trying for a baby is what’s stressful?”

The kitchen fell silent.

Then Mark laughed. “You always do this.”

“Do what?”

“Turn everything around.”

Joel heard footsteps. Closer.

“You want to know what’s exhausting?” Mark continued. “You never let anything go.”

“Excuse me?”

“This.” Mark gestured. Joel could hear it in the movement. “This conversation.” His voice rose. “Every conversation.”

“You brought it up!”

“Because somebody has to!”

Your voice shook. “We could have talked about this.”

“We are talking about it.”

“No, Mark.”

Joel had never heard you sound like that before. Hurt.

“Talking would’ve happened six months ago.” Silence. “Talking would’ve happened before you started avoiding me.”

The words seemed to hit something. Mark’s voice hardened immediately. “I am not avoiding you.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“You barely even touch me anymore!”

The kitchen became so quiet Joel could hear the hum of the refrigerator. When Mark answered, his voice came out sharper than before.

“Because every damn thing turns into this!”

Your breath caught. “What does that even mean?”

“It means exactly what I said.” His frustration finally spilled over. “You know what? I’m just sick of it.”

“Sick of what??”

“Tired of everything revolving around a baby.”

Joel shut his eyes.

“Everything? Mark, we’ve barely even tried for a few months! You’re almost never here to try anyway!”

Silence.

“You’re just twisting everything, again.”

“Mark-”

“No.” He cut you off. “You want the truth?” The house seemed to shrink. “I can’t do this. You’ll make this the center of your entire life, just like you did with the house.”

The words were cruel. Joel knew it. The moment they left Mark’s mouth, he knew it. And judging by the silence that followed, so did you.

When you finally spoke, your voice sounded small. “I want a family.”

“I know.”

“With you.”

Something shifted. Something ugly. Because Mark didn’t answer immediately.

Joel found himself staring at the unfinished wall in front of him. Waiting. And when Mark finally spoke, his voice carried none of the softness that sentence deserved.

“Well, maybe it’s time to accept that you can’t get everything you want.”

The silence afterward felt endless. A moment later Mark appeared in the hallway. Joel barely had time to straighten before he walked past.

Your husband looked immaculate. Pressed shirt. Expensive watch. Laptop bag over one shoulder. The image of a successful professional heading off to another meeting.

He didn’t seem embarrassed or upset. Didn’t even seem to notice Joel standing ten feet away.

“See you tomorrow.”

The words were tossed over his shoulder toward the house in general. Then he was gone. The front door slammed. A car engine started.

Silence settled again. This time it stayed.

Joel stood motionless for several seconds. Part of him knew he should keep working. Another part knew he should leave. Instead, he found himself glancing toward the kitchen. Just once.

You were standing on the opposite side of the island. One hand braced against the countertop. The other pressed against your stomach. Your eyes were closed. And judging by the way your chest rose and fell, you were concentrating very hard on breathing normally.

Joel looked away immediately. Not because he didn’t care. Because he did. Far more than he should.

He stared at the shelving in front of him and tried to focus on the measurements. Three and a half inches. That was the gap he was supposed to be checking. Three and a half inches. For some reason, the number refused to stay in his head.

What stayed instead was the sound of your voice when you’d said with you. 

Joel had gone into plenty of homes over the years. He’d seen marriages at their best and marriages at their worst. Couples fought over budgets, timelines, paint colors, and things that made no sense to anyone except the people involved. This hadn’t sounded like that. This sounded like a woman trying desperately to save a conversation while her husband was already halfway out the door.

The realization sat heavily in his chest. He hated it. Hated that he’d heard any of it. Hated that he was thinking about it at all. And most of all, hated the flicker of anger that rose every time he remembered Mark’s voice.

“Maybe it’s time to accept that you can’t get everything you want.”

Jesus Christ. Who said that to their wife? Who said that and then grabbed their car keys and left? Joel dragged a hand over his face. None of it was his business. That was the important thing. Not his marriage. Not his wife. Not his life.

The thought should have settled the matter. It didn’t. Because when he finally risked another glance toward the kitchen, you were still standing there exactly where he’d left you, gripping the edge of the island as though it were the only thing holding you upright.

Joel didn’t think twice and walked in, stopped beside the plans spread across the island.

“Question.”

You looked up. For a brief moment, he could still see the argument written across your face. Not tears. Something harder than that. The effort it was taking not to cry. Then your expression smoothed into something more neutral.

“What?”

“The mudroom cabinets.”

It wasn’t a complete lie, but it wasn’t exactly urgent either. Joel already knew the answer before he asked.

“The ones near the garage?”

“Yeah.” He flipped open his notebook and glanced down at it as though he were checking measurements. “If we shift them over six inches, we’d have room for a bench.”

Your attention immediately dropped to the plans. “A bench?”

Joel nodded. “For shoes.”

You frowned thoughtfully and studied the drawing for a few moments, following the measurements with your finger. “Could we still fit the storage cubbies?”

“There’d be enough room.”

“Huh.”

The silence that followed felt different from the one he’d walked into. Lighter.

You leaned over the plans. “That’d actually be useful.”

Joel shrugged. “Thought so.”

And just like that, the conversation shifted onto safer ground. For the next several minutes, the two of you discussed bench dimensions, coat hooks, storage cubbies, and whether the bench should extend all the way beneath the window. None of it was particularly important, but that was precisely the point.

Sometimes normal conversation was a kindness.

Eventually, a small laugh escaped you. “I can’t believe we’re spending this much time discussing where people put their shoes.”

Joel snorted. “You’d be surprised.”

“No, seriously.” You pointed at the plans. “We’ve spent at least twenty minutes on this.”

“Closer to forty.”

That earned another laugh, this one sounding a little more genuine than the first.

The tension in the room eased almost imperceptibly. You still looked tired, and whatever hurt Mark had left behind hadn’t disappeared, but for the first time since he’d walked into the kitchen, you looked like yourself again.

Joel closed the notebook. “Anyway, I’ll move it over.”

You nodded. “Okay.”

He had almost reached the doorway when your voice stopped him.

“Joel.”

He turned back. “Yeah?”

The gratitude on your face was subtle enough that somebody else might not have noticed it. Joel did.

“Thanks.”

You didn’t explain what you were thanking him for. He didn’t ask. Because the bench wasn’t really the point.

“Don’t thank me yet.” A faint smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. “You haven’t seen my coat hook ideas.”

You rolled your eyes immediately. “Oh, God.”

“That’s what everybody says.”

The sound that left you this time was unmistakably a laugh.

When Joel left the kitchen a few moments later, the argument was still there. Nothing had been fixed. Nothing had been solved. But you weren’t standing alone at the island trying to remember how to breathe anymore, and for the moment, that felt like enough.

************

The house kept getting better. That was the strange part. With every passing week, another piece of it fell into place. Fresh paint replaced exposed drywall. Cabinets appeared where there had once been empty framing. Light fixtures went up, floors were finished, and the kitchen that had existed for months as measurements on paper finally began looking like the room you’d imagined from the beginning.

The house was becoming beautiful. You weren’t.

The realization crept up on Joel gradually enough that he almost missed it at first. Living through a renovation wasn’t exactly relaxing, and he’d spent enough years in construction to know that homeowners often looked worn down by the end of a project. 

For a while, he told himself you were simply tired. Then he assumed work must be busy. After that, he stopped trying to explain it away. The months kept passing. You kept looking worse.

The dark circles beneath your eyes grew more noticeable with every week, and there were mornings when it looked as though you hadn’t slept at all. You still smiled. You still thanked people. Every now and then, you still brought coffee for the crew or got excited about some new detail that had finally been completed. The difference was that the excitement never seemed to last.

Joel noticed it most in the moments when you thought nobody was paying attention. The second a conversation ended, your shoulders would sag slightly, as though holding yourself together required more effort than it used to. Sometimes he’d glance up from his work and find you staring out a window or into space, your expression distant enough that he wondered where your thoughts had gone.

Meanwhile, Mark appeared less and less.

At first, Joel assumed your schedules simply weren’t lining up. The man worked long hours and traveled often enough that missing him for a few days wasn’t particularly unusual. Eventually, though, Joel started realizing entire weeks could pass without seeing him. Maybe that was normal… Maybe it wasn’t.

What Joel knew for certain was that the house was nearing completion, and most people in Mark’s position would’ve been counting down the days. Instead, he seemed almost entirely absent from the process.

One afternoon, Tommy climbed down from a ladder, stretched his back, and glanced toward the driveway.

“Haven’t seen Prince Charming in a while.”

Joel continued measuring trim without looking up. “Mm.”

Tommy snorted. “That’s my professional observation.”

“Good thing nobody pays you for your observations.”

“They should.”

Joel rolled his eyes and returned to work.

The truth was that he’d noticed too. He just preferred not to think about it. Because every time he did, he found himself looking toward you. And every time he looked toward you, he saw somebody trying very hard to convince the world she was fine.

The house, meanwhile, had become something special. Even Joel had to admit that.

The reading nook beneath the front window had turned out exactly the way you’d envisioned it. The kitchen felt open and welcoming without losing its warmth. The built-in shelves stretched beautifully across the living room wall, and the mudroom bench had become one of Joel’s favorite details despite Tommy mocking him relentlessly for caring so much about a bench.

Months earlier, the place had been a construction site. Now it looked like a home. The kind people dreamed about. The kind people imagined raising families in. The irony wasn’t lost on him. Especially not lately.

One afternoon, Joel arrived earlier than most of the crew. The house was unusually quiet, enough so that he initially wondered whether you’d already left for work.

Then he stepped into the living room. The new sofa had been delivered a few days earlier and sat facing the fireplace, surrounded by furniture that was finally beginning to make the space feel lived-in.

You were sitting there alone. A thick folder rested open in your lap. Although your eyes were fixed on the pages, it didn’t look as though you’d turned one in a while.

For a moment, Joel considered backing out of the room. Something about the scene felt private. Then you looked up. The movement was slow enough that it almost seemed as though you’d forgotten somebody else was there.

And Jesus. You looked exhausted. Not the kind of tiredness that disappeared after a good night’s sleep. The kind that settled into a person’s bones and stayed there.

Joel frowned before he could stop himself. “You alright?”

Your gaze dropped back to the folder. For a second, he expected the usual answer. A smile. A joke. Some variation of ‘I’m fine’.

“Not really.”

The honesty of it surprised him enough that he took another step into the room. His eyes flicked toward the folder.

“What is it?” he asked.

Your fingers tightened around the folder. For several seconds, you didn’t answer. Joel remained where he was, close enough that walking away would have felt strange, far enough that it didn’t feel like he was intruding. The silence stretched between you while your eyes remained fixed on the papers in your lap.

Then you let out a laugh. Not because anything was funny. The sound escaped you the way a sigh might.

“Mark left.”

Something in your voice made Joel’s stomach tighten immediately. His eyes flicked toward the folder.

“What do you mean?”

You stared down at the papers for a moment longer before answering. “He left.”

The words sounded simple enough on their own. They weren’t. Joel frowned.

“For work?”

You laughed again. This time the sound cracked. “No.” Your fingers shifted against the edge of the folder. “I mean he left me.”

The realization hit him a second before you said it. “Oh.”

The room seemed to grow quieter.

You nodded once. “He packed a bag.” Your gaze remained fixed somewhere beyond the papers. “He told me he wasn’t coming back.”

Joel felt something cold settle in his chest. The words weren’t dramatic. You weren’t crying. You weren’t shouting. For some reason, that made them worse.

“What happened?”

When you finally spoke, your voice sounded tired. The kind of tired that went deeper than sleep.

“He brought these.”

You held the folder out slightly. Joel looked down at it. Divorce papers. His jaw tightened immediately.

“When?”

“This morning.” You swallowed. “Before he left.”

Joel stared at the documents for a second before looking back at you. The exhaustion he’d been watching settle over you for months suddenly made a lot more sense.

“He just handed them to you?”

A faint smile touched your mouth. There was no humor in it.

“Pretty much.” The laugh that followed sounded brittle. “We had coffee.” You shook your head slightly. The disbelief was still there. “He sat at that table.” Your eyes drifted toward the dining room. “The one we spent three months arguing over.”

Joel remained silent.

“He drank his coffee.” The smile vanished. “Then he handed me divorce papers.”

The simplicity of it made Joel want to put his fist through a wall.

Instead, he asked quietly: “What did he say?”

You looked down again. The answer seemed to take effort. “He said he wasn’t happy.”

Joel closed his eyes briefly. Of course he did. People always seemed to find polite language when they were about to do something ugly.

“He said we’d grown apart.” The bitterness in your voice had finally surfaced. “He said we wanted different things.”

Joel didn’t trust himself to speak. The room fell quiet again.

Then you added: “He’s in love with someone else.”

There it was. The thing Joel had suspected for months without ever wanting to believe. Not because he thought highly of Mark. Because he knew how much hearing it would hurt.

His gaze stayed on you. “How long?”

Your shoulders rose and fell. “He says six months.” The answer came with a hollow smile. “Maybe.”

Joel frowned. “Maybe?”

You looked away. Toward the kitchen. Toward the beautiful house that had consumed nearly a year of your life.

“I don’t know.” The words came out quietly. “Honestly, I don’t know anything anymore.”

You rubbed at your forehead.

“He cheated before.” Joel froze. Your eyes remained on the floor. “Three years ago.”

The room seemed to tilt slightly. Not because affairs were unheard of. Because suddenly everything he’d witnessed over the past several months looked different. The exhaustion. The anxiety. The way you always seemed to be waiting for bad news.

“Not this woman,” you continued. “Someone else.”

Joel stared. “And you stayed.”

You laughed softly. “I loved him.” The answer was immediate. Simple. Honest. “I thought we fixed it.” For the first time since the conversation had begun, your voice cracked. “I thought we’d survived it.”

Joel looked away. Because there was something unbearable about the certainty with which you’d once believed that.

The silence stretched again. When you spoke next, your voice had grown even quieter.

“I spent months wondering what I was doing wrong.” Your fingers tightened around the folder. “Why he never came home.” The next sentence hurt even more. “Why he stopped touching me.”

Joel lowered his gaze. Not out of embarrassment. Because the pain in your voice was difficult to listen to.

“I thought it was stress.” A bitter laugh escaped you. “I thought it was work.”

Neither of you spoke for several seconds. Then you swallowed. And finally said the thing that seemed to hurt most.

“She’s pregnant.”

Joel felt every muscle in his body go still. You weren’t looking at him anymore.

Your gaze remained fixed on the papers in your lap.

“He’s leaving because she’s pregnant.”

For a moment, all Joel could think about was the argument he’d overheard months ago. The baby. The months of trying. The way you’d sounded when you’d said with you.

Suddenly, everything clicked into place. Mark wanted to stop trying because he already knew.

A slow wave of anger settled in Joel’s chest. Not the explosive kind. The cold kind. The kind that stayed.

You let out another humorless laugh. “The best part?”

Joel wasn’t sure there could possibly be a worse part.

You looked up anyway. Your eyes were shining now. “They’re getting married.”

He stared at you. You stared back. The fight seemed to leave you all at once. Your shoulders sagged. The folder slipped closed in your lap.

And when you spoke again, your voice sounded almost unbearably fragile.

“I spent months trying to have a baby with my husband.” Joel’s chest tightened at your voice. “And apparently all he needed was someone else.”

The words hung in the air between you. Joel’s gaze drifted around the room. The room you’d designed. The room you’d fought for. The room you’d spent months dreaming into existence.

Everywhere he looked, he saw evidence of you. The shelves. The paint. The furniture. The details nobody else would ever notice.

And all he could think was that Mark was an idiot. A complete fucking idiot.

The feeling hit him so hard it almost surprised him. Because the truth was that Joel had spent months forcing himself not to think about you. Every time he caught himself looking for your truck in the driveway, every time he found himself wanting to tell you something before anyone else, every time Tommy made one of his stupid comments, he’d reminded himself of the same thing.

You were married. That should have been enough. For a long time, it had been.

But sitting here now, listening to you talk about a husband who barely came home, a mistress, a pregnancy, and divorce papers dropped on your kitchen table like a business transaction, Joel found that whatever patience he’d had left for Mark had finally run out.

You were still staring at the folder. Still blaming yourself. Still looking for reasons.

And suddenly he couldn’t stand it anymore. “He’s a damn fool.”

Your head lifted. Joel met your gaze. The anger was still there, simmering beneath the surface, but there was something else mixed into it now. Something he’d spent months trying not to acknowledge.

“That man is a damn fool.”

You stared at him. Then you gave a small, humorless laugh. “You don’t have to say that.”

“Yeah.” Joel leaned forward slightly. “I do.” His voice had gone rough. “Because I’ve been listenin’ to you talk for ten minutes and all I can think is that he’s out of his goddamn mind.”

Something flickered across your face. Surprise. Disbelief. Maybe both.

Joel dragged a hand across his jaw. He should stop talking. He knew that. Instead he heard himself continue.

“Do you have any idea how hard it’s been?” 

Your brows pulled together. “How hard what’s been?”

Joel laughed once. A short, disbelieving sound. “Not thinkin' ‘bout you.”

The silence that followed felt enormous.

The second the words left his mouth, Joel wanted them back. Not because they weren’t true. Because they were. You simply stared at him. And now that he’d said it, he found he couldn’t quite retreat.

“I tried.” His eyes stayed on yours. “For months.”

Your pulse jumped visibly in your throat and he noticed.

“Every mornin’ I’d remind myself you’re married.” His mouth twisted. “Tommy thought it was hilarious.”

That earned the faintest flicker of a smile. Joel’s heart nearly stopped at the sight of it.

“You deserve somebody who actually sees you.” The words came quietly this time. Not angry anymore. Honest. “You know that?”

You looked away first. Joel wished you hadn’t. Because seeing the hurt on your face was difficult enough. Seeing hope was worse.

His voice dropped. “You’re smart.” 

You swallowed. “Joel…”

“You’re funny.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “Stubborn as hell.” Despite everything, you let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh. Joel shook his head. “And you’re beautiful.”

The room went still. The words hung there. Undeniable. Impossible to take back.

Your eyes found his again. And something changed. Enough that the air suddenly felt warmer. Enough that Joel became acutely aware of how close the two of you were.

Joel wished you hadn’t looked at him like that. Because for the first time, he wasn’t seeing surprise in your eyes… He was seeing the exact same thing he was feeling.

The silence stretched between you while the room seemed to shrink around it. Joel could feel his pulse in his throat, could see the uncertainty in your expression, the way you seemed caught between wanting to step back and wanting to do the exact opposite.

You took a step toward him. Joel didn’t move. He knew he should. He knew exactly why this was a terrible idea. You’d been handed divorce papers a few hours ago. You were hurting. Heartbroken. Vulnerable. Every sensible part of him was screaming at him to put some distance between the two of you.

Instead he just looked at you. And when you stopped in front of him, close enough that he could feel the warmth of your body, neither of you pretended anymore.

Your eyes dropped briefly to his mouth. Joel saw it. The look that followed left absolutely no room for misunderstanding. You weren’t backing away. Neither was he.

His hand had already started to lift. Not because he’d decided to touch you. Because every part of him was being pulled toward you.

Joel could already imagine exactly how it would happen. The slight tilt of your head. His hand against your cheek. The first kiss he’d spent months refusing to think about. For one suspended moment, it felt inevitable.

Then the front door slammed. The sound cracked through the house like a gunshot. Both of you jumped. A second later, Tommy’s voice echoed from the hallway.

“Joel?”

The moment shattered instantly. You stepped back so quickly it almost hurt to watch.

Joel scrubbed a hand across his face. “Yeah.”

Tommy rounded the corner carrying a roll of plans. His eyes moved from Joel to you. Then to the tiny distance separating you. Then back again.

“Oh.”

Joel closed his eyes. “Don’t.”

“I haven’t said anything.”

“You were about to.”

Tommy’s grin appeared immediately.

You made a small, mortified sound, clutched the folder to your chest, and pointed vaguely toward the hallway. “I should go…”

Nobody knew where... Including you. But a second later you were gone. Joel watched you disappear around the corner before turning slowly toward his brother.

Tommy looked entirely too pleased with himself. And somehow, Joel knew his day had just gotten a whole lot worse.

***********

The divorce moved faster than you thought possible.

At first, you’d assumed it would take months. There would be delays, negotiations, arguments through lawyers, and endless waiting. Instead, Mark seemed determined to get through the process as quickly as humanly possible. Documents appeared almost immediately. Meetings were scheduled. Signatures were requested. Every week brought another reminder that the life you’d spent years building together was being dismantled piece by piece.

Part of you couldn’t shake the suspicion that he’d been planning this for much longer than you’d known. The thought hurt too much to examine for very long.

What made you truly angry, however, wasn’t the divorce. It was the house.

The house had never belonged to Mark. Not legally. Not in any meaningful sense. You’d inherited it from your grandmother years before you met him. The property had always been yours. Every lawyer involved knew it. Every document proved it. There was never a scenario where Mark was walking away with ownership. That didn’t stop him from trying.

The first time your lawyer mentioned it, you genuinely thought she’d misunderstood something.

“He wants the house.”

You stared at her. “What?”

She glanced down at her notes. “He knows it isn’t a realistic request, but he’s asking whether you’d consider selling it to him.”

You laughed. Not because it was funny. Because the audacity of it left you speechless.

The house. Your house. The house you’d inherited. The house he’d barely shown any interest in until another woman apparently decided she liked it. The realization came a few days later when your lawyer called again. This time she sounded irritated.

“His attorney says they were hoping to keep the property because his fiancée is very fond of it.”

You actually put the phone down for several seconds, just to make sure you’d heard correctly. Then you picked it back up.

“His what?”

“His fiancée.”

The word hit harder than it should have. Not because you hadn’t known he intended to marry her. Because hearing someone refer to her that way made everything feel horribly real.

You spent the rest of that week furious, because somewhere along the way, Mark had apparently decided he could take your marriage, your future, your years, and then walk away with your house too.

In the end, he got absolutely nothing. The house remained yours. The victory felt surprisingly hollow. By then, you’d already started realizing that winning and being happy weren’t remotely the same thing.

The day the divorce became official arrived on a Thursday morning. The hearing itself lasted less than an hour. Papers were reviewed. Signatures were confirmed. A judge said a handful of sentences that neither of you would remember five minutes later. Then it was over. Six years of marriage reduced to paperwork.

You left the building feeling oddly numb. For several minutes, you simply stood outside staring at the parking lot while people walked past carrying coffees and briefcases as though nothing important had happened.

Then you saw her. At first, she was just another woman sitting on a bench near the entrance. One hand rested absentmindedly against the curve of her stomach while she looked down at her phone.

Pregnant. Very pregnant. The sight alone was enough to make something twist painfully inside your chest. Then Mark walked toward her. And everything clicked into place.

You stopped moving. The woman looked up. Her face immediately brightened. Mark smiled back. The ease of it nearly knocked the breath out of you. There was no guilt. No hesitation. No awkwardness. Just happiness. Like this was exactly where he wanted to be.

You watched him lean down to kiss her lips. Watched him crouch beside her to say something that made her laugh. Watched him rest a hand against her stomach with an expression you’d spent years hoping to see directed toward you.

And for one terrible second, all you could think was that he’d never looked that excited with you.

The realization followed you all the way home. After that, something inside you quietly gave up. Not in a dramatic way. You still got out of bed. Still answered emails. Still met with lawyers and signed forms and handled everything that needed handling.

But the hope was gone. The part of you that kept looking for an explanation finally stopped.

Meanwhile, the house continued inching toward completion. The crew was finishing the last major details. Paint touch-ups remained. Some built-ins still needed final work. Fixtures were being installed. Every week brought another piece of the vision you’d spent so long creating.

The closer it came to being finished, the harder it became to look at. Because now you could see exactly what it was supposed to have been.

Joel remained a constant presence through all of it. Not because he inserted himself into your life. If anything, he seemed determined to do the opposite.

After what had almost happened in the living room, neither of you mentioned it again. Not once. Which somehow made it impossible to forget.

Every conversation carried an awareness of it. Every glance. Every moment the two of you found yourselves alone. You couldn’t look at him without remembering how close you’d been. How badly you’d wanted him to kiss you.

The memory embarrassed you far more than it should have. Not because you regretted it… That would’ve been easier. The problem was that you’d wanted it before the divorce. Before the papers. Before any of this.

You’d been looking forward to seeing Joel long before your marriage officially ended, and the realization left you feeling ashamed in ways you couldn’t quite explain.

It didn’t matter that logic told you none of this had started because of Joel. It didn’t matter that Mark had already been halfway out the door. The guilt lingered anyway.

As a result, you became careful. Careful with your smiles. Careful with your conversations. Careful with your eyes whenever Joel happened to look at you for a little too long.

Sometimes you’d catch him watching you. Sometimes he’d catch you doing exactly the same thing. Neither of you ever acknowledged it. The unspoken thing between you continued growing anyway. Which was exactly why you knew you had to leave.

The thought arrived gradually. Then all at once. One evening, you found yourself sitting alone in the reading nook beneath the front window while late sunlight filled the room. The house looked beautiful. Not quite finished yet, but close enough that you could finally see it clearly.

The kitchen. The shelves. The living room. The porch. Everything was becoming exactly what you’d imagined.

You should have loved it. Instead, tears filled your eyes. Not because of Mark. Not even because of the divorce. Because every corner of the house contained a future that no longer existed.

A nursery that had never happened. Family dinners that would never happen. Christmas mornings that would never happen. The dream itself had become a ghost.

By the following week, you’d called a realtor. And when she asked whether you were sure, your answer came surprisingly easily.

“No.” You looked around the nearly finished house one last time. “But I think I need to be.”

The decision felt like another loss. The final one. Even though Mark wasn’t taking the house from you… You were the one letting it go. And somehow that hurt even more.

**********

The conversation started with cabinet hardware. Or maybe paint. Later, neither of you would remember. Only that Joel had come looking for you with a notebook in one hand and a question about some final detail that still needed your approval before the crew could finish that section of the house.

The project was close enough to completion now that most of the decisions were small ones. Trim. Fixtures. Finishing touches. The kind of details you’d once spent hours debating. Now you barely glanced at the samples.

“This one’s fine.”

Joel frowned. “You didn’t even look.”

You shrugged. “They both work.”

The answer clearly bothered him. Not because of the hardware. Because six months ago, you would’ve had opinions. Strong ones.

Joel set the samples down on the kitchen island. “The other one’s more durable.”

“Then do that one.”

His eyes narrowed. You busied yourself with the paperwork spread across the counter. Mostly because you knew exactly what expression he was making. The one that meant he was trying to figure out what was wrong. The one you’d become increasingly good at avoiding.

Then Joel nodded toward the stack of papers. “What’s all that?”

You glanced down. “Oh.” The answer came out far more casually than it felt. “Listing paperwork.”

Joel stared. “Listing?”

“The house.”

You continued signing your name. One signature. Then another. When no response came, you finally looked up.

Joel hadn’t moved. “The house?” he repeated.

You nodded. “I’m selling it.”

The words sounded strangely normal now. You’d said them enough times to realtors and lawyers that they’d begun losing their power. 

Apparently Joel hadn’t reached that stage yet. “What do you mean you’re selling it?”

“I mean exactly what I said.”

His expression remained fixed. “Why?”

You looked away first. Toward the living room. Toward the shelves. Toward the nearly finished house.

Then you shrugged. “It’s time.”

Joel actually laughed. Not because he found it funny. Because he clearly thought that answer was ridiculous. “Time for what?”

You folded the paperwork closed. The knot in your stomach had returned. “It just is.”

“No.” His answer came immediately. Firm. “You don’t spend almost a year building your dream house and then decide it’s time.”

The words landed harder than they should have,  because he was right. You had spent almost a year building it. Every room. Every detail. Every decision.

Joel stepped closer, but not enough to crowd you. Enough that you couldn’t pretend he wasn’t standing there.

“You love this place.” The statement wasn’t a question.

You swallowed. “It’s a house.”

“Bullshit.”

Your eyes widened. Joel almost never swore around you. Apparently today was an exception.

“You love this place.” His gaze moved around the room. “The reading nook.” A finger pointed toward the front window. “The kitchen.” Then the island. “The shelves.” Then the living room. “I’ve listened to you talk about every square inch of this house for months.”

The frustration in his voice wasn’t really about the house. You both knew that.

“So tell me what’s actually going on.”

Silence stretched between you. Long enough that you considered lying. Long enough that you almost succeeded.

Then your eyes drifted toward the hallway. Toward the room that was supposed to have become a nursery one day. And suddenly you were too tired. Too tired to keep pretending. Your laugh sounded small, broken around the edges.

“It’s time to get real.” The words came out quietly. “So I’m going to sell it.”

Joel remained motionless. 

“It’s a beautiful house.” Your eyes wandered through the room. “The problem is that it was built for a life that doesn’t exist anymore.”

Something in Joel’s expression shifted.

You kept going anyway, because now that you’d started, stopping felt impossible. “I designed family dinners into this kitchen.” Your voice had softened. “I designed Christmas mornings into that living room.” You pointed vaguely toward the front of the house. “There was supposed to be a nursery.”

The admission hurt. Even now.

“There was supposed to be…” Your throat tightened. You looked away. “There was supposed to be a family.”

The room fell silent. When you spoke again, your voice sounded steadier. Not because you felt so… Because you’d repeated these thoughts enough times to yourself that they had become familiar.

“It’s time to stop pretending.” Joel didn’t interrupt you, and you appreciated it. “I need a place that fits the life I’m actually living.” The smile you managed felt tired, painfully so. “Not one that’s ready for the life I’m clearly not having.”

Joel’s gaze drifted slowly around the room; the shelves, the kitchen, the nearly finished house… Then it returned to you. And just… stared.

Not because he was judging you. Because he genuinely seemed unable to process what you’d just said.

You looked away first, and the silence stretched. Eventually, Joel rubbed a hand across his jaw. His expression hadn’t changed; if anything, he looked more stunned than before.

“I don’t know what to say to that.”

The honesty caught you off guard, and a small laugh escaped you.

“That’s okay.”

“No.” His gaze dropped briefly toward the paperwork. Then lifted again. “It’s not.” Joel shook his head slightly. “I’ve spent almost a year listening to you talk about this place.” His voice remained quiet. “You had plans for every room.” A muscle moved in his jaw. “You knew exactly where the Christmas tree was gonna go.”

Your throat tightened unexpectedly… Because you had.

Joel exhaled slowly. Then looked away. The kitchen fell silent again. When he spoke next, it sounded almost like he was talking to himself.

“I thought you’d be here forever.”

You stared at him. Joel seemed to realize what he’d said a second later. His eyes dropped immediately, as though he’d accidentally spoken a truth he hadn’t meant to say out loud.

Finally, he picked up the cabinet samples he’d originally come to ask about. For several seconds, he seemed to completely forget why he was holding them.

Eventually he cleared his throat. “So…” The word sounded rough. “Which one?”

You blinked. “What?”

“The hardware.” A faint shake of his head followed. “The reason I came in here.”

You looked down at the samples. At the two options you’d barely cared about ten minutes ago. Then pointed at one. “That one.”

Joel nodded. “Okay.”

He gathered the paperwork together and turned toward the doorway. For a second, it looked like he wanted to say something else. Something important… but instead he stopped himself.

“Okay.” Then he left.

You watched him disappear down the hallway. A few moments later, you heard him speaking to one of the crew members outside.

He sounded completely normal. Like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t just looked at your dream house as though he’d lost something too. You stared at the listing paperwork for a long time after that.

*********

The house went on the market three weeks later. You hated it almost immediately. Not the paperwork or the realtor. Not even the little sign that appeared beside the driveway one Tuesday morning. It was the showings.

At first, you told yourself you’d be fine. The house was just a house. People would walk through it, ask questions, make comments, and leave. It wasn’t personal.

The illusion lasted exactly one afternoon. The first couple arrived carrying coffee cups and holding hands. They spent almost twenty minutes wandering through the kitchen while the realtor explained the renovations, and you stayed mostly out of the way, pretending to answer emails at the dining table. Then the woman stopped beside the island, rested her hand against the countertop, and smiled.

“Oh, this is perfect.”

Her husband glanced up from the cabinet she’d been inspecting. “For what?”

She looked around the room. “Family dinners.”

The words hit you so hard it felt ridiculous. Of course, that had been the point. You’d spent an absurd amount of time arguing over the dimensions of the island because you’d wanted enough room for holidays, enough room for children helping with baking, enough room for people gathering around it without feeling cramped. You’d imagined birthdays, Thanksgiving dinners, Christmas mornings that started with coffee and cinnamon rolls. You left the room before they finished talking.

The second showing was even worse. A couple in their thirties arrived with a little girl who couldn’t have been older than four. 

While her parents discussed square footage and storage space, the child discovered the reading nook beneath the front window. Within minutes she’d climbed into it, curled her legs underneath herself, and proudly announced that it was hers now. The declaration made her parents laugh; the realtor laughed too. You managed a smile before excusing yourself and retreating upstairs.

The third showing finally broke you. The couple themselves weren’t particularly memorable. Neither was most of their conversation. You’d heard enough prospective buyers discuss countertops and flooring by then that the details blurred together.

But then the woman stopped outside the extra bedroom. The room. You knew before she spoke. You knew exactly what was coming.

Her face lit up. “Oh, this would make a beautiful nursery.”

The sentence was completely innocent, but you made it approximately five more seconds before escaping into the backyard.

After that, you stopped attending showings altogether. Whenever the realtor called, you found somewhere else to be. Sometimes it was a coffee shop. Sometimes a bookstore. Sometimes Target, where you’d wander aimlessly through aisles without buying anything. A few afternoons, you simply drove around until the showing was over because you couldn’t think of anywhere else to go. Anywhere was easier than being there.

The problem wasn’t that people loved the house. The problem was that they loved it for exactly the reasons you’d built it. Every family saw the same things you had seen. The kitchen. The reading nook. The backyard. The extra bedroom. The future. Your future. Or at least the one you’d spent years imagining.

One afternoon, the realtor called sounding delighted. “We’ve had a lot of interest.”

You closed your eyes. Of course she sounded delighted, that was her job. “That’s great.”

And it was. Objectively, everything was going exactly as it should. The house photographed beautifully. The market was strong. Several families had already expressed serious interest. It was the sort of listing realtors hoped for. So why did it feel like grief?

The answer arrived a few days later. You returned home just as the realtor was leaving after a showing. Before climbing into her car, she handed you a feedback sheet from one of the prospective buyers.

You glanced at it casually and then stopped at one of the comments: We absolutely love the home. It feels like the perfect place to raise our children.

For a long moment, you simply stood in the driveway staring at the sentence. Reading it once, then again, and then a third time. By the time you reached the front door, tears were already burning behind your eyes… Because they were right. That was exactly what the house was.

The perfect place to raise children. The perfect place to build a family. The perfect place to grow old. And somewhere along the way, you’d become convinced that because your marriage had failed, the house had failed you too.

The thought followed you inside. Through the kitchen. Past the shelves. Into the living room, where the evening sunlight spilled through the windows exactly the way you’d always hoped it would.

And for a second, since putting it on the market, you found yourself wondering whether selling it would actually heal anything at all.

**********

Joel found you upstairs. The realtor’s lockbox was still hanging from the front door. Your car was in the driveway. Between the two, it hadn’t taken much detective work to figure out what kind of day you’d had.

The room was quiet when he stepped inside. You stood beside the window with your arms folded tightly across your chest, staring out at the backyard. The room itself was almost finished now. Fresh paint covered the walls. The trim had been installed. Sunlight poured through the glass exactly the way you’d once hoped it would.

Neither of you called it the nursery, you hadn’t for months, but that didn’t change what it was.

“Hey.”

You let out a tired laugh without turning around. “Hey.”

Joel’s gaze drifted around the room before settling on you again. He’d seen enough by now to recognize the signs. The lockbox. The showing. The expression on your face.

“Tough showing?”

You smiled faintly. “They loved it.”

Something in the answer made his chest tighten, because he understood exactly what you meant.

Your eyes remained fixed on the window. “They said it’d be perfect for children.”

Joel lowered his gaze briefly. “Yeah.”

You laughed again. A small, broken sound. “The worst part is they were right.” Silence settled between you, but eventually you shook your head. “I don’t even know why I’m upset anymore.”

Joel looked at you. The statement wasn’t true, you knew it and so did he. “I think you do.”

You closed your eyes briefly. Maybe you did, Maybe you were simply tired of saying it out loud.

“You know, when Sarah was born, I thought I had everything figured out.”

That got your attention. You looked over your shoulder.

Joel’s gaze remained somewhere distant, fixed on a memory instead of the room.

“I was twenty.” A faint smile appeared. “Told myself I knew exactly how my life was gonna go.” The smile lingered for a second before fading. “Turns out I didn’t know a damn thing.”

You watched him quietly.

Joel let out a breath.

“Sarah’s finishin’ high school next year.”

Your eyes widened slightly. Even after all this time, it always surprised you how quickly the years seemed to move when he talked about her.

Joel shook his head.

“Feels like yesterday she was ridin’ around the driveway with training wheels.” The affection in his voice softened something inside you. Then he looked back at the room. “And none of it happened the way I planned.”

The words settled between you; steady, simple and true.

“Most things don’t.”

You swallowed… Because this conversation wasn’t really about Sarah anymore.

“What happened to you is awful.” The bluntness caught you off guard. Joel never had much patience for pretending otherwise. “What Mark did.” His expression hardened briefly. “Awful.”

You looked away.

Joel let the silence sit. Then he continued.

“But you’re still here.” 

A humorless laugh escaped you. “Barely.”

“No.” The answer came immediately, certain. “You’re here.”

Your throat tightened unexpectedly.

Joel gestured around the room.

“The house is still here too.”

A small smile tugged at your mouth despite yourself.

“That’s not helping your argument.”

“Wasn’t tryin’ to.”

His mouth twitched briefly. Then he grew serious again. For a few moments, he seemed to be searching for the right words. Not something he did often.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter.

“I think it’s gonna take a hell of a lot of courage.” You frowned slightly. Joel’s gaze remained steady. “I think it’s gonna hurt.”

The honesty surprised you. There was no false optimism in it, no promises that everything would magically work out, just truth.

“But I think you’ll put yourself back together.”

The room felt very still. You stared at him.

Joel shrugged slightly, as though the conclusion were obvious. As though he’d never considered any other outcome.

“You built this whole damn place.” His gaze moved around the room. “The plans. The decisions. Every little thing.” A small smile appeared. “You survived Tommy’s opinions.”

You snorted.

“That alone deserves some kind of award.”

“There you go.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “Now you’re thinkin’.”

Despite everything, you laughed. A real laugh this time.

The sound seemed to surprise both of you. Joel smiled too, and for a brief moment, something passed between you. Something warm. Something that had been sitting quietly beneath the surface for months.

Joel felt it. You knew he did. Because his expression softened in a way that made your pulse stumble.

“You got more future left than you think.” The words were quiet. Careful. Not a speech. Not advice. Just something he believed.

And somehow, standing there in the room that had once represented everything you’d lost, you found yourself wondering whether he might be right.

*************

The house was done. After nearly a year of noise, dust, deliveries, delays, and an endless stream of decisions, there was suddenly nothing left to decide. The shelves were installed. The paint was dry. Every fixture had found its place. The last item on the punch list had been crossed off that morning.

You’d expected to feel relieved, but instead, the house felt strangely empty. Part of that was probably because the crew was gone. For months there had always been somebody here. Tommy arguing with someone. Music playing from a work radio. Joel appearing in a doorway with another question about some detail you’d forgotten you needed to approve. Now there was only silence.

You’d missed Joel that morning. The realization bothered you more than you cared to admit. It wasn’t as though he’d disappeared. The renovation was over so there was no reason for him to keep showing up every day.

Still, you’d assumed there would be a goodbye, a conversation… Something. Instead, you’d spent twenty minutes talking to a supplier on the phone and emerged to find half the trucks already gone, including his.

The feeling followed you around for the rest of the afternoon. By the time you wandered into the kitchen, you were mostly trying to avoid looking at the boxes beginning to appear throughout the house. Some had already been packed. Others sat half-finished. Every one of them felt like evidence that you were actually going through with this.

That’s when you noticed the note. It sat on the island by itself, folded once. Your name written across the front in familiar handwriting.

Frowning, you picked it up.

Found this hidden behind one of the old built-ins in the hallway. Figured it might belong to your grandmother.

Didn’t want Tommy anywhere near it in case he decided it was treasure.

— Joel

Your eyes immediately moved to the object sitting beside the note.

It was a small wooden box, old and worn, but beautiful. You weren’t sure how you’d missed it before.

Setting the note down, you crossed the room and lifted the box carefully onto the kitchen table. The hinges creaked slightly when you opened it.

Inside was a lifetime. 

Photographs filled the top layer, some were loose, others were tucked into envelopes that had yellowed with age. Beneath them sat old letters tied together with ribbon, recipe cards covered in familiar handwriting, a porcelain brooch you vaguely remembered seeing your grandmother wear when you were small, and dozens of little keepsakes whose stories had likely disappeared long ago.

You smiled despite yourself as the house suddenly felt a little less empty.

For the next half hour, you sat at the kitchen table sorting through fragments of a life that had existed long before you were born; wedding photographs, Christmas gatherings, birthdays... Ordinary moments preserved in faded black-and-white snapshots. Your grandmother looked impossibly young in some of them, almost like a stranger.

Eventually, after removing another stack of photographs, you noticed something resting at the very bottom of the box. A book.

The leather cover was worn smooth with age. There was no title. Only your grandmother’s name written neatly inside the front cover.

You stared at it for several seconds before opening the first page, and immediately realized it wasn’t just a notebook, it was a diary. You took it and sat on your carefully picked couch and started to read.

The diary wasn’t particularly organized. Some entries were only a few lines long while others stretched across several pages. Most of them were surprisingly ordinary. There were notes about family dinners, complaints about neighbors, recipes she didn’t want to forget, and stories about your mother and uncles when they were young.

The woman emerging from those pages felt more real than the grandmother you remembered, less polished and more human.

You smiled more than once. You cried once or twice. Then, sometime after lunch, you turned a page and found yourself staring at a date from several months after your grandfather’s death.

The shift in tone was immediate, even the handwriting looked heavier somehow, as though even holding the pen had required effort. You started reading.

September 14

I spent the afternoon looking at apartments. Margaret insisted I should at least consider it, a smaller place. Less maintenance and less rattling around in rooms I don’t use anymore.

Everyone seems to think it would be easier and maybe they’re right. This house feels too large now. Every room contains some version of him.

I can’t walk into the kitchen without remembering him sitting at the table pretending to read the newspaper while actually watching the children argue. I can’t pass the back door without expecting to see his boots. I still wake up some mornings and reach across the bed before remembering.

Today I made enough soup for four people. I stood there staring at the pot wondering what on earth I was thinking. Then I cried over carrots like an idiot.

September 29

The children are worried about me. I understand why… The truth is that I’m worried about myself too.

Everything feels temporary. As though this isn’t my life anymore. As though I’m simply waiting for real life to come back.

October 3

I spent nearly an hour standing in the hallway today. The one outside our bedroom.

I couldn’t remember why at first. Then I realised I was listening. Waiting for the garage door. Waiting for his keys. Waiting for the sound of him coming home.

The strange thing is that for a few seconds it felt completely normal. Then I remembered. It is astonishing how many times grief can break your heart with the same fact.

October 17

I think I finally understand why I keep looking at apartments. It’s because every time I walk through these rooms, I am forced to remember that the future I expected is gone.

The future was supposed to be the two of us growing old here, sitting on the porch, complaining about the neighbours. Spoiling our grandchildren. Arguing about things that don’t matter.

I had become so accustomed to that picture that I forgot life never promised it to me.

October 19

I walked through the house again today. I kept thinking about all the reasons I should leave.

Then, somewhere between the dining room and the front door, a ridiculous thought occurred to me.

This house has already survived more than I have. It survived being full of children. It survived being full of noise. It survived the years when money was tight. It survived celebrations and funerals and Christmases and ordinary Tuesdays.

Why am I acting as though it only knows how to be one thing?

November 2

I realised something today.

The house is not asking me to leave. The house is not the thing hurting me. The house is simply standing where it has always stood.

I am the one trying to run.

November 6

Perhaps the real problem is that staying means accepting that there is still a future.

Not the one I planned, not the one I wanted… But a future nonetheless, and that feels terrifying.

Because if there is still a future, then I have to live it. I have to keep going. I have to become somebody I never expected to be.

A widow. A woman living alone. Someone building a life she did not choose.

November 12

I think courage may simply be staying. Not because staying is easy, but because leaving would be.

Because every day I remain here, I am forced to accept that my life did not end when that chapter ended… And some days, that feels like the bravest thing I have ever done.

You sat there for a long time after finishing the entries.

The diary remained open in your lap while the last traces of daylight slowly disappeared from the living room, leaving it bathed in the warm glow of the lamps you’d installed only a few weeks earlier. At some point, you became aware that you’d been staring at the same paragraph for several minutes without reading it again. The words were no longer on the page. They were somewhere inside your chest.

The similarities weren’t exact. Your grandmother had lost a husband she loved deeply. You had lost a marriage that, if you were being completely honest with yourself, had been dying long before Mark finally walked out the door. And yet… the feeling underneath was so familiar it made your throat tighten.

The exhaustion, the grief. The overwhelming urge to escape. Not because the house had done anything wrong, but because staying meant facing what had changed.

For months, you’d been telling yourself that selling was the sensible choice. The practical choice. The mature choice. Every explanation you’d given your lawyer, your realtor, your friends, and yourself had sounded perfectly reasonable.

Sitting alone in the finished living room with your grandmother’s diary resting open across your knees, you finally admitted something you should have realized a long time ago: You didn’t want to sell because the house was too large for your non-existent family, you wanted to sell because it hurt.

Because every room reminded you of plans that had never become reality. Because every corner contained some version of the future you’d imagined, and living beside those ghosts felt infinitely harder than walking away from them.

Slowly, your gaze drifted around the room. For months, you’d looked at everything and seen only absence. You’d seen the children who weren’t there, the husband who’d left, and the future that had collapsed before it ever had the chance to exist.

Tonight, for the first time, you saw something else. The kitchen wasn’t evidence of a failed marriage. The shelves weren’t evidence of a failed marriage. The reading nook wasn’t evidence of a failed marriage. None of it was.

The realization settled quietly over you, not like a revelation and not like some dramatic moment of clarity, but like a truth that had been patiently waiting for you to catch up to it.

Your grandmother was right. The house wasn’t the thing hurting you. The house was simply standing where it had always stood, waiting.

You thought about all the things you’d poured into it over the past year. The hours spent sketching layouts. The endless conversations about paint colors. The arguments over cabinet handles. The reading nook beneath the front window. The garden you’d already begun planning in your head.

None of those things belonged to Mark, they belonged to you. The thought should have made you sad, but instead, it brought an unexpected sense of peace.

For the first time since the divorce, you found yourself imagining a future inside these walls that didn’t begin and end with what you’d lost. The picture wasn’t clear yet, there were still enormous blank spaces where certainty should have been… But there was a future. That was the important part.

A future didn’t have to look the way you’d imagined at thirty in order to be worth living.

The realization made you smile despite yourself; simply because, for the first time in months, the future felt like something other than an empty room.

You looked down at the diary again, your fingers resting lightly against the worn leather cover before you finally closed it and set it aside. Then you reached for your phone.

The realtor answered on the second ring.

“Hi,” she said brightly. “Everything okay?”

Your eyes wandered around while she spoke. The house looked exactly the same as it had an hour earlier, and yet somehow everything about it felt different.

Home. The word appeared in your mind so naturally that it surprised you. When you finally spoke, the decision felt far simpler than the weeks you’d spent agonizing over it.

“Actually, I need to take the house off the market.”

There was a brief pause.

“Are you sure?”

A few weeks ago, you would’ve hesitated. You would’ve made a list of pros and cons. You would’ve questioned yourself. You would’ve asked for another day to think about it. This time, the answer arrived immediately.

“Yeah.” The smile that spread across your face felt small but completely genuine. “I’m sure.”

After ending the call, you remained at the couch for several minutes, listening to the quiet that settled around the house.

Sitting there in the home you’d nearly abandoned, you realized that staying wasn’t the easy choice. It was the brave one.

************

A few days passed. The realtor removed the listing and the sign disappeared from the front yard. Life didn’t magically transform overnight, but little by little, the house began feeling different.

You’d stopped packing. Then, almost without noticing, you started unpacking. At first it was practical things; dishes, towels, books... The kind of objects that made daily life function. Later came the things that felt more permanent, the things that quietly admitted you weren’t leaving after all.

One afternoon, you took down three framed photographs from the hallway. You stood there holding them for a long time; almost a decade of memories. Vacations, anniversaries… Smiles that looked genuine enough in pictures.

In the end, you wrapped them and placed them in a box.

The empty spaces on the wall bothered you immediately, so that weekend you drove to a flea market; then another, and another after that.

You came home with an old landscape painting, a vintage mirror that probably needed more restoration than you wanted to admit, and a collection of small framed sketches that made absolutely no sense together and yet somehow worked perfectly in the hallway.

The house slowly began changing. A different lamp, a chair moved from one room to another, new books on the shelves, old photographs replaced by things that simply made you happy. For the first time since the divorce, it felt less like preserving a life that had ended and more like creating one.

The realization caught you by surprise one evening while you were standing on a ladder in the living room, trying to decide whether a painting looked better two inches to the left or two inches to the right.

Your first thought was absurdly specific: Joel would have an opinion about this.

You froze; the hammer remained in your hand, the painting hung crookedly on the wall. And suddenly you realized you hadn’t thought about him properly in days.

Not because you’d forgotten him… Quite the opposite. The house had occupied all the space in your mind. The diary. The decision to stay. The process of making the place yours again. 

Somewhere along the way, you’d stopped thinking about what you’d lost. Which left room to think about something else. Someone else.

You climbed down from the ladder slowly. The living room felt unusually quiet, because now that you allowed yourself to think about Joel, really think about him, there was an uncomfortable truth waiting for you.

You missed him. Not the idea of him. Not the almost-kiss. Him.

His terrible jokes. His opinions about things nobody had asked him to have opinions on. The way he somehow always appeared when something went wrong. The way the house had felt fuller when his truck was parked outside.

You sat down on the sofa and stared at the half-finished gallery wall. Then, despite yourself, you smiled. Because the thought of the future didn’t make you think about what was missing. It made you think about who you wished was in it.

************

A few weeks later, Joel still found himself looking for your driveway whenever he happened to be working nearby. It was a stupid habit, and an embarrassing one.

The job was finished, the invoices had been paid, the crew had moved on to other projects. There was absolutely no reason for him to wonder whether your truck was parked outside or whether you’d finally moved out and sold the house.

And yet, every now and then, he’d catch himself thinking about it. Thinking about you.

The realization irritated him more than it probably should have. Not because he regretted how he felt… but because there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

The day he’d left your house without saying goodbye hadn’t been one of his finer moments. He knew that. Tommy certainly knew that.

In fact, Tommy had spent the better part of two weeks informing him exactly how stupid he’d been.

“You just left?”

Joel had continued loading tools into the truck and just grumbled as a response.

“You didn’t say goodbye?”

“No.”

Tommy had stared at him. Then shaken his head like a disappointed parent.

“You are genuinely unbelievable.”

The problem wasn’t that Joel hadn’t wanted to say goodbye, the problem was that he hadn’t trusted himself to do it.

The house was finished. You were selling it. He’d been standing in a doorway watching you walk away from something you loved, and every instinct he’d possessed had been telling him to stay out of it.

So he’d done the only thing that felt safe. He’d left.

The decision hadn’t gotten any smarter with time. By the end of the month, he was mostly trying not to think about it anymore. Which was exactly what he was doing when he locked the door to the workshop one evening and turned toward the parking lot.

The crew had already gone home; the last of the trucks were pulling out, Tommy was arguing with somebody about inventory. A perfectly ordinary day.

Then Joel saw a familiar car parked near the fence. His steps slowed immediately.

For a second, he genuinely thought he was imagining things. The sun hung low over the yard, throwing long shadows across the gravel. A few workers were still loading equipment, but beyond them, leaning casually against the side of your car, was you.

Joel stopped walking. His brain seemed to forget how the next part worked.

You were here. At the yard. Waiting. The realization hit him with surprising force.

Because in every version of this conversation he’d imagined over the past few weeks (and there had been far more of those than he’d ever admit aloud) he was the one who found you, not the other way around.

Across the lot, your eyes met his. And then you smiled. A real one. Not one of the tired smiles he’d seen so often near the end of the renovation.

Something warm settled unexpectedly in his chest. For the first time in months, you looked happy.

The thought distracted him long enough that he didn’t notice Tommy stepping up beside him.

His brother followed his gaze, saw you, and then immediately looked back at Joel.

“Oh.”

Joel closed his eyes.

“Tommy.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to.”

Tommy grinned.

“I absolutely was.”

Joel pinched the bridge of his nose. When he looked up again, Tommy was already backing away.

“Inventory emergency.”

“You literally just-”

“Very urgent.”

“Tommy.”

“Good luck.”

And then the bastard was gone.

Joel watched him disappear before turning back toward the parking lot. Toward you. Toward the woman he’d spent the last several weeks trying very hard not to miss.

He didn’t stop until he was standing in front of you. Up close, he could see things he hadn’t noticed from across the parking lot.

The way your hair had been pulled back in a hurry. The faint smudge of dust on your jeans. The fact that you looked lighter somehow. Not happier, exactly, but lighter. Like you’d finally set something down.

Joel had imagined seeing you again often enough over the past few weeks that you’d think he’d have something intelligent prepared.

Instead, the only thing that came out was: “Hey.”

Your smile widened slightly.

“Hey.”

God, he’d missed that smile. The realization arrived so quickly and so completely that it almost knocked the breath out of him.

He’d missed your laugh. Your opinions. The way you could spend twenty minutes discussing something nobody else would notice and somehow make it sound fascinating. He’d missed walking into a room and immediately looking for you. 

Mostly, though, he’d missed being looked at the way you were looking at him now. Like you were happy he was here. Like you’d come here hoping to see him. The thought made his pulse kick.

“What are you doing here?”

You glanced down briefly before looking back up.

“I came to see you.”

Joel forgot how to breathe just for a second. A very long second.

Something in your expression softened when you realized the effect those words had had.

“Well.” A nervous laugh escaped you. “Actually, I came to see Tommy too.”

Joel narrowed his eyes.

You immediately laughed. “Okay, that’s a lie.”

“Thought so.”

The smile that appeared on his face felt entirely beyond his control.

You looked at it. Actually looked at it. And suddenly Joel became painfully aware of the fact that the two of you were standing in the middle of a mostly empty construction yard while the evening sun turned everything gold.

“So.” His hands settled on his hips. “Everything okay?”

The question was simple. The answer wasn’t.

For a second, you simply looked at him. Then you nodded.

“Yeah.” Your voice sounded different. “Actually…” A small laugh escaped you. “Better than okay.”

Joel’s brow furrowed.

You took a breath. And then said the last thing he’d expected to hear.

“I’m keeping the house.”

Joel stared at you.

You smiled. The kind of smile that started somewhere deep and worked its way outward.

“I’m staying.”

For a moment, he couldn’t find words.

“What changed?”

Your gaze softened.

“I found something.”

Joel immediately thought of a man. The possibility lasted less than half a second before he realized how ridiculous that was.

Whatever expression crossed his face made you laugh. A real laugh. One he hadn’t heard in months.

“My grandmother’s diary.”

Relief flooded through him so quickly it was almost embarrassing.

You told him about the box. The note. The diary. The entry you’d spent all day reading and rereading.

Joel listened without interrupting. And when you finally finished, the yard fell quiet again.

The evening had grown softer around you two. Most of the crew had left. The sounds of traffic drifted faintly from somewhere beyond the fence.

You looked at him.

“I think I was trying to run.”

Joel nodded slowly.

“Yeah.”

The answer surprised you.

“Yeah?”

A small smile touched his mouth.

“Little bit.”

You laughed. Then shook your head.

“I hate when you’re right.”

“Happens a lot.”

“According to who?”

“Me.”

That earned another laugh. God, he’d missed that sound.

For a few moments, neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t awkward. It felt comfortable. The kind that only existed between two people who already knew each other.

Then you glanced toward the workshop behind him.

“There’s one more thing.”

Joel’s stomach immediately tightened. The way you said it. The way your fingers twisted together. The way your gaze lingered on his before darting away again.

He recognized nerves. Because he was suddenly feeling them too.

“What?”

You looked down. Then back up.

“I realized something else while I was unpacking.”

Joel waited.

You swallowed. And for the first time since he’d walked over, you looked uncertain.

“I missed you.”

The words were quiet. Simple. Completely devastating.

Joel stared at you. The entire yard seemed to disappear. The trucks. The tools. The building behind him…  All of it. Gone. Leaving only you.

You laughed nervously.

“I had this whole speech planned.”

His heart was hammering now.

“Yeah?”

“It was better than this.”

“Doubt it.”

Your eyes met his. The look that passed between you felt familiar. Because it was.

It was the same look from the living room. The same look from the nursery. The same look that had been chasing both of you for months. Only this time neither of you had anything left to hide behind.

Joel took a step closer. Not much. Just enough that your breath caught. His did too.

“I missed you too.”

The confession came easily. Far more easily than he’d expected.

“You know,” he said quietly, “I spent three weeks convincing myself not to drive past your house.”

Your eyebrows lifted.

“Three weeks?”

“Wasn’t very successful.”

The laugh that escaped you was beautiful.

And before Joel could stop himself, he reached up and brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture was gentle. The moment his fingers touched your skin, the air between you seemed to shift. 

Joel felt something inside him finally settle. Months of wanting. Months of waiting. Months of bad timing. And suddenly there you were. Standing right in front of him.

His hand lingered briefly against your cheek.

“Hey.”

Your voice came out softer now.

“Yeah?”

The smile that appeared on your face was small. Tender and a little nervous.

“You never said goodbye.”

Joel laughed quietly.

“No.”

“You should probably fix that.”

His eyes dropped briefly to your mouth. Then returned to yours.

“Yeah.” The word came out rough. “I probably should.”

And when he leaned in this time, there was nothing rushing either of you.

The first kiss was soft. Almost impossibly soft. The kind of kiss that carried months of restraint inside it.

Joel felt the small breath you released against his mouth before he kissed you again, and this time neither of you seemed quite as careful.

One of your hands slid up to rest against his chest. The other found his shoulder. The simple contact nearly undid him. Because he’d spent so long wanting to touch you.

Not like this. Not only like this. Just… touch you. To know you were real. To know this wasn’t another conversation replaying itself in his head on the drive home.

The next kiss lingered longer. Warmer. Your fingers brushed the back of his neck, and Joel couldn’t stop the quiet sound that escaped him when you moved closer.

The distance disappeared entirely. The feeling of your body against his made every sensible thought he’d ever had evaporate.

Joel’s hand slipped from your cheek into your hair. The kiss deepened naturally, neither of you hurrying, neither of you trying to prove anything.

There was no desperation in it. Only relief. Relief at no longer pretending. Relief at no longer walking around everything that had existed between you from the very beginning.

When you finally broke apart, neither of you had gone far. Your foreheads remained touching. Your breaths mingled.

A smile was still pulling at your mouth. Joel’s wasn’t doing much better.

“Hi,” you murmured.

The laugh that escaped him was helpless.

“Hi.”

You kissed him again before he could say anything else. Short and sweet.

Joel closed his eyes briefly.

“You know,” he said, his voice rougher than usual, “I had a whole speech prepared.”

Your eyebrows lifted.

“You?”

“Yeah.”

“What happened to it?”

His gaze lingered on you. The evening light caught in your hair, and the sight of you standing there smiling at him made the answer embarrassingly obvious.

He shook his head.

“Forgot every damn word.”

Your laugh wrapped itself around him like sunlight.

And standing there in the middle of a dusty construction yard, with the day fading around them and the future stretching wide open ahead, Joel couldn’t remember ever being happier to lose his train of thought.

*************

The bedroom was filled with the breathless sounds escaping your lips as Joel moved with relentless determination, drawing you closer to the edge with every thrust.

A moment earlier, he’d adjusted the position of your leg, and the subtle change had somehow brought him impossibly deeper. The resulting groan tore from his throat before he could stop it, low and desperate, while his forehead pressed briefly against yours. His breathing mingled with yours, uneven and heated, and the way his hands tightened around you made it clear he was losing the battle to stay composed.

Nearly two years together, and somehow nothing had dulled the effect you had on him. If anything, it had become worse. More familiar. More intimate. More addictive. Every glance, every touch, every sound still had the power to unravel him in ways he would have thought impossible before you came into his life.

“There you go, baby. That’s it. Come for me.”

The rasp in his voice sent a shiver through you, drawing a helpless moan from your lips as you wrapped your arms around him and pulled him even closer. It wasn’t enough. It never felt like enough. You wanted every part of him within reach, wanted to erase the space between your bodies entirely, as though holding him tighter could somehow bring you closer still.

The sound he made in response was low and unsteady, and for a moment neither of you seemed capable of anything except clinging to each other and letting the rest of the world disappear.

When pleasure finally crashed over you, it stole the breath from your lungs and sent your back arching into the mattress. Your cry echoed through the room as you clung to him, overwhelmed by the force of it.

Joel followed you moments later. A low groan escaped him as he buried his face against your shoulder, holding you tightly while he spilled himself inside of you. For several seconds, neither of you seemed capable of anything except holding on, caught in the aftermath and in each other.

The morning sun continued creeping across the bedroom floor while you lay curled against Joel’s side, one of his arms beneath your head and the other resting lazily across your waist. His breathing had started to slow, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek familiar enough now to feel like home.

The room was quiet. Comfortable. The sort of silence that only existed between people who no longer felt the need to fill every moment with words.

Your fingers traced idle patterns across his stomach. Then, before you could stop yourself, the question slipped out.

“Do you think we did it this time?”

Joel’s hand paused. The question wasn’t unusual anymore. Not since the two of you had finally decided to stop talking about someday and start talking about maybe.

His thumb brushed slowly against your side.

“Maybe.”

You smiled.

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only answer I’ve got.”

The smile in his voice was impossible to miss.

You lifted your head slightly.

“Coward.”

Joel looked down at you.

“Sweetheart, I spent twenty years raising a teenage girl by myself.” His eyebrows lifted. “There ain’t much on this planet I’m scared of.”

The laugh that escaped you earned a grin from him.

For a moment, you simply looked at each other. The conversation felt different now than it would have years ago. Back then, the subject had carried so much weight. Now there was hope. Hope and uncertainty. But somehow the uncertainty didn’t feel frightening anymore. Not with him.

Joel brushed a strand of hair away from your face.

“You know what I think?”

“What?”

His expression softened.

“I think if it happens, it’ll happen.”

You narrowed your eyes.

“That’s a terrible cliché.”

“Yeah.”

“It doesn’t even mean anything.”

“I know.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “But I mean it.”

You pressed a kiss against his shoulder. Then reality finally returned.

“How long until she gets here?”

You reached for your phone on the nightstand. Your eyes widened.

“Oh no.”

Joel immediately sat up slightly.

“What?”

“An hour.”

“An hour?”

“An hour.”

The silence that followed was almost comical.

Then Joel dropped back onto the pillows.

“She’s bringing him.”

You buried your face against his shoulder.

“She’s bringing him.”

The boyfriend. The mysterious boyfriend. The boyfriend neither of you had met. The boyfriend who apparently existed but somehow remained suspiciously absent from every photograph Sarah had sent.

Joel looked toward the ceiling.

“What if he’s terrible?”

You started laughing immediately.

“What if he’s great?”

“What if he’s terrible and I gotta pretend he’s great?”

“Joel.”

“What?”

“You are not allowed to interrogate him.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

You stared. Joel stared back. The silence stretched.

“You were absolutely planning to.”

His expression remained completely innocent.

“I just have questions.”

“You have an entire questionnaire.”

“Maybe.”

You laughed so hard you nearly fell off the bed. Joel caught you automatically, pulling you back against him. The movement was easy. Natural.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The sunlight. The bedroom. The house. The future… Everything felt wonderfully ordinary. And after everything it had taken to get here, ordinary might have been the most beautiful thing of all.

Then Joel sighed dramatically.

“We should get dressed.”

“We should.”

Neither of you moved. Not even a little.

Thirty seconds passed. Then a minute. Finally Joel looked down at you.

“You know Sarah’s definitely got a key.”

Eva had always been a giver, but since her start on the Taskforce she was even more so. Her favorite way to blow off steam was to sprawl you out on your shared bed and eat you out until she knew you’d had enough. She’d push you through four orgasms before coming up for air. She’d probably work four more out of you if she wasn’t on a time restraint.

On the days where she let you reciprocate, you did so eagerly. You knew your wife’s body like your own and didn’t stop chasing her pleasure until she pulled you up to her lips to lick her own taste off.

Three weeks ago she broke the news that that part of your lives was now over. The Taskforce was now to be stationed on a boat in the middle of the ocean and the two of you were to live there until the completion of her work.

“And how long will that be?” you’d asked.

“At least a year,” she’d replied.

You asked the only natural follow-up question. “Can Salem come?”

She’d smiled at that. “Yes. I wouldn’t make you leave your cat.”

So you’d packed up your life and your cat and relocated to the middle of the ocean. The things you do for love.

As much as your environment had changed, your routine really hadn’t. You started your day at 5 o’clock sharp with Salem screaming for her breakfast. After a groan and a few reassuring words from your wife, you’d prepare it.

After that, you’d crawl back into bed and into Eva’s arms until her alarm woke her at 6. Sometimes she’d pepper you with kisses, but most of the time she just held you.

When she left in the morning, you’d fill your time with whatever you could until it was time to meet her for dinner. You didn’t have the classic structure of a job anymore, so it was mostly hobbies. One crew mate had shown you how to knit, another how to sew. It gave you something to focus on other than the seemingly inevitable collapse of society. After that she was yours until the daybreak. Sometimes she was Ryland’s, too. A few days a week he’d show up at your cabin door with a few board games in hand and a child-like smile. You’d always invite him in, even if Eva would prefer you didn’t. You knew her too well, though, and she would always be enjoying herself by round three.

Salem had even grown to enjoy his company, which did not seem likely after their first meeting. The moment he’d walked through the door, she’d hissed at him, something she rarely ever did.

She did this the next three times until Eva finally grew annoyed and picked her up and deposited her in Dr. Grace’s arms. “See, not so scary, is he?” she asked the feline as she glared at Ryland. Eva scratched her head until she eventually calmed. “Scaredy cat,” she chided the poor thing. She looked up at Ryland, who looked just as frightened. “Both of you.”

Days on the ship flew by. Weeks would go by and be barely distinguishable from the last. The only real way you could tell time had passed were the dark circles under your wife’s eyes.

It didn’t matter how long she slept, she still woke up tired. She didn’t joke as much as she used to. Didn’t sing at all. The woman who laid next to you at night was a ghost of the one you’d married.

One night, long past when you both should’ve been asleep, you turn to find her wide awake. She was already staring at you. “Eva?” you ask, though you already have her attention.

“Yes, dear?”

"How come you get to bring me here? No one else really has their partners on board."

"I get to bring you because I am in charge. I could order this boat to be taken apart and reconstructed ten meters to the left and I would be obeyed. They are lucky all I ask for is my wife and her cat."

"She's your cat, too," you start, but quickly shake the thought off. "But, really, you have that much power here?"

"I have that much power anywhere.”

You smirk. “Kinda hot, I have to admit.”

Her eyebrows raise. “Is that so?”

You nod. “Hot.”

She sits up a bit. “You like that your wife has armies at her command?”

You push yourself lower, aching to be underneath her. With sultry eyes, you look up at her. “I like that the world bends at my wife’s will.”

She uses both hands to pin your hands above your head, using her hips to hold yours in place. She leans into your space, crowding you, before grazing her teeth across your ear. “And I bend at yours, my love.”

You moan at her words, warmth filling your belly. “Fuck, Eva. Need you,” you whine.

“I know. You’ll have me.”

She takes her time. Her lips touch every bit of exposed skin you have, suckling and nipping the parts she knows are most sensitive.

You groan when she licks a stripe from your collarbone to the back of your ear. She holds your face in place as she does, contorting you to her will.

“Eva, please sit on my face,” you beg.

“That’s what you want, pretty girl?” she asks, twirling a lock of your hair in her fingers. You nod frantically.

“Please.”

“If that’s what you want.”

She climbs on top of you gracefully, slowly lowering her core to your mouth. You lick stripes over her warmth, immediately drawing out moans from the woman above you.

You’re far more precise when she’s underneath you. Every bit of precision is out the window when she sits on your face. Your entire being is focused on keeping her right where she is. Both of your hands hold her hips down as she grinds on your face. She chases her own high on you, uses you as a toy to get herself off. The thought of being used by her sends a new surge of slick to your thighs and a new set of moans from your lips to her core. You clench your thighs together, aching for friction. Eva instantly notices, slinking a hand back to rub your clit. The pleasure overwhelms you and you buck your hips further into her hand, desperate for her.

Her face is unguarded and blissed out as she rides you. She’s so beautiful like that, head thrown back in pleasure and chest heaving. Your thighs open wider to her as her fingers make quick work of your clit. You’re already soaked and she knows exactly how to get you off. Years of exploration had made her an expert of your body. Her movements grow frantic and sloppy as she gets close. You quicken the pace of your tongue against her pussy as she works herself to release.

You feel her cum against your tongue; her entire body clenches around you as she grinds into your face. The feeling of her coming apart on top of you brings you to your edge. You’re high on her, drunk on the taste of her pussy on your tongue. “Fuck,” she cries as she slides off of you, teetering on overstimulation.

Your pupils are blown as you stare up at her, desperate for her to touch you. “Such a good girl for me,” she praises as she crawls over your body to lay beside you. “Let me take care of you, baby.”

You nod, far too eager. “Please.”

She sinks two fingers into you, easily, letting out a moan of her own as you push your hips against her. “Good girl, taking me so well,” she murmurs. She sets an easy rhythm with her fingers as she uses her other hand to caress your head. “Need you to look at me.”

You whimper as you look at her - her eyes are locked on your face, measuring every reaction and adjusting her movements to reflect. Her pace quickens. “Are you close, baby?”

You nod, tears stinging your eyes as you arch yourself further into her. Every inch of you is screaming for her touch, for release. “Fuck, please, Eva. Please,” you beg.

Her lips connect with your neck and you fall over the edge. You fall for what feels like an eternity, until slowly your breathing calms and your heart rate slows. Aftershocks of your orgasm pulse through you as you settle against Eva’s sweat-slicked body.

“Love you,” you murmur against her chest.

She kisses the top of your head. “Love you.”

You’d almost fallen asleep when the banging on the door starts. “Mrs. Stratt?” a loud voice booms.

“What is it?” she asks, though she doesn’t move. Her head rests atop yours as her fingers comb through your hair. Your nerves are still electric from the way she touched you earlier and the movement sends chills down your body.

“You’re needed in your office,” the voice answers.

She groans before pulling herself upright. She’s still bare before you and the dim light makes her look ethereal. You know she doesn’t want to leave, can see it in the way she looks at you with sheer longing.

“Go,” you whisper. She drags a lazy hand across her face, rubbing the sleep from it. You smile as the tease rolls of your tongue, “Command.”

She rolls her eyes as she grabs your face in her hand. “Such a brat.”

"Stop, you're gonna rip my shirt." You swatted at Tess's hands as she finally made a move to undress you. The night could have been just kissing and you would have been happy. It had been a long time since Tess had just held you without ruining you first. Maybe if you were lucky, you'd get another, but you doubted it. Joel had ruined everything by opening up his stupid, big mouth and pointing out the way Tess kept you close.

That had been a month ago, and you hadn't seen Tess in three weeks after that. This was nothing more than the product of Tess running into you trying to sneak out. People had been talking, and despite her avoidance, Tess was worried. It wasn't like you to just volunteer to go beyond the walls so often knowing the risks.

"Do it yourself then," Tess said as she sat back. It was the most distance that had been put between you since Tess got you home. "Take it off, now."

"Bossy," you teased. Tess gripped your jaw tightly as she went in for another kiss. Your skin was flushed, heated all the way down your chest. Tess stared openly now, eyes fixated on skin she had seen a hundred times already. It didn't seem to matter how many times Tess had seen you in various states of undress, she always looked utterly fascinated with your body.

"Take it all off for me. Come on, it's been so long babe," Tess said. She wasn't quite demanding or ordering you around, but it was far from begging. You squeezed your thighs together at the thought of her desperate enough to beg for you to let her touch you. She was always so in control, even when you were the one in between her legs, a rarity in itself.

"You're the one who told me to stay away," you reminded her. Tess briefly let her face fall into a pout. That ended the second you dropped down onto her lap, straddling her thigh. "Were you thinking about me?"

"Sometimes, yeah. Everybody kept talking about you, it was impossible not to," Tess admitted. She seemed a bit sheepish. For a moment, you were reminded of how she had been before the world hardened so much. You'd never get to experience that softness, but this version of Tess had her fair share of benefits as well.

"Such a caring woman," you muttered with a gentle press of your lips to the side of her neck. Tess let her hands bunch up at your hips, fingers pressing into the soft flesh subconsciously. She had a tendency to leave marks, both intentional and not. You didn't mind, always a little glad to sneak a peek at them in the mirror later.

"Only for you," Tess muttered under her breath. To anyone else, it would have been sarcastic and biting, but Tess meant it genuinely. She always did when it came to you, despite her attempts not to. You were her soft spot, and if Tess wasn't careful, you'd be the death of her. Until then, she was content to just let herself enjoy all the ways in which you were soft too.

Her mouth made a beeline for her favorite, and you let out a gasp as her teeth scraped across a nipple. Tess chuckled at your responsiveness, as if she had expected you to lose sensitivity. You hoped that you never did, understanding just how much of that kept her close. Tess loved your reactions, all the gasps and moans that you let out when she touched you.

Tess held your body up against hers as she purposefully marked every inch of your skin her patience allowed. You glanced down to see several marks littering your skin in a trail as Tess settled down in between your legs. She seemed content now not to waste any more time with teasing, instead going right in with both her fingers and mouth.

Your back arched, pushing Tess's fingers a little deeper inside of you. Her lips wrapped around your clit, sucking gently before the flat of her tongue licked across it. You couldn't have been quiet if you wanted, not when Tess was purposefully throwing you for a loop. She knew just what you wanted, how the contrast of her fingers roughly fucking you met beautifully with the soft skill of her tongue.

"Tess, god you're doing so fucking good. Please don't stop." Your voice came out with a lot more of a whine than what your pride wanted. Tess smirked at the sound of you, as if she couldn't feel your desperation dripping around her fingers already. You could barely keep up with Tess, but that was how she wanted you. She preferred the mismatched buck of your hips to her thrusts and rise of your hips when she'd pull back for a fraction of a second.

"You look so pretty when you cum for me," Tess muttered as she felt your cunt clench around her fingers. Your body tried to hold off, but it was no use. Tess slowed the movement of her fingers to a gentle rock as she waited for your body to calm itself down. There was a moment after you finally went limp before Tess removed herself, just enjoying the feeling of your body beneath hers. "Get up, come on."

"Y-you're kicking me out?" Tess regretted her words the moment she saw a look of sadness flash across your face. "All that and you're kicking me out? What happened to things being different?"

"I want to go to bed, we can't stay on the couch all night. My back already hurts," Tess said. You didn't seem to get the message, so Tess pulled you up onto your feet. "WE are going to bed before you fall asleep out here."

The first thing you felt was the end of a very sharp knife pressing into your back. Then you heard his voice in your ear, speaking punctually. 

“Where do you think you’re going? Nobody gets past me. Not even you. I let you think you’re good at sneaking around. But I see everything.” 

Your breath hitched as his grip pulled you backwards into the alley. Once you turned away from the main road, you were met with another man, one you knew accompanied another man you dealt with often. He was dressed the same, and had that classic sketchy-guy look that told you exactly who’d approached you this hostile. 

It was a particularly unstable client, one you hesitated to continue business with due to his poor self-control. He was a junkie through and through, just a man too weak to settle into this world, needing a constant escape. You had unfortunately promised him a supply you didn’t have, and things escalated too far soon after. 

There was no reason to call for help either; it would be that easy for him to rat you out to FEDRA for selling pills. Even if those same soldiers were frequent customers of yours. Your voice had gone hoarse and the cut on your lip swelled enough to make it hard to speak. 

You couldn’t decide what was worse, the fact that you never saw this coming, or that nobody would be coming to your rescue. 

Crack. 

Your shoulder was slammed into the wall with enough force that you toppled to the floor. Followed by multiple kicks to the stomach and sides, with not even a second’s notice. Your lunch felt closer to coming up with every rough kick of their boots into your torso. 

The amount of stock wasn’t nearly as close to what the client demanded, but his ration cards seemed too good to be true. To be fair, you weren’t cut out to be a smuggler; you were a fool to try and weasel out of the deal without repercussions. It was never that easy in this world. 

Your knuckles scraped against the blacktop like sandpaper while attempting to stand, painted crimson while your skin ripped. When your vision went double, then triple, squeezing your eyes shut alleviated the pain for just a moment. 

Other than the blood you felt gushing from your hands, the throbbing in your head and torso made it difficult to move without immense pain. Weakened by several blows to the stomach, your legs finally gave out. Your ankle twisted the wrong way as you fell, while your palm caught on a sharp piece of rock, scraping it enough to burn. You were damned if you tried to yell for help.

You huff a breath, before a sharp pain stopped you short, coughing up blood that pooled in your chest. On all fours like a dog you were, with the two men standing above you muttering to themselves. 

Mercy, they called this having mercy on you. 

Some form of laceration cut deep enough to drip red hot blood down your forehead, and there was no doubt you had several more covering your body by the way everything burned. It dripped down your face and made everything blurry. 

Coughing hoarsely, you somehow found the strength to pull yourself off from the prone position, finding a wall to sit up against. Each time you moved, it felt as if your body was getting ripped apart. Your bones felt like glass, your skin like paper. Blood gushed from a slash on your arm, and your stomach had taken one too many blows to pull yourself to your feet. 

How the fuck did this happen?

You had been traveling through the QZ during late afternoon, around the central hob of trading. In the midst of the zone's chaos, you ducked into an alley as a shortcut, which was your first mistake. Minutes later, you had been roughly attacked from behind, and thrown against the wall with one motion.

“You got our pills, bitch?” Two sets of feet pointed toward you while weakened. 

“I need more time,” you breathed, convincing yourself more so than the man in front of you, “My dealer’s stingy with his supply. I can get it out of him, though. Soon.”  Your arms raised at your sides, knowing how many people secretly carried knives around the QZ. There was no way you were taking that chance. 

A pair of hands grabbed the collar of your shirt, lifting you up so you could hear them clearly. 

“We want the rest of our pills. And a pack of cigs. End of the day tomorrow. Or you’re all the way dead. You hear me?” 

The other man approached, unsheathing his blade and immediately pressed it to your cheek, standing not even a foot from your body. His blade was forced onto your skin so hard that it drew blood, and you called out in pain. 

“End of day tomorrow. The usual spot.” The one holding your collar said pointedly. 

A fast nod of your head paired with the incessant throbbing of his words within your mind had you struggling to comprehend anything. He released your collar, which resulted in you toppling onto the ground once more. The blood you coughed up afterwards stained your shirt, wiping it away with the sleeve of your flannel. 

You’d survived the chaos of outbreak day, almost running yourself into the ground trying to escape everything. That was the day you knew this would be a life of running, until you arrived in Boston. 

You weren’t sure about the Quarantine Zone at first. But then you saw a bed and pillow to sleep on every night. No more camouflaging yourself in the backseat of a car or suffering drastic temperatures and hoping you wake up not frozen to death the next day. 

To be fair, you tried to sign up for work shifts, but manual labor was never for you– especially not when it was shoveling shit, or transferring corpses to burn in fire pits. That kind of work was not how you intended to live out the rest of your life. 

That was when you landed on smuggling, since people had to be desperate for some kind of relief after taking orders from soldier douchebags all day. You probably would’ve been better off in the academy, not taking shit from a weasel of a dealer whose name you forgot, but whose ponytail you remembered. You’d gone from risking your life every day in the open world, dodging the swarms of runners underground to being forced into risking your life trying to make the junkies and downright miserable people of the QZ happy. 

Now, you’ve accepted that you were going to slowly bleed to death in this alley. Part of you wanted to resist, but the idea of not having to deal with anything like this ever again. It would just be that much easier to close your eyes and succumb. 

You whimpered at the pain running through your leg, a patch of maroon seeping through your jeans. Too weak to put pressure on any of your own wounds, you let your eyes close in defeat. The voice at the back of your head protested, wanting you to get up and fight for your life. But you just couldn’t. 

Eventually the air got cooler which you noted meant the sun had gone down, and you were in and out of consciousness. Warily, you opened your one good eye, spotting the patch of blood that had spread further from the gash on your leg. The sight made you queasy, so you closed your eye again and went back to unconsciousness for a while. It was the lone way everything stopped hurting, and bliss once you floated into it. 

“Psst. You alive?” The words rang sharp in your head with an ache so bad you couldn’t focus. The nudge at your foot woke you a bit, pulling you to consciousness slightly. No reply earned you a slightly harder kick to the leg, which shot another stinging pain up your leg. You groaned and your body moved a bit. 

Is someone there? 

Footsteps crunched against the blacktop, getting slightly louder. 

Fuck, please don’t hurt me, please, please.. 

“I’m just gonna check your pulse, so if you can hear me, don’t freak out.” Your head moved an inch weakly, unsure about this person being so close to you. A low groan of discomfort came from your chest, alerting the woman you were conscious. 

“Hey, hey. I’m not going to hurt you. Just needed to know if you were alive.” The voice was low, and it sounded feminine through the ringing in your ear. 

“H-help… me…” You managed to speak, your mouth and tongue tasting like iron. 

The woman went silent for a moment, taking a look over the state of your injuries. 

“You’re pretty fucked up, honey. God, what piece of shit did this to you?” She picked up on the multiple gashes on your body, staining your clothes, and your shoulder was visibly out of place. 

You decided to open your eyes to see who was crouched next to you. It was no use, your vision was still spinning from earlier. Sharp pains drummed against your head and obscured your ability to see. The one sole thing you could make out was someone with long, light colored hair and a dark pink shirt, but you kept looking around to see if your vision would come back. 

“Shit. I’ve gotta get you out of here. Just- just hold on. Name’s Tess, what’s yours?” You picked up on her moving about, unzipping what you assumed was her pack. 

You mumbled again, still unable to speak clearly. 

“Right, dumb question. So, I’ve gotta stop your bleeding, and your shoulder looks dislocated. I can only do one of those things right now, and then we can get you someplace safe. That means I’m gonna have to put pressure on your leg. Okay?” Her words came out matter-of-factly, and she seemed like a true survivor of this world. 

You begin to protest, moving slightly away from her and moaning with distrust. 

“Look, I promise, I will get you out of here. But I can’t have you leaving a blood trail through the streets. Alright?” She asked, and you hesitated for a moment, but nodded slightly. 

“Okay, this is going to hurt, but I need you to keep it quiet so it doesn’t attract soldiers. Can you do that?” 

Immediately, you shook your head no, and you heard the woman mumble to herself while she shuffled through her bag.

“Here, bite down on this. It’s a clean rag, and I promise that if you scream, it’ll be a hell of a lot quieter than if you didn’t have it.” She raised the rag up to your lips and waited for you to open your mouth. Somehow you trusted her to let her put it in. If this were some other old injury, you wouldn’t be giving an inch. But you happened to be on the brink of death right now, and you realized she’s probably saving your life. 

“I’m gonna put pressure on your cut now.” You heard her rearrange herself to be crouched over on the other side of you. With both her hands, she pressed down firmly on your wound. The stinging pain that died down earlier came right back when her hands made contact. She noticed your wound gushing through the first bandage in her hand. You groaned loudly into the cloth, grateful for its existence. 

“I know it hurts…” The woman spoke again, “Just hang in there. I’m gonna wrap your wound, and then once we’re safe, I can stitch it up.” 

You begin to protest, borderline trusting the woman in front of you. Then you realized, she was the only one here. 

"Look, I need to get you out of here. Need to get us out of here. Soldiers are gonna be swarming the streets all night, and it's almost sundown. I can take you to my place, and I’ll have a better chance to take care of you there. I know you probably don’t trust me, but it's the least I can do."

Considering the current situation, you didn’t have much of a choice. 

“Do what you… h-have to..” you muttered weakly. 

The pressure on your wound had lightened, while one of her hands rested on it as she used the other to grab for her bag again. She met your eye level for a moment, glancing up to survey your state. She went back to wrap some gauze around your thigh, tying it tighter than you would’ve liked, even though you knew it would help your wound begin to heal. 

“Okay, I think the bleeding stopped. You poor thing, let’s get you out of here.” You watched her zip up her pack and shrug it onto her back, while grabbing yours with her other hand. 

“It’s probably gonna hurt a lot if you try to stand, but we gotta get you up one way or another.” You felt her at your side, slipping your left arm around her shoulder. She had already noticed the sharp inhales you were taking upon moving from your spot. 

“Here, lean on me. I’ll carry you. Just keep breathing, honey.” 

The minute she began to lift you was when you knew something was really wrong with your other arm. It tingled all over and your shoulder ached something awful. 

“‘M t-tryin’– it hurts…” had been uttered under your breath with another whine of sharp pain as your body moved with hers. 

“I know. Shhh, Shh. Hey, Just put one foot in front of the other. You’ve got this.” Something about her voice was calming you, and it almost made up for all the pain. The two of you begin walking, slowly at first, testing out your strength for the journey. It took a minute of tripping over your own feet to steady yourself. 

“Promise we’re gonna get you fixed up, brand new.” She muttered under her breath, low enough so other people nearby didn’t hear. 

Somehow her words kept you going, limp after limp. Tess made sure you knew when you had to take a step up or down, and kept you going the whole time. 

“Yeah, you got it. We’re halfway there. Keep it up, doin’ great.” Her words reverberated in your head with an echo. You couldn’t see where you were stepping for the majority, but you trusted her to guide you. Another few minutes of walking had your body much more worn out than normal. Once she stopped at the side of a building, her arm went to push the door open.

“Here we are.” Tess kicked it shut behind you two, and balanced you against her body. The interior was warm on your skin, but somehow your body still shivered to its core. Inside, you could hear people shifting around, but the sounds blended together amongst your attempt to stay upright. 

“I’m s-so cold…” 

The strength in your body was draining with every step you took; you were ready to collapse. 

“I know, but you gotta keep your eyes open a little longer. We need to get you up these stairs. Then we’re home free.” 

You didn’t protest as she brought you closer, inching up each step carefully in order to not strain yourself. Your legs ached with every step, persevering to make it all the way.

The last step up the top stair drained the last of your stamina, evident by the way your fingers throbbed with each beat of your heart. You were out of it more intensely than when you had been outside. Your whole body was sensitive with some form of pain you couldn’t quite pinpoint. 

Tess led you down the short hallway, stopping in front of her door. She fumbled with her keys, although the jingling chain sounded more like glass breaking in your head. The door flew open, and she brought you inside, tossing your pack to the side while tossing her keys in another direction. 

“Alright, let’s set you down on the couch. Should be more comfortable than the damn ground.” Tess scoffed as she brought you over, keeping an eye on your limp. She turned you to the right, your bad arm on the outside of the couch as you were lowered down onto the cushions. When your feet were finally off the ground and your back rested against the pillows, it made a world of a difference. 

“Fuck… I’m so tired. Everything hurts.” You stifled a groan, but Tess saw how much pain you were in. Your eyes scrunched together every time you tried to move and there were multiple patches of blood seeping through your shirt. 

“I know. But I can’t leave your shoulder the way it is.” 

“My shoulder?” You hadn’t the slightest idea what she was talking about, your arms felt fine. 

No, it’s definitely the shock you’re in. 

“It’s dislocated. Pretty swollen already, you must be in shock. And I already told you that I’d have to pop it back in. Before we left, you don’t remember?” 

“No…” You mumbled, trying to recall; your memory was so groggy; you couldn’t remember half the day. 

“Shit, you probably have a concussion too.” Tess reached to the back of her jeans, pulling out the same rag as before. “But I’ve gotta set your shoulder before it’s permanently damaged. It’s probably been way too long already.” 

“How d’you know all this? Were you a doctor or something? Before?” Tess turned to face you, and you were able to focus on the features of her face for a moment. Her eyes were a light hazel color, and you could see little strands of grey peeking through her light brown hair. 

“Or something… I did a lot to survive after the outbreak. Learned a lot more to survive the hard times.” Her words trailed off, and she went to grab something from another part of the room. Tess had collected an old shirt of hers, and came back over to you. 

“Okay, so… I’m not good with pain clearly. Hope you still have that rag. Cause I’m gonna yell… or pass out. Either way, it’s gonna hurt a shit ton, and I’m gonna need it.” 

Without a doubt, Tess pulled the rag from her back pocket for you. 

“Got it right here. Kept it out of my pack cause I knew you’d need it again. This is gonna hurt a lot more than just some pressure on your cut.” She began tying the t-shirt together in a specific way, but you weren’t sure what she was doing with it. 

“Shit. I know… I know. Just do it.” You groaned, feeling a slight tingling sensation in your left hand shooting upwards to your shoulder. 

Tess set the now tied shirt onto the floor, as she kneeled down next to you. With one hand, she held the rag up to your mouth, and you bit down on it. Among the various other pains in your body, your shoulder was the worst of all. Taking a few deep breaths to calm yourself enough, Tess met your eye once she had leaned down in front of you. 

“Ready?”

Wordlessly, you nodded your head. You were trying to keep calm, but the shock was wearing off and your pain came flooding back. One of Tess’s hands grasped your forearm, though you could barely feel her grip. 

“Okay. One, two…” 

Crack went your shoulder back into its socket with one swift motion. Just as she thought, you went groaning into the rag once again. Tess took her hands away and grabbed the makeshift sling she had tied together earlier. 

“Does that feel better?” She asked, watching you spit out the rag. You took another deep breath in and out, surveying the current feeling in your arm. 

“Yeah.” You weren’t sure if you believed it yourself, but for now you decided to. “Pain’s still there, but it definitely feels different. Better than before.”

“Good. Here, you’ve gotta wear your arm in this sling while it heals.” Tess lifted the tied up sling over your head, and it slipped on easily on once she had it situated the right way. 

“Could I get those pills now? The idea of any kind of grace from the amount of pain I was just in sounds like a dream.” You tried to laugh, but a cough came up instead. 

“Yeah. I’ve got Oxy, Hydro, Morphine…” She trailed off, not even knowing if you knew what she was talking about. 

“Honestly, whatever you think will be best. I honestly don’t know anything about dosages very well, and I trust you. Besides, I just wanna knock out for the night. I’m fucking exhausted.” Your words slurred a bit, due to your swollen lip, but Tess heard you well enough. 

“Alright, I’ll be right back.” 

Instead of trying to keep your eyes open, you shut them again in an attempt to alleviate the pain in your head, but it pounded nonstop. You listened to Tess’s boots on the wooden floor walking around to ground yourself. A couple minutes later, she returned to where you lay on the couch. 

You peeked your eyes open, and she’d crouched down with two pills in one hand and a cup of water in the other. 

“Got you water to wash it down with, if you want.” Her cupped hand held two of the white pills and you raised your good arm to grab them. Patient as she was, you moved slowly. 

There was no indication of any burdensome look on her face, which was odd– no one had ever been this kind to you before. You didn’t know how to feel about it. 

Slipping the pills between your lips, you grabbed for the cup of water. It began to slip out of your hand the minute Tess loosened her grip.

“Here, let me. You’re gonna be really weak for a while, so just close your eyes and relax.” She said, to which she brought the cup to your lips with no hesitation. 

“Now, while those pills kick in, I’ll see what I can do for your gashes and other injuries. All I want you to focus on is getting some sleep. You’re safe. I promise.” She touched your hand softly, then stood up and walked off to leave you space to rest. 

Once you closed your eyes, you felt the exhaustion wash over you, though it finally felt good to rest again. A few minutes passed, and the groggy effect of the pills began to set in. You were out in no time. 

In the meantime, Tess darted back and forth gathering supplies to fix you up; she’d sterilized a needle and thread to stitch up your leg, and took the last of her ace bandages out from her pack to use for your ankle. She grabbed the bottle of whiskey on the countertop, and brought what she needed over to you, couchside. 

Before Tess took the needle and thread between her fingers, she cut away the area of denim that was ripped from your gash.

“Sorry, kid. I’ll get you some new pants.” To be fair, those jeans of yours were filthy with dirt and muck stains you’d never be able to wash out. Not to mention the blood that spread had well enough to become a large patch. She attempted to wipe up the dried viscera around your cut best she could, dabbing with the alcohol lightly to sanitize it. She’d counted on you being unconscious from the pills to start stitching up your gash. Hands steady, she looped the needle and thread through your cut, pulling it closed with each tie. 

Though it wasn’t the most ideal situation for something like this, Tess had the experience. Stitching up cut after cut on the road for god knows how long, trying to keep moving forward, but somehow someone always got hurt. People kept dying, or turning– and that wasn’t even the worst part. Upon making it to Boston, she learned what it was to be calm under situations like this. To become cold. It got the best of her, more often than not; any idea of the old her was lost to dreams of the world before. She never looked back, never slowed down, never took even a moment for herself. Her routine was based strictly around finding the best way to get by in the QZ. The constant eye of FEDRA’s guards and firefly bombings were enough, let alone the mile-long lines for rations that were barely ever in. It was too much to subject herself to being controlled by an invasive military, especially after all she’d done to survive. Each person Tess left behind etched a sliver of her humanity off, chipping away the heartfulness she once carried with pride. 

Save who you can save, the last words whispered to her by someone that sacrificed themselves so she could make it to Boston. Everything blurred together sometime after getting admitted into the city; by then, she’d worn down that kind version of herself into the ground. Possibly that same place where she heard those words before. Quickly, she gained a reputation with Joel by her side in the smuggling business of the zone. It paid well– better than hard labor all day for a cruel amount of flimsy ration cards, just to repeat the same thing over the next day. There was a respectable line Tess drew between the things she’d done in the name of survival, and things she strongly disliked doing. 

Tess’s time in the QZ had only reinforced that rigid outer shell of hers, confident the softer, weaker person inside her was left behind for good.

She’d almost made it through the day without finding any trouble, but her path through the streets was detoured by FEDRA vehicles and it happened to be the quickest route back to her place. Tess’s steps were quick, aiming to make a b-line straight back. 

Then her eyes caught the image of your thoroughly beaten self, and attempted to shut down the itch in the back of her throat she couldn’t quite scratch. 

Just keep walking, she’d told herself. But her subconscious knew better. Then those words echoed lightly through her head. 

Tess, save who you can save…

“Shit…” 

She thought she’d forgotten them all. But time never does. Those poor souls lost to hordes of runners, clickers, stalkers– each one shoved down so deep inside, and the outside shell of her was simple glass. 

Keep walking, just keep walking…. No–

She truly tried to keep going, but each step gnawed into her further. Remembrance of the ones she’d lost shattered the glass holding her back, and glued her feet to the ground in place. A quick curse had Tess looking back over her right shoulder, catching a glimpse of your unmoving body. She’d figured if this were a trap, others would’ve already surrounded her. 

A deep sigh came from her exhale of a tightly held breath; her heart pounding against the inside of her chest, as if something about to burst. Any second thought of moving further had vanished, her feet pivoting against the concrete, toward the stagnant body lying soundless against the brick wall. 

Darkness swallowed every corner of that alley; Tess was fortunate to even have seen you at all. 

It wasn’t often she found herself stopping for anyone that needed help, let alone in the QZ. Underneath the swollen and crimson stained injuries, she saw a young individual subdued and unconscious from their injuries. That was the moment she’d called out to you. 

Tess shook those pre-Boston nightmares from her mind, putting all of her focus onto fixing up your ankle. With the discoloration of bruises that covered your ankle, it baffled her how you were even able to trek as far as you had gone. Her eyebrows furrowed relentlessly, each one of your injuries more surprising than the last. 

“Jesus, kid. What the hell did you get yourself into?” She muttered to herself, before grabbing the roll of bandages from her pack. Tess was so focused on getting your ankle wrapped, that she hadn’t heard the creak of the wooden floor from behind her. 

“Tess… what’re you doin’?” 

Unbothered by the voice, her hands kept working. Though, she knew she’d woken her roommate from his slumber. Joel Miller hadn’t thought this was what he’d be seeing at almost two in the morning. 

“Wrapping an ankle, the hell do you think I’m doing?” 

“Tess. who the fuck is this?” By the tone of his voice, she knew he was pissed. She dare not poke the bear this late. 

“It’s uh… well, no. I don’t know. They couldn’t speak when I found them.” She’d finished securing the bandage around your ankle, and placed it back down on the couch.

“Do you even know their name?” Joel stepped towards Tess, his brow furrowed. 

“Joel… they were lying beat up and bloody in an alley. I wasn’t gonna take the chance and leave them there to die.” She reached for the other pillow on the couch, and placed it delicately for your ankle to rest on. 

“Well, did you even check their pack for weapons?” 

Tess huffed a breath, and stood up straight, turning to the man. 

“I was a little preoccupied making sure they weren’t bleeding out. Besides, they didn’t have any on their body. But if you insist…”

She took the moment now to move towards your pack she’d thrown into a corner earlier, taking out a notebook, some ration cards, and a couple bags of pills. 

“What the fuck? Tess, this could be a setup.” Joel muttered, the tone of his voice unsettled by the situation. 

“What? No. No fucking way, Joel. I’m telling you, they would’ve died out there if it wasn’t for me.” 

“You’ve gotta stop tryin’ to save people that ain’t worth it. That’s how we’re still alive, why we’re here and the dead ain’t.” 

“No, I don’t believe you. They’re unconscious and didn’t even see you, by the way. I think you’re fine.” Tess shook her head while she spoke. 

“Well, it’s our business that goes to shit if you’re wrong.” Joel spat, beginning to walk back to his door. 

“I don’t really give a shit. Not tonight. What I do care about is making sure this person stays alive. I couldn’t care less about distributing pills to junkies.” 

She did care about the smuggling, just not as much as she did about keeping you alive for the night. 

“Yeah, whatever.” 

His door shut and locked, leaving Tess alone with you for the night. She collected herself after that conversation, preparing anything she might need throughout the night to treat you. Just in case. 

Her muscles finally relaxed the minute she’d sat down in a chair adjacent to her couch. While she draped a blanket over her legs, Tess took one last look at you, studying your rising chest and calm features. 

You’re gonna be alright. 

Beams of sunlight painted the walls with a glowing warmth, cast across the older woman’s skin. Morning broke early, waking Tess before either of the habitants that resided in the Boston apartment. She’d always been a light sleeper, despite that it was loud most hours in the walls of the QZ. Living in Detroit her whole life had certainly accustomed her to it. 

Her hazel eyes opened against the light, finding themselves staring upwards at the ceiling. Tess had woken up several times throughout the night, which had become a normal occurrence for her. Events from last night flashed through her mind as she rose from her slumber. Her slumped position resulted with an uncomfortable spot in her neck from the chair she’d been in all night. Tess sat up as best she could, grasping the nape of her neck for comfort. No matter how many times she tried to get rid of the pain, nothing relieved her. Defeated by the lack of sleep, she rose from the chair and looked over at you still asleep on the couch. 

Rays of sunlight happened to catch right over your face, peeking through the blinds as they awoke you from rest. Yesterday had become a blur quicker than light. 

Where am I? What happened to me? It hurts everywhere…

You shifted lightly with a groan, eyes still closed. A headache pinged at the sides of your temples, and you took a sharp breath out of reflex. You weren’t able to move your body freely; exhaustion had drained you enough. Out of the blue, you heard a female voice echoing in your ears. Your one good eye opened, and it took a minute to adjust to the light, along with any blurriness. 

“Hey, you with me?” Her voice called out to you, unintelligible at first, but once you focused on the words more, you understood. 

“Where… where am I?” You mumbled, attempting to lift yourself up. You didn’t know what was worse; not knowing where you were, or not being able to lift your body normally. 

“Don’t try to sit up. You’re safe, but you’re too weak to sit up right now. I saved you last night, patched you up. Remember? My name’s Tess.” 

“Not really…” you sighed, accepting your weakened state. 

Tess knew it would take more than just one night to gain your trust; she also knew Joel wouldn’t be as patient. She crouched down by the side of the couch where you were, getting closer to make sure you heard her. 

“So, I pulled you out of that alley last night, patched you up and kept you safe the past twelve hours. I think that warrants me your name.” 

Your eyes glanced over her figure, the image of Tess still fuzzy. Considering all the factors, and the fact that you were still alive, you gave in and told her your name. Tess nodded contently and spoke again.

“Well, you probably have a concussion. But I cleaned and bandaged up everything else I could. Your left arm was dislocated, but I popped it back in last night. That’s why it’s in the sling. Don’t try to move it much, it’ll take a while to heal. As for your ankle, it’s twisted pretty bad. Bruised, too. You’re gonna be off your feet for a while.” Surveying the bumps and bruises you’d received, she set other supplies to the side on the floor.

You glanced down at your body, pulling back the blanket over your legs to find your stained jeans and the stitched up gash, with other bandaging around your ankle. 

“You saved me? And bandaged me up?” You speak clearly for the first time, and Tess stopped in her movement. 

“Yeah. You’re lucky to be alive. I wasn’t gonna let you die out there.” 

“What..” you swallowed, “What happened to me?” 

“From the looks of it, you were on the bad side of a shitty deal gone wrong. Like I said, you’re lucky to be alive.” Her tone was calm, and impressive to see in a situation that was anything but. 

“You went through my pack?” 

“I found you in an alley. Almost dead. Can you blame me?” 

“Guess not…” you said, sighing and trying to sit up. With one arm in a sling, you were having trouble moving without anything hurting. The pills were wearing off little by little as time passed. 

“Yeah, I wouldn’t do that. You’re gonna be couch bound for a while.” 

“What? No way. I need to… I have business and shit I need to get done–” 

“Don’t play coy. We know you’re a smuggler.” She shoved her hands in her pockets, pacing in small circles. 

“Well, you went through my bag. It doesn’t take a genius to figure that out. Wait, did you say we?” 

Before Tess could respond, a gray haired man emerged from behind her, jutting into the conversation. 

“You’re real cocky for someone that almost ended up dead from one of your clients. For all I know, this whole thing is a setup for you to rob us, kill us, or somethin’ else. But I ain’t gonna take that chance. Not now, not ever. Are we clear?” His southern accent came out as he spoke, and it wasn’t often you heard a voice like his among the Boston streets. It was intimidating enough; you didn’t trust him. 

“Yeah– okay, dude. Jesus, I don’t even know who you are. I didn’t know you guys were smugglers!” your voice strained while you lift your arm to gesture. 

“Joel, I was the one that brought them here. Like you said, this is on me. And I’ve got it. Walk it off, Texas.” 

The man named Joel walked backwards, dark eyes trained on you until the moment he turned around and left. He shut the front door in haste. 

“Is he always that tense?” You ask, taking a deep breath. 

“No. It’s not every day I bring anyone back to this apartment. Let alone someone who looked half dead, like yourself. No offense.” 

“Yeah… Why did you save me, by the way? You could’ve just left me there. But you didn’t.” 

“I told you… I wasn’t going to let you die. I thought you were dead at first, but I took the chance and saved your damn life. Is that what you wanna hear?” Your vision was still a little blurry, but you could focus on the woman’s features much more easily up close. You finally made out the face of your savior, Tess was a woman with light brown hair, longer than her shoulders but not too long. Her eyes were green, and there were lines on her face from time passing. With her stern voice, you wouldn’t know her face would look as calm. 

“Well, thank you.” You admitted, half ashamed you even thought about staying there to die in the first place. 

“You’re welcome.” 

Just as the silence settled, your body became aware of every injury you’d received. A sound of discomfort slipped past your lips, furrowing your eyebrows together. 

“Are you in pain? What hurts?” Tess began looking over the stitches she’d done the night before. 

With a groan, you replied, “Everything…” 

“Alright, I can give you a couple more pills for the pain. Uh wait– do you need to use the bathroom? I assume it’s been a while…” 

“Oh, yeah. I think in my near death I’d been.. You know, going without the ability to control it.” 

“Right… Well, I can get you a clean pair of clothes, but it won’t do any good if you’re wearing your own body fluids. Do you– would you like a bath?” 

Immediately insecure, you realized how filthy you must’ve become, spending most of yesterday soaked in your own blood and urine. Quickly, you nodded while looking down, shame washing over you. 

“Okay, Joel’s not gonna be back for a few hours. I can spare you some new clothes and underwear, but your boots I can just clean off later. I’ll re-wrap your injuries after, too. For now, we’ve gotta get you cleaned up.” 

She lifted you from the couch dutifully and slung you over her shoulder to head towards the bathroom. Tess recognized your sounds of discomfort, a string of sharp breaths and muffled groans you thought she didn’t hear. 

“Almost there. Here we go.” Her hip pushed the door open, sitting you on the chair next to the tub. Once the water was on and flowing, Tess found the right temperature and began filling the tub. She made her way back to you, and began to untie your boots, placing them off to the side. She took off your button down shirt, which revealed more black and blue bruising across your back and shoulder. You hissed a breath as she pulled the sleeve down off your left arm. Before moving further, Tess looked toward you with kind eyes. 

“It’s okay. Don’t feel ashamed. It’s just hard now. But you’ll be alright… Can I continue?” Her hand rested on your good shoulder patiently. You nodded silently, realizing the intimacy of the situation and looked down at the floor. 

Slowly, cautiously, and gently, she undressed you while the tub filled beside you both. Not only was your body covered in bruises and scrapes, but dried blood and other viscera had caked on a few layers. The bandages from last night were discarded to the side, fresh ones in the other room for when you were clean. She saw your reaction as you entered the water, your face contorted in both pain and pleasure while you sat. The warmth of the liquid against your torso was another level of soothing, flooding your skin with goosebumps and washing off some of the dried blood upon submerging yourself into the tub. Tess grabbed a washcloth and bar of soap, lathering it up before wiping it across your back. 

“I don’t know how to thank you. This is…” 

“You don’t have to say anything. And you don’t have to thank me. Please– please don’t thank me.” Tess knew this wouldn’t make up for the numerous people she’d left behind– left to die so she could persevere ahead. But all she had to do was goddamn try. 

A comfortable silence settled between the two of you, sighing while she kept cleaning off your body. Her hands were soft against your skin, sending shivers up your spine. Though she was doing something as intimate as washing you, it didn’t bother you as much as it would have on any other occasion. She carefully avoided running over your scrapes and other open wounds, yet still washing them lightly with the soap and water. Before long, the water had become a dark brown color from how much had washed off of you. Tess began to drain the tub, keeping the faucet running as it drained. 

“Mind if I wash your hair?” 

It was just a simple question, but it sparked your anxiety a bit more than when she undressed you earlier. 

“Uh.. sure.” 

Tess washed out the tub with a bucket while you sat in it. She lathered some shampoo between her palms, rubbing it across your scalp with gentle fingers. 

You couldn’t deny, Tess’s hands were calloused and rough, but they felt like heaven against your scalp. Rubbing the pads of her fingers into your head was somehow better than all the times you’d done it yourself. Eyebrows furrowed against the sensation, and you groaned lowly. You somehow alerted Tess, wondering if she’d pressed too firmly on your head. 

“What happened? Does it hurt? Sorry if I’m going too hard–”

“No, it’s great. Keep going.” You breathed. 

“Okay..” she chuckled a bit before continuing, then used the bucket to wash the rest out from your locks before applying conditioner. One of her hands grabbed the brush on the floor, slowly untangling the mess of knots in your hair. The warm water calmed you like nothing you’d experienced before, at least not since after the world fell. Appreciation flowed through you, and the comfortable silence reinforced that all the more. It was a safe feeling, one you shared with this kind, and beautiful woman. She’d washed the leftover soap and conditioner off your body, and began to towel dry your skin in a gentle manner. 

“Here, wrap yourself in this. I’ll be right back with the clothes.” Quick footsteps brought her to the pile of clothes she’d attained over the months on the run. She’d returned to the bathroom with a few things in hand, and approached you. Carefully, she stood you from the tub and stepped back onto the floor while wiping the remaining water droplets off your back. 

“Thanks..” you shivered a bit against the cold air, wanting to be clothed and back under the thick blanket. The socks she slipped over your feet helped warm you, while carefully slipping on the rest of her clothes. Tess even brought a spare sports bra for you to borrow for the time being. Something about the way she moved so calmly, spoke with such a soothing voice that made this whole situation seem lighter. On any other day, you’d be stressing about finding the right pills for a client or risking your life outside the walls. Her soft movements sparked something inside you with a new kind of warmth, and it almost atoned for everything you’d been through the past 12 hours. 

Once you were dressed, Tess towel dried your hair and began to tie up another sling for your arm. 

“When you’re back on the couch, I’m gonna put some ice on your ankle. It’ll help with the swelling and probably some of the pain.” You nodded silently, taken back constantly by her kindness. 

“If you’re in pain, I could give you another dose of pain meds. But it depends on if you want to eat something beforehand. It’s been since yesterday since you ate anything, probably for the both of us. I can fix you something to eat, though.” 

“Oh, uh, sure.” You weren’t completely sure what you were doing here still, your mind foggy from the night before. The way your injuries burned and ached against one another had you aching for some kind of relief– any kind at this point. How you got yourself here, you weren’t sure of either. 

Not much later, Tess came over with something suitable for you to eat, before giving you a couple more pills for the pain. Again you fell drowsy from the pain medication, resting the day away. With you resting calmly on the couch, Tess did her best to stay awake until Joel returned, running on less than five hours of sleep. It felt like ages before he came through the apartment door once again. 

“Hey, can you… keep an eye on them, please… I barely got any shuteye last night.” 

“I just got back–” 

“Joel, please.”

“Fine.” 

“Don’t hurt them, Miller. Seriously. Or I’ll hurt you.” She mumbled under her breath, trudging to the door. 

“I’ve got it. Just go.” 

With that, Tess collapsed on her mattress, not even bothering to pull the sheet over her, before drifting off to sleep the minute her eyelids fluttered shut. 

On the couch, you woke to a silent morning; no movement could be heard amongst the apartment. Your eyelids fluttered open, turning your head to look for Tess; instead you were met with the dark eyes of Joel Miller. His figure sat across from you, adjusting the gun in his hand so you could see it well. 

“You try anything funny, you get a bullet.” Joel raised his hand to gesture with the weapon. He noticed the bags under your eyes were dark and sunken in, making you appear more dead than alive at the moment, despite all the bandages. 

“You wouldn’t shoot me here. It’d be too loud and soldiers would be here quicker than light.” You rasped, coughing lightly from your dry throat. 

“Wanna bet?” He leaned in with a menacing glare. You kept eye contact with him as he began to stand, the intimidation not making a dent in you. It was enough to make Joel second guess his opinion of you for a moment. 

“Joel, stand down.” Tess called from the other side of the room. You called her name from the couch, and she quickly replied. 

“I’m here. Do you need anything?” She came into eyesight now, her hair pulled back in a ponytail and casually wearing a sweatshirt. Tess gave Joel a look, motioning for him to leave the room. 

“Yeah. I need to get out of here and home.” Your eyes watched the older man get up, watching as Tess approached, “My client’s probably freaking the fuck out and wreaking havoc across the QZ looking for me.” 

“About that…” She strolled over to where you were, taking a seat, “You need to tell me who did this to you.”

“What? N-No… I can’t. He’s my client. I can deal with him.” You shot up in your seat, groaning slightly. 

“Oh right. Like that worked out so well last time?” Joel spoke, walking away. Your eyebrows furrowed in annoyance at what Tess was suggesting.

“Trust me, kid. You’ll thank me later.” She added. 

“I’m already thanking you later. I’ll probably be owing you for the rest of my life.” 

“No, kid–” 

“Don’t call me kid. I’m grown. I can take care of myself.” 

“Okay, you’re gonna have to prove it, then. You still need time to heal.” Tess insisted you lay down again, but her words flew in one ear and out the other.

“I need to not be couch bound and sleeping through the day! I need to have a life, some kind of life in this shit hole of a city! Don’t you get it?” Your voice was rising, straining against the irritation. 

“I do, trust me. I do. It’s why we got into that business, too. But hun, you didn’t deserve what happened to you. I hope you know that. Now, I’d like to know…” She leaned in closer, lowering her voice to look you in the eye. 

“Let it go. It doesn’t matter!” 

“Yes it does. Who did this to you?” Her voice spoke pointedly, holding strong eye contact with you. Your eyes closed for a second, throwing your head back with a sigh. 

“His info is on the third page in my notebook. You’ll know it’s him cause his orders take up almost the whole fucking page.” You pinched the bridge of your nose as Tess stepped toward your pack, rummaging through it until she found the notepad. Pocketing it, she walked over to Joel’s door, ajar, and spoke. 

“Texas, make our guest something to eat. I have some business to attend to.” She turned toward the door, exiting the apartment with your notebook in hand. 

“Wait, Tess!” 

Your voice fell on deaf ears; she was already down the hallway and gone. Once the man emerged from his bedroom, you shared a plain look as he made his way to the kitchen. Before reaching for the cupboard doors, he grabbed the bottle of amber liquor and poured some into a glass. 

“Pour me a glass of that, please.” 

“Are you even old enough?” 

“Are you kidding? I’m 25. Now can you pour me a damn drink already?” 

Silently, Joel rolled his eyes and poured some into a glass for you. It was his peace offering before he went back to find something for you to eat. You ended up sharing some soup and crackers with Joel for dinner, awaiting the older woman’s return afterwards.

An hour or two passed before Tess made her way back. You were resting on the couch when the door opened. She took a sharp breath in upon entering, and let the door slam behind her louder than usual. It gained your attention and Joel’s, looking toward the door. You heard her hiss a breath, while she shook out her fist. 

“Shit, Tess. What did you do?” She walked further into the apartment, the light glimmering against the fresh blood across her lip. 

“Took care of that client of yours.” She muffled a groan, stretching out her fist while her knuckles bled. 

“Did you kill him? The fuck–” You began to try and stand on your good foot, but stumbled before you could get any closer to her. 

“What? No, I didn’t kill him. Just taught him a lesson. That smug fucker. I don’t know why you did business with him. He’s a bad junkie. You never do business with a bad junkie.” She sat down near you again, noticing the empty whiskey glass nearby on the floor. 

“He was my most frequent customer. Shady as hell, if I’m honest, he kinda scared me. That’s how I knew it was him when I got attacked. 

“That’s naïve of you. Why would you ever do something that risky by yourself?” 

“I… didn’t have anyone else who was willing to risk their lives sneaking around the QZ. So I said fuck it.” 

“Well, I still think you’re a dumbass. You’re just lucky you’re staying out of the smuggling market for a while.” 

“No, I told you I can’t. I need to–” 

“You need to rest and heal. I swear to god, if I hear one more word about you getting on your feet before you’re a hundred percent, I swear I’ll chain you to the couch.” 

“Jesus, fine. I won’t go back out there. Throw my entire business away just to wait till these injuries kill me in the middle of the night, I guess.” 

“Hey, you’re gonna be fine. The only reason I’m being an asshole about this is because I want you to survive. I didn’t pull you off the street to let you go back to that shitty situation.” Her words were honest, even if you didn’t believe them. 

“Well, thanks. I guess.” 

“Yeah, don’t mention it.” She shrugged your thanks off and went about her business. 

The future weeks proved to be the longest haul you thought you’d ever been in. It consisted of a lot of reading, sleeping, and wishing you could be on your feet. You ended up asking Tess to take a trip to your place and retrieve some of your things; you were tired of having to put her out of her own clothes to wear. Plus it would just be more comfortable for you. Tess checked your injuries daily, reapplying bandages and cleaning on a steady schedule. She would not let you die from infections after doing all she could to save your life that night. 

The two older individuals went about their days more regularly once you were out of the woods with all of your injuries. Tess helped you to and from the table so you could join them for meals, otherwise spending the day rereading old books and magazines while trying to find other things to do than just sit around and rot. You were grateful for Tess saving your life, but this healing process was a bitch. 

 Standing wasn’t as easy as you thought it would be, especially having been off your feet for days on end. Much less the blood loss you’d experienced, it was humbling to not be able to get around on your own. Slowly as the first week passed, Tess helped you get back on your feet bit by bit. You had enough strength after another week to stand on your own.

One day, the smuggling duo was planning a run while surveying a map they’d drawn up. You nonchalantly watched, sitting in a chair neary. They hadn’t noticed you, until you mentioned a route they hadn’t heard of, and her attention turned to you, impressed with your knowledge and jotted the trail down for later. 

“Wait, question. Do you guys know Robert?” Your arms crossed over your chest. 

Both Joel and Tess turned towards you now, their eyes widened and faces grim. 

“Why?” Joel asked with a stern voice. 

“He’s one of the guys that uses that route. At least, his guys do. So be careful.” 

“You’re telling me you used to run with Robert?” 

“Only for a little. Seemed like he wanted more than just business… with me. But I got out of there before it was too late.” Tess scoffed, a smirk forming on her face. 

“Tell you what. You wanna keep smuggling, you join us when you’re fully healed.” 

Joel turned to her, but she shot him a look and turned back to the map silently. 

“You’re sure?” You asked, sitting up. 

“I’m sure. Not gonna let you put yourself in danger again when you could have us at your side.” She looked back down at the map and continued jotting in her notes. 

“Okay, cool.” You smiled to yourself, thinking Tess didn’t see, but she glanced up for a moment after she heard your words. She noticed the eagerness in your eyes and felt her heart skip a beat. 

So, it wasn’t all for nothing, you thought. 

You weren’t given a second chance to live just to lose what got you through the days and weeks on your own. This gave you another opportunity to survive with individuals by your side; you wouldn’t be alone anymore. 

Caring came far too easy for Tess. She'd seem cold on the outside, and sure, she was a reserved person. But to see you so overjoyed about being able to continue smuggling, she couldn’t help but have a little warm feeling in her chest. 

She thought the first time would be the only time a spark would flicker inside her. But then you were laughing at something idiotic one night, and she felt it again. The tensions between you and Joel had broken– finally. For the first time in a while, Tess saw multiple things looking up: you were recovering on a steady pace, and on an even better note, becoming a friend to her. She read you books, mostly classics from what she’d traded for. Ultimately grateful, you listened intently to every word she read, while trying to not fall asleep from her soothing voice. 

Under all the scratches and bruises, Tess saw your kindness and personality reveal with everyday that passed. She became privy to the way you saw the world with a gentle hand, reinforcing that spark in her chest. Yet that same spark came with guilt; she knew it wasn’t fair to fall for you after all you’d been through. She wasn’t sure if you’d ever trust someone like that again. So that spark was only kept as embers, in a lockbox on a very high, very dusty shelf in her mind. 

Another week of healing went by, and you were finally able to stop wearing your arm in a sling. You spent the day traveling back to your place to grab some things you’d need for the next few days. Tess insisted you stay in the apartment with her and Joel while you healed. You hadn’t been home since the day you were attacked, other than the days Tess was kind enough to retrieve some things for you. 

As of present day, you had gained the ability to walk on your ankle back after almost a month of being off it. The first thought in your head the morning of was that a trip outside the walls of the apartment. You also knew others might want to pay you a visit if you returned back by yourself, which is when you mentioned the idea to Tess. 

“Yeah, you’re definitely not going alone. I’ll come with. When do we leave?” 

“Right now.” You grinned at her with content before you went to grab your pack. 

The two of you flew down the steps and out the door, Tess following behind you with caution. Your first step into the outside air was something you missed within almost a month of being indoors. While it wasn’t exactly sunny, the cool air was refreshing against your skin and differed greatly from the apartment. 

“Don’t run off now.” the older woman muttered, shutting the door behind her. Just from the way you moved, Tess could tell you were in need of something like this. You looked around at the same old streets of the QZ like it was something completely new. She felt lucky to be the one seeing this part of you, the healed and healthy part. 

“C’mon, I’ll lead the way.” You turned back to her, noticing her hazel eyes trained in your direction, then shifted to the path in front of you. A few minutes of walking passed, and you’d picked up some pairs of eyes looking your way from people on the surrounding streets. It was more of a side eye glance than a stare, but still you noticed it. After being terrified to leave the four walls of the apartment, being perceived was a bit more intimidating than you thought it’d be. You slowed your steps, letting Tess catch up with you. 

“Um, Tess?” You mumbled, glancing back towards her. 

“What’s up?” 

“All these people keep staring...” 

Tess surveyed the area before noticing something you hadn’t, and she chuckled. 

“They’re not looking at you, they’re staring at me.” You did a quick glance back and forth, fidgeting with your fingers nervously. 

“Are you sure?” 

“I’m sure. Let’s keep going.” You turned back after nodding to her, hiding the tiny smile that snuck its way onto your lips. It was almost like walking with a scary dog at your side, except said scary dog was the taller woman trailing behind you. 

From the way multiple pairs of eyes shot in her direction, some glazed over, some didn’t notice as you passed by. Other pairs of eyes widened as they fell on the figure of the woman behind you. You don’t know how she’s done it, but Tess Servopolous has the Boston QZ wrapped around her finger. It seemed everyone–including Joel Miller himself– had themselves under her spell. They did whatever she wanted the moment she asked. There was no second guessing her, and when she said to do something, you were damn well to do it. You learned the hard way during your healing process, stubborn and complaining that you couldn’t get around on your own. 

One night when you were bickering, she’d tried to convince you that you weren’t ready to try and walk on your bad ankle yet. Stubborn and impatient, you kept talking back to her. 

“Don’t even try to get up.” 

You’d been overstressing yourself about getting back on your feet, so as to find another way to keep smuggling. 

“Watch me.” You had hoisted yourself off the couch halfway, then used the last of your stamina to pull yourself the rest of the way up. The first step you took was with your good foot, but the minute you stepped with the other, you groaned and stumbled from the pain, landing on the ground. 

“I told you…” Tess was at your side before you could attempt to move yourself back to the couch.

Gentle and slow, her hands around your body were familiar as if you’d known them to be the hands of a long time lover. They were just Tess’s hands, but to you, they couldn’t hurt or kill any more than they could wash over your injuries with a soft touch. When you got a better look at her for the first time, you saw the kindness in her eyes, and her heart in the actions she took towards you. 

Common human decency was to take care of someone injured or sick, but you felt something different in the way she tended to you. It was in the way she used her hand to lift up your chin to check how your cuts were healing. Especially when she inspected the one on your lip for a bit too long, claiming it was healing fast and that you shouldn’t try to open it again. All you could hear when she spoke was your own heart beating in your ears, lost in the hazel of her eyes. She’d even found you a cane, but you paid it no mind and kept letting her help you instead.

“I’d hate to feel like a burden…” 

“It’s alright, I don’t mind taking care of you.” A warmth flushed through your cheeks when her words hit your ears. 

You could tell somewhere deep down, Tess used to care for people as easy as breathing. From the way she knew so much about patching others up, she wanted to keep people going, no matter the circumstances, you knew she cared much more than she showed. 

Being on your feet again, outside those same bland apartment walls brought a new feeling you weren’t able to identify. It was different not walking alone for once in the streets, always having to glance over your shoulder just in case. Now when you looked over your shoulder, you saw Tess, and you hoped she’d stay in your life for longer than just when you were healing from your injuries. She meant too much to you to just forget about after she’d been by your side the whole time. 

The route to your apartment wasn’t far from where Tess lived, and you were there within no time. It was a bit overwhelming once you came up to the door, fidgeting with the keyring until it clicked into the lock. 

“Well, here we are.” You opened the door, stepping into the stale air of your place. Things were as you’d left them, with a few odds and ends out of order from when Tess had stopped by for some of your toiletries. All your knickknacks were scattered about, some across the countertops and any spare surface you could find. Some, if not most, were collected on the road, and others were from your home when you first fled. 

“Nice place you got here.” 

“You should know, being the only person to be here besides me in the past few weeks.” you chuckle, shoving your keys back in your jeans pocket. They actually happened to be Tess’s, but you couldn’t tell the difference anymore. She didn’t mind either.

She’d been contemplating a lot on the walk over, worried about what might happen when you were fully healed. Tess knew there was a problem when her heart warmed at the sight of you sleeping peacefully on the couch, then remembered what you’d been through and wanted to burn the whole QZ down. 

It was almost gone when you started to heal, until she couldn’t sleep thinking about what could happen to you when you went back out there. A wave of restlessness washed over her, and it’d been very hard to accept the fact that you could end up right back where she found you. 

“Guess you’re right.” Tess muttered, stepping into the cool air of the apartment. 

“I’ll be a minute, gonna grab some clothes and then we can head back.” You spoke, her eyes trailing down your back as you walked into the other room. Silently, she moved about the main room, her eyes catching all the different little objects around the space. Tess didn’t know how you had time to collect all these different things– from shells to rocks to other small toys and charms that lay about– there was no shortage of oddities. Before she knew it, she was standing in front of your open bedroom door. Timidly, she peeked inside to see you rustling through a few drawers and shoving clothes into a backpack. 

“Nice… room. Cozy.” You glanced up at her for a moment while folding the clothes to put in your bag. 

“Thanks, I tried to make it as home-y as possible. Makes up for the whole quarantine zone thing.” 

“I get it.” Tess chewed the inside of her lip nervously, stepping into the room slightly, leaning one of her arms against the doorframe.

“Do you? That place of yours is barely decorated.” You snarked, trying to cover up how aware you were of how domestic she looked standing in your bedroom doorway. She was perfect with the light beams of sunlight peeking over her shoulder. 

“Guess stuff like that doesn’t really matter to me.” 

But she wanted it to matter; she wanted it to matter to her so desperately. For you, she’d do anything– put up with whatever you threw at her, because she cared. There wasn’t a way to tell when Tess noticed this fire burning inside her, lit aflame by your out righteousness. 

She pined to see reminders of you every day when she wakes up. To see you when she opened her eyes in the morning. You’d simply been indented into her mind, and refused to give way. 

“Y’know, you’re still welcome at my place after you get back on your feet. Seriously. My place is yours.” Tess took a step into your room nervously. 

“Oh, well thanks. That means a lot. I mean… I’m really grateful for everything you’ve done for me. It’s not like we won’t see each other ever again. I’ll probably spend most nights at your place when we start working together.” 

I would never want to stop coming around you either way… 

On the instance of becoming friends with the woman who saved your life, it occurred to you quite rapidly that the feelings you had for her weren’t just appreciation. It shouldn’t have been that easy to realize you wanted her… to be entranced with her in a way so distracting. Some days you weren’t sure if you were actually feeling better on account of listening to every groove of her voice streak through your mind with no return. You could hardly believe she was standing in your apartment as of today, let alone sharing a space so intimate as your bedroom. 

“Besides… It's your apartment. You must both want your respective space back.” 

Tess sighed, masking the pit in her stomach when she thought about you on your own again. God forbid you ended up right where she found you; that would be a gut wrenching nightmare. It was already hard enough seeing you beaten up and barely hanging on to life. To even ponder the idea that it could happen again? She’d take absolutely no chances. 

Getting protective when you’ve known them for three weeks, Tess? Pretty weak to let someone in while you couldn’t protect the rest of them.

“Even when you do start working with us, you’ll be right between me and Joel. That way you’ll always have one of us on your six, watching your back. We’ll have your back.” She started with a small smile, while simultaneously ignoring the voice in her head. You met her eye and nodded with a smile, zipping your bag shut. 

“Very considerate of you, Tess. But if you don’t teach me how to hold my own, I’ll start practicing on Joel.” You slung your bag across your shoulder, watching as Tess followed you out. 

“Oh, I’ll definitely teach you. Joel will just have to be fine with being the dummy.” She followed with a chuckle, taking another look at the interior of your bedroom like she would never see it again. 

“Well, don’t worry. I’ll still be on your couch tonight.” You said, before walking out the door and locking it behind Tess. 

The only epiphany Tess had that day was that she never wanted you to leave. Never wanted to lose sight of you, never wanted to be without you, could never even imagine losing you. Tess had stuffed all those warm feelings down in a tight little box that sat on a dusty shelf in the back of her mind. When she would revisit the idea of actually having a chance with you, she was unsure. But she’d do her damndest in the meantime to shove away those pesky butterflies in her stomach. 

It would be a long, long time before she revisited that box again.