Hope you all are having a great spring! It's Ohio, so our spring depends on the weather lol. I'm working on updating them all, and I have some new content, but I want to finish a few more before posting them. I am also working on publishing, I knew I loved you. So it's been a lot with the boys and class and all that. Love you!

The knock on the door startled Mercedes. She was elbow-deep in a rack of unfinished garments, her phone buried under a pile of fabric swatches she hadn't had time to sort.

The twins were upstairs with Quinn, happily watching Encanto for the third time this week.

She glanced at the clock. 8:02 PM. Her stomach dropped.

The therapy appointment.

"Shit. I missed it."

She wiped her hands on her jeans and rushed to the front door, pulling it open to find Sam standing there, still in his coat. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets, and his blond hair was a little wind-tossed.

A takeout cup in one hand, the same kind the therapist gave out in the waiting room.

Mercedes froze. "Sam…I..."

He didn't say anything. Not at first. Just looked at her. Looked through her.

"You forgot," he said finally, his voice too calm.

Mercedes shook her head. "I didn't forget. I just, Sam, I couldn't get away. One of my models had a meltdown. Half the team was behind schedule. I'm barely holding everything together right now. If it wasn't for Quinn watching the twins..."

He nodded once, slowly. "But you had time to send a text, so why didn't you?"

Her lips parted, and guilt flooded her chest. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize it was this late."

Sam stepped inside without being asked. Not angrily; he just couldn't say what he needed to say from the porch. He walked a few feet into the house and turned back toward her.

"Do you even want to do this?"

Mercedes blinked. "What?"

"Do you want to do it?"

"Do what, Sam?"

This. Us." His voice cracked slightly, but he held her gaze. "Do you actually want to fix things, or are you just trying to say you tried?"

"That's not fair."

Sam laughed bitterly. "Isn't it?" He took a step closer. "Because this feels one-sided, Merce. I know I screwed up; I hurt you, I broke us. But I moved here for you and those beautiful girls. You wanted space, so I gave it to you. We finally get on the same page, and I show up to therapy. I talk. I dig into all the crap I spent years burying. I relive every way I hurt you. And you—" He gestured toward the chaos behind her. "And you throw yourself into work and cancel when things get uncomfortable."

Mercedes swallowed the knot in her throat. "I'm trying to juggle everything, Sam. The girls. My show. This."

"I'm not asking you to drop everything for me." His voice lowered, the hurt settling behind his eyes. "I'm just asking you to show up."

"I'm doing my best."

He gave a small nod, jaw tightening. "Yeah. But sometimes, your best still makes me feel like you don't want me here."

Silence stretched between them. The air felt too thick.

Finally, Mercedes whispered, "I do want you here."

Sam looked at her. Just looked.

And then he said the words she'd been afraid of hearing.

"Then show me. Because right now… it feels like this is just for the twins. Like you're doing all this so they can look back and say, 'Mom tried.'"

Her breath caught in her chest. "That's not true."

"You didn't have to say it." He backed toward the door. "I'm starting to feel it."

Mercedes reached for him instinctively, but he stepped out of her reach. "Sam—"

His voice cracked. "I've waited every day for you to believe in us again. But you don't. You're just… managing me. Like I'm another task on your to-do list."

She opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out.

He stared at her for a second longer, and the way he looked at her, it wasn't angry. It was tired.

"I'll give you space," he said finally. Let me know when this is something you want to fight for, not just check off."

And with that, Sam turned and walked out, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

Mercedes stood frozen in the entryway, the hum of Encanto in the background suddenly feeling so far away.

She wasn't sure how long she had stood there, but when she finally sat down, it wasn't with confidence or relief.

It was with the sudden, terrifying realization that she was about to lose the love of her life—again.

And this time, it might actually be for good.

The door closed with a soft click, but the sound echoed in Mercedes' chest like a slamming gate.

Her back was still against the wall, her hands trembling at her sides when she heard soft footsteps on the stairs.

Quinn appeared in the hallway, hair tousled from sleep, hoodie slipping off one shoulder. "Merce?" she mumbled, rubbing one eye. "Did you just get back? Me and the girls must've passed out during the second half of Fox and the Hound."

Mercedes didn't answer.

Quinn blinked fully awake, her brow furrowing when she saw the expression on her best friend's face. "Mercedes?"

Tears had started to fall—silent, slow, and unstoppable. Her lip trembled as she tried to speak, but the words choked in her throat.

Quinn rushed to her side, grabbing her shoulders gently. "Hey. What happened? Talk to me."

Mercedes collapsed into Quinn's arms, the dam finally breaking. "I missed it," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I missed the damn session, Quinn. I told myself I'd only be a little late, and then one thing turned into another, and I missed it."

Quinn guided her to the couch, sitting down beside her and keeping her arm around her shoulders. "Okay. Breathe. You're overwhelmed. It was one session."

Mercedes shook her head, wiping at her face. "No. It wasn't just a session. In the last session, I was late, and the therapist made us promise to be a priority. And I lost track of time. Sam was there, waiting. With coffee. He's been showing up, and I've been so busy trying to hold everything else together that I didn't even see him slipping through my fingers."

Quinn softened. "Did something happen? Did he say something?"

Mercedes nodded slowly. "He said… it feels like I'm only doing this for the girls. Like, I don't really want him. Like I'm just checking a box so I can say I tried."

Quinn let out a breath but didn't speak. She just let Mercedes sit with its weight.

"I told him I wanted him here," Mercedes whispered. "But I couldn't even say it like I meant it. Not really. Not the way he needs to hear it. He looked at me like he was done. Like he's starting to give up."

"And do you blame him?" Quinn asked gently.

Mercedes flinched. "No. I don't. I know a lot of it is work, but then it's like I know I've been guarded. I've been scared, Q. And I hate that he thinks I don't love him. Because I do. I love him so damn much it hurts."

Quinn turned toward her, brushing a tear from her cheek. "Then why won't you let him in, Merce?"

Mercedes looked at her with wide, vulnerable eyes. "Because what if I let him in again, and he leaves again? What if I finally start to feel whole, and it gets ripped out from under me again?"

Quinn nodded, resting her forehead against Mercedes'. "That's a risk. It's always going to be a risk. But you have to decide if he's worth it. And I think you already know that he is."

Mercedes sniffed, and Quinn sighed. "Merce, what he did to you, that was hard. But when he realized his mistake, he came here for you. I have to believe he wouldn't hurt you if you let him back in.

Mercedes pulled away slightly, voice cracking. "Do you think it's too late?"

"No," Quinn said firmly. "I don't think it's too late. But I think if you keep protecting your heart like it's made of glass, you'll lose something that could've been beautiful."

Mercedes inhaled shakily, her hand still curled in the hem of her sweatshirt. "I need to fix this."

Quinn smiled. "Then do it. Call him. Text him. Show up at his door if you have to. But don't wait. Don't let fear cost you the love you already found."

The drive to Sam's place blurred past Mercedes in a flurry of streetlights and nerves. She didn't know what she was going to say, only that she had to say something. Her chest felt tight the whole way like her heart was stuck somewhere between regret and hope.

She parked outside his place, headlights off, engine still running. For a long moment, she just stared at the door.

Then she turned off the ignition, got out, and walked up the steps.

She knocked three times, not too soft, not too hard. Then she waited, her heart pounding.

When the porch light flicked on, her breath caught.

Sam opened the door slowly. His hoodie tugged over his head, and he was wearing grey sweatpants and bare feet. His hair was messy, and he looked like he'd been pacing, not resting.

The look in his eyes wasn't anger—it was exhaustion.

"Mercedes."

"Hi," she whispered, suddenly uncertain.

"Did you forget something?" he asked, stepping aside out of instinct more than an invitation.

"I think I forgot everything," she said softly as she walked in.

The house smelled like cinnamon and cedarwood. Familiar. Safe.

Sam closed the door and leaned against it. Arms crossed, body stiff. His face didn't soften like it usually did when he looked at her.

"You didn't have to come," he said.

"I know." She turned to face him, hands shaking. "But I needed to."

He said nothing, didn't move or give her anything to grasp onto.

Mercedes stepped forward carefully. "I meant to come to therapy, Sam. I did. I have been coming these last few times, haven't I?"

He gave her a small nod as she continued.

"Sam, I called Quinn to watch the girls, I had my keys in my hand. I was going to go early so I wouldn't be late. But the showcase—"

He shook his head, still unreadable. "I get it. Work comes first."

She flinched. "That's not fair."

"It's honest, and that is what we have been learning to be, so I am being honest," he replied. "You say you want this, and then it becomes negotiable when it requires a piece of your time."

She took another step toward him. "I'm not saying I handled it well. I didn't. I opened the door, my models were there, and I handled what I could. But don't act like this doesn't matter to me."

"Does it?" he snapped—quietly but sharp enough to cut. "Because right now, it feels like I'm just a chapter you're obligated to read so you can say you finished the book."

Mercedes blinked, pain flooding her chest. "That's not true."

He looked at her, eyes tired and red-rimmed. "Then stop giving me hope if there's none left."

The words echoed like a final door closing as he moved away from her.

Mercedes hesitated, just a second, but it felt like a lifetime.

Then she crossed the room, touched his arm, and gently turned him toward her.

"I'm not giving you hope," she whispered, eyes glistening, "unless there's something to hope for."

"And I feel there is something to hope for."

He stared at her, guarded, wounded, waiting.

And so she kissed him.

Soft, uncertain. A kiss born of apology and longing.

At first, he didn't move.

Then, he let go of his breath and kissed her back.

His arms wrapped around her waist as hers curled around his neck. They didn't deepen the kiss, didn't press forward. They stayed there—mouths barely touching, foreheads pressed together, eyes closed.

It was steady.

Warm.

Familiar.

When they finally parted, Mercedes didn't step away. She stood in his arms, breathing in his scent, grounding herself in the moment.

"I'm scared," she admitted, voice shaking. "I've never stopped loving you, Sam. Not once. But I'm scared that if I let this happen again, and it falls apart... I'll lose more than just you. I'll lose me again."

Sam nodded slowly, eyes still closed. "I'm scared, too. I'm scared I waited too long and did too much damage. You'll always look at me through the cracks I made."

She looked up at him, tears clinging to her lashes. "You did hurt me. Deep. And I hated you for a long time because I couldn't hate you at all. Because I still wanted you. Still dreamed about you coming back. And I hated that I let myself hope."

Sam touched her cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear. "You never stopped being my dream, Mercedes."

Her breath hitched. "I wanted to be there today. I swear I did. But the fear, the pressure, and the weight of what this could be again crushed me. The showcase is important, yes. But so is this. So are we."

Sam leaned his forehead against hers, their hands finding each other again. "Then don't shut me out when it gets hard. Let me be part of your life, not just the background."

"I don't want to do this halfway anymore," she whispered.

"Neither do I."

She leaned into him, resting her head against his chest. His arms came around her again, this time tighter, this time with the quiet promise that he wasn't letting go.

They stayed like that for a long time, swaying gently in the silence.

After a while, Sam tugged her gently toward the couch. They didn't need a bed that would come later. They just needed somewhere to rest together.

He grabbed a blanket, tossing it over both of them as she curled against his side.

No words.

No more explanations.

Just soft breathing and steady hearts finding a rhythm again.

When Mercedes finally whispered, "I'm still willing to try,"

Sam kissed her forehead and replied,

"Then we've already taken the first step."