The skate park shimmered beneath the late-afternoon California sun, the concrete warm enough to radiate heat through worn sneakers and skateboard wheels. Music crackled from a distant radio while skaters took turns on the ramps, shouting and laughing over the sound of boards hitting pavement. Stevie sat on the edge of a ramp, absentmindedly picking at the grip tape on his board when he suddenly froze. “Oh no.” The others looked up. Rolling toward the park on skates was his babysitter. Her long, sun-bleached hair was tied back with a bandana, and she looked like she belonged right in the middle of a 1990s summer—effortlessly cool and completely at ease. She moved with the confidence of someone who had spent years around boards, wheels, and sun-soaked afternoons. “Wait,” said Fuckshit, blinking. “That’s your babysitter?” Stevie groaned immediately. “Don’t make it weird.” Too late. Ray folded his arms, already sensing where this was going. “He’s right. Don’t make it weird.” From near the rail, Ruben stayed unusually quiet, watching curiously as she rolled closer. Beside him, Fourth Grade offered an easy nod in greeting.
The afternoon at the clubhouse was loud and lazy, the usual mix of beer, cigarettes, engines, and half-finished conversations filling the room. Jax was sitting at the table with Chibs and Tig while Clay spoke with Bobby near the bar. Juice was nowhere in sight. Then the clubhouse door opened. Everyone looked up. A woman stepped inside. She was beautiful—light-skinned, mixed, with long dark hair framing her face and a figure that immediately caught attention. She looked completely comfortable walking into a room full of bikers, her confidence almost suspiciously calm. She glanced around the clubhouse. “I’m looking for Juice.” Silence. Tig raised an eyebrow. Jax’s eyes stayed on her. He didn’t even try to hide it. There was something about her that immediately caught his attention. She wasn’t nervous. She wasn’t intimidated. She looked like she could walk into a room full of dangerous men and somehow be the most dangerous person there. Bobby looked at Chibs. Chibs looked at Tig. Tig finally broke the silence. “Juice?” The woman nodded. “Yeah. Juice Ortiz.” Jax leaned back slightly, still watching her. “You know him?” She gave him a slow look, noticing the attention immediately. “Oh, I know him.” There was something about the way she said it that made Jax’s eyebrow rise. Tig smirked. “Well, sweetheart, you’re gonna have to be a little more specific.” She smiled. “I’m his ex-wife.” The room went completely fucking silent. Jax’s expression changed instantly. “His what?” The woman laughed softly. “Ex-wife.” Behind them, footsteps suddenly came from the hallway. Juice walked into the room, stopped dead when he saw her, and stared. She smiled brightly. “Hey, baby.” Juice’s face dropped. “Oh, fuck.” The Sons immediately started looking between them. Y/N walked over and casually threw her arms around Juice’s neck, kissing his cheek like they hadn’t been divorced for years. “Miss me?” Juice sighed. “Unfortunately.” She grinned. “Sti
She was the kind of girl people underestimated the second they looked at her. Not because she was weak — because she was soft. She smiled too easily. Trusted too quickly. Believed apologies even when they sounded rehearsed. Teachers loved her because she listened. Friends loved her because she never judged them. Boys loved her because she looked at them like they could still become good people. That was exactly why Luke noticed her. Luke moved through the city like smoke through cracked windows — impossible to hold onto and dangerous if you breathed too much of him in. At nineteen, he already had blood on his knuckles, police reports under fake names, and enough enemies to make people cross the street when they saw his car coming. He dealt pills, coke, whatever people at parties were desperate enough to pay for. Half the town worshipped him. The other half feared him. Luke preferred fear. People called him charming because they didn’t know the right word for someone who could smile while ruining your life. He met her outside a late-night convenience store after one of the countless house parties that always ended with sirens somewhere in the distance. She was sitting on the curb in a glitter-covered dress, holding the hand of a crying girl who’d overdosed in the bathroom twenty minutes earlier. Everyone else had panicked. She stayed. Luke watched her from across the parking lot while lighting a cigarette. Most girls around him wanted excitement. Money. Status. Chaos. But this girl looked genuinely terrified for someone she barely even liked. It fascinated him. “You always try to save people?” he asked. She looked up at him like she didn’t recognize danger even when it was standing directly in front of her. “Someone should.” That answer stayed in his head for days. The thing about Luke was that he hated weakness in everyone except her. On her, it looked almost holy. She made him feel something he didn’t understand — not love exactly, but ownership dis
The warehouse smelled of gasoline, blood, and damp concrete. Jax moved first, gun raised as the Sons spread through the building behind him. Every step brought them closer to Abel, every second making the fear in Jax’s chest burn hotter. Chibs followed close behind, his face hard and unreadable, fueled by the same rage that had brought every Son through the door. They found the trafficker’s men first. Then they found the cages. Empty ones. The realization that Abel might have been moved made the entire room feel colder. Until movement caught Chibs’ attention. At the far end of the warehouse, behind a half-open steel door, stood a young woman. Bare feet against the concrete. Wrists bruised. Clothes hanging loosely from her body. Her eyes were lowered, her posture instinctively small as she waited for whoever owned the place to decide what happened to her next. Chibs barely looked at her. Then she lifted her face. And everything stopped. Twenty years disappeared in an instant. There, beside her left eye, was the tiny star-shaped birthmark he’d kissed countless times when she was a little girl. The daughter he had buried in his heart nine years ago was standing ten feet away. Alive. And she didn’t recognize him.
Y/N Morrow has always been family to the Sons of Anarchy. As Clay Morrow’s goddaughter, she grew up around SAMCRO and learned early that Charming was the only place she could truly call home. But after leaving for college in Nevada, Y/N built a life of her own—until an obsessive ex-boyfriend destroyed it. Now twenty-one and back under Clay and Gemma’s roof, Y/N is trying to rebuild herself while Ethan, the man she escaped, continues to stalk her from a distance. What starts as a protection detail quickly becomes something far more dangerous when Ethan begins threatening the people around her and exposing secrets from Y/N’s past. But Ethan isn’t the only problem. Jax Teller finds himself unexpectedly attracted to Y/N, forcing him to confront feelings he has no intention of acting on while trying to protect his marriage to Tara. And then there’s Tig Trager. Tig doesn’t know how to love normally. What begins as fascination with Clay’s wild, fearless goddaughter quickly becomes an all-consuming obsession. Y/N’s craziness doesn’t scare him—it draws him in. For the first time, Tig finds himself wanting something he can’t simply take, and the harder he tries to stay away, the deeper he falls. Clay knows Tig is dangerous. Gemma knows Y/N is capable of dangerous things herself. And Jax knows that keeping everyone from crossing the wrong lines is becoming damn near impossible. As Ethan’s obsession escalates and old family secrets begin surfacing, Y/N realizes that coming home to Charming didn’t mean escaping danger. It meant walking straight into a different kind of it. Because when a man like Ethan threatens a Morrow girl, he doesn’t just have Y/N to worry about. He has SAMCRO. And he has one insanely devoted Tig Trager standing between him and the woman he’s already convinced is his.
The BAU bullpen had been unusually quiet when Y/N walked through the doors with their five-year-old daughter beside her. Spencer was the first to notice. He stopped completely, his expression shifting from confusion to disbelief as his eyes landed on them. Y/N gave him a small smile. Their daughter immediately ran toward him, throwing her arms around his waist. Spencer dropped down and held her tightly, burying his face against her hair as months of tension seemed to leave his body all at once. Behind him, the entire team stood frozen. Morgan stared. JJ looked between Spencer and Y/N in complete shock. Garcia’s mouth had fallen open. Hotch simply watched, quietly piecing everything together. Reid eventually stood with his daughter in his arms, one hand resting protectively against her back while Y/N stepped beside him. For the first time, the BAU saw the life Spencer had kept completely separate from them. His family. His whole damn heart.
The clubhouse had never been this quiet. Dinner sat untouched in front of Y/N, her hands resting loosely in her lap as everyone around the table waited for the prayer that never came. For years, she had been the one to bow her head and thank God for every meal, every safe return, every man sitting around that table. Tonight, she couldn’t even look at the food. Tig watched her from across the table, his eyes carrying a grief of their own. Their son was sleeping down the hall. His twin brother never would. And somewhere between the hospital room and the funeral, Y/N had begun losing something else too—the faith she had once held tighter than anything. For the first time in her life, she didn’t know if she could believe that God was listening.
Venus Van Damme had always been more than Y/N’s older sister. She was her first best friend, her protector, her favorite person, and for much of their childhood, the only person who made home feel like somewhere worth surviving. The two girls had different fathers but shared the same mother—a woman who had never been particularly good at being a mother. Their childhood was messy, unstable, and full of things neither girl should have had to experience. But through all of it, Venus and Y/N had each other. When Venus began transitioning, Y/N was still young and didn’t fully understand why her sister suddenly needed the world to see her differently. What she did understand was that Venus was happier when people called her Venus. That was enough for her. The only thing Y/N couldn’t understand was why Venus got a new name while she was still stuck with the same one. So the sisters made a deal. If Venus was going to have a new name, Y/N wanted one too. They chose Vera. It was never Y/N’s legal name. It wasn’t something she introduced herself as. It became something private between the sisters. Only Venus called her Vera. Years later, that little name still carried their entire childhood inside it. As Venus grew into herself, she became a beautiful, confident woman who refused to shrink herself for anybody. She loved being feminine, loved dressing up, loved her hair, her makeup, and the way she carried herself. There was an unmistakable beauty to Venus—not simply because she was gorgeous, but because she had fought to become comfortable enough in her own skin to let the world see her exactly as she wanted to be seen. Y/N admired her endlessly. Whenever someone insulted Venus because she was transgender, Y/N never saw it as something that made Venus lesser. To Y/N, Venus was simply her sister. And if someone had a problem with that, they had a problem with Y/N too. Venus, meanwhile, had spent years trying to teach Y/N the same lesson she had learned the hard
Sixteen years ago, Tara Knowles left Charming carrying a secret that could’ve changed Jax Teller’s entire life—a daughter he never knew existed. Now, with Tara back in Charming and Jax finally learning the truth, sixteen-year-old Y/N is coming home to meet the father she’s only ever heard about. But Y/N isn’t arriving alone. She’s bringing her boyfriend, Carl Gallagher—better known in Chicago as “White Boy Carl”—a reckless, sharp-mouthed troublemaker who has no idea what he’s gotten himself into. Jax is about to discover he has a daughter. SAMCRO is about to discover there’s another Teller. And Carl is about to learn that pissing off the Sons of Anarchy might be the worst decision he’s ever made. Because in Charming, blood always comes with a price. 🏍️🖤
Daryl Dixon — Her Father: Daryl is fiercely protective of Y/N and has always been her safe place. He raised her with Merle’s help and did everything he could to give her a life far removed from his own. He can be overprotective and stubborn as hell, especially when it comes to men, but underneath it all, Y/N is his entire world. Clay Morrow — Her Godfather: Clay has never treated Y/N like merely a goddaughter—she’s his daughter in every way that matters. He helped raise her alongside Daryl, spoiled her whenever he could, and has always been fiercely protective of her. He may be a ruthless man to everyone else, but Y/N brings out the softer, fatherly side of him that very few people ever get to see. To Clay, hurting Y/N is essentially declaring war on him.
The streets of Rome buzzed with merchants, senators, soldiers, and servants, all weaving through one another beneath the blazing afternoon sun. Voices echoed through the Forum while the scent of fresh bread, olive oil, and horses lingered in the warm air. It was another ordinary day in the Republic. Until she arrived. A procession entered through the city gates, led by one of Rome’s most decorated war heroes. Citizens stopped to watch, expecting another victorious commander returning with treasures from distant lands. Instead, walking at his side was a young woman unlike anyone they had ever seen. Y/N. She wore a flowing linen dress of ivory trimmed with delicate gold embroidery inspired by Egyptian craftsmanship. Fine golden bracelets rested on her wrists, and a small ankh hung from a chain around her neck. Her dark hair fell in loose waves down her back, catching the sunlight, while her calm gaze wandered over Rome with quiet curiosity rather than fear. The whispers began almost immediately. “The general’s daughter…” “Her mother was Egyptian.” “She’s beautiful.” “Can a Roman truly marry someone with foreign blood?” Ignoring the murmurs, Y/N remained close to her father as he greeted old comrades. Though Rome stared at her as if she were some rare creature brought from across the sea, she carried herself with quiet dignity, refusing to lower her eyes. Not far away, two young men crossed the Forum after finishing their morning duties. Agrippa walked with the relaxed confidence of a soldier, laughing at something Gaius had said. Dust still clung to his boots from training, and the wooden practice sword slung over his shoulder marked him as a man who preferred battlefields to senate halls. Beside him, Gaius moved with composed precision. Every step was measured, every glance observant. While Agrippa noticed the life of the city, Gaius noticed the people who shaped it. The growing crowd drew both their attention. “What has everyone stopped for?” Agrippa
The first thing Y/N noticed was the silence. Blue never slept quietly. Even at four months old, he had a habit of making little noises in his sleep—soft whimpers, tiny breaths, the occasional restless kick against his blanket. His crib had become a soundtrack she had unconsciously learned to listen for. Tonight, there was nothing. The nursery door stood slightly open. Y/N stopped in the hallway, her body going completely still. The house was dark except for the weak light spilling from the nursery. The window was cracked open, curtains shifting gently with the night air. Blue’s stuffed elephant lay abandoned on the floor. The crib was empty. For several seconds, her mind refused to understand what she was seeing. Then she moved. The blanket was still warm. The window lock had been broken. A faint smear of dirt marked the white windowsill, and beneath it sat something that made her stomach drop—a black SAMCRO patch, deliberately placed where she couldn’t possibly miss it. Not lost. Not accidental. A message. Her son’s disappearance had been designed to look like the Sons of Anarchy had taken him. Outside, motorcycles suddenly began roaring into the driveway. Her father’s men. Within minutes, the quiet house became chaos. Boots thundered across the floors. Weapons were drawn. Her father’s face changed the instant he saw the empty crib, the anger settling into something colder and far more dangerous. Nobody questioned who they believed was responsible. The evidence had been planted too perfectly. The patch. The tire tracks outside. The broken window. Even the security cameras had been tampered with using equipment that pointed directly toward SAMCRO. And somewhere across Charming, Jax Teller was about to receive the news that could destroy everything he’d spent months trying to build. Because while Y/N’s father gathered his men for war, Jax was standing inside the clubhouse when the first call came through. Blue was gone. And every piece of
The club knows they’re serious: If Y/N is at the clubhouse, nobody questions why Jax disappears for twenty minutes with her. If Jax is missing, everyone knows where he’s probably gone. They have basically become a package deal. * Y/N’s biggest rule: She never asks Jax to choose between her and the club. But she also refuses to let him use the club as an excuse to hurt her again. That’s one of the boundaries that makes their relationship work. * Jax’s biggest fear: Losing her because of himself. Not because of another man, not because of the Mayans, not because of the club—because he knows he’s already hurt her before, and deep down he knows she is the one person he couldn’t survive losing twice. * And the sweetest little thing: Whenever they’re alone, Jax sometimes rests his forehead against hers and closes his eyes. No words. No sex. No club bullshit. Just the two of them breathing together. It’s probably the closest Jax ever gets to feeling completely safe.
Y/N lived quietly in the Street of Silk, far from the splendor of the Red Keep. To most, she was just another woman trying to survive in King’s Landing. But hidden away in a small home at the edge of the city was a secret more dangerous than any blade—a little boy with silver-gold hair and violet eyes. Aegon visited them whenever he could. Not as a king. Not as a prince. Just as a father. The boy would race into his arms the moment he arrived, and Aegon’s face would soften in a way no one at court had ever seen. He’d bring wooden dragons, sweet cakes, and stories of old Valyria. For those few hours, the burdens of the crown vanished. Then the order came. The Kingsguard were sent through the city, hunting every bastard rumored to carry Aegon’s blood. Y/N held their son close as armored footsteps thundered outside her door. The door burst open. “By order of the Crown, we seek the king’s bastard.” Aegon himself stood behind them. For a terrible moment, Y/N thought they were doomed. The knight pointed to the child. “The hair. The eyes. He is yours, Your Grace.” Aegon looked at the boy. His son. The child stared back at him, frightened and confused. Aegon’s jaw tightened. “No,” he said coldly. The room fell silent. “He is not mine.” Y/N felt her heart shatter, but Aegon never looked away from the Kingsguard. “The child belongs to another man. Search elsewhere.” The knight hesitated. “Your Grace—” “That is my command.” The Kingsguard lowered their heads and left. Only when the door closed did Aegon finally kneel before the boy. His hands trembled as he pulled him into a fierce embrace. “You must hate me for what I said,” he whispered. The child wrapped his small arms around his neck. Aegon closed his eyes. “I denied you so they could never take you from me.” For the first time in years, the king wept—not for his crown, not for his wars, but for the son he loved enough to pretend was never his at all
Y/N has always been the kind of girl people underestimate. Pretty, sweet-looking, always dressed perfectly, and almost never seen without her roller skates, she seems like the last person who would belong beside Henry Bowers and his gang. But underneath the ribbons, lip gloss, and innocent smile is a girl who enjoys cruelty just as much as Henry does. When Y/N starts dating Henry, she becomes a permanent part of the Bowers Gang—Belch, Victor, Patrick, Henry, and her. Together, they terrorize Derry, picking on anyone unfortunate enough to cross their path. Henry’s father actually likes Y/N, believing she’s polite, respectful, and one of the few people who can keep Henry under control. He has no idea that behind closed doors, Y/N is just as vicious—and sometimes just as unhinged—as his son. Henry doesn’t need someone to make him better. Y/N doesn’t want to make him better. They’re both perfectly happy being each other’s favorite little monster.
The executive floor of Carter Enterprises was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that only existed where billion-dollar decisions were made. Marble floors gleamed beneath crystal chandeliers, assistants moved with practiced efficiency, and every employee knew one rule above all others—never keep the CEO waiting. Vanessa Collins sat behind the sleek reception desk outside his private office, reviewing his afternoon schedule. Board meeting at one. Conference call with London at three. Dinner reservation for two at seven, as it always was. For his wife. She’d never met the woman. No one here really had. Just stories. Rumors. Whispers. The elevator chimed softly. Vanessa looked up automatically—and froze. A young woman stepped out, dressed in an elegant ivory dress that looked effortlessly expensive, paired with simple gold jewelry and heels that barely made a sound against the marble. She carried no designer handbag plastered with logos, no flashy diamonds, nothing that screamed for attention. She didn’t need to. She was breathtaking. Her beauty wasn’t loud. It was graceful. The kind that made an entire room pause without understanding why. Several employees glanced up from their desks before quickly looking back down. The woman smiled politely. “Good afternoon.” Vanessa recovered quickly, returning a professional smile. “Good afternoon. Do you have an appointment?”
Before the Great War, Y/N was one of the few people who could quiet Tommy Shelby’s restless mind. She had grown up alongside the Shelbys, and while the two never spoke the words aloud, everyone could see the way Tommy watched her—as if she were the only future he had ever truly wanted. He planned to ask for her when the war was over, believing that no matter what happened in France, he would come home to her. But while Tommy was away, Y/N’s world fell apart. After losing the last of her family and unable to bear the grief that Birmingham held, she vanished without a goodbye. When Tommy returned from the trenches, haunted and broken, he searched for her everywhere. Every familiar street, every face in the crowds, every rumor became another dead end. She was simply… gone. Though he eventually married Grace, a part of his heart never stopped wondering what had become of the girl he had loved long before the war changed him. Years after Grace’s death, Y/N unexpectedly returns to Birmingham to settle her family’s estate. The moment Tommy sees her again, the years between them disappear, and every feeling he buried comes rushing back. This time, he refuses to let her slip away. Patient where he was once guarded, relentless where he was once silent, Tommy is willing to chase her for as long as it takes—determined to prove that, despite everything they have lost, she has always been the home he spent years searching for.
Y/N stood beside Agrippa as they welcomed their first guests into their new home. Agrippa’s hand rested naturally against the small of her back, his thumb brushing absentmindedly over the fabric of her stola whenever he passed. Even after weeks of marriage, his eyes still sought hers first in every room, his expression softening whenever she smiled. To Rome, he was the empire’s fiercest commander. To her, he was simply a husband hopelessly in love with his wife. The sound of sandals against polished stone echoed through the courtyard. “Gaius Caesar and Lady Scribonia.” The conversations quieted as Gaius entered beside his wife. His posture was as perfect as ever, his expression unreadable beneath the calm mask that had made him Rome’s most formidable statesman. Scribonia walked gracefully at his side, elegant and composed, offering Y/N a warm smile the moment their eyes met.
Y/N Targaryen had been born beneath a sky of fire and stars on the endless Dothraki Sea. Her mother, Princess Rhaena Targaryen—the forgotten sister of King Viserys I—had been presumed dead for years. In truth, after a shipwreck during a voyage to Essos, she had been captured and sold among the Dothraki. There, she met the mighty khal Drogo, whose power stretched farther than any khal before him. Though she never saw Westeros again, she gave birth to a silver-haired daughter whose violet eyes seemed to hold dragonfire itself. That daughter was Y/N. From childhood, Y/N rode horses before she could properly walk. She learned the language of the Dothraki, the customs of warriors, and the harsh lessons of survival. Yet she never forgot the blood that flowed through her veins. “The dragon does not bow,” her mother would whisper. When Khal Drogo died years later, many expected the young khaleesi to be swallowed by rival khals. Instead, she walked into a blazing funeral pyre carrying three dragon eggs that had been hidden by her mother for decades. The flames roared. The world held its breath. At dawn, Y/N emerged untouched. And behind her stood a dragon. Not a hatchling. Not a young wyrm. A monster. The creature, named Vhagarion, grew larger than any dragon in recorded history. Larger than Vhagar. Larger than Balerion the Black Dread. Its wings cast shadows over entire cities. Its roar shook mountains. Its black scales gleamed like polished obsidian while veins of molten gold glowed beneath them. The people of Essos began calling Y/N the Dragon Queen of the Great Grass Sea. Then she gathered the Unsullied. Thousands upon thousands of them. Not through chains. Through loyalty. She broke slave cities, shattered armies, and built a force unlike the world had ever seen. By the time she was twenty-three, she commanded: * One hundred thousand Dothraki screamers. * Fifty thousand Unsullied. * Countless sellswords. * The largest dragon in existence. And ac
The massive doors of the Volturi chamber opened as Felix and Demetri returned, escorting Edward Cullen between them. Bella and Alice followed closely behind, their footsteps echoing against the ancient stone floor. The entire guard watched in silence. Y/n stood beside Caius, her long curls falling around her shoulders, deep crimson eyes fixed on the three Cullens. Demetri remained close at her side, his attention briefly drifting toward her before returning to the prisoners. Edward looked ahead toward the thrones. Bella looked terrified. Alice remained composed. And somewhere beyond the towering columns, the ancient Volturi waited to decide whether any of them would leave Volterra alive.
The forest surrounding the Cullen home had never felt quiet. Not truly. There was always the distant movement of animals through the trees, the whisper of wind between the branches, the occasional footsteps of one of the Cullens returning from a hunt. But tonight, the forest seemed to hold its breath. Y/n stood alone among the trees. Her long red hair moved gently with the wind, contrasting sharply against the pale skin of her face. She looked eighteen, perhaps even younger at first glance. Small, delicate, almost harmless. It was an illusion. She had been eighteen for longer than most vampires could comprehend. There were vampires who had lived for hundreds of years and never once heard her name. There were others who knew the legends surrounding her but had never seen her face. Ancient stories spoke of a red-haired vampire who appeared throughout history without explanation, leaving behind bodies, disappearances, and unanswered questions. No creator. No family. No beginning. Only Y/n. She had eventually found the Cullens and remained with them for years, becoming an unusual addition to their family. Carlisle had never demanded that she follow their diet, and Y/n had never pretended to share their beliefs about human blood. Her eyes remained a deep, unmistakable crimson. Tonight, however, she wasn’t thinking about feeding. She was watching the sky. Somewhere far beyond the trees, vampires were approaching. The Volturi. Y/n had known they would come long before the others had begun preparing for their arrival. Something about their presence felt different this time. Heavier. There were too many of them. Too much power. And somewhere among them was someone she had never met. Someone whose existence she could already feel in a way she couldn’t explain. Inside the Cullen home, the others were gathering around Carlisle. Witnesses had arrived from every direction, vampires who had traveled great distances to stand beside the family. Y/n had no int
Y/N fell for Jax Teller first—the reckless, complicated man she’d known long before either of them understood what they were becoming. When Jax finally falls for her, he falls hard enough to make her believe they’re untouchable. But loving Jax Teller comes with a price. Between the club, violence, jealousy, secrets, and Jax’s inability to stay faithful, their relationship becomes a vicious cycle of betrayal and forgiveness. He loves her, but he keeps hurting her. She forgives him, but every betrayal takes another piece of the trust between them. And eventually, Y/N has to decide what hurts more: walking away from the man she’s loved for years, or staying long enough to lose herself completely. Because sometimes the person you love the most is the same person who teaches you that love isn’t always enough.
