On Christmas, my fiancé's family took their annual family photo. And I wasn't among them. My fiancé's childhood sweetheart, Sadie took my place. She stood between Cruz and his mom, her hand resting lightly on Cruz's back, her smile smug and gleaming. It was as if she was his fiancée, and I was just a placeholder.

"What's going on?" My voice trembled, hurt laced between every word. I asked quietly, eyes scanning the group like I didn't recognize them. Then, more pointed this time: "You couldn't wait five minutes?"

Sadie just shrugged. "We thought you were outside."

"Bathroom," I said flatly.

Cruz's dad cleared his throat. "Well, we can take another one," he offered, trying to smooth the tension. "One with everyone in it this time."

But the moment had already soured. No one moved.

And Sadie? She just smiled, like she'd won something.

Again.

I didn't hesitate. I slipped my coat on, grabbed my purse, and walked right past the glowing tree and the sound of Sadie's laugh echoing from the living room.

I didn't belong here—not where I had to beg to be seen.

______________

Ember's POV

Moving to South Louisiana felt like standing at the edge of a diving board, heart pounding, unsure if the water below would be warm or ice-cold. The air was thick with the scent of cypress and something unfamiliar-maybe excitement, maybe fear, maybe both. Cruz and I had just hauled the last of the boxes into our small rental house nestled near the bayou. The cicadas were already singing their lazy tune as if announcing the start of a new season, a new life.

We were finally here. After years in Dallas-me teaching kindergarten and Cruz working long hours under big-name architects-we were taking the leap. He was stepping into his dad's shoes, running the family construction business, and I'd landed a job at the local elementary school.

Everything about this move felt fragile and monumental all at once. The town. The house. The people. But the biggest leap of all was Cruz. Trusting in the man I'd loved so fiercely since college. He was the golden retriever to my sunshower-warm, loyal, endlessly optimistic. He'd proposed a year ago in the park where we had our first picnic, kneeling in the grass with that crooked smile and too much hope in his eyes. I said yes without a blink. I meant it.

And yet, as I stood in our new kitchen surrounded by half-unpacked boxes, chipped counters, and the quiet hum of crickets outside, a sharp ache clawed at my chest.

"I still can't believe we're really here," Cruz said, stepping up behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist. His familiar warmth enveloped me, and his peck to the top of my head was feather-light, reverent.

"I know," I murmured, trying to steady my breath. "It feels... big."

He turned me in his arms, concern in those honey-brown eyes. "You okay?"

I hesitated, then nodded. "I think so." My voice trembled, betraying me. "It's just... a lot. New place. New job. New people. It's exciting, but also kinda terrifying."

His brow furrowed. "We don't have to do this if you're not ready."

I shook my head quickly, almost desperately. "No, Cruz. I want this. I want us. I just..." My throat thickened as I looked around the kitchen, the shadows long from the late afternoon sun. "I've always been the girl who had her roots. And now I've pulled them up and replanted them somewhere completely different."

He gently tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "You're not alone," he said, his voice low and grounding. "We're doing this together. And if at any point it gets too much, we figure it out-together."

Tears burned behind my eyes, and I blinked fast, not wanting them to fall. Cruz always knew how to anchor me-how to make the storm inside me feel less like a threat and more like a passing summer rain.

That's what always drew me to him. He didn't just love with words-he loved with actions. With the way he made my coffee just right. The way he always double-knotted my sneakers before a walk. The way he looked at me like I was the only thing that ever made sense.

Still, that night, lying in bed beside him in our unfamiliar room, with the scent of paint still clinging to the walls and distant frogs croaking near the water, I couldn't help the quiet thrum of unease beneath my ribs. I stared at the ceiling fan spinning slowly above, each turn whispering questions I didn't yet have answers for.

Would this town love me like Cruz did? Would his childhood friends accept me? Would I always feel this out of place?

I turned on my side and looked at Cruz, already asleep, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. My fingers grazed his cheek, tracing the soft stubble there.

"I'm all in," I whispered into the dark, even if a small, scared part of me wasn't sure what that promise would cost.

Cruz's POV

I woke to the smell of morning fog and Ember beside me, still tangled in dreams. There was something about this house-even with its creaky floors and crooked cabinets-that already felt like ours. This was it. This was where everything changed.

I used to think moving back home would feel like slipping into a favorite pair of boots-broken in, familiar, comforting. But now? It felt like those boots had been waiting for me all along. Like they'd missed me, the way I'd missed this place.

I padded into the kitchen and ran my hand along the counter I planned to refinish. My dad always said homes are built twice-once with plans, once with memories. I couldn't wait to fill this house with ours. Ember's laughter, holiday mornings, late-night dance sessions in the kitchen, future kids scribbling on the fridge. All of it.

I heard her stir as I poured coffee into her favorite mug-the chipped one with the tiny painted daffodils. She'd brought it from Dallas, claiming it was lucky. I set it by the window so she could see the bayou when she sipped.

She shuffled in moments later, hair a soft mess, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She looked at the mug and smiled. "You remember."

"Of course I did," I said, pulling her into a one-armed hug and pecking the top of her head. "Lucky mug, right?"

She nodded, leaning into my chest.

"This place feels... like we could actually breathe here. Like we could plant roots."

"That's the plan," I said. "Roots. You and me. Everything we dreamed about back at school, remember?"

She looked out the window, her voice soft. "I just hope the town feels the same way."

I turned her to face me. "Then we'll show them who we are. We'll build the kind of life no one can ignore. You don't have to fit into this town, Ember. This town should be lucky to have you."

Her eyes shimmered for just a second. "You always make it sound so easy."

"It's not easy," I admitted. "But it's worth it. You're worth it. Every long night, every sideways glance, every moment it takes to prove we belong here together."

She let out a breath, quiet but full of emotion. I watched her tuck her hair behind her ear and stare out over the bayou like she was trying to piece something together. I couldn't help but reach for her hand.

"I don't think I've told you enough," I said. "How proud I am of you. For coming here with me. For believing in this crazy idea of starting over in a town that isn't exactly easy to win over. You're brave, Em. Braver than anyone I know."

She gave me a look that said she was still figuring out how to take all of this in, but her fingers laced with mine. And for now, that was enough.

We sipped our coffee in silence, the rising sun painting streaks of gold over the bayou. I could already see the memories taking root.

This move wasn't just a return-it was a beginning. I wasn't just home. I was building a life. With Ember.

And I couldn't wait for everything that came next.

Ember's POV

The first week of school was magic. And while I loved every second of the chaos, part of my heart still tugged toward home. I missed my parents—the way my mom would send me off with muffins and a pep talk, and how my dad always acted like I was about to conquer the world. We FaceTimed every night, and they both reminded me that this move was exactly where I was supposed to be. 'Love like yours and Cruz's doesn't come around twice,' my mom had said. 'Build your life where it feels right.' And I wanted that. With everything in me, I wanted this life with Cruz to work.

Sure, I was up before the sun, already in teacher mode before my first cup of coffee, but something about being back in a classroom—my classroom—made it all worth it. There was something sacred about that first-day energy. Tiny backpacks, nervous smiles, high-pitched voices calling out my name like it was the safest word they knew. I was exhausted in the best way. My arms were smudged with crayon marks, and I'd found glitter in my hair every night that week. And I wouldn't have changed a thing.

The kids were wild and wonderful, testing boundaries and hugging me like they'd known me forever. They grounded me.

But at home—around Cruz's world—I felt like I was walking a tightrope. Always balancing. Always smiling.

I didn't know many people outside Cruz's circle, but I recognized a few familiar faces from our brief visits to town. Sadie was one of them—Cruz's longtime friend. We'd crossed paths a handful of times over the years: quick hellos at holidays, shared tables at large gatherings. She was always nice, always polite. But something about the way she looked at me lingered just a beat too long, like she was taking mental notes.

The only real breath of fresh air came in the form of Kayla.

She was another kindergarten teacher at the school, and I met her on the first day when I spilled an entire tray of markers in the teacher's lounge. Instead of walking past like everyone else, she dropped to the floor to help, cracking a joke about needing roller skates and caffeine to survive.

"Hi, I'm Kayla. And you look like someone who could use a friend in this madhouse."

From that moment on, she was exactly that. Bold, smart, and sharp-tongued in the best way, Kayla wasn't afraid to speak her mind. And the more time we spent together, the more I realized she was also fiercely protective. She reminded me of the big sister I never had. I hadn't known I needed a support system here—but I had one now. And Kayla didn't hesitate to call out the nonsense, especially when it came to Sadie or the subtle slights from Cruz's mom.

Cruz had been working late again, helping his dad reorganize some of the older project files at the office. He'd texted me a few times during the day—

Can't wait to see you tonight. Miss your face.

You're going to crush this year. Those kids are lucky.

It helped. Reminded me that even if things felt wobbly, we were still us. Or at least trying to be.

Friday night, Sarah invited us over for dinner again. "Just family," she said.

When we pulled into the driveway, I noticed Sadie's car.

I blinked. "I thought this was just family."

Cruz looked up from his phone. "Sadie's always here. You know how our moms are."

His tone was casual, like it hadn't even occurred to him that her presence might feel off. That twist in my stomach tightened. He didn't mean to dismiss me. He just... didn't see it. Not yet.

Dinner was crawfish étouffée and cornbread, the kind of food that usually tasted like comfort.

I moved toward the seat next to Cruz, ready to slip in beside him, but Sadie got there first. She slid in quickly and smiled like she belonged there, already pouring his sweet tea as if it were routine. Then she blinked, looking between me and the empty seat.

"Oh, Ember—were you about to sit here?" she asked with an apologetic tilt of her head that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Old habits."

I shook my head gently. "No worries. Actually, I like sitting here. I get to see his face when he talks."

I paused just a moment before easing into the chair across from them.

I took the seat across from them.

Sarah launched into a story about Cruz's eighth-grade science fair, laughing at how he and Sadie built a cardboard bridge together.

"You should've seen them," she said, beaming. "They were such a little team back then. Always building something. So much history."

She looked right at me as she said it. The implication wasn't subtle.

I forced a smile. "That's sweet."

Kate, Sadie's mom, chimed in from the other end of the table. "Well, Sadie always knew how to bring out the best in Cruz. They had such a rhythm together."

"Like siblings," Cruz said, finally. He laughed, oblivious to the tension tightening my spine.

He meant it innocently. I knew that. But his loyalty to the past—to the comfort of people who'd always adored him—sometimes made him blind to the way it cut me.

Cruz, always trying to bridge the gap between his world and mine, turned to me after the first few bites.

"Ember's had the wildest week," he said, his eyes warm. "Her kids already adore her."

I smiled at him, grateful. "They're sweet. Wild, but sweet."

"Oh, tell them about the glitter incident," Cruz prompted.

I laughed. "One of my students tried to make a 'friendship potion' out of glitter glue and juice boxes. It exploded all over the reading rug."

Everyone chuckled politely. Cruz leaned in a little, his attention steady.

"She's kind of magical," he added, and for a second, I felt like maybe I did belong at that table.

Sadie let out a soft laugh. "Remember when we tried to build a treehouse out of popsicle sticks and duct tape?" she said, turning toward Cruz.

He grinned. "We got as far as the first step before it collapsed."

"Your mom was so mad we took all her freezer pops," Sadie added.

They both laughed, lost in the memory, and I smiled along with them, even though it suddenly felt like the spotlight had shifted.

Sarah raised her glass. "To lifelong friends."

"To loyalty," Kate added.

Cruz clinked his glass against theirs. "To Ember," he said, finally catching my eye. "For surviving her first week with twenty tiny humans."

Everyone toasted politely, but I felt like the afterthought at my own celebration.

After dinner, I helped Sarah clear the dishes.

"You can just leave those, sweetie," she said, waving me off. "Sadie knows where everything goes."

I set the plate down slowly. "I don't mind helping."

She gave me a tight smile. "Of course. You're very... accommodating."

I said nothing, but my ears burned.

When we got home, I curled up on the couch while Cruz turned on the TV.

"You were quiet tonight," he said after a while.

I shrugged. "Just tired."

He nudged my foot with his. "Or... was my mom too much?"

"Not just your mom." I paused, choosing my words carefully. "I feel like I keep getting pushed to the edges of everything. Like I'm there... but not really seen."

Cruz looked confused. "You're always seen, Em."

"Not by them."

He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "It's going to take time," he said gently. "New places, new people... it takes a while to feel like home. But we'll get there. We'll make new memories—ones that are ours."

I wanted to believe him. I really did.

But promises meant something different when people kept forgetting to keep them.

Cruz's POV

I didn't realize how hard it would be—blending my past with my future.

Ember was everything. She was my person, my constant, my compass. She made my mornings easier—always up before me, already packing my lunch or scribbling little notes in the corner of a paper napkin. Things like: You've got this, or Don't forget your coffee again.

She smiled through the chaos, met me at the door with food and softness and steadiness. I'd come home to warm meals, laundry folded, and her hand rubbing slow circles on my back while I unloaded the weight of the day. She never asked for anything in return. She just made space for me to breathe.

I told myself she was adjusting just fine. She never said otherwise. And I clung to that belief like it was fact, because the truth was—I needed her to be okay. Because I barely felt like I was keeping up.

The business was dragging me under.

Taking over my dad's company had sounded like stepping into something familiar, something rooted. But it wasn't just blueprints and woodgrain like I remembered. It was liability insurance, payroll issues, zoning permits, and a hundred tiny decisions that didn't fit neatly into an architectural sketchpad. My days started before sunrise and ended with me passing out fully clothed on the couch, head swimming with schedules and estimates.

And the office—God, the office. My dad had boxes stacked so high in the storage basement that it felt more like an archaeological dig than a workspace. We were digitizing everything, and I was elbow-deep in brittle folders, coughing through decades of dust and mildew. My muscles ached, my mind buzzed, and I hated how often I caught myself drifting through the day without a single thought about Ember—until it was too late.

She never complained. Not once. She just... softened. Smiled smaller. Spoke less. And every time I noticed, it sent a pang of guilt straight through my chest.

One evening, I stopped by my mom's to drop off a few folding tables she'd lent us for the garage. As I stepped through the door, I called out, "Hey, Mom. Just dropping these off real quick—Ember's waiting on me."

She popped her head around the corner from the dining room, where she was elbow-deep in old photo albums and handwritten recipes.

"Back here," she said. "You've got good timing."

It wasn't until I stepped fully into the kitchen that I noticed Sadie sitting at the counter, like she'd always belonged there. Her smile lit up like someone had flipped a switch. I blinked.

"Sadie," I said, trying to mask my surprise.

She twirled a spoon in her hand. "Of course Ember's waiting. She always has something warm and homemade, doesn't she?"

"I won't stay long," I said quickly, more to remind myself than them. "Ember's making enchiladas. I've been thinking about them all day."

Sadie raised an eyebrow and tilted her head. "Of course she is," she said, her voice all sugar. "She probably irons your napkins too." She let out a soft laugh, like it was a harmless joke, but something in her tone made me pause.

She pointed to a dish on the counter. "I was just dropping off a pecan pie my mom made, but your mom roped me into helping sort old pictures. You know how she gets when she's on a memory kick."

Before I could respond, my mom called out from the dining room, "Cruz, come look at this one—your fourth-grade science fair. You and Sadie with those awful matching shirts!"

And just like that, I was pulled in. One photo turned into a stack. One story into another. Sadie chimed in with exaggerated details, laughing too loud, nudging my shoulder like we were back in high school. I kept glancing at the clock, meaning to leave. But every time I stood up, someone—either Sadie or my mom—had one more thing to show me, one more memory to tug on.

By the time I checked my phone again, nearly an hour had passed. And I still hadn't texted Ember.

"Cr/ap," I muttered, pushing away from the counter.

"I completely lost track of time—Ember's probably wondering where I am."

Sadie's smile slipped, just slightly. "Tell her I said hi."

I nodded, already grabbing my keys.

When I got home, the enchiladas were still warm, but Ember had already eaten. She sat curled on the couch, laptop open, red pen in hand. Grading.

"Sorry I'm late," I said, pecking her cheek. "Got caught up at Mom's."

She nodded without looking up. "It's fine."

But it wasn't. I could feel the space between us.

She clicked her pen shut and finally looked at me. "Must've been a good conversation," she said. "You were gone awhile."

I hesitated. "It wasn't just Mom."

She paused, then gave a noncommittal, "Mm."

"Are we okay?" I asked, sitting beside her.

After a moment, she added, "Would you be okay if I didn't text you the next time I was late? If I just decided Kayla or someone else needed my time more than you did?"

Her voice wasn't sharp. It was soft. Honest. And it landed harder than if she'd yelled.

She finally looked at me. "Cruz... do you really not see it?"

"See what?"

She closed the laptop and set it aside.

"Every time we're with your mom or Sadie, I feel like I'm being erased in slow motion. Like I'm a placeholder in your life instead of a partner."

The words hit harder than I expected. Because deep down, I knew what she meant.

"That's not true," I said, voice rough. "You're everything to me."

"Then why does it feel like I'm the only one fighting for us in those rooms?"

I didn't have an answer. Not one that didn't sound like an excuse.

"I'll talk to my mom," I said quietly. "I'll set some boundaries."

She nodded. "I'm not asking you to cut anyone out. I just need to know I matter. Out loud. In front of the people who keep pretending I don't."

I reached for her hand. "You do. And I'll prove it."

And I meant it.

But part of me hated that it had taken her spelling it out for me to finally start seeing what had been right in front of me all along.

Ember's POV

It's hard to explain the exhaustion that comes from smiling too long. Not the good kind of smile, either. The kind you plaster on when you're trying not to fall apart.

The months from August to October bled together in a blur of routines and exhaustion. Early mornings, late nights. Cruz working overtime at the shop, me dragging myself through lesson plans, hallway duty, and trying to hold it all together. We passed like ships—brief pecks, mumbled goodnights, forgotten conversations over reheated dinners. There was no pause, no breath, no real us anymore.

By mid-October, the weather cooled slightly, but the tension in my chest only got heavier. Between grading papers, helping Kayla organize the fall reading event at school, and dodging Cruz's mom's increasingly pointed comments about how "Sadie always knew how to make herself useful," I felt like I was constantly bracing for a hit that hadn't landed yet.

And then came the Halloween party.

Halloween had always been my favorite. The colors, the crispness in the air, the excuse to transform into someone else for a night—I loved everything about it. I loved the smell of cinnamon candles and caramel apples, the crunch of leaves under boots, the flicker of porch lights glowing over jack-o'-lanterns. Fall felt like change, but the good kind.

Back in college, Cruz and I had started a tradition of doing couple costumes. It started as a joke—one year we went as peanut butter and jelly—but over time, it became something special. Something we planned for and looked forward to, even when everything else felt uncertain. It was ours.

This year, we chose Eric and Ariel. Corny, yes, but it was sentimental. I found the perfect flowing teal skirt and seashell top. Cruz had the crisp white shirt and navy pants. We were ready. I felt ready.

As we got into the car, I reached for his hand and smiled. "You sure you're ready for this much Disney magic?"

He chuckled, squeezing my fingers. "I've been ready. You make a better Ariel than the original. Honestly, Em... you look like a dream."

I felt heat rise to my cheeks. "You clean up pretty nice too, Prince Eric."

He grinned. "Let's go make everyone jealous."

When we showed up to his parents' annual Halloween party, I actually felt good for the first time in weeks. For once, I wasn't the outsider—I was the fiancée, standing proudly next to her Prince Eric.

That lasted about five minutes.

Sadie walked in ten minutes after us.

Wearing the same Ariel costume.

Only hers was tighter, flashier. She'd added glitter to the bodice and wore bright red lipstick that smeared when she smiled too wide. Her hair curled to perfection, and she made a dramatic entrance like she'd just stepped out of a commercial.

People noticed.

"Oh, look at that!" Sarah laughed too loud. "Two Ariels! How cute."

Sadie beamed. "What can I say? Great minds think alike."

"I swear she must've stalked your Pinterest board," Kayla muttered to me, already clenching her drink tighter.

Cruz didn't say anything. Just laughed awkwardly and led me toward the drinks table.

"She probably didn't know," he whispered.

"Did you tell her what we were dressing up as?" I asked.

"I mean... it might've come up last week. But I didn't think she'd copy it."

Of course she did.

"Cruz." I looked at him hard. "Are you serious?"

He didn't answer, just scratched the back of his neck. "It's probably just a coincidence."

I gave him a look, but he avoided my eyes. That said enough.

The night blurred. Sadie found reasons to stand next to Cruz in every photo, giggling and tossing her hair. Sarah complimented her costume no less than six times. Kate made a joke about how Sadie looked more like Ariel from the movie.

"She's just got the right coloring," Sarah said, sipping her wine. "And she always knew how to work a crowd."

Kayla, never one to let nonsense slide, leaned in and whispered, "More like she works angles like a reality show contestant."

I smiled tightly. Cruz glanced at me, but said nothing. Even when I nudged him slightly during a picture Sadie tried to wedge herself into, he just kept smiling like nothing was wrong.

Kayla stepped in—literally—looping her arm through mine and saying, loud enough for half the room to hear, "Let's keep the princess and her prince together, yeah?"

When Sarah gushed again over Sadie's glittery bodice, Kayla raised her drink and said, "Guess they're handing out compliments for knock-offs tonight."

Kate loudly commented later, "It's just such a shame Sadie isn't in a serious relationship. She always did light up the room."

Kayla nearly choked on her drink.

"Probably all that glitter."

She didn't care that people were watching. In fact, I think she wanted them to. Every side glance, every fake-smile insult—they didn't scare her. She stood between me and the worst of it like a shield wrapped in sarcasm and wine.

"Next year, you're going as Maleficent," she muttered. "Let's show them what a real villain looks like."

By the time Cruz and I got home, my smile had worn off.

The car ride had been mostly silent. I was too tired to pretend, and he seemed too oblivious to notice. Once we stepped through the door, I slipped out of my shoes and said nothing. The silence was thick, but I needed him to say something first. Anything.

He finally glanced at me, brow furrowed. "You okay?"

I let out a breath and walked into the bedroom. "Did you see the way she kept touching your arm?" I asked, pulling pins from my hair, each one sharper than the last.

He sighed. "Em, it's Halloween. Everyone was messing around."

"Not everyone. Just her. And your mom ate it up."

He rubbed the back of his neck, that same tired shrug in his voice. "Maybe Sadie just wanted to feel like she was part of something."

I blinked, stunned. The hurt simmered beneath my skin.

"She is part of something, Cruz. She inserted herself right into the middle of our night. And you let her. Again."

He said nothing. Just stood there, hands at his sides like he couldn't decide whether to defend her or defuse me.

I stared at him, heart tight. "Let me ask you something. What if Kayla had shown up to a party we were invited to—inserted herself into a couple's costume another friend planned, and then spent the whole night clinging to someone else's fiancé? Would you really just brush it off? Would you still think it was harmless, that she just wanted to 'feel included'?"

Still, nothing.

He opened his mouth, like maybe he was going to try to defend her again.

"Don't," I said quietly, without turning around. "I've had enough of her joining our night. I don't need her invading my dreams too."

I turned away. My hands were shaking, but I wouldn't let him see that.

Because sometimes, silence says more than denial ever could.

I didn't push. I just walked into the bathroom and closed the door.

Because if I didn't, I might've said something I couldn't take back.