The water hit my skin like memory.
Hot, heavy, cleansing—and still not enough to wash it all away.
I stood in the shower, letting the drops cascade down my back, watching the mist cloud the mirror and my thoughts along with it. My fingers ran through my wet hair, but my mind was somewhere else—years away, in a hallway filled with echoing laughter and cruel whispers.
Flashback: Junior Year
It happened on a Wednesday. I remember because the rain hadn't stopped since Monday, and the corridors reeked of wet socks and cheap cologne.
Evelyn was already fuming. I didn't know what had pushed her over the edge—maybe the way Anthony started skipping their "lunch dates" to help me with quiz bee prep, or the way he laughed at my jokes without forcing it.
But that day, she didn't hold back.
In front of half our class and a few curious juniors, she yelled, "You think being smart makes you pretty, huh, Jaimie? You think just because you're the school brain, every guy will fall at your feet?"
I froze near the bulletin board, my quiz bee results still pinned up behind me.
"She's using you, Anthony," she spat, turning toward him. "Everyone knows she's just a teacher's pet with a sob story and a fake accent."
The words hit harder than I expected. Not because they were true—they weren't—but because part of me still feared I didn't belong.
Anthony looked at her. Then at me.
And then he said, "Enough."
The silence that followed was immediate and electric.
"Evelyn," he said evenly, "You don't get to speak to her like that. We're done."
Her face went pale. "What?"
"I said we're done," he repeated. Then he walked toward me, took my hand, and led me away.
My heart pounded. Not with triumph. But with fear.
Because I knew who wasn't clapping.
Later that day, I went to EJ.
I found him in our usual spot behind the library, sketching on his notebook—the way he always did when he didn't want to feel anything.
"EJ," I said gently, "Can we talk?"
He didn't look up. "There's nothing to talk about."
"Please... I didn't mean to hurt you."
"I told you," he said quietly. "He already had someone. And now that he's done with her, he runs to you?"
"He stood up for me," I whispered.
"But I stood by you," he said. "Every time."
I wanted to cry. But I knew that tears wouldn't fix it.
"I don't want to lose you," I said.
His pencil stopped moving. "Then stop choosing everyone else."
Present Day
"Mommy! You'll be late for your date!"
Sam's voice rang through the bathroom door, breaking the past like glass.
I turned off the water, wrapped myself in a towel, and peeked out. He was standing there in his dinosaur pajamas, holding a red toy T-Rex with eyes full of joy.
"Tito dad got this for me! It can roar!"
I smiled. "Did you say thank you?"
"I said 'RAWR!' and he said that means thank you in dinosaur!" Sam giggled.
I kissed his forehead, still damp from his afternoon nap. "You little goof."
Ten minutes later, I was dressed and downstairs.
EJ was waiting by the gate, wearing a navy polo and jeans, holding a small paper bag filled with snacks. His hair was a little messy, like he'd been rushing, but his smile was calm—familiar.
"Hey," he greeted. "You look good."
"You always say that," I said, brushing a stray curl behind my ear.
"Because it's always true."
Sam came running out after me, dinosaur in hand. "Tito Dad! Let's go!"
That name—Tito Dad—started as a joke a few months ago. But lately, it had stuck like gum on the heart.
EJ didn't correct him. He never did.
Instead, he bent down and scooped Sam up like it was the most natural thing in the world. "You ready for our dinosaur dinner adventure?"
"RAWR!" Sam answered with a nod.
We went to a quiet family diner nearby—EJ's idea. They had dinosaur-shaped nuggets and a coloring area for kids. Sam was busy playing while EJ and I sat by the window.
"You still shower too long," he teased softly, watching me sip my lemonade.
"You still sketch when you're upset."
He looked at me for a long moment. "I never stopped loving you, Jaimie. Even when I tried."
My throat tightened.
"And I never stopped needing you," I said.
The silence between us was full—but this time, not of regret.
It was full of possibility.
And maybe, for the first time in a long time, of hope.
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