The scent of cafeteria leftovers still lingered in the hallways of Columbus North High School as the school eased its way into the late afternoon stretch—where students dragged their feet between periods, teachers clung to their coffee like life rafts, and even the vending machines sounded tired.

Andrew Clarke and Daniel Fields, fresh off a quick lunch (grilled chicken wraps and passive-aggressive glances from Mona at the teacher's lounge), returned to their respective posts.

Daniel straightened his badge that now read Dean of Students while sipping on a protein shake. "Alright. Back to the battlefield."

Andrew nudged him playfully. "Don't forget, I'm counseling freshmen with existential crises about Homecoming themes."

Daniel smirked. "We're both saving lives."

They split off with a goodbye peck on the cheek, and Daniel returned to his office—the holy temple of detention slips, hallway behavior reports, and inspirational cat memes laminated on the bulletin board.

He set his drink down, sat at his desk, and opened his laptop to review an incident from earlier. But as he reached for his pen… the temperature of the room felt different.

He blinked.

And there—
Sitting across from him—
Wearing her old leather jacket, hair curled just like he remembered—

Taylor.

His ex-girlfriend.
From Little Hope.
Gone.

And yet—there she was, legs crossed casually like she belonged there, staring at him with that same sharp, half-playful look she used to give when he didn't text her back fast enough.

Daniel froze. His mouth parted slightly.

"Taylor?"

She tilted her head. "Still dramatic, huh?"

Daniel blinked again. The room didn't change.

"What—what are you doing here?"

Taylor's voice was calm, but there was something haunting behind her sarcasm. "You never really let go, you know. Not of me. Not of what happened."

Daniel leaned forward, swallowing hard. "We—we didn't even make it out. Not all the way."

"You did," she said quietly. "You're living. You're happy. And I'm just a ghost in the corner of your mind."

He shut his eyes tight, breathing deeply.

"Why now?" he whispered. "Why are you showing up now?"

Before she could answer—

Knock knock.

The door creaked open.

Andrew.

Holding a notepad in one hand and a concerned look on his face.

"Hey. You okay?" he asked softly, stepping in. "I thought I'd check on you before the next class. You were... staring pretty hard at your desk."

Daniel blinked again.

Taylor was gone.

The chair in front of him was empty. The room was quiet.

Just Andrew. Just now.

Daniel let out a shaky breath, looking down at his hands. "I—uh... yeah. Just tired, maybe. I thought I saw…"

Andrew gently closed the door and came around to sit beside him. "Want to talk about it?"

Daniel ran a hand through his hair. "I think I saw Taylor."

Andrew's eyes softened immediately. "Like… Taylor?"

Daniel nodded. "It wasn't just a memory. It felt like she was here. Talking to me."

Andrew reached over and took his hand. "You've been carrying that grief for years, Dan. Even if you joke about it, even if we've built a whole new life together… it's still there."

Daniel nodded slowly. "It's just... weird. I feel like I'm happy now. With you. With Kaden. But sometimes, it's like I'm haunted by the version of me that couldn't save her."

Andrew squeezed his hand gently. "That version of you did everything he could. And this version of you—the one that helps kids, who's a rock for so many students... who builds a pillow fort for our son after bad dreams? That version is incredible."

Daniel leaned into him slightly, exhaling. "Thanks."

They sat in silence for a moment.

Then Andrew glanced at the clock and smiled. "You've got about fifteen minutes before the hallway fills up again. Want to go pretend we're checking fire extinguishers so we can visit Madison and Mike?"

Daniel chuckled, grateful for the shift. "Desperately."

They peeked into Madison's classroom, where she was striding across the front of the room like a runway, holding a dry-erase marker like it was a mic.

"Rule number one of journalism," she declared, writing it in bold on the board. "Never use the phrase 'It was a dark and stormy night.' Unless it's an actual weather report."

A kid raised their hand. "What if I'm being dramatic?"

"Then become a novelist," she replied. "But in this class, we chase facts like it's the last coffee cup in the teacher's lounge."

She spotted Andrew and Daniel and flashed a smile.

"Ah, my favorite husbands!" she called out. "Here to check on your favorite part-time drama queen and full-time journalism goddess?"

Andrew grinned. "Always."

Daniel laughed. "Just making sure you haven't declared war on the yearbook staff again."

Madison winked. "Not yet. But it's only Tuesday."

Next door, Mike was showing students how to conduct a proper detainment procedure with a fake badge and a whole lot of charisma.

"Now," he explained, stepping in front of two roleplaying students, "you're not here to be a hero. You're here to protect and de-escalate."

A student raised a hand. "What if the suspect throws soup at me?"

Mike nodded thoughtfully. "Then you duck, thank them for the soup, and arrest them with dignity."

Daniel knocked on the open door. "I think I saw that in a movie once."

Mike grinned. "My favorite deans. You here to learn how to legally detain your son when he refuses bath time?"

Andrew laughed. "We need more than training for that."

Mike gestured toward his whiteboard, where the words "De-escalation is sexy" were underlined.

"Preach," Daniel muttered.

As they headed back to their offices, arms around each other's shoulders, Daniel paused.

"Hey," he said. "Thanks again. For checking on me."

Andrew smiled, brushing his hand gently across Daniel's back. "Always. Even when your ex-girlfriend ghost tries to steal your desk."

Daniel grinned. "She didn't stand a chance."

And as the halls buzzed again with chatter, chaos, and the occasional flying paper airplane, the Clarke-Fields team kept doing what they did best:

Supporting students.
Facing their pasts.
And living a life they built—together.