1 year later

MELODY.

The house is loud.

Not just regular-loud, but people-are-having-too-much-fun loud. Laughter spills through the open windows, music hums low from the speaker in the corner, and there’s a clatter of dishes from the kitchen where someone’s trying—and failing—to stack plates neatly.

I should be overwhelmed.

A few months ago, I would have been.

But right now, all I feel is full.

The table is packed, every seat filled with someone who’s been there for me in some way. Jeremiah is at the head of it all, half arguing, half laughing with Diane about whether I’ll survive my first year of college.

Mom watches them with an amused smile, nodding every now and then like she’s pretending to believe Jeremiah’s exaggerated stories about me.

Amber leans in from across the table, eyes sharp with curiosity. “Okay, but do you actually think you’re ready for this?”

“College?” I ask.

She nods. “A whole new life, a fresh start, all that poetic crap.”

I sip my lemonade, pretending to think. “I don’t know. Might just drop out and move to a farm instead.”

Marco snorts. “You’d last two days.”

“Two weeks,” I correct, pointing at him. “I’m resilient.”

Jeremiah laughs, shaking his head. “Yeah, no. I give you four days, max.”

I roll my eyes, but my grin stays in place. The teasing doesn’t sting. Not anymore. It’s just them—my family, the people who’ve seen me through my worst moments and are still sitting here with me now, at one of my best.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out to see a Facetime call from Jess.

“She lives!” I say as I answer. Marco comes to stand behind me.

Jess groans on the screen, her face lit up by her laptop. “Barely. French literature is kicking my ass.”

“Aw, poor baby,” Marco mocks, grinning. “Drowning in expensive pastries and romance languages.”

She flips him off. “You laugh, but these professors do not mess around.”

Marco and Jess are not together anymore, they broke up when Jess made the decision to go to France for college. And Marco, well, Marco wants to open his own mechanic shop and stay with Mom in Hilton.
Weird how he turned out to be the mummy's boy.

Nevertheless, I like that Marco and Jess ended their relationship on good terms. I think they're friends now which is something I did not think possible.

“Okay, but how’s France?” Steph asks, leaning in so Jess can see her better.

Jess sighs dramatically. “Gorgeous. Unreal. Expensive. I might actually die here.”

“Die in Paris,” Marco muses. “Could be worse.”

“Exactly what I’m saying,” Jess agrees. “Anyway—” she shifts her focus to me “—congrats, Mel. I’m so proud of you.”

I smile. “Thanks.”

“I mean it,” she says. “I wish I could be there, but I’m sending my love from an overpriced student apartment in the land of baguettes and existential dread.”

“You’ll just have to come back and visit,” I say.

Jess grins. “Oh, you know I will.”

We talk for a few more minutes before she has to go, promising to call again soon. The moment I hang up, Jeremiah’s voice cuts through the chatter.

“Alright, alright, since some people didn’t toast properly—” He gives Marco a pointed look, which Marco returns with an innocent shrug. “—I’m doing it now.”

Everyone quiets, eyes turning to Jeremiah as he lifts his glass.

“To Mel,” he says, voice steady and warm. “To new beginnings, to finding her own path, and to whatever great things are waiting for her next.”

A chorus of cheers follows, and I don’t even try to stop the warmth that spreads through my chest.

Mom reaches over, squeezing my hand, and when I turn to look at her, she’s already watching me, eyes full of something soft and knowing and tears.

“I’m proud of you, baby,” she murmurs.

I swallow past the sudden lump in my throat. “Thanks, Mom.”

The conversation shifts again, and plates start getting cleared. Mom stands to help, but Jeremiah waves her off. “We got it,” he says.

She hums, arching a brow. “We?”

Jeremiah gestures at Diane, who’s already standing and stacking dishes. “Diane’s got it.”

Diane flicks his ear on the way to the kitchen. “You’re an idiot.”

Mom watches her go, then turns back to Jeremiah, smirking. “I like her.”

Jeremiah’s ears turn a little pink. “Yeah, well.” He shrugs, but he’s smiling.

I glance at Diane’s retreating form, the easy way she moves through the house like she belongs here. Maybe she does.

If Jeremiah doesn't marry this woman, he is a fool.

I just sit back, drink my lemonade, and breathe.

I made it.

I’m going to college.

Not on a basketball scholarship. Not as the athlete I thought I’d be. But as me.

And that feels just as good.

After dinner, Steph nudges me. “Walk?”

I nod.

The second we step outside, the air shifts. It’s cooler now, with the sun setting and the smell of pine thick in the air. The noise from the house fades as we move toward the dirt road leading down to the lake.

It’s quiet for a while, just the sound of our footsteps crunching over gravel, the occasional rustle of leaves when the wind picks up.

Then Steph hums. “Didn’t know you wanted to be Physio Barbie too.”

I scoff, gasping. “Who says that?”

She turns her head, smug. “I found your Instagram. You’re not sleek.”

I groan, dragging a hand down my face. “You’re stalking me now?”

“I prefer ‘keeping up with my long-distance girlfriend in the digital age,’” she says, grinning.

I shove her shoulder. She barely stumbles.

We walk a little more before she nudges me again, softer this time. “But really. Why physio?”

I let out a slow breath.

I’ve been thinking about that answer for weeks. Months, even.

But now, standing here, with her looking at me like that—like she actually wants to know, like she’s already proud—I don’t have to overthink it.

I just say the truth.

“I want to help people the way you helped me.”

Steph blinks.

I take a breath and keep going. “I don’t just mean the rehab part,” I say. “I mean… the whole thing. The way you talked to me, the way you made me feel like I wasn’t just some broken thing that needed fixing.”

She’s watching me carefully now, head tilted, lips parted like she wants to say something but doesn’t want to interrupt.

I swallow. “I want to do that for someone else. I want to be the person who tells them it’s okay to move forward. That they don’t have to feel boxed in by their faulty body parts. That they’re more than just what they lost.”

Steph stops walking.

I do too.

She looks at me for a long time, eyes soft and shining under the porch light from the house in the distance. Then she exhales, shaking her head.

“You’re incredible,” she says.

My face warms. “Shut up.”

“No, I mean it,” she insists. “That’s—God, Mel. That’s the best thing I’ve ever heard.”

I rub the back of my neck, suddenly shy. “Yeah, well. You’re not supposed to make me blush about it.”

She laughs, stepping closer. “No promises.”

I don’t move back.

I should. I should at least pretend I have some level of chill. But her hand is brushing my wrist, and I can smell the shampoo she stole from my shower, and my heart is loud.

She tilts her head, eyes flicking to my mouth.

I kiss her first.

It’s soft at first. Careful. A question more than anything.

She answers it by curling a hand around my jaw and kissing me deeper.

The world narrows.

There’s no college. No uncertainty. No looming decisions or long-distance struggles.

Just her.

Her lips.

Her breath.

Her everything.

By the time we pull back, I’m dizzy.

She presses her forehead to mine, voice a little breathless. “I love you.”

I smile. “I know.”

She laughs. “Okay, Han Solo.”

I grin and kiss her again.

Because right now, the future is wide open.

And for the first time, I’m not scared of it.

And I have her by my side.

And it's fucking beautiful.