Chapter One: Little White Lies

I’ve been in love with Jace Carter since kindergarten. It started with a blue crayon. He
had the last one, and when I asked if I could borrow it, he snapped it in half, gave me the bigger
piece, and said, “Only best friends get the good halves.” And that was it. I was three, and he
was the type of boy who shared crayons and had a lopsided grin that made my heart hiccup.

Now I’m sixteen, and that grin still kills me. “Earth to Lila,” Jace says from the driver's seat,
drumming his thumbs against the steering wheel of his beat-up Honda Civic. It smells like pine
air freshener, old fries, and him. “Where’d you go?” I blink, pulling myself out of my daydream.
“Nowhere. Just… thinking.” He side-eyes me like he knows I’m lying, but he doesn’t push.
That’s the thing about Jace, he never pushes. He just is. Steady. Loud. Stupidly good-looking.
And mine, but only as a friend.

We’re parked in the school lot, five minutes before first bell, but neither of us moves to
get out. “You good?” he asks again, voice softer. I nod. “Yeah. Just tired.” He yawns in
solidarity, stretching out his arms until his hoodie rides up a little too high on his stomach, and I
force myself to look away. Nope. No ab sightings before 8 a.m. That’s not safe.

Jace leans over to pop the glove compartment open, hunting for gum, and I swear my heart
does backflips just watching the way his messy blond hair falls into his eyes. He finds a half-
crushed pack of mint gum and holds it out toward me. “Want one?” I nod, grabbing a piece and
avoiding eye contact like it's an Olympic sport. My fingers brushed his for a split second, one
tiny, stupid second, and it’s enough to send electricity down my spine. He doesn’t even notice.
Of course, he doesn’t.

“Thanks,” I mumble, unwrapping it like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. He pops two
pieces into his mouth like a maniac, then leans back against the seat, chewing loudly. “You ever
think about running away?” I blink. “What?”

“Not like, really running away. I just mean, like… skipping town. Going somewhere new. No
homework. No guidance counselors breathing down our necks. Just freedom, you know?”

I stare at him, my chest tightening. Jace is sunshine and recklessness and late night drives with
the windows down. I’ve thought about running away a hundred times, always with him.

“Yeah,” I say softly. “I think about that.” He glances at me then, and for a second, it feels like
maybe he hears all the things I’m not saying. But then he smiles and bumps his shoulder into
mine. “We should do it. One day. You and me. Just disappear.”

I laugh, but it sounds shaky. “Ok, Carter. You pick the place, I’ll pack the snacks.” He grins, that
same stupid lopsideed grin from when we were three. “Deal.”

My heart screams. My mouth stays shut.

The bell rings in the distance, muffled but urgent. “Ugh,” he groans, ruffling his hair and
grabbing his bag from the backseat. “Math. Kill me now.” I reach for my own backpack, willing
my heart to behave. “See you at lunch?” He flashes me a quick smile. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

And just like that, he’s gone, jogging toward the school building like my whole world doesn’t live
in his back pocket. I sit there for another minute, watching him disappear though the front doors.

And I whisper the words I’ll probably never say out loud.

“I love you.”

Chapter Two: The Almost Moments

The worst part about loving your best friend?

Having to sit next to him for 56 painfully slow minutes while pretending you're completely fine.

Jace slumps into the desk next to mine in Pre-Calc, dropping his pencil like it personally
offended him. “You ever think Mr. Warren might be a robot?”

I raise a brow. “Because he wears khakis and never blinks?”

“Exactly.” He leans closer, whispering, “Or maybe he feeds off teenage misery. Like, the more
confused we look, the stronger he gets.”

I stifle a laugh and poke the side of his arm with my pencil. “Maybe if you actually did the
homework, you wouldn’t look confused all the time.”

Jace smirks, unbothered. “Where’s the fun in that?”

I shake my head, trying not to smile, and open my notebook just as Mr. Warren steps in, holding
a stack of worksheets like he does feed off our pain.

“Pop quiz,” he announces without a hint of remorse.

The class groans in unison.

Jace turns to me, eyes wide. “Lila.”

“What?”

“Save me.”

“You should’ve studied.”

“I thought we were best friends,” he whispers dramatically.

I glance over at him and sigh. “Fine. I’ll cough once for A, twice for B, and if you’re really lucky,
I’ll give you a pity blink for C.”

He grins like I’ve handed him a winning lottery ticket. “You’re a queen.”
No, Jace. I’m just in love with you.

The quiz is… manageable. Mostly because I did study and partially because I spend half of it
hyper-aware of the boy beside me—his pencil tapping, his soft mutters, the way he smells
faintly of citrus and laundry detergent. Normal things. Stupid things.

Dangerous things.

Halfway through, I glance over to see him staring at his paper like it personally betrayed him.
His brow furrows, and his lips press together like they always do when he’s deep in thought.

And somehow, even that’s cute.

I shake my head and go back to my work, willing myself not to spiral. I can’t fall harder. There’s
no room left.

After class, he waits for me outside the door like always.

“That quiz was a hate crime,” he says.

“You’ll survive.”

“Barely.”

We walk down the hallway, shoulder to shoulder, his steps matching mine. It’s an easy rhythm
we’ve had for years—same pace, same classes, same dumb inside jokes.

And yet… it’s getting harder to breathe.

He nudges me gently. “So, I was thinking… party at Kyle’s this weekend.”

I blink. “And?”

“You coming?”

“I don’t know.” Crowds aren’t really my thing. Especially crowds filled with girls who laugh a little
too loudly when Jace walks in.

He reads my hesitation and bumps my arm. “C’mon. I need my wingman.”

“Wingwoman,” I correct.

“Wing-goddess,” he amends with a dramatic bow. “Please?”

And even though I know it’ll hurt—watching him flirt, watching him dance, watching him not look
at me that way—I nod.

“Fine. But only if you promise not to ditch me.”

He crosses his heart. “Never.”

Liar.
But I smile anyway.

Chapter Three: The Dance and the Breakdown

The music is too loud.

The bass thumps in my chest like a second heartbeat, and the living room pulses with sweaty
bodies and laughter and flickering lights. I stand awkwardly near the drink table, pretending to
sip soda while scanning the crowd for a familiar head of messy brown hair.

I find him near the kitchen, mid-laugh, a red cup in his hand. He looks so easy in this world—
bright, confident, magnetic. Everyone around him orbits naturally, and I… don’t.

I belong on the sidelines. Always watching. Always waiting.

He spots me and lights up instantly, like he’s been looking for me too. With that same boyish
grin, he weaves through the crowd until he’s in front of me.

“There you are,” he says. “I thought you bailed.”

“I don’t bail,” I lie.

He grins wider. “Good. ’Cause I need you for something.”

“What?”

He holds out a hand. “Dance with me.”

I blink. “Jace—”

“It’s one song.” He steps closer, leaning in like it’s a secret. “And it’s slow. No one will even
notice.”

Except I’ll notice. My heart will. Every inch of me will.

But he’s already pulling me gently toward the middle of the room where the lights are lower and
the music is softer. It’s a slow, hazy song—the kind that feels like midnight air and falling
dreams.

He places one hand on my waist, the other holding mine, and I think I might stop breathing.

“You’re stiff,” he teases.

“I’m dancing with you in front of half the school.”

“Correction—you’re dancing with your best friend, and half the school is too drunk to care.”

But I care.

I care about how close his chest is to mine. I care about how his hand feels resting lightly on my
back. I care about everything.
“Relax, Lila,” he whispers, voice low. “I’ve got you.”

And I want to believe that. I want to believe that forever.

So I let go—just for a second.

We sway together, barely moving, the music warping around us. His chin brushes the top of my
head, and I swear he sighs, like this feels right to him too.

But then the world tilts.

Maybe it’s the music, or the room, or the way my heart is too full and too broken at once—but
suddenly, I can’t breathe.

The lights spin. The air thickens. My chest tightens.

I stumble back.

“Lila?” Jace’s voice cuts through the fog, sharp and worried. “Hey—what’s wrong?”

I shake my head, backing away. “I—I just—I need air.”

I push through the crowd, past the stares, past the voices, until I’m outside on the porch, gulping
down cold night air like it’s oxygen.

My hands shake. My knees feel like paper. I crouch down, hugging them to my chest, willing the
tears not to fall.

Then footsteps. A door creaks. And he’s there.

Jace.

“Lila,” he breathes, crouching beside me. “Hey. Hey, I’m here.”

He doesn’t ask questions. He just pulls me into his arms, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

I collapse against him, burying my face in his hoodie. He holds me so tightly, I wonder if he can
feel my ribs rattling.

“You’re okay,” he murmurs. “You’re safe. Just breathe with me, alright?”

I try.

In. Out. In. Out.

His hand rubs slow circles on my back, and I soak in everything—his warmth, his scent, the way
his heart beats steady under my ear.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t.” He pulls back just enough to look at me. His eyes are soft, stormy. “Don’t say sorry. You
don’t have to explain. I’ve got you, okay? I always do.”
My chest aches.

Not from panic this time—but from something deeper.

Something that feels a lot like love.

Chapter Four: The Crayon

The next morning is quieter than it should be.

The sun filters in through my window, soft and gold, like the universe is trying to be gentle with
me. My phone buzzes, and I roll over to check it.

Jace:
You up?
Jace:
Wanna go for a drive?

My heart skips.

I brush my hair, throw on a hoodie that still smells faintly like last night, and slip on my sneakers
without thinking twice.

When I get outside, his car is already in my driveway—same beat-up Honda Civic, same pine
air freshener dangling from the rearview mirror. He’s in the driver’s seat, legs stretched out,
head leaned back like he’s been waiting forever.

He perks up when he sees me.

“Hey,” he says, voice soft.

“Hey.”

We don’t say anything for a minute. Just sit there in the driveway, like the night before is
hanging between us, raw and unspoken.

Then he starts the car.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“You’ll see.”

The drive is quiet, but not awkward. Just… full. I can feel him glance at me every so often, like
he’s trying to figure something out. His fingers tap the wheel like they’re restless.

We end up at the old park by the lake. The one we used to come to when we were kids. It’s
empty this early. The swings creak in the breeze, and the dock glows under the morning sun.

Jace cuts the engine and looks at me. Really looks at me.
And then he says, “Come here.”

I don’t ask questions. I just follow him to the dock, heart thudding louder with every step.

He stops at the edge and turns to face me, hands in his pockets, eyes serious in a way I’m not
used to.

“About last night…” he starts.

My chest tightens. “I’m sorry—”

“Don’t apologize.” His voice is firm. “Lila, I need to say something. And if I don’t do it now, I
might not ever.”

The world goes still.

“I’ve loved you since the crayon.”

I blink. “What?”

His smile is soft. “You remember. Kindergarten. You wanted the blue crayon. I had the last one,
so I broke it in half and gave you the bigger piece. You looked at me like I hung the stars.”

“You said, ‘Only best friends get the good halves,’” I whisper.

“Yeah. And I meant it. But what I didn’t say back then was that even at three years old… I think I
already loved you. And every day since then, it’s just gotten worse.”

He steps closer, so close I can see the flecks of gold in his eyes.

“I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to lose you. You’re my best friend, Lila. But last
night, seeing you like that—seeing how much you’ve been carrying and how hard you try to hide
it—I realized I don’t want to be your almost anymore.”

My heart is pounding so loud I can barely hear him.

He reaches out, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear.

“I love you. And if you’ll let me, I want to be more than just the guy who drives you to school and
steals your fries.”

And then he kisses me.

It’s gentle at first, like he’s giving me time to pull away.

I don’t.

I kiss him back, fingers fisting in the front of his hoodie, and it’s everything I’ve ever imagined.
Warm. Safe. Real.

When we finally break apart, he rests his forehead against mine.

“You okay?” he whispers.

I smile, tears in my eyes. “I’ve been waiting since the crayon.”

He laughs—soft and real—and wraps his arms around me like he’s never letting go.

And maybe… he won’t.

Chapter Five: Shattered Calm

High school feels different the day after Jace kissed me.

Like everything’s exactly the same — but somehow, I’m not.

He meets me at my locker with that lopsided grin, his hair a mess, hoodie sleeves pushed up,
and a coffee in each hand. “One with oat milk,” he says, offering it to me like he’s memorized
my order.

“Thanks,” I whisper, heart still doing Olympic gymnastics in my chest.

We don’t talk about the kiss. Not here. But his hand brushes mine when we walk to homeroom,
and that says enough.

At least until Becky Carrington shows up.

Becky is everything I’m not — tall, blonde, perfect skin, perfect everything. Her locker’s two rows
down from mine, but she always finds a reason to linger nearby when Jace is around.

And today is no different.

She walks up while he’s mid-sentence, all swaying hips and lip gloss smiles.

“Jacey,” she purrs. “You missed my party last night.”

He barely glances at her. “Wasn’t invited.”

Her smile tightens. “Must’ve gotten lost in the mail.” She flicks her eyes to me, and I swear they
narrow just a little. “Oh. You brought her today.”

Jace frowns. “Be cool, Becky.”

“I’m always cool,” she says sweetly. “Just wondering how long your little charity project’s gonna
last.”

I stiffen. Jace opens his mouth, but I tug his sleeve. “It’s fine. Let’s just go.”
His jaw ticks, but he lets me lead him away.

I try not to let it stick. Try not to let her get to me.

But in third period, Becky ends up right behind me in English. And the moment Jace leaves to
help the teacher with something, her voice slithers in.

“You know he kissed you on a dare, right?” she says, barely a whisper, but it might as well be a
shout in my ear. “Guys like Jace don’t fall for girls like you.”

I stare straight ahead.

“You’re just the safe girl. The one he can hang out with until someone better comes along.”

My hands shake.

“And seriously, panic attacks? You think that’s cute? He’ll get tired of fixing you.”

The words hit too fast. Too sharp. My chest tightens, air thinning like the room’s collapsing. My
eyes blur. My palms sweat. My breath comes out in short, panicked bursts.

Not here.

Not now.

Not in front of everyone.

I push back from my desk and stumble into the hallway, heart racing, vision swimming. I can’t
breathe. The walls are too close. I feel like I’m drowning in open air.

Then suddenly—he’s there.

“Lila.” Jace’s voice cuts through the panic like a lifeline. “Hey, hey, hey. Look at me. You’re
okay. I’ve got you.”

I collapse into him, trembling.

His arms wrap around me, strong and steady, and he guides us into the empty stairwell. He
sinks down to the steps, pulling me into his lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Breathe with me, L,” he whispers, pressing his forehead to mine. “In. Out. Just like that.”

His hoodie smells like cinnamon gum and safety.

“I can’t—she said—I—” My words fall apart.

“I don’t care what she said,” he growls, voice suddenly fierce. “Becky’s just mad I don’t look at
her the way I look at you.”

My heart stutters, but he’s still focused on helping me breathe, his hand rubbing slow circles on
my back.
“Nothing she says changes who you are. You’re strong. You’re beautiful. And you’re mine.”

That last word makes my breath hitch — but in a different way.

Eventually, the panic ebbs. My body sinks against him, exhausted. Jace brushes my hair from
my face like it’s made of glass.

“You okay?” he asks softly.

“Yeah,” I whisper.

And for the first time in a long time, I almost believe it.

Chapter Six: Not Just in My Head

It starts with a phone call.

I’m at my locker with Jace, halfway through pretending my stomach isn’t twisted in a thousand
nervous knots. It’s been a day since the panic attack. Becky hasn’t looked at me once. Which
somehow feels worse than her usual sneers.

Then my phone rings.

Unknown Number.

I answer it anyway. “Hello?”

“Is this Lila Monroe?” The voice is soft. Professional.

“Yes?”

“This is Dr. Harrington from the neurologist’s office. We got your scan results back. I need you
to come in as soon as possible. It’s important.”

My blood runs cold.

“I thought they were just panic attacks…”

“Lila, please. Today if you can.”

I hang up with shaking hands.

Jace is already watching me like he heard every word. “What’s wrong?”

I try to speak, but nothing comes out. He just grabs my hand. “We’re going. Now.”
We leave school without a word to anyone. He doesn’t ask questions. He just drives — one
hand on the wheel, the other still holding mine.

The hospital smells too clean. Too sterile. I hate it.

Dr. Harrington meets us in a quiet office, papers clutched in her hand and a line between her
eyebrows that makes my stomach twist harder.

“Lila,” she says gently. “Your episodes… they’re not panic attacks.”

Jace stiffens beside me.

She sets the paper down. “They’re seizures. Focal onset seizures, to be exact. That means they
start in one part of your brain, and you’re conscious during them. But they’re getting worse.”

I blink. “Seizures? Like… epilepsy?”

“Yes. It’s not uncommon for them to be misdiagnosed as panic attacks at first.” She offers a
sympathetic smile. “We need to run a few more tests. Adjust your treatment plan. And it’s
important you don’t overexert yourself. Stress can make them worse.”

I hear the words but they sound like they’re underwater.

Seizures.

Not just in my head. Not just stress. Not something I can “breathe through.”

Real.

Permanent.

Broken.

Jace reaches over and squeezes my hand so tight I nearly cry.

After the appointment, we drive in silence. It’s not uncomfortable — it’s just... heavy.

When he pulls into the school parking lot, I realize it’s the middle of lunch.

And Becky is waiting.

She sees us walking toward the building and comes strutting up with a few of her backup
dancers, her eyes flicking down to the hospital band still wrapped around my wrist.

“Well, well,” she drawls, fake sympathy dripping off every syllable. “Did your little meltdown land
you in the hospital?”

“Becky,” Jace warns, low.

But she’s not done.

“What is it this time? Stress? Or are you just so desperate for attention that you fake seizures
now?”

I freeze.

“You know,” Becky continues, stepping closer, “I’d almost feel bad. Except you’re clearly playing
the victim card to keep Jace wrapped around your little—”

“Stop,” I whisper. My voice shakes.

She laughs. “Oh no. Are you going to collapse again? Should I call the nurse or your mommy?”

Jace steps between us so fast it makes her stumble back. “Back off,” he snaps. “Right now.”

Her eyes widen.

“You think this is a game?” he says, fury in every word. “She’s sick. She’s been through hell.
And you? You’re just bitter because I didn’t pick you.”

Becky’s mouth opens, but Jace doesn’t wait.

He turns and gently wraps his arm around me, guiding me toward the school doors.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, once we’re out of earshot. “This is too much. I’m too much.”

“No,” he says instantly. “You’re exactly enough. And I’m not going anywhere.”

And when I look up at him — at his stupid messy hair and fierce eyes and the way he looks at
me like I’m something worth protecting — I believe him.

Even if everything else feels like it’s falling apart.

Chapter Seven: The Breaking Point

It starts happening more often now.

The fainting.

One moment I’m standing in the hallway, reaching for a textbook. The next, I’m waking up on
the floor, blinking under harsh fluorescent lights with a teacher’s panicked voice echoing through
the fog.

The nurse’s office has practically become my second home.

They keep sending notes home, making calls, telling my parents I need rest and less stress, but
stress is kind of hard to avoid when you’re seventeen and everyone’s staring at you like you
might collapse any second.

Especially when Becky Carrington won’t stop.

She catches me near my locker two days later, eyes sharp, voice sugar-sweet in that poisonous
way of hers.

“Fainted again?” she smirks. “You should really start wearing a helmet, just in case.”

I don’t answer. I just keep my head down, hoping she’ll go away.

She doesn’t.

“You know what’s sad?” she continues. “You could’ve had a normal high school life. But now?
You’re just that weird sick girl clinging to the hot guy who pities her.”

My vision starts to blur, and not from tears.

“Honestly,” Becky says, leaning closer, “if I were you, I’d fake another seizure just to get out of
showing my face around here.”

I don’t hear the rest because everything turns white.

I faint — hard.

This time, when I wake up, it’s not in the nurse’s office.

It’s in Jace’s arms.

We’re in the back of his car. His hoodie is bunched under my head like a pillow, and he’s
holding my hand like he’s scared I’ll vanish if he lets go.

His eyes are red.

“Lila,” he says softly, voice hoarse. “Hey. You’re okay.”

“I fainted again,” I whisper.

He nods, brushing hair from my face. “You hit the floor hard. Scared the crap out of me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that.”

I don’t know what to say after that. So I close my eyes and just breathe.

But that night, everything breaks for real.

I’m sitting on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, when my phone rings again.
Unknown Number.

My stomach drops.

I answer. “Hello?”

“Is this Lila Monroe?”

“Yes…”

“This is Officer Daniels from Toronto Metro Police. I’m so sorry to inform you—your parents
were involved in a car accident on Highway 403. There were no survivors.”

Silence.

It’s like the world stops spinning.

I drop the phone.

No words. No tears.

Just a cold, echoing hollowness that swallows me whole.

Later — I don’t know how much later — Jace shows up. I don’t even remember calling him, but
somehow he’s there, kneeling in front of me, holding my hands, repeating my name like it’s a
lifeline.

“Lila. Look at me. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

I can’t speak. I can’t move. My world just ended.

And all I have left… is him.

He pulls me into his arms and holds me tighter than he ever has, like he’s trying to hold all my
shattered pieces together with his bare hands.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers into my hair. “We’ll get through this. I promise. I’m not
letting you go.”

And in the middle of the storm, that’s the only thing that keeps me breathing.

Chapter Eight: Black Dresses & Breaking Points

Funerals are quiet.

Too quiet.

Except in my head, where everything is screaming.

I stand in the front pew of the church in a black dress that feels like someone else picked it out.
My hands are cold. Numb. I don’t remember walking in, or when the service started. People
keep saying things — kind things, heavy things — but they don’t stick. They slide right off me
like rain on glass.

Jace is beside me, silent, his arm brushing mine every so often like he’s checking I’m still
standing.

I am. Barely.

The pastor is talking about how “young lives are never easy to grieve,” but I’m not hearing it
anymore. My ears buzz, and the walls begin to tilt.

I grip the pew, my knees buckling. I feel the pressure building, the warmth draining from my
hands, the black spots dancing in the edges of my eyes.

And then — darkness.

The world vanishes.

When I wake up, I’m lying in the church’s side room on a worn couch, Jace’s hoodie under my
head, and Jace himself crouched beside me, gripping my hand like he’s been doing it for a
hundred years.

“Again?” I murmur, voice hoarse.

His lips press into a line. “Yeah.”

I nod faintly and close my eyes again. “I’m tired, Jace.”

“I know,” he says softly, brushing a thumb across my knuckles.

Later, when the funeral ends and everyone’s left, I slip out the back door. The cemetery grass is
damp, and the wind bites. I just want to disappear into it.

But Becky finds me first.

She’s waiting at the gates like a shadow.

“I heard you fainted again,” she says, arms crossed, voice sharp like cracked glass. “You should
really stop making everything about you.”

My heart squeezes.

“Your parents die and suddenly everyone treats you like a porcelain doll. It’s pathetic.”

I don’t speak. Can’t. My breath hitches in my throat.

“You think Jace wants to babysit a broken girl forever?” Becky sneers. “You’re a project. That’s
all you’ll ever be.”

Something inside me fractures.

That night, I tell Jace I’m not going back to school.

“I can’t,” I whisper. We’re in his car, parked on a hill overlooking the city. “It’s too much.
Everyone looks at me like I’m dying. Becky won’t stop. I’m failing classes. I’m barely even… me
anymore.”

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just looks at me.

Then softly: “You are still you.”

I shake my head.

“You’re still the girl who cried when her goldfish died and made me a friendship bracelet out of
yarn. You’re still the one who steals my hoodies and can name every constellation. You're still
mine. That hasn’t changed.”

“I’m tired, Jace,” I whisper again.

He exhales, voice low. “You drop out, and Becky wins. The girl who’s been trying to break you
since the second she saw how much I care about you — she wins.”

My throat tightens.

“I know it’s hard. But you’re not doing this alone. Not anymore. We fight together. Okay?”

I look at him. Really look.

And maybe I’m still broken.

Maybe I’ll always be a little cracked around the edges.

But Jace?

He’s the glue holding me together.

“Okay,” I whisper. “Okay, I’ll stay.”

His arms wrap around me, warm and sure. “That’s my girl.”

Chapter Nine: Blood on the Tile

Coming back to school felt like walking into a war zone without armor.

Every hallway feels tighter. Every whisper feels louder.

But I’m here.

Because Jace asked me to be brave.

Because I want to be.

Because somewhere deep inside the mess, I know I’m more than what Becky says.

But Becky? She doesn’t stop.

She’s worse than before.

It starts in the hallway before second period.

I’m pulling books out of my locker when I hear her voice behind me.

“Well, look who finally crawled out of her pity party.”

I stiffen.

She walks around to face me, arms crossed over her designer cardigan, lips curled into a cruel
smirk.

“I was starting to think you’d actually disappeared. Shame. That would’ve been a relief.”

I grip my math textbook tighter, forcing myself not to look at her.

“Oh, don’t ignore me, Lila. That’s rude.” She knocks the book out of my hands. “You’re the one
who keeps making scenes in the hallways, remember? Thought you loved attention.”

I bend down to grab the book, but she kicks it away. I flinch.

“She’s done nothing to you,” a voice says suddenly.

Becky turns, surprised.

Standing a few feet away is Chase Riley, Becky’s new boyfriend. He’s tall, built like he actually
uses the gym, and surprisingly quiet for a popular guy.

“What?” Becky snaps.

“You heard me.” Chase’s voice is calm but firm. “You keep saying she’s dramatic, but you’re the
one causing scenes. Grow up.”

Becky stares at him like he slapped her.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re being a bully. Cut it out.”

I’m too stunned to speak. No one’s ever stood up for me like that — besides Jace.

Becky huffs, “You don’t even know her.”

“I don’t need to,” Chase says. “But I know you. And this? This isn’t cute.”
She falters, eyes narrowing. But for the first time, she doesn’t have a comeback.

She stalks off, heels clicking down the hallway, her pride wounded.

Chase looks at me. “You okay?”

“I—I think so. Thanks.”

He nods once. “Don’t let her get in your head.”

But it’s already too late.

The stress. The noise. The pounding in my skull.

The floor tilts under my feet.

“Lila?”

My name sounds far away.

Then everything vanishes.

Again.

This time, when I hit the floor, it’s not like before.

This time, my head smacks the tile with a sickening crack.

The last thing I hear is someone shouting my name.

Then darkness.

When I wake up, everything hurts.

There’s something in my nose. Beeping machines. The bright white of a hospital room.

And Jace.

His hoodie is wrinkled. His eyes are red. He’s sitting beside my bed, gripping my hand so tight
his knuckles are white.

When my eyes flutter open, he exhales shakily.

“Hey,” he whispers, brushing hair from my forehead. “You scared me. Again.”

I try to speak, but my mouth is dry. He grabs water with a straw and helps me sip.

“The doctor said you hit your head hard,” he murmurs. “They’re keeping you for a couple days.
To monitor you. Make sure nothing’s bleeding inside.”
My heart thuds in my chest.

“I’m sorry,” I croak.

Jace’s jaw tightens. “Stop apologizing for surviving.”

I blink at him.

“You don’t have to carry this alone anymore. You have me, Lila. Every step, every fall, every
hospital bed — I’m right here.”

He leans forward, pressing his forehead to mine.

“I’m not letting you go. Not now. Not ever.”

And for the first time in what feels like forever, I believe him.

Even through the pain, the fear, the cracks in my skull and heart — I believe him.

Because Jace Carter doesn’t let go.

Chapter Ten: The Visit

Hospitals are too white.

Too quiet.

Too cold.

I lie in the bed with an IV in my arm and a dull ache in the back of my skull where I hit the floor.
My chart says “seizure-prone.” There’s a nurse who comes every hour to check my vitals, and
the air smells like sanitizer and sadness.

Jace is in the chair by the window, his hoodie now serving as a pillow behind his head, legs
sprawled out, long fingers tapping anxiously against his jeans.

“You don’t have to stay,” I whisper.

He lifts his head immediately. “You fainted and cracked your skull. I’m not exactly going home to
chill and play Xbox.”

I smile faintly.

He grins back — that lopsided grin that started it all.

But just as he reaches to grab my hand again, there’s a knock.

We both freeze.
And then… she walks in.

Becky Carrington, all fake sweetness in a tight designer sweater and glossy pink lips, holding a
bouquet of disgustingly perfect flowers.

Jace stands instantly, eyes narrowing. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see how she was doing,” she says innocently, flashing her practiced pageant smile. “I
mean, it’s only right to visit the sick, isn’t it?”

“Get out,” he says, stepping between us.

Becky ignores him and walks forward, placing the flowers down on my table with too much
force.

“I heard you collapsed again,” she says, voice icy. “Surprise, surprise.”

“Becky,” Jace growls.

She turns to me. “You know, Lila, I used to think you were just weak. But now? I think you’re
selfish too. Making everyone revolve around your little episodes. I mean, how much attention do
you really need?”

My chest tightens.

“She’s in a hospital,” Jace snaps. “You’ve done enough—”

“No,” she cuts him off, eyes dark. “You’re the problem too. Acting like she’s made of glass.
You’ve known her forever, and now you like her? Please. You’re just playing hero.”

Something shifts in my body.

The buzzing in my ears.

The static in my chest.

My hands start to shake. The pressure builds behind my eyes.

Becky steps closer. “You’re dragging everyone down with you, Lila. And I’m done pretending to
feel sorry for you. You're just broken.”

That’s the last thing I hear.

My body jerks.

The seizure takes me mid-breath.

Flashing lights. My body stiffens, then convulses. The heart monitor screams.

Jace is shouting.

Becky stumbles back in shock, finally seeing the consequences of her cruelty in full force.
The nurses storm in.

I feel nothing.

But Jace is there — holding my hand through the chaos, yelling for help, rage in his eyes as he
looks at Becky like he could rip the earth in half.

“You did this!” he roars as they work over me. “You don’t get to come back from this.”

She backs away, pale, unsure for the first time in her life.

They stabilize me. My breathing evens. I drift off into unconscious sleep.

When I wake again, the room is quiet.

Jace is pacing.

“Where…?”

“She’s gone,” he says without turning around. His voice is cold. Empty. “Security kicked her out.
Permanently.”

I nod, throat dry.

He comes to sit beside me, gently brushing a tear from my cheek I didn’t even know had fallen.
“You scared me.”

“She made it worse.”

“She won’t get another chance,” Jace says flatly.

Later that day, the school grapevine explodes.

Chase broke up with Becky. Publicly. Loudly.

“Being hot doesn’t mean you get to be cruel,” he told her in front of half the cafeteria.

And Becky?

She storms out, mascara running, fury written across her face.

She’s never been angrier.

And I’ve never felt more afraid.

But Jace… he’s right there.

Holding my hand.
And promising, again:
“I’m not letting go.”

Chapter Eleven: Safe Isn’t Always Safe

Jace’s house is quieter than mine ever was.

His mom is out of town for work. His older brother’s off at college. And now, it’s just me, Jace,
and the soft buzz of a portable heart monitor beside the bed.

His room smells like clean laundry, faint cologne, and the peppermint tea his mom insisted I
drink before she left. There’s a nurse sitting in the living room — kind, quiet, watching over me
while I recover.

Jace has turned his whole room into a haven.

My meds are in a labeled box. Extra pillows prop me up. His hoodie is draped around my
shoulders like armor.

And every time I open my eyes, he’s right there.

Even now, as I lie curled under the covers, pale and still weak, Jace is sitting cross-legged on
the floor, scrolling through Netflix on his laptop.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asks for the third time in five minutes.

I nod slowly. “Just tired.”

“You’re always tired.”

He says it gently. Not as a complaint — just a truth. One that sits between us like a shadow.

“I don’t like seeing you like this.”

“I don’t like being like this.”

He reaches for my hand. “We’ll get through it.”

I squeeze back. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

The moment should be safe.

But the door downstairs slams open.

A loud voice echoes up the stairs.

“JACE!”
We both freeze.

It’s her.

Jace leaps to his feet, fury already rising behind his eyes.

“Stay here,” he says quickly, before disappearing down the hall.

But Becky doesn’t care about boundaries. Or warnings. Or the nurse who tries to stop her.

She storms into the room like a hurricane in heels, pushing past everyone — mascara smeared,
hair frizzed, eyes wide with rage.

“You!” she snarls at me.

I try to sit up, but my body’s too weak. My pulse is already starting to climb.

“This is your fault!” she yells. “Chase dumped me because of you! He said I was cruel —
because of you!”

“Becky, stop,” Jace says, stepping between us. “You don’t get to come here—”

She ignores him completely.

“You ruin everything! You fake little sick girl act doesn’t make you special. You’re just a pathetic,
broken—”

I gasp.

The noise fades.

My body stiffens.

“Lila?” Jace’s voice breaks as I begin to seize — worse than ever.

My back arches. My limbs jerk violently. My head hits the headboard.

The nurse rushes in, shouting for supplies. Jace is yelling Becky’s name like a threat, like a
warning, like fire ready to explode.

Becky stares, frozen in place for once in her life.

“GET OUT!” Jace roars at her, shoving her toward the door. “You’ve done enough!”

The nurse stabilizes me as quickly as she can.

My breathing evens slowly.

But this time, it takes longer.

This time, it leaves me unconscious for nearly fifteen minutes.

When I wake again, it’s dark.

The nurse is still there, calling the hospital to update my chart.

And Jace is beside me, his head in his hands, shaking.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispers, voice cracked.

“You didn’t,” I say weakly.

He lifts his head.

“I’m calling the police,” he says. “She trespassed, she put you in danger. Enough is enough.”

I nod slowly, tears slipping silently from my eyes.

Because he’s right.

It is enough.

I’m not safe until Becky’s out of my life for good.

And this time, we’re not backing down.

Chapter Twelve: Bruises and Justice

The air is crisp in the park.

It’s the first time I’ve been out on my own in weeks.

Jace offered to come, of course. So did the nurse. But I wanted this — needed this — a moment
to feel like a person again. Not a patient. Not a victim.

Just… Lila.

I sit on the swings near the back of the park, where it’s quieter. The breeze lifts my hair as I
gently sway, letting the rhythm calm my racing mind.

There’s a restraining order now.

Becky’s banned from coming within fifty feet of me. School issued a formal no-contact contract.
She was warned — one more step, and she’d face real consequences.

I thought that would be enough.

But monsters don’t follow rules.

Footsteps crunch behind me.

I freeze.

Turn slowly.

And there she is.

Becky.

Wild eyes. Smudged eyeliner. Fury carved into every sharp line of her face.

"You really thought you could get me locked up and win?" she sneers.

“You’re not supposed to be near me,” I whisper, standing up slowly. “There’s a—”

“A piece of paper?” she interrupts. “You think that can stop me?”

She lunges.

Her fist connects with my side before I can even scream. A sickening crack rings out. My ribs.

Pain explodes across my chest.

I fall, gasping, but she’s not done.

She kicks me hard in the stomach, then again.

“Everything was perfect until you ruined it!” she screams, punching my shoulder, my collarbone,
my side — blood pooling beneath me, soaking into the dirt.

I can’t fight back.

I can’t breathe.

Everything spins.

Becky’s voice becomes muffled. Distant.

And then—
Screaming.
Sirens.
Strong arms pulling her off me.

I fade into unconsciousness.

I wake up in a hospital room.

Again.
This time, the pain is unbearable. A broken rib. Deep bruises. Stitches near my eyebrow.
Internal bleeding that thankfully didn’t go too far.

But I’m alive.

And Jace is there.

His hand in mine. Eyes rimmed with red, fury still buzzing in the air around him.

“She’s in jail,” he says without waiting for me to ask. “Witnesses saw the whole thing. Someone
filmed it. She violated the restraining order, assaulted you, almost killed you.”

“She could’ve,” I whisper.

“She almost did.”

He stands up, pacing.

“And I’m done playing nice. I’m suing her. My mom already called our lawyer. I’m not letting her
walk away from this. Not again.”

“Jace—”

“No,” he says, voice sharp. “This isn’t just about a fight in the park. This is everything. The
bullying. The panic attacks. The seizures. The damage she’s done to you again and again. She
needs to pay for all of it.”

He walks over, cupping my face gently despite the bruises.

“You are not her punching bag,” he says fiercely. “You’re my person. My heart. And I will burn
down every courtroom if that’s what it takes to keep you safe.”

Tears spill down my cheeks, but this time… not just from pain.

From the way he looks at me.

Like I’m not broken.

Like I’m worth fighting for.

Chapter Thirteen: The Light After

Healing is slow.

Pain meds dull the sharp edges, but not all of them. Every time I move, I feel the bruises. My
ribs are wrapped tightly, my arm in a sling, and there’s a line of stitches near my temple where
Becky’s ring cut skin.

But I’m here.

I’m breathing.

And I’m not hiding anymore.

Jace is at every doctor appointment. He talks to the lawyer. His mom is helping too, gathering
school records, reports, statements — every piece of proof of what Becky did.

“She’s not walking away from this,” Jace promises, kneeling beside me as I sit propped on the
couch. “You’re going to get justice. Real justice.”

I nod. Quiet. Grateful. A little scared.

“She almost killed me.”

“She didn’t,” he says gently. “You’re still here. And you’re not alone.”

At school, the energy is different.

For the first time, eyes don’t stare in judgment.

They watch with care.

Whispers sound like guilt now, not gossip.

Because word got out. The video. The photos. The truth.

Teachers changed. Students changed. People who never even looked at me before are slipping
notes into my locker. “We’re with you.” “I’m sorry for not seeing it.” “You’re so strong.”

And then, something bigger happens.

The principal calls an assembly.

Jace helps me walk to the auditorium, his hand firm in mine.

I sit near the front, surrounded by soft whispers of support.

The principal steps up to the mic, clearing her throat. “Today, we want to acknowledge someone
whose strength has changed the way we see each other. Lila Bennett.”

My name echoes across the room. A hush falls.

“She’s faced pain no student should. And yet she still stands. This school failed her when she
needed us most — and we will not make that mistake again.”

There are tears in her eyes.

“There is no excuse for what happened. But starting today, we’re turning pain into purpose. Our
school is launching the Lila Strong Fund, a fundraiser to support her medical costs, therapy,
and to create an anti-bullying program for students who feel invisible.”
My heart nearly stops.

What?

Jace squeezes my hand.

“Surprise,” he whispers, grinning.

He knew.

He helped plan this.

Cheers erupt across the auditorium. Students rise, clapping. A few even chant my name.

“Lila! Lila! Lila!”

I burst into tears.

Not because I’m scared.

Not because I’m in pain.

But because for the first time… I feel seen.

Later that night, I’m back on Jace’s couch, wrapped in a blanket, surrounded by donation
updates on his laptop.

“Over $5,000 already,” he says, shocked. “It’s only been a few hours.”

“I don’t deserve this,” I whisper.

“Yes, you do,” he says without hesitation. “You’ve always deserved better. And now… you’re
getting it.”

I look at him, really look.

The boy with the lopsided grin.

The boy who shared a crayon and a piece of his heart.

The boy who never left my side.

And I whisper, “I love you.”

Jace smiles softly, brushing hair from my face. “Good. Because I love you too. Since the
crayon.”
Chapter Fourteen: Guilty
The courtroom is cold.

Too bright. Too quiet. The kind of place where truth echoes.

I sit on the left side, next to a nurse who monitors my vitals. My heart rate’s still fragile, and the
bruised rib makes it hard to sit straight. But I’m here. I had to be.

Jace sits beside me, holding my hand tightly.

And next to us? A tall man in a black suit, arms crossed, standing like a wall of steel — my new
bodyguard. Court-mandated protection. Because even in a courtroom, they don’t trust Becky to
stay quiet.

Across the room, she sits at the defense table.

No makeup. No perfect hair. Just orange cuffs, hollow eyes, and the weight of everything she’s
done catching up to her.

I don’t look away.

I won’t.

The judge clears his throat. “This case is the matter of Rebecca Henderson versus Lila
Monroe.”

My chest tightens.

Then Jace stands.

He walks to the front, takes the oath, and begins to speak.

“She started with whispers,” he says, steady and calm. “Mean words. Cornering Lila in hallways.
Laughing at her pain.”

His voice doesn’t shake, even though his eyes burn.

“Then it became physical. Shoving. Hitting. Locking her in bathrooms. Every panic attack she
had was made worse by Becky. The school didn’t listen. But I did. Because I saw it all. And I
have never been more ashamed of how long it took to do something.”

The room is still.

“She hit her at school. In parks. At home. She violated a restraining order. She broke bones.
She caused seizures. She nearly killed Lila — and for what? Jealousy? Ego? Cruelty?”

Becky tries to roll her eyes, but the judge shuts her down with one sharp glance.

Jace keeps going.

“Lila has permanent trauma. Nightmares. Pain. Her parents are gone. She has nothing but the
people still standing beside her. And I swear, if the law doesn't protect her today — it’s failed.”

He returns to his seat, shaking slightly, and I squeeze his hand.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

Then, the judge leans forward.

The jury has returned.

“All rise.”

Everyone stands. My heart pounds.

The foreperson clears their throat.

“We, the jury, find the defendant, Rebecca Henderson, guilty on all counts.”

Guilty.

Guilty.

Guilty.

It echoes like bells in my mind.

The judge doesn’t hesitate.

“For repeated assault, harassment, and violation of a protective order, the court sentences
Rebecca Henderson to twenty-five years in federal prison.”

Becky gasps.

Her lawyer stands, shouting something about age, first offense, but the judge ignores them.

“You’ve shown no remorse,” he says. “This wasn’t a mistake. This was malicious. This was evil.
And this court will not let you hurt her — or anyone else — ever again.”

Guards cuff her and begin leading her away.

She screams my name.

I don’t flinch.

Not anymore.

Because this time?

She’s done.
Outside the courtroom, Jace wraps me in his arms.

“You did it,” he murmurs. “It’s over.”

And for the first time since the blue crayon…

I believe him.

Chapter Fifteen: A New Beginning

One year left.

After everything… we only have one more year of high school. It doesn’t feel real. It feels like
we skipped time, like we aged a lifetime in months.

But we made it.

Jace and I walk through the school halls hand in hand, and this time… there are no whispers.
No stares. Just smiles. Nods. A few hugs. The silence has become respect.

Because the girl who used to hide?

She changed everything.

The school now has an official Anti-Bullying Task Force. I helped start it. Me — the girl who
used to barely speak in class. Now I stand at the front of the auditorium every month, sharing
my story, helping others speak up. We raised enough from the Lila Strong Fund to help four
other students get therapy and support. Four lives changed.

It’s not just a fundraiser anymore.

It’s a movement.

But something else is different, too.

I’ve been… off lately. Tired. Nauseous in the mornings. Dizzier than usual. I assumed it was
stress or side effects from my meds.

But then… I missed a period.

And another.

Jace notices, of course.

He’s always noticing.

“Hey,” he says one afternoon, laying on the couch with me, fingers brushing mine. “You okay?
You’ve been pale all day.”

“I think I need to go to the clinic,” I say quietly.

His brows knit. “Why? Are you feeling worse? Seizures?”

“No,” I whisper. “I think… I might be pregnant.”

The room stills.

His lips part like he wants to say something, but he just stares at me, stunned.

And then, slowly… he sits up.

“You think or you know?”

“I don’t know. Yet. But I need to find out.”

Two days later, we sit in the clinic together. My hand’s shaking. Jace doesn’t let go of it once.

The nurse comes back in, holding a small chart.

She looks between us and says softly, “Congratulations. You’re about six weeks along.”

My heart stops.

Six. Weeks.

I don’t know if I’m ready. I don’t know anything.

But when I look at Jace… he’s smiling.

Not a huge grin. Not a lopsided smirk.

Just a soft, steady smile. The kind you give someone when you're not running. When you're
staying.

“I’m right here,” he whispers.

“You’re not scared?”

“I’m terrified,” he says honestly. “But I love you. And we’ve already made it through the worst.
So if this is the next chapter… then let’s write it together.”

And just like that — in the middle of uncertainty, hospital memories, and a new school year
ahead — I feel hope again.

We’re not the same people we were when we met.

We’re stronger.

And now… we’re building something new.

Together.

Chapter Sixteen: Little Heartbeats

The nurse at school finds out first.

Her name is Carla, and she’s been taking care of me since my seizures started. She’s gentle
and calm, the kind of person who doesn’t get shocked easily.

So when I walk into her office with trembling fingers and a folded note from the clinic confirming
the pregnancy, she just looks at me, then opens her arms.

And I cry.

“It’s early,” I whisper. “And I haven’t told anyone else. Not even the school.”

She pulls me into a chair, checking my pulse. “You did the right thing by telling me.”

“I don’t want special treatment,” I add quickly. “I just… I need help keeping this quiet a little
longer. Just until I’m ready.”

Carla nods. “This is your story, Lila. You choose how and when to tell it. I’ll update your file
discreetly and make sure you have everything you need — prenatal vitamins, a doctor referral,
and a pass when you’re too exhausted to sit through third period.”

“Thank you,” I whisper.

Jace picks me up after school.

He’s working part-time now — afternoons and weekends at a local bookstore. Not because
anyone asked him to. Just… because that’s who he is.

“I want to help,” he told me after the clinic. “I want to be the kind of dad who shows up. Early.”

It melts me.

Every. Single. Day.

He’s already talking about baby names. He makes little jokes about cravings even though mine
haven’t started. He kisses my stomach like there’s already someone listening on the other side.

And sometimes, when the world gets quiet… I let myself believe that this might be okay.
That we can do this.

One night, we’re curled up in his bed, the window cracked open, and the soft hum of crickets
filling the silence.

“You’re so quiet,” he says, stroking my arm.

“I’m scared,” I admit. “Everything’s changed so fast. What if I’m not ready?”

“You don’t have to be ready,” he says. “You just have to be here. And you are.”

His fingers trace circles over my hand.

“I used to wonder what our future would look like,” I say, barely above a whisper. “And now it’s
right here.”

Jace leans in and kisses me — slow, certain, full of a kind of love that feels deeper than
anything I ever imagined.

“We’ve already survived the storm,” he murmurs against my lips. “Now it’s time we build
something beautiful.”

And in that moment, I believe him.

Even with the fears.

Even with the weight.

Because this love?

It’s real.

And it’s growing.

Just like the tiny heartbeat inside of me.

Chapter Seventeen: A Name for the Sky

The waiting room at the clinic smells like lemon disinfectant and quiet nerves.

Jace squeezes my hand as we wait for my name to be called, his thumb tracing slow circles
across my palm. He hasn’t stopped smiling since this morning, and honestly? I don’t think he’s
going to.

“Lila Monroe?”

I nod, stand, and Jace rises beside me.

The room is soft and dim inside the ultrasound suite. The nurse asks me to lie back on the table
and gently lifts my hoodie, squirting warm gel onto my stomach.

“You’re around ten weeks, right?” she asks.

“Ten and a half,” I say softly, heart fluttering.

“Let’s take a look.”

She moves the wand slowly, carefully. The screen flickers — a fuzzy black-and-white image.

And then… there it is.

A little bean-shaped blob, pulsing like magic.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

The heartbeat.

My eyes fill.

Jace gasps next to me. “Is that—?”

“That's your baby,” the nurse says warmly.

He stares at the screen, eyes glassy. “It’s real.”

I nod, wiping tears with the sleeve of my hoodie. “Yeah. That’s… our baby.”

Later that afternoon, we stop at the flower shop down the street.

We pick out wildflowers — daises, lavender, forget-me-nots, and one soft white rose for each of
my parents.

The cemetery is quiet. The grass is damp from rain earlier that morning, and the air smells like
spring.

We kneel in front of the twin headstones: Elena and Mark Monroe. Still new. Still sharp.

I place the flowers between the stones and touch my fingers to the engraved letters.

“Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad,” I whisper, breath catching. “I’m sorry I haven’t been here in a while. Things
have been… hard. But I’m okay.”

Jace stands quietly beside me, then kneels, setting a single daisy between the markers.

“We wanted to tell you something,” I say, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I’m going to have a
baby. You’re going to be grandparents.”

I smile, even through the ache in my chest.

“I wish you were here,” I continue, voice trembling. “But I know you’d love them. I’m going to do
everything I can to make you proud.”

Jace wraps his arms around me from behind and presses a kiss to my temple.

“They already are,” he whispers.

We sit there for a long time. No rush. No noise. Just the wind and the whisper of new
beginnings blooming quietly in the silence.

When we leave, I glance over my shoulder one last time, the wildflowers catching the golden
light.

“Let’s name her something beautiful,” I say softly as we walk.

Jace looks at me. “Like what?”

I shrug, resting my hand on my belly. “Something that sounds like sunshine and strength.
Something… soft. Like a sky after a storm.”

He smiles. “We’ll know it when we hear it.”

And I believe we will.

Because this is just the beginning.

Chapter Eighteen: A Room and a Voice

Jace's room looks different now.

The Star Wars posters are still there, a little crooked, like always. But the left corner? That’s
new.

A crib.

It’s small and white, secondhand from a local mom who gave it to us with tears in her eyes and
the softest quilt she said she sewed "when I was young and scared too."

Beside the crib, there’s a shelf with tiny books. A fuzzy stuffed octopus. And on the wall —
Jace’s idea — a hand-painted sign in baby blue:

“You are already so loved.”

I trace the edge of the crib with my fingers, heart swelling.

“You did all this?” I whisper, turning to him.

He shrugs like it’s nothing, but I see the blush rising on his cheeks.
“You needed a place that felt like yours too,” he says. “And the baby… they needed a corner of
the world.”

I throw my arms around him, burying my face in his hoodie.

“I love you,” I whisper.

He hugs me back tighter than ever. “I love you more.”

The school gym is packed.

We weren’t planning to tell the school like this, but after everything — the seizures, the court
case, the silence — I didn’t want to keep hiding.

So, I signed up for the next school assembly.

Jace stands just offstage, biting his lip, arms crossed.

“You sure you’re okay to do this?” he asks for the hundredth time.

I nod, hand resting over my stomach. “I need to.”

Principal Marsh introduces me, and I walk up to the mic with knees shaking and heart on fire.

“I’ve been through a lot,” I begin. “Some of you know. Some of you don’t. But what matters most
is what comes after the pain.”

The room is silent. Even the back row is listening.

“I was bullied. I had seizures. I lost my parents. And now… I’m sixteen. I’m pregnant. And I’m
still here.”

There’s a sharp inhale somewhere. But no laughter. No snickering.

Just listening.

“I’m not ashamed,” I say, voice clear now. “I’m proud. Because this baby is growing in someone
who survived. Who fought. Who chose to keep going. And if any of you are going through
something hard… I want you to know you can keep going too.”

Applause starts soft — one person. Then two. Then the whole gym.

I exhale, tears rising.

But then… my vision tilts.

My knees buckle.

The last thing I hear is Jace yelling my name.

I wake up in the nurse’s office.

There’s a wet cloth on my forehead and the smell of peppermint oil in the air.

Jace is beside me, clutching my hand so tightly his knuckles are white.

“You fainted,” he whispers, voice tight. “Scared the life out of me.”

I try to speak but he shakes his head gently. “It’s okay. You did it. You were brave. And you
don’t have to do anything else today but rest.”

A tear rolls down my cheek.

He kisses it away.

And for the first time since this journey began, I don’t feel broken.

I feel brave.

And loved.

And safe.

Chapter Nineteen: The Sky is Pink

My seventeenth birthday starts with pancakes shaped like hearts.

Jace is wearing an apron that says “Kiss the Cook (He’s Taken)”, and his grin is even wider
than the stack on my plate.

“I googled how to make whipped cream roses,” he announces proudly, placing a flower-shaped
dollop on top. “Pinterest would be shook.”

I laugh, still in pajamas, my growing belly making the flannel stretch awkwardly. “You’re
ridiculous.”

“I’m your ridiculous.”

He kisses the tip of my nose and places a tiny pink candle in the center pancake. “Make a wish,
birthday girl.”

I close my eyes.

And I wish…

For peace. For safety. For her.

Because today, we find out.

That afternoon, we head to the clinic for the gender reveal. The nurse greets us with a warm
smile, already holding a sealed envelope.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to tell you now?”

I shake my head, clutching Jace’s hand. “Nope. We have something planned.”

That “something” is the park.

The same one where everything went wrong. But today, Jace said, we take it back.

We invite just a few people — Carla the nurse, Principal Marsh, even Chase who now
volunteers at the hospital. Everyone sits on blankets, sipping pink lemonade and watching the
sky turn cotton-candy gold.

In the middle of the grass is a giant black balloon tied to a little sign that reads:

“Boy or Girl?”

Jace hands me a pin.

“You ready?” he whispers.

I nod, breath caught.

We pop it together.

A burst of pink explodes into the air — confetti fluttering like soft petals in the breeze.

And I laugh.

And cry.

And hug him like the world just gave me everything.

“It’s a girl,” I whisper.

He kisses the side of my head. “She’s going to be perfect.”

That night, we go back to the cemetery.

Seventeen pink roses in my arms.

“I’m seventeen today,” I whisper to the stones. “And you’re going to have a granddaughter.”
Jace crouches beside me, resting his hand over mine.

“We’re naming her…” I pause, looking at him.

We decided together.

“Aurora Skye,” I say.

“Because she came after the storm,” Jace adds. “And because she’s our new light.”

The wind rustles gently.

Somewhere in the darkening sky, a star flickers awake.

And I swear…

They’re listening.

Chapter Twenty: Blooming Season

By the time spring arrives, everything starts to feel lighter.

My body is still tired most days — my back aches, my ankles are swollen, and Aurora seems to
have her own gymnastics routine every night at 3 a.m. But somehow… I’m happy.

I’m healing.

I haven’t fainted in over a month.

The seizures are under control, thanks to new meds and the world’s gentlest neurologist. I’ve
even started walking every day again, slow laps around the park where the worst day of my life
once happened — and now where my baby will take her first steps.

Jace walks beside me every time. Always one step behind, just in case.

We don’t talk much on those walks.

We just breathe.

One afternoon, I find a dress hanging in Jace’s closet.

It’s soft pink, with tiny sparkles along the neckline and a flowing skirt that stretches just enough
for my seven-month belly.

When I see it, I freeze.

“You got me a prom dress?” I ask, voice cracking.

He grins from across the room. “You didn’t think I’d let you skip your first prom, did you?”

“I’m huge.”

“You’re gorgeous.”

“I’ll waddle across the dance floor.”

“I’ll waddle with you.”

I laugh so hard I have to sit down, my hand cradling my stomach.

“She’s going to have your sense of humor,” I murmur.

“She’s going to have your strength,” he replies.

Prom is magic.

The gym has been transformed with fairy lights, white drapes, and slow music echoing through
the air.

Jace meets me at the top of the stairs, in a black suit with a baby pink tie to match my dress. He
looks at me like I’m made of stars.

“You’re glowing,” he whispers.

“It’s the pregnancy hormones,” I tease.

He leans in close. “No. It’s you.”

He doesn’t let me out of his sight the whole night. He dances with me slow and steady, one
hand on my waist, one hand gently curled around my belly like he’s holding her already.

People watch us — some with smiles, some with whispers — but I don’t care.

Because I feel like a queen.

And for the first time in forever, I’m not just surviving.

I’m living.

Afterward, we drive to my parents’ grave again. It’s late, and I’m barefoot, carrying my heels in
one hand and a letter in the other.

I kneel down and read it aloud.

“I went to prom tonight. He made me feel like the most beautiful girl in the world. You would’ve
loved him even more now. And guess what? Your granddaughter kicks every time she hears his
voice. We’re okay. I promise.”

Jace kneels beside me and takes my hand.

“We’re going to build a beautiful life, Lila.”

And this time…

I believe it with everything I am.

Chapter Twenty-One: She’s Here

It happens on a warm summer night.

I’m eight days past my due date, swollen, cranky, and convinced this baby is never coming out.

Jace has been timing my contractions all day, following me around with water bottles, heating
pads, and the absolute worst dad jokes I’ve ever heard.

We’re watching a movie on his couch — or trying to — when I sit up suddenly.

“Jace…”

“Yeah?”

“My water just broke.”

His eyes widen like I just told him aliens landed in the backyard. “NOW?”

“Yes, now!”

He launches into motion — grabbing the hospital bag, helping me up, and nearly tripping over
his own feet in the process.

Labor is long. Hours blur into more hours, and everything feels like fire and thunder and raw,
sharp pain.

But Jace is there.

The whole time.

Holding my hand. Whispering “You’ve got this.” Letting me squeeze his fingers so hard I
might’ve broken one.

And then—
A cry.

A loud, perfect cry.

“She’s here,” the doctor says, smiling as they place a tiny, wrinkled, red-faced miracle on my
chest.

My arms shake.

But I hold her.

I hold my daughter.

Jace is crying. I am too.

“She’s beautiful,” I whisper.

He presses his forehead to mine. “She’s everything.”

We name her Aurora Skye Carter-Monroe.

She has Jace’s eyes — big and brown like melted chocolate — and a pouty mouth that already
has him wrapped around her finger.

The first night home is chaos. She won’t sleep, I forget how diapers work, and Jace accidentally
puts her onesie on backwards.

But at 3:47 a.m., we sit on the bed together, her tiny body nestled between us, and I realize:

This is our life now.

And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Summer rolls on, slow and golden.

The school sends cards. Some teachers drop off baby gifts. The fundraiser the students held for
me turned into a scholarship for “Young Mothers Who Overcame.”

Jace builds Aurora a crib that rocks softly with one touch.

I read her stories under the trees. She gurgles at butterflies. We take her to my parents’ grave
once a week and tell them about her latest giggle or how she loves the sound of the wind.

Jace always brings a flower — usually yellow.

“Because she’s our sunshine,” he says.

One night, we’re lying on the grass with Aurora asleep between us. The stars stretch forever
above us, and for once, everything is quiet.

“Do you think I’m doing okay?” I ask softly.

Jace looks at me like I’m the whole sky. “You’re the strongest person I know, Lila. And Aurora is
so lucky to have you.”

“She has both of us.”

He smiles. “Yeah. She does.”

He kisses me, soft and slow.

And I finally understand something I didn’t back in kindergarten, when all of this began with a
blue crayon:

Love — real love — grows through everything.

Even storms.

Even silence.

Even seventeen.

Chapter Twenty-Two: Always, Always You

Aurora Skye Monroe-Carter turns one on a Saturday afternoon filled with laughter, lemonade,
and flower crowns.

She toddles through the backyard in a yellow sundress, clinging to the edge of the picnic table
with frosting on her cheeks and bows in her curls.

“She’s walking,” I whisper, watching her wobble into Jace’s waiting arms. He scoops her up with
a proud grin and spins her around like she’s the center of his whole universe — because she is.

“She’s running next week,” he says.

“She’s flying by two.”

We both laugh, and I feel my chest tighten with a kind of joy that hurts. The soft kind. The
permanent kind.

I’m twenty.

I’m a mother.

And I’m still completely, totally in love with the boy who gave me half a crayon when we were
three.
The party fades into evening.

String lights twinkle overhead, and guests begin trickling out with sleepy goodbyes and leftover
cupcakes.

Jace takes my hand.

“I have something planned,” he says.

My eyebrows rise. “Planned?”

He nods toward the garden. “You’ll see.”

He leads me to the same tree where we used to study after school. It’s covered in fairy lights
now, and underneath it is a little wooden bench, soft music playing from a speaker nearby.

And in the center of it all…

A scrapbook.

I open it slowly.

The first page has a photo of us in kindergarten, holding broken halves of a crayon.

Then: our high school notes, concert tickets, sonograms.

Aurora’s hospital bracelet.

A dried pink rose from my seventeenth birthday.

My hands shake as I flip the last page.

It reads:

“Will you keep making memories with me?”

I look up — and Jace is kneeling.

A ring in his hand.

A sparkle in his eyes.

And the most breathless smile on his lips.

“Lila Monroe,” he says softly, voice steady but eyes glistening, “I’ve loved you since the crayon.
Since every version of you. Will you marry me?”

I don’t speak.
I can’t.

Tears fall before the words do.

“Yes,” I whisper.

“Yes. Yes. Yes.”

He slides the ring onto my shaking hand, and I throw my arms around his neck, laughing and
crying all at once.

But then —

Everything goes black.

I wake up in his arms, lying on the grass.

The lights blur above me, and I feel cool cloth on my forehead, Aurora crying somewhere
nearby.

“Lila—Lila, hey, look at me,” Jace pleads, panic in his voice. “You fainted — deep breath, baby.
Stay with me.”

I try.

I do.

But everything feels far away.

My chest aches. My ribs burn. My pulse flutters.

Then sirens.

Then quiet.

Then nothing.

Chapter Twenty-Three: Storm Warning

The hospital lights are too white. Too bright. Too quiet.

I blink slowly, the ceiling coming into focus like a cloudy mirror, and my body feels like lead. My
heart beats slow. Uneven.

“Lila?” Jace’s voice is soft but cracked, like he hasn’t slept.

I turn my head slightly and find him sitting at the edge of my bed, his hand in mine, dark circles
under his eyes and his hoodie wrinkled from the floor.

“You scared the hell out of me,” he whispers.

“I fainted again?” My voice is hoarse.

He nods, squeezing my fingers gently. “They ran tests all night. You had another seizure — bad
this time. They’re keeping you for monitoring.”

I sigh, tears threatening to rise again.

“I ruined it, didn’t I? The proposal, Aurora’s birthday…”

Jace cuts me off with a kiss to my forehead. “You didn’t ruin anything. You made it
unforgettable. And… you said yes.”

I smile faintly, touching the ring still on my finger. “I said yes.”

“You’ll say it a million times,” he promises. “And I’ll never stop saying it back.”

The nurse comes in, checks my vitals, and gives Jace a sad smile.

“You’re a very lucky girl,” she tells me. “He hasn’t left your side once.”

I look over at him, curled up now beside Aurora who’s napping in a hospital crib by the window.
He looks exhausted, but peaceful. Like our whole life is wrapped up in those quiet moments.

Until—

The TV above the bed flashes red.

BREAKING NEWS.

“Rebecca Henderson, now 21, convicted of aggravated assault and harassment of Lila
Monroe in a high-profile case two years ago, has been granted a parole hearing
scheduled next month. The case, which gained national attention due to the victim’s age
and medical condition, could face serious legal review…”

The remote falls from my hand.

My chest tightens again.

She’s… trying to get out.

I can’t breathe.

“Jace,” I whisper, tears filling my eyes again, panic crawling back like a shadow from the grave.
“She’s coming back.”
He’s already at my side, his arms wrapping around me, shielding me like he always does. “No.
She’s not. I won’t let her touch you, Lila. Not again.”

“But she’s trying—”

“And I’m going to stop her.”

His voice is steel.

His eyes, fire.

“She doesn't get to take anything more from you. From us. Not now. Not ever.”

The next morning, I’m allowed to go home — with medication adjustments and a warning: no
stress, no pushing myself, and regular check-ins.

But as Jace carries Aurora to the car and I walk slowly behind him, I glance at the sky.

Dark clouds are forming.

Chapter Twenty-Four: Her Words, My Fire

The courthouse smells like old paper and cold tile.

I sit in a side room, hands trembling around a cup of water, while my nurse whispers something
to Jace. He hasn’t left my side all morning. He even brought Aurora’s pacifier in his pocket —
just in case.

“She doesn’t deserve to be near you,” he mutters.

“She’s going to be in the room, Jace.”

“I know.”

He doesn’t say more.

He doesn’t have to.

Because we both feel it — that cold breath down our necks.

That storm that never quite passed.

When they call my name to speak, I walk slowly to the microphone, flanked by my nurse on one
side and a security officer on the other. Jace sits in the front row, holding Aurora in his lap, his
eyes never leaving mine.
Becky’s there.

In a gray jumpsuit. Chains around her ankles. Hair flat. Eyes wild.

She smirks as I sit down.

I try not to look at her.

But she speaks before the board even calls her forward.

“You got everything,” she hisses under her breath. “The boy. The kid. The life I didn’t get.”

I freeze.

Then turn to her, steady.

“No, Becky. I fought for everything. I bled for it. I cried for it. You tried to break me — and I’m still
here.”

The courtroom goes quiet.

And I speak.

I speak about the years of pain. About how she stalked me. Beat me. Laughed while I was on
the ground.

About how Jace had to carry me out of classrooms and hold me through seizures that she
caused.

About the trauma, the hospital stays, the scars still hidden beneath my sleeves.

And about how I gave birth while still recovering from her destruction — and still, somehow, built
a life.

“I am not here to beg for your silence,” I finish, voice shaking, “I am here to demand my own. I
want peace. And she cannot walk free while I’m still looking over my shoulder.”

There’s not a sound in the room.

Then Jace stands. “Everything she said is true,” he says to the board. “Becky Henderson is
dangerous. And Lila has already suffered enough.”

When the judge rules no parole, Becky finally snaps.

“You’ll regret this, Lila!” she screams as they pull her away in cuffs. “You’ll regret all of it!”

But I don’t flinch.

I stand taller.
Because regret doesn’t live here anymore.

Only healing does.

Only hope.

Only the boy holding our daughter, waiting for me just beyond the courtroom doors.

Chapter Twenty-Five: A New Name, An Old Nightmare

The leaves outside our window flutter in the morning breeze. Sunlight pools on the hardwood
floors as Aurora giggles, toddling between Jace’s outstretched arms and my knees. For once,
peace feels real.

“Okay,” Jace grins, scooping her up, “Venue hunting or nap first?”

I smile softly. “Both.”

We’ve started wedding planning. Nothing huge — just something soft, simple, surrounded by
wildflowers and the people who never left.

But in the back of my mind, something buzzes. A tremble under my skin. I brush it away. Maybe
it’s just nerves.

Maybe it’s just trauma echoing.

Later that week, I meet someone new at a local support group.

She’s kind. Quiet. Pretty in that soft, forgettable way.

Her name is Emma.

She says she just moved to town.

Says she saw me speak on the news. That she thought I was brave.

She sits next to me and hands me tissues when I cry.

We go for coffee after one meeting, and she listens when I talk about wedding colors, about
how scared I still am sometimes, about how lucky I feel to have Jace and Aurora.

She listens too well.

She watches a little too closely.

And she always smiles when I say Becky’s name — like it tastes sweet in her mouth.
Jace doesn't trust her.

“She gives me weird vibes,” he says one night. “And she smells like… chemicals. Like fake.”

I laugh. “Babe, she’s probably just wearing cheap perfume.”

“No,” he says. “It’s more than that.”

I should’ve listened.

Because the next day, I go to meet Emma at the park — and she’s not there.

But a note is.

Folded under my drink on the table.

It reads:

Did you really think I wouldn’t come back?

— B.

Becky escaped two days ago.

She went under the radar using prosthetics and forged documents.

Her hair is now red.

Her eyes, hidden behind colored lenses.

Her face… altered.

But her hatred?

That’s still exactly the same.

I fall to the ground in the middle of the café, hands shaking.

“Lila?” the barista asks, kneeling beside me.

I can’t speak.

Can’t breathe.

Jace bursts through the door minutes later, pulling me into his arms before I faint.
He reads the note.

And his face turns white.

“This isn’t over,” he mutters.

Not with fear.

But with rage.

That night, he installs cameras.

Buys pepper spray.

Hires two private guards to trail us quietly.

And as I lay curled in his arms, staring at the ceiling, I whisper:

“She was pretending to be my friend, Jace.”

“I know.”

“She watched Aurora…”

His jaw clenches.

“She’s never getting near either of you again.”

But somewhere in the dark, Becky is smiling.

Because this time?

She’s not just trying to hurt Lila.

She’s trying to be her.

Chapter Twenty-Six: The Face in the Crowd

It's been four days since we found the note.

Four days since Emma vanished — and Becky reemerged.

My body hasn't stopped trembling since.

Everywhere I go, I feel eyes on me. My skin crawls. I second-guess every stranger's glance,
every shadow in a doorway.

Jace hasn’t let me out of his sight — not even to grab groceries. There are guards parked in a
black SUV outside the house, and Aurora sleeps in our bed now.

But still… the unease lives in my bones.

And it turns out, I had reason to be afraid.

“Lila.” Jace’s voice is low, tense. He walks into the kitchen holding his phone like it’s covered in
poison. “She got a job.”

I freeze mid-step. “What?”

“She forged everything. ID, resume, even a reference letter. And she got a part-time admin job
at—” his voice breaks, “—Aurora’s daycare.”

I drop my mug.

Shattered porcelain cuts across the tile like lightning.

“She’s been around our baby?”

“They fired her the second they ran the real check we gave them. But… yes.”

I fall to my knees.

Sobbing.

Jace crouches beside me, holding me tightly. “She didn’t touch her. They have cameras — they
checked everything. Aurora’s fine. I promise. But this…” His voice hardens. “This is stalking.
Identity fraud. It’s time to get the police fully involved again.”

The next day, we meet with the investigator assigned to Becky’s case. He’s tall, quiet, and
extremely serious.

He listens. Watches the security footage. Takes my statement. And then he drops the news.

“She’s using the alias Rebecca Lane. Working odd jobs. She’s been seen near your
neighborhood three times. She has a storage unit under her alias that matches her previous
handwriting. We’re working on a warrant.”

“What’s in the unit?” Jace asks.

The officer looks uncomfortable. “We believe… photos. Notes. Possibly clothing that mimics
Lila’s. And baby items.”
My stomach turns.

“She’s not just obsessed with hurting you anymore,” he adds gently. “She’s trying to be you.”

That night, I hold Aurora close and cry silently while Jace watches every shadow out our
bedroom window.

And all I can think is: if she can fool the daycare, if she can get that close… what else is she
planning?

Because Becky’s not just hiding.

She’s hunting.

And we’re running out of time.

Chapter Twenty-Seven: A Second Line and a Second Chance

I stare at the bathroom sink.

Two pink lines.

My fingers tremble as I reach for the test again, like reading it over and over will somehow
change it.

I’m pregnant. Again.

Jace knocks gently on the door. “Lila? You okay in there?”

I swallow hard. “Y-Yeah… just a sec.”

When I finally open the door, he looks at me, concerned but soft, with his hoodie sleeves
pushed up and his heart practically written across his face.

I hold up the test, not saying a word.

His eyes widen.

Then?

He smiles.

Like the sun coming up after the longest night.

He wraps me in his arms and spins me gently, careful of my healing ribs. “We’re having another
baby?” he whispers.
I nod against his chest. “Yeah. I guess we are.”

We spend the next few hours curled up on the couch, talking baby names and onesies and
Aurora being a big sister. It feels light. Free. Like maybe… just maybe… we’ve earned some
peace.

But peace, it seems, has other plans.

Two nights later, it’s storming outside.

Jace is helping me settle Aurora when the power flickers once… twice… then goes out.

Total blackout.

The baby monitor screen goes dark.

“Stay here,” Jace says, grabbing a flashlight and heading toward the door.

I hug Aurora tightly and wait, heart racing.

Minutes tick by.

Then the sound of shattering glass.

And Jace yelling— “Lila, RUN!”

Before I can move, the front door bursts open.

And standing there…

Not Becky.

But Emma.

The Emma I trusted.

Her hair dyed again. Face twisted with fury. A knife in her hand.

“You took everything from me,” she seethes. “Everything. I was supposed to have him. The
baby. The life. That should’ve been mine.”

I don’t scream.

I freeze.

But Aurora does — a high, terrified wail that slices through the room.

And that’s when Jace tackles Becky from behind, knocking the knife from her hand.
Security floods in seconds later.

They drag her away, kicking and screaming, her voice echoing through the house like a
nightmare that refuses to die.

Hours later, I sit in the hospital again.

Just a precaution, the doctor says. The baby’s okay. No bleeding, no trauma.

Just fear.

Lots of it.

And love too.

Because Jace hasn’t let go of my hand once.

“We’re naming this one after a fighter,” he whispers. “Because that’s what they’ll be. Just like
you.”

I smile faintly. “Then maybe we name them Hope.”

Because that’s what I’m holding on to.

Even now.

Even still.

Even always.

Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Girl Who Survived

The court date is set for next month.

Becky’s new charges — attempted kidnapping, assault, and parole violation — will keep her
locked up for decades, maybe forever this time.

But the fear still lingers in the corners of our home, like smoke that refuses to clear.

So I find something that helps.

Writing.

The first time I pick up my guitar again, my hands are shaky.

But Jace sits nearby, nodding, smiling.

“Sing it,” he says. “Even if your voice shakes.”

So I do.

The song is simple.

🎵
“She’s the girl who broke but didn’t bend,
With blood on her shirt and fists from pretend friends,
But she rose like the sun, even scared, even scarred,
And now they call her a light from the dark.”
🎵

I record it on a whim and post it anonymously to a local radio station’s submission page.

Didn’t even expect a reply.

But two days later… it’s on the air.

They call it “The Girl Who Survived.”

And suddenly, I’m getting messages from people all over the country. Survivors. Fighters. Kids
like me. Kids not like me. People just needing a voice to cry with.

I start uploading more songs.

One called “Seventeen & Still Here.”

Another called “Ghosts Don’t Win.”

And then a third: “Hope.” Written for our new baby.

Jace holds my belly while I record that one, his head resting gently on my shoulder. “You’re
going to change lives,” he whispers.

“You already changed mine.”

With the money from the music streaming and donations from the fundraiser, we launch a small
nonprofit in my parents’ names: The Monroe Foundation — supporting students who’ve
survived bullying, trauma, and loss.

We partner with the school for assemblies.

I give speeches now.

Sing sometimes too.

The same girl who once nearly dropped out of school because of Becky… now standing in front
of a crowd, head held high, telling her truth.

I’m not just surviving anymore.

I’m living.

Jace finishes our wedding invitations in calligraphy.

We’ve chosen a soft spring ceremony, under blooming trees with fairy lights and lavender.

Aurora will be our flower girl.

And the baby?

They’ll be there too.

Growing strong.

Quietly loved.

Fiercely protected.

Just like me.

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Hope Goes Viral

It starts with a video.

Just me, sitting on our porch, barefoot and swollen, strumming the soft chords of my favorite
song — the one I wrote for our baby.

🎵
“You came to me in the quiet,
Where shadows used to stay,
And now my ribs are gardens,
Growing light each day.”
🎵

I didn’t expect anything.

I was just trying to breathe.

But Jace posted it to TikTok while I was napping with Aurora curled beside me, and by the time I
woke up… everything had changed.

One million views.

Then five.

Then ten.

“Hope” was suddenly everywhere.

Girls lip-syncing in their bedrooms, their captions reading:

“For the girl who got back up.”

“This one saved me.”
“Thank you, Lila Monroe.”
“Now I believe I can make it too.”

Even grown women stitched their stories, crying through their screens — abuse survivors,
chronic illness warriors, girls with casts on their hearts and hope in their eyes.

My inbox flooded. The Monroe Foundation's donations quadrupled. Teachers requested school
visits. Labels started reaching out.

But I didn’t want fame.

I just wanted every girl who ever cried alone in a hallway to know: she’s not alone.

At our baby shower the following weekend, the theme is simple — light after darkness.

Lavenders and creams.

Fairy lights.

Jace holding my hand the whole time while Aurora picks petals off cupcakes and giggles.

It’s warm. Safe. Joyful.

Exactly what I used to think I’d never feel again.

Halfway through, my phone buzzes with a notification.

“‘Hope’ has reached 50 million plays on Spotify,” it reads.

I blink.

Jace laughs. “Told you. Your voice is a revolution, baby.”

Later that night, we sit under the stars, the soft sounds of party leftovers echoing from inside.

I rest my head on his shoulder, fingers laced with his.

“They’re not just listening to the song,” I whisper. “They’re listening to me.”

He kisses my hair. “They finally see what I’ve always seen. A fighter. A light. A mama. My
miracle.”

Girls from across the world now use the hashtag: #HopeLikeLila.

And for the first time since that blue crayon, I understand something deeply, clearly, and forever:

My voice matters.

And it’s only the beginning.

Chapter Thirty: A Vow, A Song, A Million Dreams

It’s spring.

The air smells like lilacs and new beginnings. Aurora dances down the aisle in her flower girl
dress, scattering white petals like they’re pieces of stardust.

And I’m standing at the edge of the aisle, heart pounding in my chest, belly round with new life,
eyes locked on the only boy I’ve ever loved.

Jace Carter.

The boy who gave me the big half of the crayon.

The boy who held me through panic and seizures.

The boy who made me believe in forever.

The ceremony is tucked under flowering cherry blossom trees, fairy lights blinking above like
stars in a secret sky. The guests stand as I walk — slowly, carefully — toward him.

Every step echoes like a heartbeat.

At the altar, he whispers, “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
I laugh, crying already. “That’s cheating. You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true.”

Our vows are simple, but they shatter everyone.

Jace looks into my eyes, his voice thick.

“I’ve loved you since the crayon. Since you held out your hand without fear and
made me believe I could be someone good. I’ll love you through every storm, every
sunrise, every step. You’re my reason, my fight, my always.”

And I say:

“You were my first friend. My last hope. My home in human form. You loved me
when I was broken, and you built me back brick by brick. I promise to love you
louder than any voice that ever tried to silence me.”

Then, just before the kiss…

A piano starts.

And the soft strum of a guitar.

Gasps ripple through the guests.

Because the band starts playing Hope.

And I sing it.

Barefoot, veil tucked behind me, hand in Jace’s.

🎵
“They told me light doesn’t last in the dark,
But here you are — my spark.
And now we rise, we bloom, we thrive,
Because broken girls still come alive.”
🎵

By the end, there isn’t a dry eye in sight.

And the world? It watches.

Because the whole thing was livestreamed.

And the next morning… everything changes.

Offers pour in.

A record label. A book deal. A documentary series called Hope Like Lila.

The Monroe Foundation goes global.

The streams hit 100 million.

And by the end of the month, Jace and I are officially millionaires.

We didn’t chase it.

It found us — because of love. Because of truth. Because we survived.

We buy a house with a big backyard, filled with sunflowers and laughter.

I finish my album — titled The Girl Who Survived.

And when I stand at my parents’ grave again, holding Jace’s hand and our daughter in the
other, with a baby on the way and a diamond on my finger, I whisper,

“I made it, Mama. I made it, Dad. And I’m giving girls like me a reason to stay.”

Because now, I know:

Hope isn’t just a song.

It’s a legacy.

Epilogue: The Light After

Five Years Later

The garden is wild with sunflowers.

Aurora, now six, chases her little brother Leo down the stone path, both of them barefoot and
giggling, their laughter echoing under the blue summer sky. I sit on the porch swing, my
notebook in my lap and a sleepy baby girl in my arms — our third miracle, little Maisie.

She has Jace’s lashes and my smile.

Jace walks out with lemonade and that same old hoodie he refuses to give up, even now, when
he’s the husband of a Grammy-winning artist and co-founder of a global foundation.

Millionaire? Sure.

But still the boy who gave me the bigger half of the crayon.
After the wedding, everything changed — but somehow, we stayed us.

I’ve toured in eleven countries.

My book, Hope Like Lila, is on school shelves across the world.

The Monroe Foundation now provides counselors, therapy, and safe spaces to over a hundred
schools.

But none of that matters more than this.

This porch.

These babies.

This man.

And this quiet life we earned.

Becky?

She’s still in prison.

No parole. No headlines. Just a shadow we outgrew.

Because we rose above her.

Not in spite of what she did — but because we chose love anyway.

Every year on the anniversary of my first viral song, we host Hope Day. People gather in the
park — the one I almost died in — and sing. Survivors. Fighters. Kids who felt too small to
matter.

And every time, I sing Hope again.

Because healing isn’t linear.

Some days still ache.

But the girl who used to cry in bathroom stalls now cries while holding microphones and babies.

Jace joins me on the swing, slipping his arm around me. “You’re glowing again,” he says,
brushing my hair from my face.
“It’s the light,” I whisper. “Or maybe just you.”

He smiles. “Same difference.”

And somewhere inside me — deep, deep down — the little girl who got the bigger crayon smiles
too.

Because she made it.

She became the girl who survived.

Who sang.

Who loved.

And who never gave up.

The End.
(Or maybe... just the beginning.)