Chapter 26

Conrad had only just started his internship with Dr. Namazy's when his phone buzzed in his pocket. The vibration felt like an electric jolt against his thigh, out of place in the sterile hospital environment where he was still learning to belong. He glanced at the screen, Taylor's name flashing up at him unexpectedly. His throat tightened. Taylor would never call unless something was wrong.

He slipped into the narrow staff corridor, the din of monitors and clipped conversations fading as he pressed accept. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting his shadow long against the mint-green wall. A nurse pushed past with a cart, eyeing him with mild disapproval.

"Taylor?" he asked, already sensing the strain in her voice. His free hand instinctively reached for the ID badge hanging from his neck, fingers worrying the plastic edge.

Her words tumbled out in a rush. "Conrad—Steven's been in an accident. He's in the hospital."

Conrad's stomach dropped, his grip on the phone tightening. The corridor seemed to narrow, the walls pressing in. "What? God—well, I-I'll hop on the next flight." His mind was already calculating—he could make the 6 PM if he left now, be there by midnight, assuming no delays.

"No, it's fine," Taylor said quickly, though her tone betrayed exhaustion. "Laurel and John will probably be here by then."

He leaned against the wall, fighting the urge to pace. His reflection in the glass of a nearby door showed a face he barely recognized—pale, eyes wide with worry. "Okay... well, tell me what the doctor said. Exactly."

Taylor hesitated. "He's kind of a dick. He basically blew us off. We're—we're trying to get updates, but..."

"Maybe I can help," Conrad cut in. His mind was already moving, pulling threads of training and instinct together. The weight of his white coat felt suddenly meaningful, a shield he could extend across miles. "Where's he admitted?"

"Uh... Providence General. But how? What are you—"

"I'll figure it out," Conrad said firmly. "I just want to do something." He paused, softer now, the question he'd been avoiding rising to his lips. "How's Belly? You mentioned Laur and John not being there. How is she holding up?" His pulse quickened despite himself, an old reflex he couldn't quite extinguish.

"She's fine," Taylor replied, clipped, like she was trying to make it true.

"Okay. Um... great." Conrad closed his eyes, picturing Belly's face, wondering if she was really fine or if that was just what Taylor needed him to believe.

A beat of silence stretched between them. Through the window at the end of the corridor, California sunshine blazed, oblivious to the crisis unfolding three thousand miles away.

"Okay," Taylor echoed, her voice small.

"Just—keep me updated. Thanks for letting me know, Taylor." Conrad's voice gentled, even as his pulse still pounded. He pressed his palm flat against the cool wall, steadying himself.

"Yeah. I will."

The call clicked off, leaving Conrad standing alone in the fluorescent glow of the corridor, phone heavy in his palm. For a moment, he didn't move, caught between the life he was building here and the one he'd left behind, letting the silence press against him like a physical weight.

The hospital sounds faded to a distant hum as his mind raced through possibilities—Steven in a hospital bed, machines beeping, Belly pacing the waiting room with that worried crease between her eyebrows she always got when she was trying not to fall apart. The memory of his mother's final days surrounded by machines just like the ones surrounding him now threatened to surface, but he pushed it down, hard. This wasn't the same. Steven would be fine.

Then, before he could second-guess himself, he tucked his phone away and strode down the hall, white coat flapping slightly against his legs. The antiseptic smell that had once seemed so foreign now barely registered—how quickly the unfamiliar became routine. He spotted Dr. Namazy reviewing a chart outside a patient's room, her sharp eyes flicking up as he approached. She stood with the straight-backed posture of someone who'd spent decades commanding respect in rooms full of people who underestimated her. Conrad had learned in his short time here never to be one of those people.

"Dr. Namazy? Excuse me," he said, voice tight but steady. His heart hammered against his ribs, the same way it did whenever he had to approach her directly.

She glanced at him, eyebrows raised, pen poised mid-note. "What's up?"

Conrad swallowed, tugging lightly at the sleeve of his coat. The fabric felt suddenly too stiff, too new against his wrist. "Uh—a friend of mine was in a car accident. A very close friend. More like family. He's at Providence General." The words tumbled out faster than he intended, betraying his anxiety. "Is there... is there any chance you know anyone in neurology there?"

Her gaze softened almost imperceptibly, the stern lines around her mouth easing just enough that someone who hadn't spent time anxiously studying her expressions might have missed it. "The head of neurology is a friend of a friend."

Relief flickered through him, tempered by nerves. His fingers flexed at his sides, seeking something to hold onto. "Well, his name is Steven Conklin. Do you think there's any possible way that you could make a call?" He hated the pleading note that had crept into his voice, but couldn't quite suppress it.

Dr. Namazy studied him for a moment, her eyes moving over his face as if cataloguing his distress with clinical precision. A nurse brushed past them, the squeak of her shoes against the linoleum floor punctuating the silence. Finally, Dr. Namazy gave a brisk nod. "I'll see what I can do. Do you think you need to take the day?"

Conrad shook his head quickly, almost too quickly. "Uh, no. I'm good." The lie tasted metallic on his tongue. He wasn't good—he was three thousand miles away from someone he loved who was hurt, and the helplessness of it was crushing him.

One corner of her mouth curved in something between skepticism and approval. "Okay." She turned back to her chart, already pulling out her phone with her free hand, fingers moving with practiced efficiency.

Conrad exhaled, shoulders sinking as he stepped aside, the weight in his chest easing just enough to let him breathe. Through the window at the end of the hall, California sunshine spilled across the floor in a golden rectangle, so at odds with the storm brewing inside him. He watched Dr. Namazy's profile as she dialled, her voice dropping to a professional murmur, and felt a surge of gratitude so intense it almost made him dizzy. This small act of kindness—it was everything right now.

A couple of hours later, Conrad was in a lab, hands moving on autopilot while his mind drifted hundreds of miles east. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting everything in a harsh, clinical glow that made his eyes ache. He kept checking his phone in the space between tasks, the silent black screen gnawing at him more than any unanswered message could. Each time he slid it back into his pocket, the weight of it seemed to increase, as if accumulating the gravity of all the things he couldn't control from this distance.

The centrifuge whirred nearby, its steady hum a counterpoint to his unsteady thoughts. He labelled another vial, his handwriting less precise than usual, the letters tilting slightly to the right like they were being pulled eastward too. The smell of antiseptic stung his nostrils, reminding him of other hospital rooms, other vigils.

Agnes caught him mid-glance at his phone, raising an eyebrow as she snapped off her gloves with a practiced flick of her wrists. Her curly hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail that swung slightly as she tilted her head. "Any news yet on your friend?"

Conrad shook his head, the muscles in his neck tight with tension. "No, not yet."

She studied him, her tone gentler this time, the usual edge of competition between them temporarily suspended. Her eyes, normally sharp with ambition, softened. "You sure you shouldn't go out there?"

He exhaled sharply, pressing his lips together until they formed a bloodless line. The question prodded at the guilt that had been building in his chest all afternoon. "No. I wouldn't even know what to do that could help. It's not like I'm a doctor yet." The admission tasted bitter on his tongue, a reminder of all the distance still between him and the person he was trying to become.

Before Agnes could respond, the sound of purposeful footsteps announced Dr. Namazy's arrival. The rhythmic click of her low heels against the linoleum was as distinctive as a fingerprint. She strode into the lab, her presence immediately tightening the air like a change in atmospheric pressure. Her white coat was impeccably pressed, her posture military-straight, not a single dark hair out of place in her sleek bob.

"No phones," she said sharply, her gaze zeroing in on Conrad's hand with the precision of a sniper. The phone suddenly felt illicit in his palm, burning with the weight of his divided attention. "How did it go with those blood draws?"

Agnes straightened, shoulders pulling back as if attached to invisible strings. "Good."

Conrad echoed, too quickly, the word tumbling out before he could modulate his tone. "Great." His voice sounded hollow even to his own ears, unconvincing.

Namazy picked up one of the blood vials from the tray, turning it slowly between her fingers. The overhead lights caught on the glass, reflecting tiny pinpoints of brightness that danced across her stern features. Her eyes narrowed, crow's feet deepening at the corners. "This is mislabelled."

The bottom dropped out of Conrad's stomach, a sensation like missing a step on a staircase. Cold sweat prickled at the back of his neck. "Oh, that's—uh, that's mine. My mistake." His tongue felt thick, clumsy.

Her expression hardened, the lines around her mouth deepening into valleys. "A mistake that put your patient at risk."

"I'll fix it right now," he said, already reaching for the tray, his movements jerky with adrenaline. The metal edge of the tray pressed into his palm, cool and unyielding.

"You should've gone home when I gave you the chance," Namazy cut in. Her voice wasn't loud, but the weight of it pinned him where he stood. The lab seemed to contract around them, the other students and technicians fading into the periphery of his awareness.

Conrad's pulse hammered against his throat like a trapped bird. "It won't happen again." The promise sounded hollow, desperate.

She shook her head, lips pressed into a thin line, the gesture somehow both weary and final. "No, it won't. You're done here. You're not ready for this."

Panic surged in his chest, hot and suffocating. The fluorescent lights suddenly seemed too bright, the lab too warm. "Dr. Namazy, please, I didn't—" His voice cracked, betraying him.

"You may see this as one mistake," she interrupted, her tone as precise as a scalpel, slicing through his protests with clinical efficiency. Her dark eyes held his, unflinching. "But this is about you not knowing your limits. Which makes you a walking liability. My liability."

Conrad felt his throat close, words clawing their way up but finding no escape. The back of his neck burned with humiliation, aware of Agnes and the others witnessing his professional execution. "Dr. Namazy, I—" The words died on his lips, inadequate.

"No," she said firmly, finality ringing in the single syllable. Her gaze didn't waver, didn't soften. "You can always apply again next year."

The silence that followed was deafening, pressing against his eardrums like deep water. Agnes shifted uneasily beside him, the soft rustle of her lab coat like sandpaper in the quiet. But Conrad couldn't bring himself to move, rooted to the spot by the weight of his failure, the culmination of a day that had begun with one crisis only to end with another.

By the time Conrad made it back to the apartment, the last sliver of sun had slipped out of view, and a cool hush settled over the rooms. The city lights beyond the window glimmered uncertainly, as though nobody quite knew whether to come on yet. He paused in the entryway, the hum of distant traffic and muffled sirens drifting in, then pressed his shoulder against the door and let it swing shut harder than intended. The crack echoed through the small space, jarring his ribs and sending a tremor up his spine.

On the couch, Amelia's laptop screen cast a pale glow on her worried face. She looked up the moment she heard the door, her brow knitting into a question.

"Conrad?"

He didn't answer right away. Instead, he dropped his canvas bag with a hollow thud and ran a shaking hand through hair that felt suddenly damp. He forced himself to pace—half a dozen steps down the narrow hallway, then back again—until the words tumbled out in a rush.

"Steven's in the hospital. Car accident. Cracked ribs, mild brain injury." His voice cracked on the last word, breath catching. "And I got fired. All on the same fucking day."

At that, Amelia snapped her laptop shut with a sharp click. She stood so quickly that the plaid throw slipped from her lap, pooling at her feet. Before he could brace himself, she crossed the room in two strides and wrapped her arms around him. The world narrowed to the scent of her shampoo, the soft fabric of her sweater against his cheek, and the steady drum of her heartbeat through his ribs.

"Oh, Con," she murmured. "I'm so sorry. That's so much for one day."

He let himself lean into her warmth. For a moment, the apartment's shadows felt less oppressive, held at bay by the gentle press of her body. When he finally lifted his head, his chest still heaving, the storm inside him had quieted into something raw and shaking. He sank down beside her on the couch instead of pacing, and his gaze fell to his phone lying on the coffee table—its black screen reflecting the room's half-light like an unspoken question.

His thumb hovered over the glass. He watched Amelia watching him, her reflection soft in the screen's depths. He bit his cheek, the ache of indecision curling in his stomach.

"Ask what you want to, Con," she said softly, her voice a balm over his fraying nerves.

He swallowed, throat tight. "Uh, I'm... I'm thinking of messaging Belly. For an update. I haven't heard anything in a while and I just—"

Amelia's face shifted with understanding, her shoulders relaxing. "Oh my god, I didn't even consider—she's his sister. Of course. Do you know if Laurel's okay?"

Despite everything, something gentle warmed in his chest. He exhaled slowly. "Last update was that Laurel was on her way to the hospital," he said quietly. "But I think so."

He picked up the phone, thumbs poised above the keyboard. The screen sprang to life, a tiny portal to news he desperately needed.

Any updates on Steven?

Minutes stretched to moments, each one a tightening coil in his gut. The glow of the phone made his reflection look wan and haunted. Then it buzzed. A new message lit the screen.

Guessing you're the well-connected stanford person who helped steven? Thank you. He's awake. We're fine.

Conrad's shoulders sagged, relief rushing in so fierce it made his vision blur. The weight in his chest shifted, a quieter, heavier ache taking its place.

Amelia leaned closer, resting her head on his shoulder. He re-read the words as if they carried a life raft.

"He's awake, he's okay" he whispered, voice trembling.

"See?" she murmured. "That's not failure, Conrad. That's you helping, even from here."

The days after the firing bled one into the next like ink dissolving in water. Every morning, Conrad dragged himself upright at exactly 6:45, the soft glow of the alarm clock cutting through the dark. He padded to the kitchen in socks that never matched, measured out coffee grounds with robotic precision, and waited for the machine's sputter and hiss as though it were the only thing keeping him tethered to life. When the cup was finally full, he carried it—steam trailing behind—into the study and settled at his desk. Textbooks lay open before him, their pages splayed like wings ready to take flight, but his mind was somewhere else entirely. Amelia watched from the doorway more often than from her own side of the room, noting the hollow slump of his shoulders, the way he stared at paragraphs as if the words had been replaced with gibberish. His answers to her questions came in one-word murmurs. His laugh—once bright and warm—flickered and died before it left his lips. And his eyes, those clear blue mirrors she had fallen for, clouded over with something she hadn't seen in over a year. Defeat.

One evening, long after the sky had darkened and the last ember of daylight had slipped away, Amelia rose from her chair. She crossed the room in three quiet steps, the floorboards creaking under her weight. Gently, as though defusing a bomb, she reached for Conrad's laptop and closed the screen with a soft click. Then she slid it out of reach, straightening her back and lowering herself until her face was level with his. "Con," she said gently, her hand cupping his jaw until he met her eyes. The lamplight caught the fine line of worry in her brow. "This isn't you. You're shutting down."

He exhaled sharply, his breath rattling in his chest like a battered bell. His shoulders sagged, and for a moment he looked smaller, as if the world's weight had condensed inside him. "I worked so hard for that internship. One mistake and it's gone. And the memorial—God, I wasn't even going to go, Amelia. My mom's memorial. What kind of son does that make me?"

"The kind who's grieving," she said softly, settling her other hand over his. The room felt too still, as if they were the only two people left alive. "The kind who's human. But Con... you need to be there. Not for anyone else— but for you. For her."

His gaze dropped to their joined hands, and she could see the guilt pressing like a rough stone against his ribs. He traced the lines of her palm with a trembling fingertip. "I don't even know if I can face it."

"I'll be with you," she said simply, her voice steady enough to anchor him. "If it's family, then it's my place too."

There was a flicker of something uncoiling in him at those words—hope, or relief, or a memory of how it felt to trust someone. His eyes softened, and he nodded. "Okay."

When they finally landed back on the coast, Conrad felt every mile he'd flown settle into his bones, like sediment layering on riverbed. They disembarked into a drab terminal, suitcases trailing behind them, the recycled air tasting bland after the cabin's stale recirculation. At the rental car counter, Amelia chatted with the agent about insurance and the GPS, her voice calm and familiar, a beacon in the haze of his exhaustion. By the time they pulled out of the lot, the sun was inching toward the horizon in a wash of gold and rose. She slid into the passenger seat, and their hands found each other on the gearshift, her fingers warm against his cold knuckles as he turned the key.

The roads here should have felt like reminders of home—the faint tang of salt carried on every breeze, the slender ribbon of pavement curving toward the shore. But Conrad's head spun with a jumble of fears. The embarrassment of losing the internship, the gnawing shame of having even considered skipping his mom's funeral, the dread of what—or who—he'd find waiting for him back in Cousins. He tried to keep his gaze on the road, but his thoughts kept pulling him back inside himself.

It wasn't until the highway bent toward the old coastal town and Amelia leaned her head against the window, humming a soft tune he didn't recognize, that a new realization slammed into him like a wave. His heart thudded so hard he could taste it on his tongue. Belly would be there.

His chest tightened, his grip on the wheel turning white-knuckled. Amelia noticed immediately—she always did. The hum of the tires on asphalt filled the car, steady and unbroken, but the silence between them was jagged. Conrad's eyes darted to the weathered signs blinking past—"Welcome to Cousins," "Historic District Ahead"—and to the glimpses of silver water through the pines.

She shifted in her seat, turning slightly toward him. "You're quiet," she said gently. Not accusing—just observant.

"I'm fine," he murmured, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Her hand came to rest on his arm, firm and reassuring. "Con."

He exhaled through his nose, jaw clenching. The words stuck, sour and heavy, until they finally tumbled out. "She's going to be there."

Amelia is silent for a beat, before confirming. "Belly?"

He gave a short nod, the name lodging in his throat like a shard of glass.

For a moment, the only sound was the soft rush of the sea beyond the trees. Then Amelia reached across, her fingers threading through his, tugging him out of his spiral long enough to make him look her in the eye. "Con," she said, steady but gentle, "I'm not her. And you're not the same person you were when you loved her. We're not in that story anymore." Her thumb brushed across his knuckles in slow, deliberate strokes. "You don't have to brace yourself for me running away, for old ghosts coming back to life. I'm here. With you."

His throat worked, words lodged behind a dam of fear and grief. He searched her face and found only truth and patience staring back. Finally, he drew in a shaky breath. "I know you," Amelia continued, her voice softer now. "I know where your heart is. And it's not with her. It's here, right now. With me. So let's just... let it be what it is, okay? We'll face whatever comes, together."

Conrad blinked once, twice, then turned his hand so he could hold hers properly, squeezing until a fraction of the weight inside him shifted, cracked. "Together," he echoed, voice low but certain.

Her smile was small, a candle in the dark, and it was enough to calm the storm inside him—just enough for him to breathe.

They arrived later than Conrad would have liked, slipping quietly into the back row of folding chairs as the hum of voices hushed. No one turned, no one noticed. The garden was blooming, spring light spilling over the new beds of tulips and daffodils planted in Susannah's honour. The air smelled of salt and damp earth, and for a moment Conrad felt small again, like a boy watching the grown-ups from the edges. His mother's absence felt like a physical thing here—a negative space carved into the perfect blue sky above them.

He scanned the crowd, recognizing the backs of heads, the familiar slope of shoulders. There was Steven, sitting straight-backed beside Laurel, whose hand kept rising to touch her necklace—the silver pendant Susannah had given her years ago. There was his father, shoulders slightly hunched, a posture Conrad had never seen before his mother died. And there, in the front row, was the unmistakable chocolate brown hair he'd once known better than his own reflection. Belly. She was leaning slightly toward Jeremiah, their silhouettes forming a single, unbroken line.

Jeremiah stood at the podium, his tie a little crooked, his voice steady but thick with emotion. The sunlight caught in his hair, turning it the same gold as their mother's had been in summer. Conrad's throat constricted at the sight.

"Today means a lot to my family," he began, scanning the crowd with eyes that shone, "and I know this garden would have meant the world to my mum. She would've loved to be here on a day like this."

Conrad's chest tightened. A memory flashed—his mother on her knees in their backyard, laughing as she planted marigolds, dirt smudged across her forehead where she'd pushed her hair back. Amelia's hand slipped into his, grounding him. Her thumb traced small circles against his palm, a silent reminder, I'm here. You're not alone in this.

"The women's shelter was incredibly important to her. Even when she wasn't in Cousins, she was thinking about each and every one of you." Jeremiah paused, drawing in a shaky breath. A sparrow landed on the edge of the podium, tilted its head as if listening, then darted away. "My mother believed family wasn't just about blood. She believed family grew throughout your life. Anyone you loved was family. Anyone who loved you."

Conrad blinked hard, the words hitting too close, too true. He thought of Amelia beside him, of how she'd walked into his life with a plate of cookies and never left. How she'd become his family when he wasn't looking, when he was still trying to outrun the ghosts of this place.

"I know she would be touched by this incredible honour. And I hope you walk around here today feeling her love."

For a moment, silence blanketed the garden. A gentle breeze stirred the new plantings, carrying the scent of fresh mulch. Then chairs scraped back, and everyone rose, applause filling the space like wind through leaves. Conrad stayed where he was, still clutching Amelia's hand, unable to move. His brother stood taller than he ever had, carrying a weight that used to belong only to Conrad. The sun caught the moisture in Jeremiah's eyes, turning grief into something almost beautiful.

He wasn't sure if pride or grief was winning inside him—maybe both. The applause continued, washing over him in waves, like the tide coming in to reshape the shoreline. He felt Amelia squeeze his hand once more, patient, steady, allowing him this moment to remain anchored in memory while everyone else moved forward.

The afternoon sun had mellowed by the time the ceremony wrapped up. The crowd in the garden gradually dispersed, leaving a hush broken only by distant laughter and the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze. Fragrant rose petals tipped the air with sweetness, and the stone benches bore warm imprints of guests just departed. Laurel was the first to spot them, her eyes brightening as she brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Laurel's face lit up. "Amelia! It's so good to see you again," she said warmly, stepping forward across the cobblestones. She opened her arms in an unmistakable invitation and gave Amelia a genuine hug. The sunlight caught flecks of gold in Amelia's hair as she returned the embrace, her shoulders relaxing.

Conrad moved up beside them, his posture easy but observant. He offered Laurel a grin. "Laur, hey." He folded her into a quick hug, and Laurel laughed softly against his shoulder. Amelia watched him, her smile soft.

Amelia turned to Steven, who'd lingered at the periphery, hands buried in the pockets of his trousers. "And you must be Steven. We've uh, spoken on the phone, but it's good to finally meet you in person."

Steven's grin widened as he stepped forward. "Yeah, funny how we've chatted a couple of times and never met." He extended a hand, but Amelia bypassed the formality, pulling him into a warm hug instead. Conrad watched them, a quiet laugh escaping him as he observed how easily she transformed strangers into friends.

A ripple of emotion crosses Belly's face as she notices Amelia for the first time. She'd braced herself for distance from Conrad, they hadn't seen each other since the motel, but not for this. Not for the gentle confidence of a woman who clearly belongs at his side.

Amelia's laugh floats easily between them, her hand linked with his like it's the most natural thing in the world. Their fingers are laced tightly, knuckles brushing with the intimacy of habit.

It feels like a soft tug at Belly's heart, a pull she thought she had buried. She tells herself she's happy for him—she loves Jeremiah, she chose him—but her chest aches with a quiet betrayal she can't explain. Amelia fits in too easily.

At that moment, Jeremiah appeared, coming around the fountain's curve with long strides. He lifted his chin and called out, "Con!" His voice carried easily across the meticulously maintained lawn.

"Hey, man," Conrad replied, offering a subtle nod in his direction, but remaining where he was, next to Amelia.

"Hey," Jeremiah returned. There was a brief look in his eyes—concern or support, Belly couldn't tell—which made her feel more torn in two than before.

Before she could sort her feelings, Adam emerged from the sun-dappled archway, wiping his hands on a his pants and wearing a proud smile that radiated to everyone around him. He reached Conrad first. "Connie, hey! That's my boy. Out there saving lives and still got time for family." He swept Conrad into a tight bear hug, squeezing him until he felt every muscle in Conrad's back tense.

"All right, Dad, relax. I'm not a doctor yet," Conrad chided, laughter in his voice, though his chest tightened at the weight of his unvoiced failure.

Adam turned next to Amelia, pulling her into a warm embrace of his own. "Amelia, lovely to see you again." His voice rumbled with approval.

"Hi, Adam. Lovely to see you too," she said softly, stepping in without hesitation and reciprocating the hug.

Conrad then pivoted back to Jeremiah who had walked over, pulling him in for a hug. "Good to see you, dude. And that speech—you crushed it."

"Thank you. I'm glad you're here," Jeremiah replied, a trace of relief in the timbre of his voice.

Conrad clears his throat, stepping back before finally facing Belly. For a moment, the air stills, stretched taut between past and present. Then she forces a smile. "Hi!"

"Hi," Conrad echoes, his tone cautious, as though measuring how much space he's allowed.

The silence lingers, unsteady, before he moves forward and pulls her into a quick embrace—the kind reserved for old friends rather than first loves. His arms tighten only briefly before he lets go. But when he steps back, her eyes linger, searching his for something unspoken. Summers and secrets, promises and heartbreak, all flash between them in a heartbeat.

Then his gaze shifts. Back to Amelia. Always back to Amelia.

Adam's jovial voice cuts through the fragile moment: "Ah, Connie, really glad to have his little sister around again."

The group freezes—each of them taken aback by Adam's obliviousness.

Conrad's smile is too wide, too practiced. "How you been, little sis?"

"Great, yeah... we've been great." Belly's laugh is brittle as she threads her arm through Jeremiah's for balance. She can feel Conrad's eyes, heavy with questions, and she refuses to look back at him for too long.

Amelia lingers just behind, as though she knows this history belongs to someone else. But when Conrad reaches back for her hand, she steps forward without hesitation. Their fingers entwine, sure and steady, while Belly feels her own grip tighten on Jeremiah's arm.

"I'd like to introduce you to my girlfriend, Amelia," Conrad says, voice lined with quiet pride.

"Hi, Belly. I've heard so much about you," Amelia says warmly, opening her arms for a hug.

Belly blinks at the unexpected sincerity. "Uh... hi?" she manages, stiffly leaning into the embrace. The warmth of Amelia's welcome only makes the ache in Belly's chest sharper.

Stepping back, both girls studied each other across the invisible line drawn between them. Belly's gaze travelled from Amelia's elegant collarbones to her confident posture, cataloguing every difference—Amelia's dark waves against her own straight hair, the other woman's willowy height where Belly had always been petite. She searched for similarities too, some trait Conrad had sought to replace, like finding a newer model of something once cherished. When Amelia's lips curved into another easy smile, Belly felt her own mouth tighten. How dare he find someone so effortlessly likable? The thought pricked her with unexpected venom, even as she reminded herself she was the one who chose to move on first.

From the edge of the gathering, a photographer called, "Picture time! Let's get a family photo, maybe by the bench?"

They shifted toward a carved stone bench beneath a blooming wisteria arch. Conrad ended up being manoeuvred beside Belly. He gave Amelia a quick glance, her serene expression comforting, and then looked at Belly, whose gaze flickered to the ground. Adam motioned Amelia closer.

"Amelia, come. Join in."

"No, no, it's okay. This is a special moment. I don't need to be in these," she protested gently, though her cheeks coloured slightly.

"Don't be foolish," Adam insisted with a grin. "You're practically family at this stage. Come, stand between Belly and Conrad."

Amelia nodded. "But at least take a couple before I join, so there's some with just them, please," she told the photographer. Then she positioned herself between Conrad and Belly, smiling as Conrad's hand slipped around her waist.

Conrad's eyes found Amelia's, softening at the edges in that way they never had with anyone else. His thumb brushed her wrist—a gesture so small yet so intimate that Belly had to look away. When she glanced back, she noticed how Amelia's hair caught the light, how her sundress draped perfectly across her shoulders. Of course she'd be graceful. Of course she'd be kind. Of course Conrad would look at her like she'd hung every star in his sky. Belly's throat tightened as she stood just a breath away, her own dress suddenly feeling too tight, too childish. She felt the engagement ring hidden in her pocket, wondering if Jeremiah had ever looked at her with such quiet certainty. The photographer adjusted her lens, and Belly found herself cataloguing all the ways Amelia was everything she wasn't—poised where she was impulsive, elegant where she was ordinary.

Shutter clicks rang out, capturing a family scene more layered than any photograph could reveal. Once the final shot was taken, the group began to drift towards their vehicles, preparing to head to their lunch reservation.

Conrad lingered for a moment, gazing back at the fountain's gentle cascade, his hands jammed in his pockets and shoulders slumped as though ready to bear a burden. Amelia stepped up beside him and slipped an arm through his, leaning into his side.

He exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing at her nearness. "It's harder than I thought it would be," he admitted quietly, voice barely above a whisper.

Amelia squeezed his hand. "Closure doesn't mean forgetting," she said softly, her words steady as a heartbeat. "It just means you're honouring what was and moving forward."

Conrad turned to really look at her—her clear-eyed compassion, the gentle set of her smile—and the tightness in his chest finally gave way. He wrapped an arm around her waist, resting his head lightly against hers. This felt different. This felt real.

He murmured, almost to himself, "I never imagined it could feel like this."

Amelia brushed her thumb across his knuckles. "That's because it's us," she whispered. "And this love... it's what we've built, together."

Conrad tightened his hold, letting her words settle between them like sunlight on their entwined hands. The path behind them glowed with memory, but the one ahead shimmered with promise—and they would walk it side by side.

The group arrived at the ocean-side restaurant just as the late afternoon sun glints off the water, turning the waves into a field of molten gold. A light breeze from the open windows stirs sea salt and the smoky aroma of grilled seafood up from the tables, weaving it with the delicate sweetness of jasmine and gardenias blooming in the entry garden nearby. The wooden flooring under their feet creaks as Laurel and Adam step forward, speaking in hushed tones as they fumble with the reservation.

Belly hangs back a pace, watching the others filter in through the arched doorway of weathered wood. Her gaze bounces between Steven—whose brow is slick with a sheen of sweat—and Jeremiah, who leans against the railing, arms folded, jaw clenched. A sense of unease pinches at her chest. Finally she turns to Steven, choosing measured calm over the quick temper she feels rising.

"So... Amelia," she starts, voice measured, "how long have you known her?"

Steven's eyes widen, his shoulders tossing forward like he's braced for an impact. He clears his throat. "Uh... well, I've spoken with her on the phone a couple of times. Conrad... he mentioned her a lot."

Belly arches one eyebrow, lips tipping into a slow frown. "Only on the phone?"

She glances toward Jeremiah, whose stiff posture slackens just enough, as if he's caught off guard. His gaze slides away, fixed on the ocean beyond the beach chairs, and a small click of betrayal echoes in her mind. He knew Amelia before today. She feels each beat of her heart grow heavier.

"And you," she says, pivoting so she can look him square in the eye, "why didn't you say anything?"

Jeremiah hesitates, flicking a look towards Steven. Jeremiah's jaw tightens, his lower lip twitching. "Yeah, I knew her. But it honestly slipped my mind."

Belly's eyes narrow, sharp as sea spray. "Slipped your mind? Really? I thought we said no more secrets between us..

Steven lifts his hands in a placating gesture, shadows from the driftwood lattices dancing across his palms. "Hey, calm down. I swear, we weren't hiding anything from you. I only knew her because... well, because Conrad talked about her. That's it."

She exhales, her words dissolving in the salt air. Her fingernails dig half-moons into her palms as she stares at Jeremiah. "So I'm just supposed to smile and nod? Everyone knew about her except me." She steps closer, lowering her voice. "What, did you all have some group chat where you discussed how to handle poor, fragile Belly?"

Her engagement ring presses against her thigh through the pocket of her sundress. She'd planned to show it off today—now it feels like a secret burning a hole through the fabric.

Her eyes darted to Steven who had excused himself from the growing argument. "We're engaged," she whispers, the words catching. "I chose you, Jere." But even as she says it, unbidden images surface of a boy who looks romantic with wet hair, who spoke promises of infinity against her lips.

Jeremiah's Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. His fingers twitch at his sides. "It wasn't like that, Bells. Conrad dating someone isn't exactly breaking news."

"Then why hide it?"

"Nobody was hiding anything," he says, but his eyes slide away from hers, fixing on a point over her shoulder.

The crunch of footsteps on gravel makes her spine stiffen. She doesn't need to turn to know who it is—the sudden tightness in her chest tells her everything. Conrad's voice carries across the deck, light with laughter, and Amelia's melodic response follows. Belly's heart lurches sideways, a boat hitting unexpected rocks

Laurel emerges from the interior, reservation confirmation in hand and cheeks flushed by the last rays of sun. She offers a bright, if slightly forced, smile. "Alright, everyone, they've got our table ready. Let's get inside before the sun sets."

The midday sun slanted through the restaurant's floor-to-ceiling windows, scattering prisms of light across the white linen tablecloth. The lunch wasn't exactly awkward, but the tension around the younger ones at the table was palpable. Laurel leaned toward Amelia with a warm smile, trying to ease the mood. "So, Amelia, I heard about your software! How's it doing?"

Amelia's face brightened, her shoulders relaxing as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Animatedly she explained the user interface and growth metrics, her voice rising with excitement. The soft clatter of silverware and subdued hum of other diners faded into the background. Soon Steven joined in, sliding his phone across the cloth to show the simplistic, colourful game he'd created for his final project at Princeton. His eyes lit up as he swiped through levels, narrating each one like a proud parent.

Conrad watched them both with a soft smile, his hand brushing Amelia's under the table—a small gesture, but electric. He leaned in so only she could feel the warmth of his palm. When Amelia looked up, he smirked and lightly pinched her thigh, prompting her to laugh and swat at him. The sound of her laughter cracked the tension for a moment, but across the table, Belly's gaze lingered on the intimate exchange, her unease growing with every subtle touch.

Laurel glanced at Adam over her wine glass, raising an eyebrow in playful conspirator as a waiter came to take their order. "Anyway, lunch is on me, Adam." He spread his hands in mock surrender, grin wide. "In that case, I'll get the surf and turf, thank you." Jeremiah shifted in his seat, one knee knocking against the table's leg. "Uh... same here, thanks." Belly, fingers twisting the edge of her napkin as she noted the menus pricing, offered in a quieter voice, "I'll have the tomato bisque, please." Laurel paused mid-sip, arching an eyebrow. "For your entree?" "I'm not that hungry," she murmured, eyes dropping to her spoon.

Conrad glanced over to place his order with the waiter, voice low and warm. "I'd love the salmon, thank you." Amelia requested the Bolognese, and Steven opted for swordfish, each announcement punctuated by polite nods from the server.

Adam waved toward the waiter as he passed by. "Actually, can we get a seafood tower right away? I won't let Belly starve while we wait." "Uh... thanks, Mr. Fisher," Belly said, forcing a laugh that fluttered helplessly around the table. "Come on, we're all adults here," Adam said, smiling broadly. "No more Mr. Fisher. I finally got Amelia to break that habit." Belly swallowed and tried again. "I'll try, Adam."

Steven leaned toward Conrad, voice low and teasing. "So why don't you ever leave California, Fisher?" Conrad shrugged casually, though his shoulders bunched ever so slightly. "Well, I'm here now, aren't I? Besides, I brought Amelia here over spring break." Steven chuckled, raising his eyebrows. "So that's what it takes to get you to visit—showing your girlfriend around?" Amelia rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Mr. Med School here forces me to drag him out to socialize. But maybe... now that I've officially met you, you can help convince him to go to a bar or something before we leave." "Hell yes! Cheers to that," Steven replied with a laugh, lifting the rolled-cloth napkin in a mock toast.

Laurel set down her glass, voice softening. "Before everyone gets sloppy, Adam and I want to make a little toast."

"Thank you, Laurel," Adam said, lifting his glass and inclining his head. "That was a beautiful day celebrating a beautiful woman. I'm glad we could honour Susannah together. To Suz." "To Beck," Laurel added, her voice catching on the nickname. Jeremiah and Conrad both murmured, "To Mum." Steven, Belly, and Amelia followed with, "To Susannah." Glasses clinked lightly, the crystal ringing out like a delicate bell.

Laurel smiled, her gaze sweeping each face in turn. "We also wanted to say a little something to each of you. Steven, you had quite a scare recently." "Oh my god, woman, I'm fine!" he groaned, leaning back in his chair and earning a ripple of laughter from the group. "I know," Laurel said, still smiling fondly, "but it reminded us that despite your impressive achievements—thank you for saving my last semester at Princeton—you'll always be my baby."

Conrad and Amelia exchanged gentle glances as Adam shot Jeremiah a knowing look at the tuition comment. Laurel raised her glass again. "To Steven." "That's so sweet," Conrad murmured. "Shut up, bro," Steven muttered, rolling his eyes but unable to hide a grin.

Adam kept his eyes warm on Conrad. "Steven's not the only impressive one. To Connie, soon-to-be doctor, smart and selfless. And Amelia, the kind of woman I could only hope Conrad would find."

Amelia inclines her head in thanks, her cheeks blooming pink as she catches Conrad's eye. The flush spreads down her neck as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. Belly watches this exchange, a lump forming in her throat that she can't swallow past. Adam's words echo in her mind, each syllable a tiny needle. She grips her water glass, knuckles whitening, as memories of summers past flood her consciousness. Once, those words might have been about her. "And Belly, my sweet girl," Laurel added, voice thick with memory. "I remember traveling abroad for the first time... To your bright future." Adam nodded toward Jeremiah, who straightened in his chair, the collar of his button-down suddenly too tight. "And our super senior. Fingers crossed—only one more semester till the diploma."

"Dad..." Conrad hissed under his breath, the single syllable carrying years of warning.

Amelia's hand found Conrad's knee under the table, a gentle pressure that said more than words. Her eyes, warm amber in the restaurant's light, darted between father and son, cataloguing the minute shifts in their expressions—Adam's tightening jaw, Jeremiah's forced smile that didn't reach his eyes. Conrad's fingers curled into a fist beside his water glass, knuckles whitening. The spring break visit flashed through his mind: the three of them on the deck, his father finally clapping Jeremiah on the shoulder with something like pride. All that progress evaporating in a single barbed comment.

Belly watched the exchange, feeling the familiar Fisher family tension crackling in the air like static before a storm. She'd seen this dance a hundred times—Adam's casual cruelty, Conrad's protective anger, Jeremiah pretending it didn't cut deep. The weight of Susannah's absence pressed down on them all, she would have diffused this with a laugh, a gentle redirection.

Instead, Belly cleared her throat. She sat up straighter, shoulders back, chin lifted—the posture her mother had taught her for ballet recitals when she was seven. Courage, not grace. Her gaze flicked to Conrad and Amelia, their hands now intertwined on the tablecloth, before settling on Jeremiah's downturned face. His eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks, and something inside her chest expanded, fierce and certain.

"Jer actually has big plans for his future too," she said, her voice small but clear as a bell cutting through the tension. She reached for Jeremiah's hand, feeling his pulse hammering against her palm. Their eyes met, a silent confirmation passing between them. "He and I... we're getting married. In August."

Her announcement shattered the polite veneer of lunch. "What?" Steven muttered, leaning forward. "I'm sorry, what?" Laurel asked, brows drawn together. "What?" Belly repeated, hands tightening. "Is this a joke?" Laurel pressed, voice low but sharp. "No," Belly and Jeremiah said in unison, each chin raised a fraction. "Jesus Christ," Adam muttered under his breath. "That's what I mean about responsibility. What did you drag her into?"

Jeremiah shook his head, eyes frantic. "Wh-what are you talking about? I'm not dragging her into anything." "Wait, wait—are you serious?" Steven asked, eyes wide and shining with disbelief. "Yes," they both said firmly, shoulders squared.

"You guys are not ready for this," Laurel said, frowning, her knuckles whitening on the stem of her glass. "No," Adam echoed, voice flat. "This is very irresponsible," Laurel added, looking between them like a judge weighing a verdict. "We love each other. We want to be together," Jeremiah said, voice soft but unwavering. "You are together," Laurel said, releasing a slow breath. "If you want to take the next step, move in together... foster a cat. Why rush to get married?" "Because I love him, and because he's my family," Belly said firmly, lifting her chin. "And what Susannah always said, right? Family is the most important thing."

"I hope you don't think you're getting your mother's ring," Adam muttered, low and biting. "No, Dad. I didn't expect that," Jeremiah said, voice sinking. Belly fumbled for her pocket, before showing a tiny, delicate ring on her finger. "We don't need Susannah's ring—Jere got me my own." "With what money?" Adam asked, eyes narrowing. "Mine," Jeremiah said quietly, the single word hanging in the stillness.

"No. I cannot believe this is happening right now," Laurel said, exasperated, pushing her chair back an inch. "Holy shit," Steven muttered, half to himself. "Can you shut up?" Belly snapped, cheeks flushing. "No, this is crazy," Steven replied, voice rising. "Shut up, Steven. What is your problem?" she demanded, eyes burning.

Steven turned to Conrad, eyebrows lifted. "Did you know about this?" "Uh... no," Conrad admitted, hands raised slightly in surrender, his face open and guilt-tinged.

A waiter interrupted then, setting down the seafood tower with a practiced flourish. Lobsters lay atop glistening oysters, crab claws jutting from the ice like flint. The aesthetic clashed violently with the atmosphere around the table.

Laurel put a firm hand on the server's arm. "Actually, there's been a change in plans. Cancel everything. I'll take the check." "Are you serious?" Belly asked, voice trembling. "Yes. I'm very serious," Laurel said, tone final.

After a stunned pause, Belly rose. Her chair scraped softly against the tile floor as she straightened her shoulders and reached for Jeremiah's hand. "Fine. Let's go, Jere."

She and Jeremiah left the table, hand in hand, their exit echoing in the sudden hush. Conrad and Amelia exchanged a quiet, knowing glance, seated amid the half-finished glasses and abandoned pride. The afternoon sun glowed gently beyond the window, as if nothing had changed — but everything had.

________________________________

I'll be honest, I really struggled with the engagement announcement scene. It's so dialogue heavy, and I wanted to stay as true to the show as possible.

Do you guys prefer smaller chapters, or larger like this?

On a fun note, we've officially crossed the 100k word mark, so congrats on making it this far with me!