Chapter Text
Sixth Grade – The First Day
The hallways smelled faintly of pencil shavings, floor wax, and, unfortunately, sweat. Mel kept her eyes on her schedule, clutching it so tightly the paper wrinkled. The words Period 1: Mr. Gemmell swam in her vision as kids jostled past, already chattering like they belonged here.
Her stomach twisted. She didn’t know a soul. She felt all too new. She didn’t grow up with any of these kids. Her locker felt cold as she leaned against it, trying to make herself as small as possible.
“Hey,” a crackling high voice broke through.
She looked up. A boy leaned against the lockers like he’d already mastered sixth grade, messy brown hair falling into his eyes, and backpack straps slung loose over his shoulders. He glanced at the paper in her hand, then leaned forward to properly inspect it.
“You’ve got Mr. Gemmell too?”
She blinked at him. “Um… yeah?”
He grinned down at her, crooked and confident. “Me too. And—” he tapped his own schedule that was side by side with hers— “then I have math, science, and history. What about you? Oh! Looks like we’re gonna be stuck together all day.” He never stopped talking to breathe, too excited looking between their papers.
Mel’s cheeks went warm. Did he want to be friends? “Really?”
“Really,” he said, like it was the best news of his life. He smiled, dimples on full display.
“I’m Frank- my mom wanted me as Francis but my dad likes Franklin better so they compromised,” he explained rapidly as they started walking together. She followed him into the classroom, other kids piling in alongside them; he jumped up to reach the doorframe and succeeded. Mel was glad he didn’t see her attempt the same action.
“Melissa! But everyone calls me Mel,” by everyone she meant family.
By the time the bell rang at the end of the day, she had spent it entirely with him. And when she shuffled onto the bus, there he was again, dropping into the empty seat beside her like it was the most natural thing in the world. He was like a shadow.
“I hate sitting alone,” he said, flashing her another grin. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“Not at all,” she murmured, hugging her backpack, and secretly, she was glad she wasn’t alone.
⸻
Winter Break - Sixth Grade
Snow fell thick and heavy that December, muffling their little town in all white. Mel was curled on the couch with Becca, half-watching cartoons, when the doorbell rang loudly.
She opened it to find Frank, cheeks flushed from the cold, hat crooked over his ears. His coat looked a size too big, and his sleeves swallowed his hands. He had huge boots on up to his knees practically.
“You wanna go sledding? Bec’s can come too!” he asked, breath puffing in the air.
Mel hesitated, glancing back inside. Becca shook her head immediately, declaring it was “too cold.”
But Mel’s heart was already racing. “Let me get my gloves.”
An hour later, they were flying down the tallest hill they could find, shrieking as the sled spun and dumped them face-first into a snowbank. Mel’s hair stuck to her scarf, her nose was red and runny, but she couldn’t stop laughing. Her glasses were delightfully covered in snowflakes.
Frank rolled over beside her, snow dusting his lashes. “Best crash yet,” he declared out of breath.
She grinned, breathless, and thought she’d never been so happy.
⸻
Spring Break – Seventh grade
The April sun was warm, the kind that made the grass smell sharp and earthy. Mel sprawled on her back in the pollen-coated field behind her house, arms flung wide. Beside her, Frank lay with his hands tucked behind his head, legs crossed like he owned the sky.
“That one looks like a dragon,” he said, pointing.
Mel squinted. “It looks like a rabbit.”
“You’ve got no imagination,” he teased.
She kicked lightly at his sneaker, and he laughed, rolling onto his side to look at her. His hair was longer now, his voice carrying a rasp that hadn’t been there in September.
“Bet we’ll have all our classes together next year too,” he said.
Mel wrinkled her nose. “Maybe, I mean our last name initials are close in the alphabet. You’ll get tired of me though.”
“That’s not possible,” he said without missing a beat, eyes bright and certain.
Her heart gave a strange little flip. She turned her gaze back to the clouds, hoping he wouldn’t notice the smile tugging at her mouth.
⸻
Fourth of July
The backyard smelled of barbecue smoke and sparklers, and the ground was littered with popsicle sticks. Becca had abandoned the trampoline hours ago, rolling her eyes at how “bouncy” it was. Mel didn’t mind. She liked having it to herself—well, herself and Frank.
They bounced lazily side by side, not even high anymore, just enough to feel the springs squeak beneath them. Fireflies winked in the grass, and above the treeline, fireworks began to bloom—red, green, gold.
Frank lay back with a sigh, hands tucked behind his head, watching the sky explode. Mel followed, her shoulder brushing his.
“Hey,” he said after a while, his voice quieter than usual. Fireworks in the neighborhood were sporadically going off, blue and red filling the sky loudly, but she heard him all the same.
She turned her head toward him. “What?”
He looked at her, cheeks glowing in the firework light. “We should make a deal.”
Her brow furrowed. “What kind of deal?”
“If we’re not married by… I dunno, thirty,” he said cheekily, “we’ll marry each other.”
Mel’s jaw dropped. “That sounds so stupid!” She hid her face behind her hands, laughing nervously.
“Yeah, but it’d be fun.” He nudged her elbow gently. “Promise?”
She peeked out, expecting him to be joking—but he wasn’t. His grin was a little shy, his eyes strangely earnest.
Her breath caught. “I promise,” she whispered back.
For a second, neither of them moved. Then Frank leaned over, quick and certain, and pressed his lips to her cheek. He tried to be chaste but he let go with a smacking pop. Mel cringed at the wet feeling, her skin tingling, and before she could lose her nerve, she leaned toward him too and kissed his cheek in return.
He laughed, flopping back onto the trampoline, covering his face with his hands like he couldn’t believe he’d done it. Mel lay back beside him, grinning up at the fireworks, heart hammering against her ribs.
It wasn’t a genuine kiss, not yet. But it was theirs. And somehow, she knew she’d never forget it.
+
Freshman Year
Mel was slumped over Frank's kitchen table, her geometry worksheet already dotted with eraser smudges. Her pencil tapped a nervous rhythm against the page. “None of this makes any sense,” she muttered, staring at the angles like they were taunting her.
Frank was sprawled across from her, his own textbook half-closed, head propped on his hand. His hair was longer now, dark bangs hanging in his eyes, and his voice had started carrying a low rasp that made him sound older than fourteen.
“Here,” he said, pulling her paper toward him. He sketched a quick triangle, labeling the sides with easy strokes. “You’re overthinking. It’s just like this.”
Mel frowned, then blinked. “Wait… that’s it?”
“That’s it.” He leaned back, grinning smugly. “I told you, I’m a genius.”
She rolled her eyes, but a laugh escaped before she could stop it. When she glanced up, he was watching her with that grin that was just slightly too proud.
Her stomach fluttered. She quickly looked back at her paper, cheeks hot.
That same night, while they packed away their books, Frank asked quietly, “You still thinking about being a doctor?”
Mel nodded, hugging her folder to her chest. “Emergency medicine.”
“Same.” His grin softened, turned almost serious. “We’ll do it together, then.”
It wasn’t a joke, not really. So she didn’t laugh. She just whispered, “I promise,”
⸻
Sophomore Year –
Mel’s friend from the choir had begged her to come. “It won’t be weird,” the girl had insisted awkwardly. “You and Frank will make it fun.”
But sitting in the sticky vinyl booth of the Main Street Diner, Mel wished she’d stayed home. Across from her, Frank’s date stirred her milkshake with a straw, bored, and not having fun like she said it would be. Mel’s own “date” chewed gum so loudly she could barely hear herself think.
Frank tried valiantly to make conversation. “So, uh… You like track?”
His date shrugged, eyes on the jukebox. Mel bit the inside of her cheek, trying not to laugh at how miserable he looked.
Finally, he leaned back, exasperated. “This is terrible.”
Mel burst into laughter, nearly choking on her soda. The sound made her date frown, but Frank’s mouth twitched into a smile.
By the time the check came, the other two were whispering about leaving early. Mel and Frank ended up walking home under the yellow wash of the streetlights, shoulders brushing side by side.
“That was officially the worst night of my life,” Mel declared, hugging her jacket, well, Franks, tighter against the chill.
“Never again,” Frank said firmly. “We’re not built for double dates.”
Her laugh softened into a smile. His hand brushed hers once, then again, and she tucked her hands in her pockets before she could accidentally grab it.
⸻
Junior Year
The window squeaked as it slid up, and Mel all but yelped and jumped before Frank’s head appeared, grinning. “Relax dude. It’s just me.”
She shoved a pillow at him. “You scared me!”
“Wanna go on a midnight drive?” His whisper was conspiratorial, full of mischief.
She hesitated for only a second before tugging on her sneakers. Moments later, they were in his beat-up car, windows rolled down, warm summer air streaming in.
He drove them out past town limits, gravel roads crunching beneath the tires, until they parked by the creek. Shoes off, they dangled their feet into the cool water, fireflies sparking in the trees.
Frank leaned back on his palms, staring up at the stars. “Promise me we’ll get out of here someday.”
Mel turned her head. “Out of town?”
“Yeah. This place, it’s just too small. I want more. Don’t you?”
She studied him, the sharp cut of his jaw in the moonlight, his dimples ever so prominent, the way his expression was both restless and certain. She swallowed. “Yeah. I want more too.”
He looked at her then, something unreadable in his eyes, and her heart skittered. She had the wild thought that if she leaned forward, just a few inches, their lips would meet.
But instead she whispered, “I promise,” and he nodded, completely satisfied. The moment passed, leaving her both relieved and aching.
⸻
Junior Year – Last day of school
It started over nothing. A boy from chemistry—tall, loud, a little too cocky, yet funny—had asked Mel to a movie the first day of summer, and she’d said yes. She hadn’t even thought to mention it to Frank until Becca blurted it out during dinner when he came over.
The next day, Frank wouldn’t look at her. Wouldn’t sit with her at lunch. He wouldn’t meet her eyes in biology. By the time she cornered him at his locker, her patience was gone.
“What’s your freaking problem?” she demanded. She almost stomped her foot at him she was so mad.
He slammed the locker shut, lugging his backpack on. “You could’ve told me.”
“Why?” she shot back. “It’s not like it’s a big deal.”
His jaw clenched. “It is to me.”
The words rang between them, louder than the crowded hallway. Mel’s throat tightened, and before she could ask what he meant, he skimmed past her and disappeared into the tide of students.
That night, she sat on her bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering why her chest hurt so much when she thought about him sitting in that dark theater with her.
⸻
Senior Year – First day of school
The bus rattled down the highway, filled with chatter and the crinkle of snack wrappers. Mel had snagged a window seat, hoping to nap, when Frank slid in beside her.
“Still mad at me?” he asked quietly. Over the summer he did so much to prove he was sorry. She was the one holding onto the past.
She kept her arms folded, eyes on the passing trees. “Maybe.”
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I just- I didn’t like thinking about you with someone else, okay?”
Well, that was a new excuse.
Her heart thudded. She turned to him, startled by the rawness in his voice. “Frank…”
“I know it’s stupid.” He gave a half-smile, but it was tired. “But I really am sorry.”
Mel’s chest softened for him. She bumped her shoulder against his. “It’s fine. I forgive you.”
For a moment, neither moved. Then Frank leaned in, hesitating just long enough for her breath to catch, and pressed his lips against her cheek.
Heat flooded her face. She laughed nervously, whispering, “That’s cheating.”
So she kissed his cheek back, quick and soft, both of them pulling away with shy grins. The bus hummed beneath them, the world blurring past outside, and it felt like they were in a bubble where nothing else existed.
+
Graduation Night
The football field smelled of cut grass and mixed perfumes and colognes. Mel’s cap sat crooked on her head, tassel brushing her cheek as she searched the crowd. She spotted him instantly—Frank, all too tall now, broad-shouldered in his gown, tossing his cap into the air with a whoop. He stood only a row behind her and when she went to hug him in congratulations, he picked her up, spinning her around like they were in a movie.
Later, when the parents drifted off and the stadium lights dimmed, they found themselves sprawled on the hood of his car in a random parking out outside of town. The night hummed with cicadas, both of them in their suit and dresses, diplomas safely tucked into the dashboard.
“So,” Frank said, breaking the quiet. “Where are you headed?”
“Charlottesville. UVA,” Mel said, voice soft but proud. “Pre-med.”
He let out a low whistle. “Knew you’d end up somewhere fancy.”
“What about you?”
He hesitated, scratching the back of his neck. “West Virginia U. Close enough to home, I guess. I’ll figure it out there.”
Mel smiled, but she caught the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. She nudged his arm. “You’ll do great.”
They fell quiet again, staring up at the stars. Frank rolled his head to look at her. His eyes burned right through her. “You still remember our deal, right?”
Her cheeks warmed. He was still on that? “Frank—”
“I’m serious,” he said, grin crooked but eyes earnest. “Thirty’s not that far off anymore.”
Mel laughed, trying to keep her chest from tightening. “Fine. I promise.”
“I promise,” he echoed, softer this time. He leaned over and kissed her cheek, his palm cupping her face—slow, lingering, unlike the other chaste ones as children. She kissed his in return, the same ritual they’d carried since middle school, though this one felt heavier.
⸻
College Years
In the first months apart, they wrote to each other constantly. Mel’s letters were crammed with stories of late-night study groups, anatomy labs, and her professors’ impossible standards. Frank’s letters were looser, funny anecdotes about dorm pranks, football games, and the cafeteria food that could “kill a man.”
She kept his hoodies, the ones he’d tossed at her during summer nights. They smelled faintly of detergent and axe. She wore them in the library, sleeves swallowing her hands, a comfort when the work felt too much.
He joked in one letter, “At least my hoodies are getting an Ivy League education, even if I’m not.”
⸻
Winter Break – Freshmen Year
When they reunited that December, it was like nothing had changed. They biked the old roads until their legs ached, stopped at the gas station for sodas, and teased each other like they were still sixteen.
But something was different. On the ride home, he coasted close enough that his knee brushed hers, lingering. At the theater, he leaned against her shoulder when the movie dragged. Neither mentioned it, but when they hugged goodbye at the end of the night, neither wanted to let go.
⸻
Spring Break – Freshmen Year
By spring, the letters were shorter, less frequent. Mel knew he was struggling—he hinted at bad grades, skipped classes, maybe even drinking too much—but when he showed up at her door for spring break, none of it mattered.
They spent whole days together, long drives through the mountains with the windows down, music blasting. At the diner, he reached across the table to steal her fries, fingers brushing hers, gaze lingering a moment too long.
That night, walking her home, his hand brushed hers again and this time she didn’t move away. They walked the whole block like that—knuckles touching, never quite holding hands.
⸻
Sophomore Year
By the second year, their letters came less often. Mel’s were filled with medical terms, stories of labs and rotations, and her excitement at shadowing doctors already in the ER. Frank grew shorter, slower to arrive, more strained between the jokes.
She could feel the distance. He called less, replied less, until sometimes months passed before she heard from him. She told herself he was just busy. But she knew.
⸻
Breaks
Still, whenever they saw each other—Christmas, spring, the occasional summer—they fell back into orbit. Movies, bikes, drives. They leaned closer than they used to. Hugged longer. Sat shoulder-to-shoulder until one of them fell asleep against the other.
It was unspoken, always unspoken. But when Frank hugged her goodbye before heading back to campus, his arms lingered tight around her waist, face buried in her hair like he didn’t want to let go.
And Mel, heart breaking painfully within her chest, clutched desperately at the back of his hoodie.
Junior Year
Mel hadn’t wanted to go. She had a test Monday morning, clinical notes to review, and a laundry basket full of scrubs shoved in the corner of her dorm room. But one of her classmates—bright, insistent, armed with eyeliner and a promise that Mel needed this—had tugged her along to the off-campus party anyway.
The house smelled like beer and cheap perfume, and the bass rattled through her ribcage. Mel stood near the kitchen, cup in hand, pretending to sip, laughing when she was supposed to, but always on the outside of the circle.
That’s when he found her—Jake? Jason?—a guy from one of her study groups. He wasn’t unattractive. His smile was easy, his hair too gelled, his laugh a little too loud. But he was kind in the way boys at these parties rarely were, asking her about her classes, leaning in when the music swelled, brushing her arm like he wanted to be gentle.
“Come on,” he said after a while, tugging her toward the backyard. “There’s gonna be fireworks,”
The night air was cool against her flushed cheeks. The backyard was strung with paper lanterns, kids shouting and smoking along the fence line. Then, the first crack—fireworks exploded overhead, streaking red and green across the sky.
Mel tilted her chin up as she witnessed the display of neon blue, red, and white, her chest aching with memories. Summer nights. Trampoline springs creaking beneath her. Frank’s hand warm and comforting in hers. The promise whispered under breath, sealed with clumsy cheek kisses and laughter that felt like it would last forever.
“You’re so pretty,” Jake-or-Jason said, pulling her closer. His breath smelled faintly of beer. “I’ve sort of been wanting to do this for weeks.”
Her stomach twisted as he leaned in, eyes closing, lips hovering just above hers. For a split second, she thought: maybe this is it. Maybe this is how she was supposed to move on. Maybe this is how she could stop missing him.
But the second stretched too long, and all she could think about was Frank. The promise. The only boy she had ever wanted,
Mel flinched back before contact. The near-kiss left her skin crawling with guilt and loneliness. “I’m sorry, you’re a great guy,” she blurted, breathless, before he could ask why. “I just—I can’t.”
His confusion and hurt barely registered; she was already grabbing her bag, weaving through the crowded house, her pulse hammering.
By the time she reached her dorm, her hands were shaking. She dropped onto her bed, the silence roaring in her ears. Her phone lit up her lap as she scrolled to his name—Frank. Her thumb hovered over the call button.
But he wouldn’t answer. Not tonight. Not anymore.
Mel pressed the phone to her chest instead, curling on her side, her heart breaking with the truth she didn’t want to face: no one else would ever feel right, because her heart had never left him.
She cried herself to sleep, fireworks still ringing in her memory, her promise unbroken but unbearably lonely.
+
Residency
The chapel was packed with faces Mel recognized but hadn’t spoken to in years. White lilies crowded the altar, their sweetness thick and cloying. Becca cried so hard her whole body trembled, her hand clutching Mel’s sleeve like a lifeline. Her sister hated touch but it was all she could do.
Mel didn’t cry.
She couldn’t. Her chest was hollow, her throat raw from holding it in. Everyone came up to her with their practiced lines—she was a wonderful woman, you girls are so strong, your mother would be proud—but the words slid over her like rain on glass. It was all empty words. Nothing would ever be the same again.
She stood at the grave as the earth thudded down on the coffin. She thought about calling Frank. She could hear his voice in her head, teasing and warm: Mel, you don’t have to do this alone.
But he wouldn’t pick up. He hasn’t in months. Or maybe it’s been years now. She’s since lost track.
So when the last clump of soil was shoveled and the crowd drifted back to their cars, Mel slipped her phone deeper into her pocket and followed Becca home in silence.
That night, she washed dishes until her hands were raw and the hot water was blistering. Becca had fallen asleep on the couch, curled in their mother’s purple blanket.
Mel stood over her and whispered, “I’ll take care of you. Don’t worry,”
It was a promise she was sure she could keep. Mel has been failed by the people she loved most but this was a vow to Becca she could never break.
⸻
It was 2 a.m., the apartment quiet except for the hum of the fridge. Mel sat at the kitchen table in her scrubs, hair tied back in a messy knot, eating cereal out of the box because she was too tired to find a bowl. She considered combining it with vanilla ice cream but she was so comfortable in the rickety, wooden dining room chairs.
She was scrolling absentmindedly, her thumb numb from the motion, when she saw it. A photo—Frank in a suit, Abby on his arm, her hand lifted to show a huge, glittering ring.
The caption read: She said yes.
Mel froze. The cereal went soggy in her mouth. She put the box down carefully, like it might shatter, and stared until her vision blurred.
Her first thought was how happy he looked. Her second was how badly it hurt to see him happy without her.
She closed the app, opened it again, and looked again. As if maybe she’d misread it, maybe it wasn’t him. But it was.
When Becca shuffled out for a cup of water, Mel shoved her phone under a pile of notes and forced a smile. “I couldn’t sleep,” she said.
Later, when Becca was asleep again, Mel dug out her patient files and started charting until the sun came up, handwriting shaking from exhaustion but steady enough to keep her heart from breaking.
⸻
Her apartment never smelled like home. Just cleaning supplies and microwaved meals.
Becca tried—she attempted to cook sometimes, left candles burning, filled the silence with TV shows and music—but the emptiness was too big to cover.
Mel came home at odd hours, shoulders aching, shoes stained with fluids she didn’t want to name. She dropped her bag by the door every time, collapsed on the couch without a doubt, and stared at the ceiling until her breathing evened out.
Sometimes, in the quiet, she’d pull one of Frank’s old hoodies from the back of her closet. It was soft from years of washing, the sleeves still too long. She’d bury her face in the collar and imagine she was sixteen again, sitting beside him on the trampoline, fireflies blinking in the summer dark.
It never lasted. The hoodie would cool, and she’d realize she was just a grown woman clinging to scraps of a boy who no longer belonged to her.
⸻
Emergency medicine became her entire world. The chaos, the alarms, the adrenaline—she clung to it. Shift after shift, she put on her gloves and waded into the noise, because when she was saving people she didn’t have time to feel how unsaved she was.
Her colleagues whispered about her.
Machine.
Prodigy.
She's heartless.
She let them. Better that than the truth—that every minute she wasn’t working was a minute she risked remembering what her life once was.
Fun.
Carefree.
Full of love.
When her body finally gave out—28 hours without sleep, hands shaking so badly she couldn’t tie her shoes, let alone sutures—she locked herself in the supply closet and pressed her forehead to the cold shelves.
“Get up, Mel,” she whispered. “Don’t be weak.”
She slapped at her own cheeks, feeling disgusted with herself. She felt lazy.
“Don’t be weak like him.”
She thought of Frank—his laughter, his promises, his smile in someone else’s wedding photo—and forced herself to stand and to go back into the fray.
⸻
Holidays
Christmas came and went without fanfare. No tree. No carols. Just Mel and Becca sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, takeout cartons between them.
“Want to open presents?” Becca asked, trying to appear cheerful.
Mel gave her a tired smile. “I’m sorry but I didn’t get anything.”
She’d forgotten the time of year.
“Me neither,”
That was a lie. Mel would come to find out her gifts were clumsily wrapped in the corner of Becca’s closet.
They clinked their plastic chopsticks like glasses and ate in silence.
That spring, Mel got a card from Frank’s parents. A generic Hallmark thing about wishing you joy and health. She stared at it for hours on the counter, then slid it into the trash before she could burn it over the stove.
She told herself she didn’t care. But the next night, when she was charting vitals at 3 a.m., she found her eyes blurring with tears she refused to wipe away.
+
Mel was all too excited for PTMC. She matched right away after the VA and it was close to Becca’s overnight facility. It was perfection. Nothing could ruin this.
Then she saw him.
Older, sharper around the eyes, lines carved deep into his forehead, but still him. Same grin, same easy shoulders, cracking open an energy drink.
Her stomach dropped. He didn’t seem at all surprised to see her. He must’ve known she would be among the new residents.
“Morning, Doc,” he said when their eyes met, voice low, familiar.
“Dr. Langdon,” she answered crisply, pretending her new charting iPad was more interesting than his face.
He smirked, undeterred. “Mel. Come on. After all this time, I don’t even get a hi?”
She kept walking. She listened to Dr. Robby. She introduced herself to everyone, no one caring. But she had patients to see, vitals to chart, and lives to save. She didn’t have time for nostalgia or friends and they certainly had no time for her.
But throughout the shift, he was everywhere—leaning against the counter where she was trying to write orders, tossing her old middle school nicknames under his breath (Mellybean, don’t tell me you’re still nervous about IV lines), nudging her shoulder when no one was looking. She wanted to shove him hard enough that he’d bump into cabinets.
It was infuriating. And worse—it made her chest ache.
So she avoided him as best she could. Took cases on the opposite end of the Pitt. A little boy who took gummies. A man with autism who hurt his ankle. She ate a granola bar in the stairwell instead of the break room. She answered in clipped, professional tones when he tried to start conversations.
But Frank had always been persistent.
Cleaning up the fight bite together was torture. The woman was yelling and the lights were too bright. She felt herself slipping.
“You okay?” He asked gently, leaning forward when they went to leave the room. He bullied the woman about her surgeons wearing masks.
She froze. For a moment, she almost let herself fall into the warmth of it, the way he was looking at her like she was still the girl on the trampoline in the backyard.
Instead, she shoved past him rudely. “I’m fine.”
Behind her, his sigh followed down the hall.
⸻
It wasn’t shocking, when it happened. Sad but true.
One day, Frank was there—laughing too loudly in the break room, stealing her pens, trying too hard to catch her eye. The next, he wasn’t.
The official word was medical leave. But Mel knew better.
When someone mentioned rehab in a hushed voice near the nurses’ station, she only nodded at that. She didn’t ask questions. She’d spent too long learning not to expect him to stay. God forbid he did his job properly.
At home that night, Becca asked, “Are you alright sissy?”
Mel stared at her sister. Yes, Frank and Mel were the closest, but he and Becca were like siblings growing up too. He tutored her, defended her from anyone if anyone threw a comment her way. He listened to her and knew how to. He was kind to her, before he left both their lives without a trace.
Just like their mother. But she’s gone. Becca had next to no one but Mel.
Mel set her tea down, steady. “Work is just tiring.”
⸻
When he came back almost a year later, well, it startled her.
He looked completely different, to the point he was almost, just almost, unrecognizable.
Thinner, but steadier. His skin much clearer and sweat-free, his eyes brighter. He didn’t swagger into the ER like before. He didn’t walk like he owned the place. He walked in quietly, deliberately, like he was rebuilding himself step by step.
“Hey,” he said softly when he saw her, no grin this time. Just sincerity.
She swallowed, heart thudding. “You’re back.”
He nodded. “For good this time.”
All day, he worked alongside her—calm and collected. He didn’t push. Didn’t tease. Just did his job, his hands sure and steady on every procedure. She knew that would end soon enough.
When the shift ended, he caught her alone in a hallway. “Mel,” he said, voice low, earnest. “I’m not running anymore. I know I’ve given you every reason not to believe me, but I’m here now. And I’m not going anywhere. I promise,”
She wanted to tell him she didn’t care. That she was fine without him. That she’d learned to live with his absence.
But the way he was looking at her—like she’d been his anchor all along—made her knees go weak.
She hated him for that.
“You say that now,” she replied before moving past him, eager for a new case to put her mind on.
+
Frank had always carried himself like he belonged in every room, but now there was something almost tentative in the way he hovered in the ER.
He laughed too loudly when he shouldn’t, nudged her shoulder like a teenager testing boundaries, lingered by her side at the charting station as if proximity alone could erase a decade.
“Remember when we got detention for throwing paper balls at Mr. Smith?” he murmured one evening, eyes glinting with mischief. It was like he wanted others around them to hear that they had a past.
Mel didn’t look up from her iPad. “I’m working right now,”
He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Come on, Mel. You laughed so hard you had snorted.”
She slammed her tablet and met his gaze, cold and sharp. “That was a decade ago.”
Frank’s grin faltered. For a second, he looked like the boy she used to know—caught out, embarrassed, still hoping for a smile that didn’t come.
⸻
He started turning up everywhere.
In the cafeteria, swiftly sliding into the seat across from her before she could move. On rounds, offering to take her charts as though she couldn’t handle them. At the locker room door, waiting with a forced casualness that fooled no one.
One evening, she emerged from the stairwell to find him leaning against her car. “Thought I’d walk you out,” he said brightly.
“I don’t need an escort,” she snapped, brushing past him.
His voice followed her into the driver’s seat as he leaned against her car. “Yeah, well. Maybe I do.”
For a moment, she almost looked back. Almost softened. But then she thought of Abby’s ring flashing on Facebook, of her mother, of all the years Frank had been a ghost. And so she drove away.
He deserved to be left behind.
⸻
It was late when the knock came. Mel had just tucked Becca into bed after a long shift, exhaustion dragging on her bones. She opened the door expecting a delivery she might have forgotten about—or maybe a neighbor.
Frank stood there.
Hair damp from rain, jacket wrinkled, hands shoved into his pockets like a boy caught sneaking out. His smile was shaky and dimpled, his eyes searching hers.
“Hey,” he said softly. “You remember our deal?”
What an opening statement.
Her breath hitched. For a second, she was sixteen again, fireflies and trampoline springs creaking under their weight. She wanted to kiss his cheek. And more.
But then reality slammed back. She crossed her arms. “What about your wife?”
The question knocked the grin right off his face. His shoulders slumped. “It’s… over. Been over! It should’ve never happened. I wasn’t—Mel, I wasn’t myself. I hadn’t been myself in years,”
“And what?” Her voice sharpened. “Now you are? You disappear for years, you marry someone else, and you think you can just knock on my door and bring up some middle school promise?”
“Because it wasn’t just a promise,” Frank said hoarsely. “Not to me.”
Mel’s chest ached. She wanted to believe him. But all she could think about was the empty spaces he’d left behind.
“I’m not a last resort so you can feel better about yourself. Go home, Frank,” she hissed, shutting the door.
On the other side, she heard him exhale—shaky and defeated.
When the door closed, Mel stood there, forehead pressed to the cool wood, her breath jagged. Her chest felt split open, but no tears came. She hadn’t cried when her mom slipped away in the hospital bed. She hadn’t cried at the funeral when Becca’s sobs shook against her arm. She hadn’t even cried when she saw Frank’s engagement post, a smiling stranger draped over him.
She wasn’t about to start now.
Through the door, she heard him pacing. Heavy steps, then lighter. A pause. A frustrated sigh. Then nothing. For nearly an hour she listened, not moving, until she finally peeked through the peephole. The hallway looked cold after he left.
That night, she couldn’t sleep. Her body ached with exhaustion, but her mind spun—his voice, boyish and rough at her doorway: It wasn’t just a promise.
She pulled out one of his old hoodies from the back of her closet and slipped it over her scrubs, curling up on the couch. She hated herself for how her hands clutched greedily the fabric, how her body eased at the faintest ghost of him in the cotton.
⸻
The ED the next day was merciless—alarms screaming, stretchers wheeling in one after another, a resident already panicked over a missed IV. Perfect cover, Mel thought. If she stayed buried in the chaos, maybe she could pretend Frank didn’t exist. Like what he did to her.
Until:
“Morning, Mel.”
She turned, already bracing. He was at the nurses’ station, hair damp from a too-quick shower, tie crooked, his smile small. Careful. Almost shy. It disarmed her more than if he’d been cocky.
She dropped her gaze to the iPad in her hands, clicking on buttons to appear busy, and ignoring him.
But Frank wasn’t one to quit. He drifted closer, voice pitched low. “Look, about last night—”
“Don’t,” she cut in sharply.
“You have every reason to be mad,” he pressed gently. “You’re right. I was gone. Too long. But I wasn’t lying when I said—”
Her head snapped up, eyes like flint. “We’re at work, Dr. Langdon. Keep it professional.”
The words hit him harder than she’d meant. His grin collapsed into a grimace, his hand tightening on the edge of the desk. For a second, he looked like he might argue—but instead he swallowed, nodded, and stepped back.
She turned on her heel, walking fast, but she felt it—his gaze following her, heavy with something that hadn’t burned out yet.
The days that followed weren’t explosive. They were slow, creeping. Frank found ways to linger.
One morning she walked into the break room to find a cup waiting by her notes, her order written on the lid in his uneven scrawl. She tossed it without drinking it. The next day, another cup appeared. She tossed that too. But on the third day, exhausted after a 14-hour shift, she drank it—and hated herself for savoring every sip.
When Mel picked up an extra overnight to cover for a sick Dr. Ellis, she noticed Frank on the board too, his name shining bright next to hers.
“Did you pick up a shift?” she asked flatly. He shrugged.
“Thought you could use backup.”
She wanted to tell him she didn’t. But when the traumas piled in at 2 a.m., his steady hands at her side felt dangerously natural, like they’d never lost a beat.
Once, when Mel had to stay late, she found out Frank had offered to drive Becca home from her facility.
“We just grabbed burgers,” Becca explained when Mel stormed through the door, spouting off rapid-fire questions. “He was nice. It was like old times. I don’t understand the problem,”
Mel clenched her jaw, fury and longing tangled. “He just doesn’t get to waltz back in and play family,” she said.
But that night, she couldn’t shake the picture of Frank laughing in the car with Becca, like nothing had broken between them at all.
⸻
She gave him nothing in return. Not a smile. Not a joke. Not a sliver of her private life. Not her likes or dislikes or pet peeves.
When he tried to slip in old inside jokes, she shut them down with a glance. When he teased, she ignored him.
When he asked, “How are you?” she replied with a curt “Fine.”
But coldness was its own language, and Frank was fluent in her silence.
Every clipped reply seemed to push him harder—not in the way he used to, cocky and careless, but almost boyishly. A kid trying to prove he’d learned his lesson.
And damn him, he was patient. Too patient. It was all too much and not enough.
⸻
It was nearly midnight on a night shift, the ED settling after a storm of traumas, when Frank cornered her at the charting station. His eyes were tired, his hair mussed, but there was something steady in him she hadn’t seen in years.
“Hey, Mel,” he said, low, earnest. “I know I don’t deserve the time of day from you. I know I wrecked it—wrecked us. But I’m here now. I’m not running again. And if you hate me, fine. But I’m not gonna leave you alone until you tell me to my face that you don’t want me in your life.”
Her throat closed. The words she wanted were right there—I don’t want you, I don’t need you, I’m better without you.
But when she opened her mouth, nothing came out. Only silence.
And Frank, the fool, smiled like he’d won something.
+
The ED smelled strongly of iron and the emotions were all too high still. Pittfest victims just wouldn’t stop coming. Blood still clung underneath Mel’s fingernails as she signed off her last chart. She’d scrubbed her hands until the skin went raw, but the stains were still there, despite wearing scrubs. The crying, too—their echoes trailing her into the locker room. Her arm ached from donating blood.
She thought about just walking home. She thought about disappearing into the dark. But when she stepped out into the staff lot, Frank was leaning against her car, arms folded, his expression unreadable in the sodium light.
“Pass me the keys,” he said gently, holding out his hand.
“I can drive,” she whispered, her throat tight and dry.
“Mel.” Just her name. Quiet, steady. She gave in, pressing the keys into his palm.
He moved like he belonged there, slipping out of his coat, hanging hers on the hook. She didn’t have the energy to argue. After getting dressed in pajamas, she sank onto the couch, head in her hands, the silence pressing in around them.
When she finally looked up, he was standing behind her with a brush in one hand, a hair tie looped around his wrist.
“I can do it,” she muttered, embarrassed at the childlike intimacy of it. She hadn’t even realized her hair was out of its original style.
“Yeah,” he said softly, “but you don’t have to.”
And then he was there sitting behind her, his fingers working gently through the tangles, braiding her hair the way he used to on summer evenings when they were twelve, sitting cross-legged on the porch.
She closed her eyes, too tired to stop the flood of memory—his boyish concentration, his tongue poking at the corner of his mouth, the way he always tied the braid too loose and she’d tease him for it.
When he finished, he touched her shoulder, feather-light. “There. Good as new.”
She laughed, a broken sound, and hated how much relief washed through her at the familiar weight of his presence.
⸻
The hiss of butter on a sizzling pan pulled her from the couch. She dozed off. She shuffled to the kitchen doorway and watched him, his hoodie sleeves rolled up, flipping bread in the skillet.
“Seriously?” she asked, voice hoarse.
“What? It’s emergency protocol,” he replied, without looking up. “Grilled cheese fixes everything. You taught me that, remember?”
She did. High school, nights before exams when she’d been too tired to study more. He’d bring bread and Kraft singles, and they’d stand shoulder to shoulder at her mom’s stove, laughing, melting cheese onto all too buttered bread at midnight, plates piled high.
Now, the smell hit her like a memory she didn’t want but couldn’t push away either.
He slid a sandwich onto a plate, cut it diagonally, and set it in front of her. “Eat. You must be starving.”
She stared at it for a long moment, her throat burning with emotion. Then she picked it up and took a tiny bite. The crunch, the warmth, the salt—it was almost unbearable in its simplicity. A tether to a time before everything had hurt so much. She pushed her tears back as she bit into the buttery bread.
They didn’t talk about the patients they lost. They didn’t talk about Abby. Or his children. They didn’t talk about the years in between.
He just sat across from her, elbows on the table, watching like he was making sure she wouldn’t shatter right in front of him.
And Mel, against her better judgment, thought back to every moment Frank had been there when no one else was.
The way he’d carried her backpack in middle school when she sprained her ankle. She had broken it while they were exploring one day together and he had given her a piggyback ride home.
How he’d stayed up with her through high school all-nighters, quizzing her until dawn, just so she could succeed.
The hoodie he’d left behind at Christmas break in college, which she still kept in her closet.
How, even now, he hadn’t asked for anything in return—only showed up, patient and boyish, as if he was waiting for her to remember what he already knew. For the first time in years, Mel let herself cry. Silent, shaking tears that slid down her cheeks and landed in her grilled cheese. Her shoulders trembled embarrassingly.
Frank didn’t move and didn’t speak. Just reached across the table and set his hand over hers, warm and steady and grounding.
And she let him.
+
The first thing Mel noticed when she woke was the quiet. Not the hum of the ER, not the early morning prattling of Becca down the hall, not even the heavy scrape of Frank’s voice filling the room. Just sunlight filtering weakly through the blinds and the ache in her chest from too little sleep.
She shifted, rubbing her eyes—and froze.
Frank was there.
Not on the couch, not in the kitchen. On the carpet. Curled against the side of her bed like a dog guarding its owner, one arm tucked under his head, the other stretched toward the edge of the blanket as if he’d reached out in his sleep. His scrub was gone, his undershirt rumpled, and his face slack with exhaustion. A strand of his dark hair had fallen across his forehead, appearing almost absurdly gentle for a man who had carried bodies out of the ED hours ago.
Mel’s throat tightened.
She remembered: the first week of sixth grade, when they’d fallen asleep in her room after watching movies too late, and she’d woken to find him on the floor beside her bed, swearing he hadn’t wanted her to feel alone in the dark.
She remembered: the summer before college, when he’d stayed over after her mom yelled at her for wanting to leave home, and he’d dragged a pillow onto the floor, saying, If you’re grounded, I’m grounded too.
And she remembered, clear as day: their 4th of July night, innocently lying side by side on her trampoline, when he’d touched her pinky and whispered about the promise. Thirty. If we haven’t found anyone else, it’s you and me, Mel. I swear it.
She pressed her knuckles to her lips, shaking, her heart a mess of longing and fury. He had meant it. He had always meant it. And yet he’d gone, and she had been left behind to stitch herself together without him.
Now he was here, on her floor, like nothing had changed.
Her lips parted, words swelling in her chest—but they jammed in her throat, jagged and impossible. Where could she even start?
Why did you leave? Why Abby? Why now? Or worse: Why do I still want to believe you’ll stay?
Frank stirred, blinking against the morning light filtering across his face. His eyes found hers instantly, still hazy from sleep but warm, soft in a way she hadn’t seen in years.
“Morning,” he rasped, voice cracking like he was sixteen again.
And Mel—doctor, caretaker, skeptic, woman who had taught herself to live without him—just stared, her heart screaming with all the words she couldn’t say.
She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders and whispered, almost to herself:
“Frank… I don’t even know where to start.”
His expression shifted, careful, like he’d been waiting for her to say it. Like he’d give her every ounce of patience he had left.
+
The Pitt had been mercifully quiet that evening. Fewer traumas, fewer codes. But when Mel finally dragged herself home, exhaustion heavy in her bones, she found Frank already sitting on the stoop of her apartment, sleeves rolled to his elbows, a takeout bag balanced beside him.
She stopped a few steps away, arms crossed.
Mel’s first thought when she saw him on her apartment's stoop was how tired he looked. His posture was casual, one arm draped over his knee, but the circles under his eyes betrayed him. The second thought—the one that made her stomach twist—was how familiar it felt. Like she was sixteen again, finding him waiting on her porch before school.
“Frank,” she muttered, hugging her bag close. “What are you doing here?”
He lifted the white paper takeout bag, shaking it lightly. “Peace offering. Vegetarian lo mein. Extra fortune cookies.”
Her chest clenched. She hadn’t told him her order in years, but he remembered.
“You can’t keep showing up like this.” She tried for sternness, but her voice cracked in the middle.
His grin was faint, careful, and hopeful. He was too convincing. Against her better judgment, she unlocked the door.
Inside, the kitchen light buzzed faintly. Mel set her bag down, tried to ignore how Frank moved around her small space like he belonged there, pulling plates from the cupboard, preparing chopsticks and cutlery. The smell of sesame oil filled the air, and her stomach betrayed her with a low growl.
They ate side by side at the counter, mostly quiet. Mel kept her eyes on her food, afraid that if she looked up, she’d see everything she’d missed written across his face.
Finally, it broke out of her like a wound splitting open.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” she said.
Frank paused mid-bite, lowering his chopsticks. “Do what?”
“Trust you. Believe you. Pretend like you didn’t leave. Like you didn’t marry another woman. Like you didn’t have kids while I was—” Her throat closed, hot and tight. She forced it out. “While I was still waiting for you.”
Silence. The kind that felt heavy and suffocating.
When she finally looked at him, his eyes were glistening, jaw tight. He swallowed hard, voice low. “I know. I know I broke us. And I hate myself for it. But Mel…” His hand trembled slightly as he set it on the counter between them, not quite touching hers. “I will do better. I’ll be better. For you. For us. For as long as it takes.”
She let out a sharp laugh that wasn’t funny at all. “People don’t change that much.”
“I have,” he said fiercely. “Every meeting, every day of rehab—I thought about you. About what I threw away. I’m not asking you to believe me right now, but I swear, I’ll prove it. One day at a time. I’ll make up for every year you were alone.”
Her eyes stung. She shoved her food aside and buried her face in her hands. “I can’t… I don’t know if I can survive you breaking me again.”
Something scraped—the sound of his stool legs against tile. Then his presence was closer, warmer. He didn’t touch her until she lowered her hands, and even then, his fingers only hovered, trembling inches from hers.
“Then I won’t,” he said, voice raw, cracked. “I swear to God, I won’t. I’ll wait. However long it takes. You don’t owe me forgiveness, or even love, or anything just-,” he said, voice choking off momentarily.
“Just let me stand here, Mel. Let me be where you are, wherever it may be. That’s all I want.”
Her heart thundered, aching with equal parts fear and longing. The old promise echoed in her chest, suffocating and tender all at once.
She whispered, broken: “Where do we even start?”
Frank’s hand finally brushed hers, light as air. His thumb traced the ridge of her knuckles, reverent.
“We’ll start here,” he murmured. “With me. With us. Just one day at a time.
⸻
September -
Back at The Pitt, the ER is buzzing but subdued after the shooting. Frank hovers near Mel on almost every shift, offering quiet backup at all times.
One night, he tries to joke around with her, as often as he can, “You still chart faster than anyone here. Guess some things don’t change.”
She doesn’t look up at him no matter how hard she wants to. “Yeah well, you still talk too much. That hasn’t changed either.”
He grins, soft and boyish, in the corner of her eye. She hates the way her chest warms at it.
“Still picking splinters out too roughly?” He had asked once she stepped into the hallway, after she cried with a little girl over her hurt hand. Just a battle wound from playing in the woods but Mel felt so bad for her.
“Still doing dumb stuff to get them?”
⸻
October -
They were pumpkin carving at Becca’s insistence. Mel sits at the table, arms crossed, while Frank massacres his pumpkin. Sticky seeds stick to his shirt.
“You’re absolutely hopeless,” Mel mutters to him.
“Hey, I’m going for abstract expressionism.” He holds up the lopsided grin. “It’s a self-portrait.”
Becca bursts out laughing. Mel bites back a smile, staring at the crooked pumpkin later that night when she’s alone.
It was hideous and she was proud of him.
⸻
November -
The heat breaks in Mel’s apartment. She layers up and toughs it out—until Frank shows up the next morning with a space heater.
“Who told you?” she demands, narrowing her eyes.
“You forget I know Becca too. She called me before you could freeze to death.”
Mel crosses her arms. “You don’t get to keep stepping in like this, Frank.”
His smile fades. He sets the heater down gently. “Then tell me to stop. Tell me you don’t want me here.”
She can’t. She just turns away, jaw tight, and opens the door so he can step in.
The apartment was much warmer after that.
⸻
December -
Frank takes Becca to see Christmas lights. When Mel comes home, she finds them asleep on the couch under a blanket, feet to feet.
She shakes Becca awake, then turns to Frank. “You can’t keep doing this—slipping into my life like you never left. Let alone hers.”
He sits up, sleepy-eyed but earnest. “I don’t want to slip in, Mel. I want to stay.”
Her throat burns. She doesn’t answer, just walks away before he can see her shaking. He settled back onto the couch before waking Becca up.
⸻
January -
During a brutal overnight shift, Mel freezes after a failed code. Her hands tremble and her chest tightened, as if she couldn’t breathe when all she was doing was heaving. Frank took the iPad chart from her.
“Go take a breather,” he murmured sweetly.
She snaps, “Don’t tell me what to do. You don’t get to do that anymore,”
But when she stumbles to the stairwell, he follows anyway and sits silently beside her until her breathing evens.
Finally, she whispers, “I hate you for leaving me.”
That’s the root of the problem. It will always stain them.
“I hate me for that too,” he admits.
She doesn’t push him away when his shoulder brushes hers.
⸻
February -
Valentine’s Day. She finds the PB&J in her locker. An old tradition between them for the date. Grilled cheeses for studying, PB&J because she hates chocolate. Later, she corners him by the vending machines.
“Was that you?”
He shrugged sheepishly. “Guess some things don’t change.”
Her voice trembles, sharper than she means: “You had a wife, Frank. Kids. Don’t you dare pretend I was always the one.”
The color drains from his face. He doesn’t argue. He just looked sad. He replied quietly, “I’m not pretending.”
⸻
March -
Becca’s away at the facility. They have so many activities for when the weather gets better. Frank brings home greasy takeout. They eat quietly side by side, tension thick between them.
Mid-meal, Mel blurts, “Did you ever actually love me? Or just…the nostalgia of us?”
Frank sets his chopsticks down, blue eyes fierce. “Mel, I’ve loved you since the first damn day I sat down with you on our school bus. Nostalgia has nothing to do with it.”
Her throat tightens. She turns away, unwilling to let him see the tears brimming.
⸻
April
The anniversary of her mom’s death. Frank drives her to the creek in West Virginia, hours and hours away. They sit on the hood of his car, silence stretching. The humidity was killer but oddly relaxing at the same time.
After a long while, he murmurs, “I went to a meeting last night. Told them I was scared of losing you again.”
She swallows hard. “You never had me to begin with.”
He looks at her, steady, unflinching. “I did. I still do. Even if you don’t want to believe it.”
She leans her head on his shoulder like she used to, but only just for a moment.
⸻
May -
Frank takes her to one of his meetings. She listens as he introduces himself, voice cracking: Hi, I’m Frank, and I’m an addict. I almost lost everything I ever cared about, but I’m trying. I want to be better—for myself, for my children, and for the girl I’ve always loved.
Afterward, in the car, Mel whispers, “You’re an idiot for saying that.”
He smirks unabashedly. “Yeah. But I meant it.”
She turns her face toward the window so he won’t see her crying.
⸻
June -
The Pitt was chaos. A Friday night, the kind where alcohol and rage filled the beds faster than the staff could cycle patients out.
Mel had just finished charting when shouting broke from Room 14. An intoxicated man had snapped, throwing his IV stand across the room. Security wasn’t there yet. Nurses scattered in fear. She was his doctor, she was supposed to be in control.
Her body acted before her mind caught up. All she wanted to do was help the man calm down but her wrist caught in his hand was collateral.
Frank was there in seconds. He always followed her.
“Back up,” he barked, shoving himself between Mel and the patient. He shoved the man away again, getting a good distance from him and her.
The man swung, wild, teeth bared. “You think you can tell me—”
“I said back the hell up.” Frank’s voice cracked like a whip, sharp and commanding. And then, without thinking, he threw himself into the path of the man’s fist when he wound it back.
Mel gasped as it landed across Frank’s jaw, sending him stumbling back. But he didn’t flinch away. He planted himself in front of her again like a wall, chest heaving. She wanted to run, find security or Robby, but she was frozen.
“Try and touch her again,” he hissed at the man, “and you’ll deal with me. You hear me? That’s my wife you’re screaming at.”
The word—wife—rang in Mel’s ears, foreign and devastating.
Security rushed in and wrestled the man away. The room buzzed with adrenaline, but all Mel could see was the blood trickling down Frank’s cheek.
Good thing it happened right before shift change because he let her drag him home. He sat at her kitchen table, shirt collar undone, a bruise swelling along his jaw.
Mel pressed a damp cloth to his face, furious and trembling. “You’re an idiot.”
He smirked, even though it obviously hurt. “Yeah, but I’m your idiot.”
She glared, harder, but her hands shook as she dabbed at the cut on his lip. “Why would you say that? Wife? You can’t just—”
“Because I meant it,” he cut in, voice soft, serious now. “I don’t care if it’s true on paper or not. You’re it for me, Mel. Always have been.”
Her throat ached. She tried to look away, but his gaze pinned her.
“You don’t have to say it back,” he whispered, eyes burning. “But I need you to know—I’ll protect you. From them. From me. From everything. I’ll never walk away again.”
Her fingers stilled on his cheek. For a moment, the world was only their breath, their scars, and that word echoing like a prayer: wife.
And for the first time in years, she let herself believe he might mean it.
⸻
July -
Becca insisted on seeing fireworks at the park. Frank’s kids came along too—Tanner so sweet and so shy and his daughter clung to his legs at all times. Mel watches them, bitterness slicing her chest. Later, when Becca takes the kids for ice cream, Mel whispers into the air, “You had a family without me.”
Frank’s voice is hoarse. “I thought I had to. I thought I didn’t deserve you. It’s so much more complicated than you could ever know,”
She stared at him, tears pricking her eyes.
“And now?”
“Now I know better. But I can’t change the past. I can only ask you to let me try again.”
That night, when his pinky brushes hers under the fireworks, she doesn’t pull away, and they link together.
⸻
August -
A year since Pittfest. A year since they’ve reunited, properly this time. They sit on her balcony, summer air heavy. The Pittsburgh traffic below roared with life.
Frank breaks the silence first. “I told you I’d wait. A year, ten years—doesn’t matter. I’m still here. I’m not going anywhere.”
Mel’s heart pounds. She whispers, “Don’t say it unless you mean it.”
He takes her hand, steady, boyish, the same way he did at sixteen. “I mean every word,”