Once upon a time, a broken princess falls for a sheep in wolf's clothing.

    A boy with a heart of gold tears down the walls of a girl made of glass put up.

    It's a love story for the ages.

    "I'm sorry this was a bust..." her voice trails off in defeat, colored in chagrin.

    "It wasn't a complete waste," his smooth baritone immediately assures her. "To be honest, it was really fun to kick your ass at Monopoly."

    He watches her struggle to formulate a comeback, those doe eyes narrowing, plump pink lips pursed, and in the golden autumn sun she's radiant and ethereal and he lets himself go.

    His lips are on hers and she tastes incredibly sweet and smells like coconut and coffee and the sky above is cloudless blue and he feels like he's flying and she, for once, isn't thinking of things that were skewed in their word seems to right themselves and it's the best kind of beginning.

    "I was not expecting that."

    They're breathless and grinning and neither knows what this is, where it is going to go, but he knows he hasn't felt this alive in a long time and she knows she hasn't felt this enthralled ever.

    "Me niether."

    "It's the beginning of their story, and once the page is flipped, neither one of them wants to close the book.

    Everything breaks.

    Promises are broken. Rules are broken. Hearts are broken.

    How can she even be sure her heart is broken when he's the one who has it, who left and took it with him.

    One year ago, there were sunbeams and smiles and hope. Tonight, rain pours from the heavens like the tears from her eyes and she's numb and cheated and desperate and all the king's horses and all the king's men cannot put Elena together again.

    This, she realizes, is what heartbreak is. The exact opposite of the soaring delight she felt a year ago.

    It's crashing, bursting into flames, burning to the ashes and blowing away.

    "Please tell me that you really didn't leave? Please tell me that you didn't give up on us? Why did you leave me?"

    She begs. She bargains. She denies. She grieves. She rages.

    But she doesn't—can't, won't—accept.

    She won't accept that green-eyed angel who caught her every time she fell has let her fall—pushed her off a cliff, really—to the ground without a parachute.

    She won't accept that the most honest person she knows (did she even know him?) is the dirtiest liar who fed her the most beautiful of falsehoods. ("I know who you are," "I'm already yours," "I love you), the stealthiest of thieves who stole her heart and left her empty.

    She won't accept the irony that the only one who's ever been able to fix her is now the one who's broken her beyond repair.

    For S, my safe place. Always your girl. -E.

    "And...now. Open them."

    He lowers the hand he's placed over her eyes, watching her apprehensively as she blinks those copper orbs open, lashes fluttering as she surveys the scene before her.

    The tiny table in the kitchen of his house. Rose petals. Red wine. Lasagna. A monopoly board, the very one she'd intended as a gift for him the previous year.

    And she understands.

    As he watches her eyes dart around the room, looking anyway but at him, a swift punch is delivered to his heart.

    It was a bad idea, he realizes with a sinking feeling of guilt and self-directed anger. A bad idea to try, even now, to undo the wrongs he committed a year ago. But he can't undo them, and no matter what he does to rectify it, that night—the raging storm, the tears in her eyes, the veins that came down from his face, the stinging connection of her palm to his cheek—lives on in both of their memories.

    The day isn't just a celebration of their love for each other. It's tainted.

    And that kills him.

    So he speaks, hurriedly, tries to minimize the damage though it's already been done. "I know it doesn't...make up for that night. But I thought...since I ruined last year—"

    "Stefan." Her voice is quiet, hardly audible. In it, he hears a tinge of pain, a sorrow that has him thinking that she may as well have just cut off his hand; it would hurt less.

    He opens his mouth again, an apology he knows will be incredibly inadequate on his lips, but she speaks before he can.

    "Just kiss me."

    So he does. He kisses her like he did two years ago, when things were simpler. Tender and tentative. As if it really can be just that simple again.

    But the kisses grow longer, deeper, and the spark ignites into a flame, and there are no more harsh memories; there's just this flawed perfection of right now.

    Sometimes it's hard for her to fathom that it's been five years.

    There are times when she wakes up, tangled up in his arms, surrounded by the scent and the warmth and the feel of him, and it almost seems like it's been five days; she's still overwhelmed when she's hit by that wave of love that washes over her every time she sees him.

    Other times, she feels like they've been together five decades, considering all that they've been through, all the obstacles they've overcome, all the memories, good and bad, easy and hard.

    When she wakes up on this, their fifth anniversary, sunlight streams in from the window by their bed, splashing over his angelic face, which remains lax with sleep. Tucked in his ams, she lies perfectly still, not wanting to wake him, just wanting to enjoy this brief moment of peacefulness before the rest of the world barges in on their little bubble of serenity.

    His steady, even breathing combined with the warmth of his body against hers threatens to lull her back to sleep, but she fights the urge, and instead reaches up to smooth a stray hair off his forehead, kissing the patch of skin there.

    It's hard to believe it's been five years, she thinks again. It's been an eternity and a moment at once; it's been an exhilarating pleasure and soulful comfort; it's been complicated and simple; it's been dramatic and tragic and romantic and she wouldn't have have it any other way.

    And when forest green eyes sleepily slide open, the startling emerald is accompanied by a lazy smile.

    "Good morning, beautiful."

    And the smile she shoots back is brighter than that sunlight, more vital than his limbs.

    Five years later, and there's no one else she'd rather wake up to.

    "Good morning."

    "Why'd ya bring home flowers, Daddy?"

    Stefan grins at the high-pitched croon of his three-year-old daughter's voice, scooping her easily into his lap. Jess Salvatore is the light of her parents' lives, the perfect blend of them both with her light brown curls and shining green eyes, her delicate features and heart of gold.

    "They're for Mommy," he tells her, tickling her under dimpled chin, causing her to squirm away. "For our anniversary."

    "How come?" She wants to know. "It's not your an'versary. That's not for..." She ticks off her fingers while Stefan looks on in amusement. "...a lot more months."

    She's right. Elena and Stefan had just celebrated their wedding anniversary in December. But this was another kind of commemoration.

    "It's the anniversary of the day your mommy and me really got to know each other, fifteen years ago," he explains.

    "Fifteen?" The toddler's mouth forms an "O." "That's a long, long time, Daddy."

    He smiles softly, brushing a hand over her hair. "Yeah. It is."

    Just then, the door opens and Jess jumps out of Stefan's lap with a squeal of "Mommy's home!", bounding over to the front door where Elena is placing her coat on the hook by the door.

    "Hi, sweetheart," Elena coos, leaning down to kiss Jess's head. "How was your day, huh?"

    "Mommy, you didn't tell me today was you and Daddy's an'versary," Jess accuses, wagging her finger at her mother. "Did you forget?"

    Elena meets Stefan's gaze over her head, thinking back to when she'd first seen the kindness behind those seafoam eyes he'd passed down to their daughter. When she'd first opened her heart to him, and he had done the same for her.

    "I could never forget."

    She's struggling to uncork a bottle of champagne when she feels a pair of achingly familiar arms slide around her slim waist, a beloved baritone murmur into her ear. "What are you doing?"

    "Trying to open this bottle," she mutters in reply, eyes bright with concentration. She feels a flash of triumph when she finally manages the task without sending the liquid spraying everywhere. Setting two champagne flutes down, she pours the bubbling into each, then hands her husband one of the crystal glasses.

    They're in their sixties now, yet the tears have done nothing to dim the spark between them, which still burns as bright as ever. Their children are always teasing them for their "sappy" behavior, for acting like lovestruck teenagers, but in their minds, that's exactly what they are.

    A teenage boy and a teenage girl who had each been so damaged, yet all it took was the other's touch to render each whole again.

    In their minds, though they have wrinkles now, they are still kissing in Stefan's car, kicking each other's asses at Monopoly, and falling apart only to fall back together again.

    "Are we celebrating something?" he hums, eyeing her with a twinkle in his eyes.

    She leans up, her lips a whisper from his. "Of course, Stefan. We're celebrating us."

    He closes the space between their lips and as they collide, as they have so many countless times before, she feels it.

    That soaring delight.

    It's been fifty years, eight thousand two hundred fifty days, and yet he can still calm her every fear and worry. He can still surprise her. He can infuriate her. He can still help her see the world in new ways. He can still make her laugh. He can still make her heart beat faster.

    And every year, on this day, she falls for him all over again.

    "Fifty years, and you're still the only one," he murmurs when they part. "You're still my only one."

    I was not expecting that.

    Me neither.

    "I love you, so much," she tells him, and it's the same, that flutter, that warmth in her soul. "I love you, Stefan."

    His arms envelop her, and his heart beats against hers, and it's home, it's the only home she's ever known.

    "Happy anniversary," he breaths. "Happy anniversary."