I thought the Christmas gift my husband, Cruz, had carefully selected late at night was for me, but now it was in another woman's hands.

My heart was pounding. I recognized the packaging: the matte black paper and the copper bow.

I'd seen Cruz scrolling through his phone late at night, comparing brands and reading reviews. I knew what was inside.

But the label on the box bore another woman's name: Sadie, my husband's best friend.

My heart sank.

Sadie looked surprised. She flung the box open, gasping dramatically, and pulled out the Steve Madden bag I'd always coveted.

Then she reached back into the box and pulled out the note—the one with the little daisy printed on the front.

My favorite little daisy.

Cruz looked at me, a look of anxious flashing across his face before it washed over me like a flood.

I sat there frozen, my stomach burning.

I can't keep playing dumb like this.

————————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I took the seat across from them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sarah raised her glass. "To lifelong friends."

"To loyalty," Kate added.

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

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

After dinner, I helped Sarah clear the dishes.

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

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

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

I said nothing, but my ears burned.

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

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

I shrugged. "Just tired."

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

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

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

"Not by them."

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

I wanted to believe him. I really did.

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

------

Cruz's POV

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

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

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

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

The business was dragging me under.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Nonsense," I muttered, pushing away from the counter.

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

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

I nodded, already grabbing my keys.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"See what?"

She closed the laptop and set it aside.

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

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

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

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

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

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