The mention of her kids shattered whatever was left of my composure. It was the first time she'd ever implied it.That they could've been ours. I mourned the version of us that never existed. I leaned in, brought her face to mine, and kissed her—slow and deep. Like I could pour every ounce of pain and love and hope into that kiss.
We broke the kiss, but our lips stayed close, barely an inch between us. Our eyes locked again in that same tangled connection we always fell into. I gave her a crooked smile. I wouldn’t waste one more second being sad. Not with her in front of me. I was going to be grateful and enjoy it.
"At least we have this weekend, right?" I said part question, part quiet plea. I needed to know my parents hadn't scared her off. I would've taken anything she could give me. Hours, even.
She moved her head in agreement.
"And maybe," I whispered, afraid that saying it out loud might jinx it, "with time... we'll figure out our shit. Maybe one day, I can be..." I wanted to say"Worthy of you. Of our family."But my voice cracked mid-sentence.
She didn't let me try to finish. Her arms wrapped around my neck, her lips found mine again. And just like that, no more words were needed.
That weekend feltlike slipping into another reality. One where nothing else mattered except us. The world outside didn’t exist; it was her and me in our tiny bubble.
The smallest moments turned into something else, as if life was now painted in colors I’d never noticed before. An ordinary activity like watching a movie with her was never just that. It was feeling her head resting on my lap, and her soft hair brushing against my skin. Inevitably, we would lose all focus on the screen because I couldn’t stop touching her.It wasn’t long before I ended up on top of her on the sofa, forgetting the movie entirely as we explored each other.
She let me teach her how to cook my favorite meal, and she laughed when I got bossy about the right way to slice vegetables. She was so free, so present. The mess didn’t even faze her—not the flour scattered across the counter or the forgotten pot on the stove when I couldn’t keep my hands off her anymore. I couldn’t wait. I didn’t want to wait. She didn’t either.
The evenings were magical. We’d sit by the window, a blanket wrapped around both of us, just talking and watching the snowfall. Her body fit perfectly against mine, and her laughter vibrated through me when she made fun of my terrible playlist. But quiet never lasted long with us. One kiss, one touch, and suddenly, I was pulling her beneath me, taking her right there on the rug in front of the fire.
For two whole days, time stood still. No past. No future. Just us, living in the present. And for once, it felt like enough.
I wokeup to the soft light that came after a snowstorm. The world outside felt calm, but inside of me? Not so much. Half-asleep, I reached out for her, my hand brushing over the spot where she should’ve been. Cool sheets. Empty. My chest tightened, and I sat up, scanning the room. It hit me immediately, that hollow feeling.
She wasn’t here.
Panic clawed at the edges of my mind as I got out of bed, my eyes darting around the room. That tiny bit of hope—the one that said maybe she was in the bathroom or getting some coffee—disappears when I saw the note. It was sitting there, on the dresser across from the bed, folded neatly. My feet feltheavy as I walked over. I already knew what it was going to say and didn’t want to face it.
I picked it up and unfolded it slowly. I saw her handwriting.
“I promise I’ll find you in all realities, even if just to have you for a little while.
Love,
Blaze”
I stared at the words, the ache in my chest growing stronger. I couldn’t help but smile at the note. Whatever magical havoc had made us dream of each other, I didn’t hate it anymore. I was grateful it led me to her; that it gave me all these moments. It wasn’t enough, of course. How could it ever be?
Her love was everything. She was everything.
And she was mine.
Even if just for a little while.
EPILOGUE
The chaos of the red carpet buzzed around me. Flashing cameras, reporters shouting names, a thousand conversations happening at once. It was the usual brand of overwhelming, but I’d gotten better at handling it. No more wanting to throw up (progress!), but I still hadn’t quite nailed the art of not feeling like I might bolt at any second.
“Breathe, Jules,” Martha, my publicist, reminded me, literally demonstrating by inhaling and exhaling.
I shot her a dry look. “Oh, isthatwhat I’ve been doing wrong?”
She snorted, giving the last few tweaks to my dress.
“You look great! Don’t stress.”
Easy for her to say. She wasn’t the one with a well-documented history of tripping in high heels at the most inconvenient times. Still, I was lucky to have her. Martha and my manager had been my rocks ever since I took this insane leap into Hollywood. They’d helped me navigate everything, from contracts and networking to school enrollment for the kids and coordinating visits with George. And together, we’dbuilt something even bigger: a safe space for women in the industry. Partnering with other powerful voices, we worked to make sure what happened to me all those years ago never happened to anyone else. It was the one part of this world that truly felt like mine.
I took another deep breath, trying to steady myself as my eyes wandered over the crowd. That’s when I spotted a familiar scene—Vanessa, mid-argument with her latest client, some ridiculously good-looking actor who was way more interested in checking his reflection in a nearby camera lens than whatever she was saying.
