The Ides of March: More Than Enough

Continuation of

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"The course of true love never did run smooth." - William Shakespeare.

If you had told me a year ago that a single night in a Midwest club would unravel my whole world and somehow stitch it back together in a completely different shape, I would've laughed, flipped my hair, and told you heartbreak wasn't in my brand.

Turns out, it was.

Heartbreak wasn't just part of my story. It was the reason I found the one that actually mattered.

Hi. I'm Savannah Rae. Content creator. I document fashion, lifestyle, and all the messy in-between moments for a community that somehow became a digital family. Full-time influencer. Recovering perfectionist. And... soon-to-be stepmom. Still getting used to saying that last part out loud.

I built my platform one aesthetic moment at a time. I knew how to frame heartbreak, how to edit grief into a good caption. But that night, with dim neon lights flickering against sticky floors and the smell of cheap whiskey and sweat clinging to everything, when I watched a man's heart break from across the club, I didn't have the right filters for what it did to me. It was like watching someone lose oxygen, and all I could do was breathe harder for him.

That man was Jim. And somewhere between that night and this morning, between the soft silences, coffee spoons, and Lego-strewn living room floors, I fell for him. Slowly. Completely. Without a script.

Life looks different now. Not because of a rebrand, but because of who walks through it with me. We live in a little apartment in LA where the fridge hums and the kids' drawings cover more surface area than my vision boards ever did. I still film, still post, still go viral sometimes, but now the most sacred things? I don't always share them.

Because some parts of love aren't meant for likes. They're meant for Sunday pancakes and bedtime stories and the kind of laughter that doesn't need a trending sound behind it.

So, yeah. This is me. Not just the girl who called out betrayal. Not just the woman who told the truth online. I'm the one who stayed. The one who kept showing up. And now, I'm the one who gets to love this man and the little world we're building together.

And if you're wondering how that story goes?

Well... it starts with a knock on the door, the smell of cinnamon sugar wafting from the kitchen, two kids in sneakers carrying all the weight of someone else's mistakes, and the most terrifying, beautiful word I've ever had to earn:

Mommy.

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Chapter -- "Making Room"

(Savannah's POV)

I was elbow-deep in a storage bin labeled "STUFF I SWEAR I'LL WEAR AGAIN" when the chat lit up for the fourth time in under a minute. A pair of neon bike shorts dangled from my hand as I squinted at the scrolling chaos on my screen.

"She's really making room y'all. StepMom Rae is real."

"When's the wedding??"

"MOVE. THAT. HOODIE."

I laughed and tossed the shorts onto the "donate" pile. "Yes, we are officially transforming the walk-in closet of my dreams into a bedroom-slash-art-studio-slash-power-zone for two tiny humans who already run the show."

The camera panned slightly as I adjusted the tripod, giving my audience a full view of the second bedroom. It still had hints of me, my old content backdrop, soft lights, a fuzzy throw chair. But already, it looked different. We'd painted one wall sky blue with white clouds and the other a soft lavender that Emma picked from a digital palette. The closet doors were open and half empty. Progress.

Off-camera, I heard a thud, followed by a low groan. "You okay?" I called.

Jim appeared in the frame, carrying a flat-pack bookshelf. His hoodie sleeves were shoved up, and there was a streak of paint on his cheek. The moment his face registered in the feed, the chat went absolutely feral.

"HE'S BACK."

"My fav Instagram dad who isn't even on Instagram."

"Savannah... girl... blink if he smells like fresh lumber."

Jim glanced at the screen. "They're talking about me, aren't they?"

"Relentlessly," I said, fighting a grin.

He set the shelf down beside me and leaned in, brushing his fingers over a curl that had come loose near my ear. I froze, smiling even before he kissed me. Not just a brush of lips, either, an honest-to-God, smiling-into-it kiss that sent my heart cartwheeling. When he pulled back, I swear the chat briefly broke.

"EXCUSE ME????"

"Y'ALL. Y'ALLLLLLLLLLLLL."

"This stream is now PG-13."

Jim chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry. That okay?"

I turned to the camera. "He's asking me if you're okay with it."

Laughter spilled from both of us, easy and natural, the way it always felt when the world stopped watching and it was just him and me. Except this time, the world was watching. And I didn't mind one bit.

We spent the next hour folding little socks, hanging wall decals, and trying not to knock over the tripod with furniture. The stream stayed chaotic. The chat stayed wild. But underneath it all was something softer. Something steady.

This was more than a room, it was our new beginning.

**********

Chapter -- "The Airport Reunion"

(Jim's POV)

LAX baggage claim was a mess of fluorescent lights, frantic reunions, and suitcase pileups. I stood near carousel six, the strap of my messenger bag cutting into my shoulder, trying not to check the arrivals board for the sixth time. Their flight had landed. Any minute now.

I adjusted the collar of my blue shirt, the one Emma used to call her favorite. Back when she used to say things like that without thinking. God, I missed her voice when it was just hers, not filtered through someone else's tone. I took a breath, bracing for what I couldn't predict.

Then I saw them.

Tommy tore through the crowd like a rocket, his backpack bouncing wildly.

"Dad!" he shouted. "You said you were gonna grow a beard, but you didn't!"

I crouched low and caught him in a hug that nearly knocked me off balance. "What can I say? Beards need more time than I had."

His small arms clung around my neck with all the certainty in the world. I held him tighter than I meant to, just breathing him in, until I heard my mom's voice.

"Jimmy," she called, soft and warm and so familiar it settled something in me. She was walking slowly, holding Emma's hand.

My daughter didn't smile or run to me the way Tommy did. Her steps were deliberate, careful. She looked older than I remembered, her eyes shadowed by something I couldn't reach. Grief sat heavy in my chest, something I knew too well.

"Hi, Em," I said as I stood.

She gave me a small nod. "Hi, Daddy."

No hug. Just those two words, clipped and quiet. My hands ached with the absence of holding her, so I reached out anyway, gently squeezing her shoulder. She didn't pull away, but she didn't lean in either. The distance between us felt bigger than LAX, bigger than all the miles she'd just flown.

Mom pulled me in for a tight hug next. "Still thin," she muttered, then held my face with both hands. "You look refreshed. LA hasn't gotten its claws in you yet."

"Thanks," I said, forcing a small laugh. My chest still felt hollow. "You okay with the sleeping arrangements?"

She waved me off. "The fold-out couch is fine. I'm not here for five-star luxury, Jimmy. I'm here to see my grandbabies and to meet this girl who has you glowing."

The ride back to the apartment was filled with the usual cross-talk of kids, city noise, and Mom occasionally offering Emma peppermint gum she'd already refused twice. Tommy kept asking when we'd see the beach. Emma didn't say much. Just stared out the window, earbuds in. Every so often, I glanced at her in the rearview mirror, searching for any sign she was still my little girl underneath the quiet armor.

Mom looked over at me during a lull. "So, Savannah," she said. "You serious about her?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Very."

"And she's serious about you?"

"She sees me, Mom," I said. "All of me. Not just the part that works or parents or... survived."

"Well," she said, settling back with a nod. "Then she's got my attention."

When we pulled into the lot, the front door opened before we reached it. Savannah stepped out in jeans and a soft tee, hair up, smile hesitant but real. She wiped her hands on a dish towel and waved.

"Hey," she said.

"This her?" my mom asked under her breath.

"It is."

Mom's eyes traveled from Savannah's bare feet to the paint-flecked edge of her shirt. She nodded slowly, like she was putting a puzzle piece into place.

"Was expecting more glitter," she said once we reached the door. "But you," she reached for Savannah's hand, "you're the kind of woman who looks a man in the eye. Not at his wallet or what he's lost. That matters."

Savannah flushed. "It's really good to meet you, ma'am."

"You can call me Nana," Mom replied, tugging Tommy inside. "And I'm calling dibs on the couch."

Tommy dashed toward the hallway shouting, "I wanna see the bunk beds!" Emma followed more slowly, her backpack still clutched tight to her chest. I watched her go, every step weighted with a sadness I couldn't name. All I wanted was to gather her up and remind her she was safe here. That she was still mine. But for now, I let her walk.

I helped Mom with her bag, then closed the door behind us, the soft click of the lock echoing louder than expected in the moment. The apartment felt full. And for the first time in a long time, that didn't feel overwhelming.

It felt right, though there were still wounds that hadn't closed.

**********

Chapter -- "Made With Intention"

(Savannah's POV)

The second bedroom looked like a Pinterest board I never posted. String lights looped above the bunk beds. There were stickers shaped like stars on the ceiling and a reading nook by the window with beanbags I'd tested for comfort like my life depended on it. Emma's side had a lavender comforter with a soft, brushed quilt. Tommy's had dinosaurs, of course, and a shelf for all the books he couldn't yet read but liked to pretend he could.

"This is your room," I said, trying to sound like I wasn't holding my breath. "We worked on it together. Jim picked the rug. I got carried away with the wall decals."

Tommy made a beeline for the bed and belly-flopped onto the bottom bunk. "I LOVE IT!" he shouted, voice muffled by pillows. "It smells like Target!"

Emma stepped into the doorway. She looked at everything--the beds, the cloud wall, the little tote bag with her name embroidered in cursive, and nodded once.

"It's fine," she said.

Then she walked away.

My smile stayed on like it had been stapled there, but my ribs squeezed in around my lungs. I glanced at Jim's mom, who gave me a soft smile and turned her attention to unpacking Tommy's backpack. Jim reached for my hand.

"She didn't mean it like that," he said gently.

"I know," I said. I didn't. "I just wanted her to feel like she belonged."

"She will," he said. "You're doing more than enough."

But still, I found myself straightening Emma's bedspread even after she was gone. Tucking it tight. Smoothing corners that didn't need it. I wasn't sure who I was trying to comfort--her or me.

Later that evening, after dinner and stories and Tommy showing off his Velcro sneakers like they were made of diamonds, Jim stood up, clearing his throat.

"So," he said, looking around the living room. "There's something we wanted to tell you."

My heart did a funny little skip. I wasn't scared, just... aware. Of how fragile beginnings could be.

Jim reached for my hand again, and this time I let him hold it in front of everyone.

"I asked Savannah to marry me," he said. "And she said yes."

Jim's mom clapped, a proud little tear welling in her eye. "I knew it," she said, pulling me into a hug. "You're good for each other."

Tommy tilted his head. "Does that mean I get TWO moms?"

I crouched down beside him. "No, buddy. You already have one mom who loves you. I just get to be someone else who does too."

He considered this seriously, then nodded and gave me a high five.

Emma didn't say a word. She stood, walked into the second bedroom, and closed the door behind her with careful quiet.

Jim was up before I could move. "Let me talk to her," he said softly.

I just nodded and watched him go.

Then I sat back on the couch, surrounded by warmth, noise, and everything I'd hoped for, but still carrying the silence of one closed door.

**********

Chapter -- "What It Means"

(Jim's POV)

The bedroom door wasn't locked, but I still knocked.

No answer.

I opened it slowly. Emma sat on the floor beside the bed she'd helped decorate with stickers three months ago over video call. She wasn't touching any of it. Her knees were drawn to her chest, her face tucked against them. I didn't have to hear her to know she was crying.

I didn't say anything at first. Just walked in and sat down beside her, letting my back rest against the bed frame. The room felt smaller than it had earlier, like her sadness had folded in all the air.

She wiped her eyes quickly, trying to hide it, but didn't turn away.

"Hey, bug," I said gently.

"I don't want to sleep here," she mumbled.

I nodded slowly. "Okay. You don't have to tonight."

She didn't answer.

I looked around the room. All the effort Savannah had put in, every soft light, every color, every tiny thoughtful detail. It didn't mean nothing. But it also wasn't the thing Emma needed right now.

"I know this is a lot," I said after a while. "And it probably feels like it's all happening too fast."

She sniffled, still hiding her face.

"But I need you to know something, Emma. Savannah's not trying to take anyone's place. She's not here to replace your mom. That's not what this is."

"Then why are you marrying her?" Her voice cracked when she said it, small and sharp all at once.

I swallowed the ache in my throat. "I love her. But loving her doesn't mean I love you and Tommy any less. That kind of love doesn't shrink when it grows."

Emma looked up at me then, eyes glossy and confused. "What if she doesn't like us?"

"She already does. So much." I smiled. "You know those books you like? She read three of them just so she'd understand your favorite characters. She didn't even tell you. She just wanted to know you better."

Emma was quiet, processing.

"She doesn't want to be your mom," I said softly. "She just wants to be someone safe. Someone who shows up. And I wouldn't ask you to make space for her if I didn't believe--really believe--that she would make your world better."

She didn't respond right away. Then she leaned into my side, just barely, and whispered, "Can I sleep in your room tonight?"

I put an arm around her and kissed the top of her head. "Of course, bug. Any time."

We stayed like that for a long while--just a dad and his daughter and a quiet room full of feelings that didn't need to be fixed, just heard.

**********

Chapter -- "Room for One"

Savannah's POV

The bedroom door creaked open and Jim stepped out, cradling Emma in his arms like she was still small enough to need carrying. Her face was pressed into his shoulder, her arms looped tightly around his neck. She didn't look at me.

"She's gonna sleep with us tonight," Jim said gently.

Emma stirred, voice muffled but firm. "Just Dad. Not her."

I blinked.

There wasn't time to react. Jim froze mid-step. His eyes flicked to mine, apologetic. I didn't flinch. Didn't let it show.

"Sure," I said softly, offering a smile that felt like paper held too close to flame.

I turned to Tommy, who was curled up on the couch under a blanket shaped like a shark. "Hey, bud. Mind if I sleep in your room tonight? Just for fun?"

He lit up. "Really?! Can we tell ghost stories?"

"You get one," I said, tousling his hair.

"Sav," Jim started, guilt already knotting behind his voice.

But I cut him off with a quiet shake of my head. "It's fine."

And maybe it was.

Maybe love, the kind that mattered, meant giving up space so someone else could feel safe in it.

Even if it stung.

I woke up with a stiff neck, curled under Tommy's dinosaur blanket on the bottom bunk. Morning light filtered through the curtains, catching the little glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to the ceiling. I blinked a few times, trying to shake off the heaviness in my chest, when I felt a small gaze on me.

Tommy sat cross-legged on his bed, hair a wild mess, blinking at me with his big brown eyes.

"Morning, pretty Savannah," he said softly, his voice raspy with sleep.

My chest melted, and I smiled despite everything. "Morning, bud."

He tilted his head. "What's for breakfast?"

I stretched, feeling my spine pop. "How about pancakes? Want to help me make them?"

His eyes widened with excitement. "Really? Mom never lets me help make food."

I stood and reached for his little hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Well," I said, leading him toward the kitchen, "today, you're my official pancake assistant."

And as he beamed up at me, I felt something settle in my chest, small, steady, and real.

The apartment smelled like vanilla extract and maple syrup. Tommy stood on a stool, whisk in hand, batter on his nose. I kept the energy light for the stream--titled "Saturday Pancakes with Tommy!"--but my brain was on delay, like the part of me that usually sparkled was still asleep in the other room.

Tommy giggled as he cracked an egg into the bowl and half of the shell went with it. "Oops."

"Adds texture," I said, fishing it out.

The chat loved it. Hearts and pancake emojis flooded in. Someone typed, "Mom energy unlocked," and I pretended it didn't make my chest tighten.

Then the iPad buzzed.

Emma had left it on the kitchen counter, the screen lighting up with a FaceTime request. The name read: Mom. Tommy looked at it first.

"Emma! Mom's calling!"

Before I could even call out, Emma flew into the room, still in pajamas, hair half-brushed. She scooped the iPad into her arms like it was sacred and mumbled a quick, "Hi," before vanishing into the second bedroom.

The door clicked shut behind her.

I stood there, holding a spatula I no longer remembered picking up, as the stream kept rolling and the chat asked what toppings we were using.

Tommy tugged on my sleeve. "Can I put chocolate chips in mine?"

"Of course, buddy."

We stirred in silence for a while. I smiled on cue. Laughed at the right time. Took a bite of a half-burnt pancake like it was the best thing I'd ever tasted. But inside, something kept sliding sideways.

After the stream ended and the kitchen was mostly clean, I sat on the couch while Jim wiped down the counter. The iPad was back where it had started. Emma's voice still echoed faintly from the closed bedroom.

Jim noticed. "You okay?"

I looked up. "It's not that she hates me."

He dried his hands, waiting.

"She just loves her mom." I gave him a small, sad smile. "And I'm the reason that love feels... disloyal."

Jim sat beside me, resting his arm on the back of the couch but not reaching. "She's a kid. She's still figuring out how to hold two truths at the same time."

"I know," I said. "But I don't think she wants to make room for me. Not yet."

"You don't have to rush her," he said. "Just keep showing up."

I nodded. "Yeah. Smiles on schedule. I'm good at that."

He looked at me like he wanted to say something more, something softer, but the bedroom door creaked open.

Emma peeked out. "Dad, Mom wants to talk to you."

He stood and followed her inside.

And I stayed on the couch, the faint scent of pancakes still clinging to my sleeves, wondering how long it would take before love didn't feel like waiting in the hallway.

*********

Chapter -- "The Line Between"

(Jim's POV)

I hated this part.

If it weren't for the kids, I wouldn't speak to Linda at all. But co-parenting meant compromises, like picking up the phone when the past came knocking with a familiar ringtone and a too-sweet voice.

Emma was still chatting with her, perched cross-legged on the bed with the iPad propped in front of her. Her little face lit up, eyes crinkled in a way I hadn't seen in days. My chest ached just watching it.

"Look," she said, turning the screen slightly so Linda could see the room. "We have a reading nook. Nana helped pick the pillows."

There was a beat of silence, then Linda's voice, soft and sugar-dipped. "Oh... that's cute. A little overdecorated, but cute."

I kept my face still, forcing my jaw to unclench.

Emma didn't notice. She was too busy pointing out the string lights and the cloud decals, her voice quick and eager for approval she didn't realize she was begging for.

When she was done narrating, I crouched next to her and smiled. "Hey, Em. Why don't you go grab another pancake before Tommy eats all the chocolate chips?"

She perked up instantly. "Okay! Bye, Mom! Love you."

"Love you too, baby," Linda said, her voice warm and bright--until Emma left the room. The warmth vanished like it had never been there.

I stood and looked into the screen. "Hi, Linda."

"James," she said, cool and clipped. "You're looking... tired."

"I'm fine."

She gave a tight smile. "I just wanted to make sure the kids are settling in. Sounds like Savannah's got everything all figured out."

I kept my tone neutral, refusing to let her hook into anything. "They're adjusting. It's new. We're doing our best."

Linda tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing with that familiar calculating glint. "Mmm. Must be strange, planning a wedding so soon after the ink dried. Feels a little rushed, don't you think?"

I swallowed the flare of anger rising in my chest. "We're happy. That's what matters."

Her smile thinned. "Just don't forget that being a good dad means thinking long-term. Stability, James. Not novelty."

Before I could respond, the door eased open and Mom peeked in, holding a half-folded towel.

"Oh, sorry to interrupt, Jimmy. I think Tommy might've spilled syrup on the couch. Can you help me?"

I turned back to the screen. "I have to go. We'll talk later."

Linda's smile was tight, eyes flicking away like I'd bored her. "Of course. Tell the kids I said goodnight."

I ended the call and exhaled hard, feeling something knotted in my shoulders finally begin to loosen.

Mom placed the towel on the dresser. "No syrup," she said softly. "Just figured you needed rescuing."

I gave her a tired smile, one that felt brittle around the edges. "Thanks."

She walked over and gently fixed my collar like she used to when I was a boy, her touch light and certain. "You're a good man, Jimmy. And you don't owe that woman anything."

"Sometimes I feel like I owe her something just to keep the peace," I said quietly, staring at the carpet.

Mom touched my cheek, her thumb brushing just under my eye. "Let her be a sour puss. You've got something sweet now. Hold onto it."

She slipped out of the room just as Emma returned, sticky-fingered and smiling, holding a half-eaten pancake like a trophy. Her eyes met mine for half a second before she scampered past, and for that fleeting moment, everything in me softened.

Because no matter what Linda said, this was my peace. Right here.

Mom's words stayed with me long after she left the room. I sat there for a while, listening to the kids laugh down the hall, the quiet clatter of Savannah cleaning up breakfast, and thought about what it meant to hold onto something sweet when so much of life had been bitter. Later that day, as sunlight streamed across the kitchen counter, I decided it was time to show Savannah I wasn't afraid to move forward.

Filling out the wedding license paperwork felt like progress. Tangible, hopeful. I wasn't planning some big announcement, I just wanted Savannah to know I was serious. That I wasn't dragging my feet. That I saw our future and was still walking toward it, even with the shadows of the past tagging along.

I waited until the kids were busy in the living room. Tommy was racing cars across the tile. Emma was curled up in the reading nook with her tablet. It felt like a safe moment.

"I printed out the forms," I told Savannah, voice low. "For the wedding license."

Her eyes flicked up, surprised--but she smiled. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Just the basics. It's a start."

She touched my arm, gentle and grateful. "I love that it's real now."

It was a good moment. Easy. Natural. Until it wasn't.

Later that afternoon, I found Savannah alone in the kitchen, staring at the fridge like it had said something cruel.

"Emma overheard us," she said quietly.

I straightened. "What did she say?"

"She waited until you left the room and said, 'You're not my mom.' Then she walked away."

I ran a hand over the back of my neck. "Sav..."

"I wasn't trying to replace her. I didn't even say anything about the wedding. She just... needed to say it."

She tried to sound calm, but her voice had that raw edge she got when she was trying not to cry. I didn't know what to say. No amount of reassurance would change the fact that this was messy. Complicated. Unfair to everyone involved. Especially Savannah.

That night, I read Emma her favorite bedtime story, the one with the fairy queen who gave up her crown to raise fireflies. She didn't bring it up. Neither did I. She curled against my side, thumb tucked beneath her chin, silent.

After she drifted off, I stepped into the hallway and found Savannah sitting cross-legged on the couch, scrolling through her phone with a blank expression.

"She's not ready," I said.

"I know."

"We can't rush what's earned."

She nodded slowly. "And what if it never is?"

I sat down beside her, close but not touching. "Then we keep showing up. That's all we can do."

Her head dropped to my shoulder a minute later.

And I let the quiet hold us both.

**********

Chapter -- "In the Frame"

(Savannah's POV)

The kitchen smelled like garlic, lemon, and butter. I had the ring light on low, hair in a high bun, apron tied over one of Jim's old tees. The stream was cozy--a "Cook With Me" live that had started off as solo prep for dinner but had quickly turned into 42,000 people hanging out while I chopped vegetables and offered tips that weren't in any way professional.

"I'm not saying this recipe is perfect," I said into the camera, "but if your pan starts singing? That's usually a good sign."

The chat rolled with laughing emojis and heart eyes. I was halfway through seasoning the chicken when I heard a door creak behind me. I didn't turn right away.

Jim's mom shuffled into view wearing slippers, reading glasses halfway down her nose. "That smells divine," she said, already reaching for a spoon. "Want a hand?"

I froze mid-stir. "Wait--uh, Nana--Mrs. Williams--just so you know, I'm streaming."

She blinked, then looked directly at the phone propped on the tripod. "You're what now?"

The chat exploded.

"NANA IN THE KITCHEN"

"OH MY GOD IS THAT JIM'S MOM??"

"PROTECT HER AT ALL COSTS"

"OMG SHE'S SO CUTE"

"LOOK AT HER SLIPPERS"

I reached to pause, but she waved me off. "Well now I feel underdressed," she joked, tightening her robe. "Do I say hi?"

"You just did," I said, laughing. "And... they love you already."

She peered at the screen, reading comments out loud. "'She's iconic.'" She laughed. "'Please give her a cooking segment.' You've got a nice bunch of fans."

We spent the next twenty minutes chopping, stirring, and laughing together. She told a story about Jim setting off the smoke alarm at age ten trying to make grilled cheese. I showed her how the chat could vote on side dishes. She asked if I always looked so relaxed with a camera on me. I said no, but that this was different. This was real.

As we plated the food and started wrapping up the stream, she paused beside me and rested her hand on my arm.

"You know," she said, not looking at the camera, "you better get used to calling me Mom. You're marrying my Jimmy soon."

I dropped the spatula.

The chat exploded again.

"SHE SAID IT"

"NOT NANA CLAIMING HER"

"I'M CRYING THIS IS TOO CUTE"

"SAVANNAH BLUSHED"

"CAN THEY JUST GET MARRIED ALREADY"

I turned to her, heart thudding, and saw nothing but warmth in her eyes.

"You serious?" I asked, voice smaller than I meant it to be.

"Dead serious," she said, and pulled me into a hug that felt like something I didn't know I'd been missing.

The chat was losing its mind. But I didn't even look.

Because for the first time, in that kitchen full of light and noise and love, I felt like I truly belonged.

Cooking with Jim's mom that morning felt like breathing fresh air I didn't know I'd been missing. But later, after the kitchen was clean and the chat had quieted, reality slipped back in like an unwelcome draft under the door.

It was subtle, at first.

Little phrases. Slight shifts. Emma's voice, but not quite her cadence. A tightness in her tone that didn't sound like the girl who'd once given me bracelet advice over breakfast.

"Mom says this isn't forever."

I blinked. "What do you mean?"

Emma shrugged without looking up from her tablet. "She just thinks you'll get tired of us. Or that Dad will."

Tommy was at the dining table drawing dinosaurs with a neon green crayon, humming to himself. Jim was still in the shower. I kept my face neutral.

"Oh," I said. "That's... okay. Thanks for letting me know."

She just nodded and wandered off like it hadn't shattered something deep and raw inside me.

I waited until everyone was busy--Tommy watching cartoons, Jim folding laundry with earbuds in--and slipped into the second bedroom. I curled onto the corner of the twin bed that wasn't mine and pressed my journal flat against my thigh.

I hadn't touched it in weeks. I used to write everything down. Outfit plans. Caption ideas. Emotional beats I could mold into stories. But this was different. This wasn't for content. It wasn't for clarity. It was just for me.

I wrote, "It's not about being liked. It's about being steady."

I underlined it twice.

Because I didn't know how to compete with an echo. I didn't know how to look a child in the face and remind her that love didn't come with a timer. I didn't want to win. I just wanted to last.

When Jim knocked gently on the door and asked if everything was okay, I smiled. Said I just needed a minute.

And when he left me alone, trusting that I'd come back when I was ready, I wrote that down too.

Because being steady? Maybe that starts with being still.

I spent the rest of that afternoon reminding myself that being steady meant staying, even when it hurt. By evening, I was still holding that ache quietly in my chest when a small voice broke through it with something I didn't know I needed to hear.

I was on the couch, pretending to scroll through emails while actually reading back over the last page of my journal. The words still sat heavy on the paper: It's not about being liked. It's about being steady. I wasn't even sure if I believed them yet. But I wanted to.

Tommy shuffled into the living room in his oversized dinosaur pajamas, clutching his favorite blue blanket like it was part of his skeleton. He stood in front of me for a second, eyes big and unsure.

"Savannah?"

I set the journal aside. "Yeah, buddy?"

He hesitated, twisting the edge of his blanket. "Can I ask you a favor?"

"Of course."

He looked over his shoulder like he was about to share state secrets. "Can you come to my classroom thingy when I go back to school? Where we show stuff we made?"

"You mean show and tell?"

He nodded hard. "Yeah. That."

My chest squeezed, warm and aching. "I'd love to."

He smiled like the sun cracked through him. "Okay. I already told my all friend's you're coming. I said you're my step-Savannah."

"Your what?"

He shrugged. "You're not really a mom-mom. But you're mine. And I like you."

I blinked. Hard. Then pulled him into a hug and buried my face in his messy hair.

"Step-Savannah sounds just right," I whispered.

And for the first time in days, I felt steady again.

Tommy's words settled something inside me that night, but by morning, the world found its way back in, and with it came whispers I wasn't ready to hear.

Emma stood in the hallway like she'd been rehearsing. Hands folded tight, chin lifted in that fragile, defensive way only seven-year-olds seem to master.

"You only like Daddy because people follow you."

She said it like fact. Not anger. Just... a truth she believed.

I felt it in my ribs first. The way words land hard and then echo. I crouched down so we were eye-level.

"That's not true," I said gently.

She didn't reply. She just turned and walked away, quiet, her footsteps soft against the hardwood.

I didn't follow. I didn't press. I waited until I heard her bedroom door click shut before I slipped into the laundry room, closed the door behind me, and pressed my forehead to the warm hum of the dryer.

It was quiet in there. Safe. Like the machines might drown out the ache building behind my eyes.

I let it fall. Just a few tears. No shaking. No gasping. Just quiet grief for a little girl who didn't know she was repeating someone else's wounds.

Jim found me maybe ten minutes later. He didn't ask. Didn't say a word. Just stepped in, shut the door behind him, and wrapped his arms around me from behind. I leaned into him, letting the weight of it all press between us like folded fabric.

"She's hurting," I whispered. "And I can't fix it."

"I know," he said.

And that was all we needed.

Later that week, a brand reached out about a family collab. They wanted cute, curated. Matching outfits. Branded captions about "love makes a family." They said my numbers would triple.

I emailed back two lines: This isn't content. This is real. Please remove me from the campaign list.

Because if I was going to love them, all of them, it had to be the kind of love that didn't need a camera to exist.

**********

Chapter -- "Lines in the Carpet"

(Jim's POV)

I stepped into the bedroom, closing the door quietly behind me. The kids were still in the living room, Tommy narrating a cartoon to no one in particular. Savannah's soft voice rose and fell with his, guiding him through some puzzle with patience I no longer had.

I dialed Linda before I could change my mind.

She answered on the third ring, bright and sharp at once. "James. Finally. I've been waiting all day."

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Don't call me that. What do you want?"

"Don't get defensive," she said lightly. "I was just checking in. Emma sounded... off. She said Savannah cried yesterday. On camera?"

I gritted my teeth. "No. She didn't."

"Really?" Her voice curled like smoke. "Because Emma says she's sad all the time. That you're forcing this family to happen for Savannah's online brand. That it's why you won't even consider giving us another chance."

I felt something dark and tired coil inside me. "There was never going to be a second chance, Linda. Not after what you did. This isn't about Savannah. It's about you burning down everything and expecting to walk through the ashes of our life like nothing happened."

Silence on her end. Then, brittle. "You don't have to be cruel."

"Cruel?" I let out a quiet laugh, sharp and humorless. "Don't turn the kids into pawns to make yourself feel better."

"They're my kids too," she snapped. "I'm allowed to tell them the truth."

"No," I said, voice dropping. "You're allowed to love them. Not weaponize them."

Her sigh crackled through the speaker. "You're different now. Meaner."

"No," I said again, calmly this time. "Just done."

I hung up before she could answer.

When I walked back into the living room, Tommy was giggling as Savannah pretended to lose a puzzle piece under the coffee table. She looked up at me and smiled, soft and tired and real.

I sank down beside her on the carpet, elbows resting on my knees. For a moment, I just watched her help Tommy connect two bright yellow pieces.

"Thank you," I said quietly.

She glanced over. "For what?"

"For loving me as much as I love you."

She didn't respond with words, just reached over and squeezed my wrist, grounding me in a way Linda never could.

*********

Chapter -- "Almost a Family"

(Savannah's POV)

The air smelled like kettle corn, funnel cake, and too many people wearing too much perfume. The street fair pulsed around us with music and bright banners fluttering between food stalls. Tommy tugged Jim from booth to booth, eyes wide with delight at every spinning ride and stuffed-animal prize he couldn't win.

Emma clung to Jim's side like his shadow. Every time I reached out--offering to hold her cotton candy, suggesting we ride the carousel--she shrank back without a word.

"It's okay," Jim whispered to me once as Tommy tried to drag him toward the balloon dart booth. "She's just overwhelmed."

I nodded, though part of me still hurt.

We passed a booth selling handmade friendship bracelets. Little girls sat cross-legged on cushions, weaving thin threads into bright, careful patterns. Emma slowed, watching with guarded curiosity. Tommy made a beeline for a neon orange bracelet with plastic dinosaur charms. The vendor laughed softly and let him try it on.

"Emma," Jim said gently, "want to make one?"

She didn't answer, but her gaze stayed fixed on the braids of thread.

I crouched down beside her, voice soft. "Want me to show you how to start the knot?"

She glanced at me, cheeks pink. "You're... better at small stuff," she mumbled, not meeting my eyes.

My chest tightened with something warm and aching all at once. "Okay," I said. "Let's pick your colors."

We sat there together under the striped awning, knees touching. Her fingers fumbled with the first knot, so I guided them gently, careful not to overwhelm her with praise she wasn't ready to hear. When she finally tugged it tight, she let out a small, relieved breath.

"That's perfect," I whispered.

She didn't smile, but her shoulders relaxed just enough to feel like victory.

That night, back at the apartment, we piled onto the couch with blankets and leftover fair snacks. Tommy fell asleep first, head buried under a pillow fort. Jim drifted off next, slumped against the armrest.

I stayed awake, half-watching the credits roll. I felt Emma shift against my side. I looked down to find her curled into me, cheek resting lightly on my hip. Her breathing was steady. Her tiny hand rested on my knee, fingers curling slightly into the fabric of my sweatpants.

I didn't move. I didn't breathe too deep. I just let her stay there, anchoring me to this quiet, flickering moment that felt almost like family.

For one night, it felt like we were finally finding our rhythm. But by morning, the outside world reminded me that happiness, no matter how quiet, never stays unchallenged for long.

My notifications were blowing up before I even opened my eyes.

It started with one comment pinging at 6:14 a. m. Then another. By the time I was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at my phone with blurry eyes, there were hundreds.

Marc's fans had found an old video. A blurry clip from a club I didn't even remember the name of. Me, standing in the background, eyes locked on something out of frame. The caption read:

"Imagine thinking she cared about him for real #cloutchaser #throwbackdrama."

The comments were worse.

"Can't believe she's still milking this."

"She ruined a family for TikTok likes."

"Slut energy. Pass."

I set the phone down on the kitchen counter like it burned. Tommy was still asleep, curled under his dinosaur blanket. Emma was in her room, earbuds in. Jim was in the shower, humming off-key like he always did when he thought no one could hear.

I poured myself coffee with shaking hands, staring out the window at the half-dead succulents lining the sill. For a moment, I thought about deleting my accounts. All of them. Just... vanishing. Would anyone really miss me? Would it matter?

Instead, I grabbed my phone and recorded a quiet, untagged clip. Just me in my sweats, hair tied back, watering the little plants with a thrifted mug that said World's Okayest Influencer.

No captions. No trending sounds. No pinned comment.

Just a girl watering what she could keep alive.

Jim came into the kitchen, hair damp, t-shirt wrinkled from sleep. He watched me set the phone down.

"Bad morning?" he asked.

I shrugged, eyes burning with frustration I couldn't voice. "Marc's fans found old videos again. DMs are... a lot."

He crossed the space between us, resting his hands on my hips. "Let them yell into the wind. We don't have to answer."

I stared at him, this man who held so much pain but never once handed it back out. This man who saw every sharp edge in me and didn't flinch.

"It's nice," I whispered, voice trembling. "Knowing I can be soft around you. Makes me think I can be more than just strong."

He kissed my forehead, gentle and grounding. "You don't have to be anything but yourself."

And for a moment, I let myself believe it.

I went to bed bracing for another day of silent battles, but when I woke up, I realized I wasn't fighting alone anymore.

The next morning, I woke up with a pit in my stomach. I reached for my phone on the nightstand before my eyes had even adjusted to the light, bracing for the hate I knew would be waiting.

But when the screen flickered to life, it wasn't what I expected.

It was them.

My notifications were flooded--thousands of comments, DMs, and stitches, but this time they weren't tearing me down. They were lifting me up.

The Savvy Set had gone to war.

"Imagine thinking Savannah did this for clout when she literally turned down paid interviews to protect that man's privacy."

"Not her fault Marc's fans think loyalty is optional."

"You do NOT come for our girl. Not today."

Video after video scrolled past, creators using trending audios to call out the trolls, screen-recording Marc's old problematic tweets, and stitching my plant-watering video with captions like:

"She's out here minding her plants while y'all mind her business. Stay mad."

I sat up, blanket falling to my waist, phone clutched to my chest as a laugh burst out of me. Tears pricked my eyes. Not the broken kind. The relieved, stunned, grateful kind.

I scrolled to one video with over a million views. It was just a fan showing a collage of my quiet moments, making tea, reading books, brushing Emma's hair, set to soft piano music with the caption:

"This is what real influence looks like. I will never stop supporting her."

I didn't post anything that morning. Didn't repost. Didn't comment.

Instead, I just sat there for a long time, letting the glow of their defense sink into my bones like sun-warmth.

Because for the first time in days, I felt something shift back into place.

I wasn't alone in this.

They had me.

Their support gave me just enough strength to keep showing up, and the very next day, I learned that sometimes love grows strongest in the smallest moments.

It was a Tuesday when something quietly shifted on the homefront between Emma and me.

Emma was racing Tommy across the parking lot, their giggles echoing under the awning, when she tripped over her own untied shoelace. The sound of skin scraping against concrete made my stomach twist. She sat up fast, trying to swallow her tears before they formed, but her knee was already bleeding.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," I said, crouching beside her.

"I'm fine," she snapped, blinking hard, lips trembling.

"I know you are," I whispered. "But let's clean it up anyway, yeah?"

She didn't answer, but she didn't pull away either. I guided her back upstairs, Tommy trailing behind us with worried eyes.

In the kitchen, I set her on the counter, running warm water over a cloth before gently pressing it to her knee. She hissed in pain, shoulders stiff, fists clenched in her lap.

"It hurts," she whispered, the words catching in her throat.

I paused, then met her eyes. "It's okay to hurt, Emma. That's not weakness."

She blinked at me, tears finally slipping down her cheeks. I wiped them away with my thumb before returning to clean the scrape. After the bandage was on, she sat still for a long moment, staring at it.

"Thanks," she said softly.

That night, after dinner and showers and a movie none of us really watched, I walked past the kids' room and paused. Emma sat cross-legged on her bed, sketchbook balanced on her knees, tongue tucked between her teeth in concentration.

I didn't say anything. Just watched.

She looked up, startled, then quickly angled the page away from me. "It's not done," she mumbled.

"Okay," I said with a smile. "Can't wait to see it."

I turned to leave but paused when she spoke again, voice small.

"It's... it's us."

"Yeah?" I asked, my throat tightening.

She nodded, not meeting my eyes. "You're in it too."

I stepped into the hallway, heart aching in a way that felt almost like relief. I didn't need to see it to know what it meant.

Sometimes love wasn't loud. Sometimes it was pencil on paper. No words. Just colors.

And for now, that was enough.

Emma's quiet trust stayed with me all week, wrapping itself around my heart, and by the time Saturday came, I found myself hoping she'd see me the same way in a different kind of dress.

I hadn't planned on crying that day.

The boutique was small and warm, smelling faintly of lavender sachets tucked between tulle gowns. Jim's mom sat on a little velvet chair near the mirror, watching me flip through white and ivory and blush options, her eyes sharp and soft all at once.

Emma hovered by the racks, running her fingers over sequins and lace. She hadn't said much all morning, but she didn't cling to Jim's mom like before. That felt like progress.

When the stylist zipped me into the third dress, I stepped out onto the small platform. The satin fell around me like water, hugging in the right places, pooling in a soft shimmer at my feet.

Jim's mom smiled, eyes glistening. "That's the one."

I turned slightly, looking at Emma through the mirror. "What do you think?"

She blinked at me, wide-eyed, then nodded slowly. "You look like a princess."

My chest tightened so suddenly I nearly lost my balance. I swallowed hard, trying to keep the tears from spilling over.

"Thank you, Em," I whispered.

She shrugged, eyes darting away as her cheeks flushed pink. "It's pretty. And you look... happy."

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from sobbing right there on the platform.

Jim's mom reached over and took my hand, squeezing it with a quiet strength. "She loves you," she whispered so only I could hear. "She's just slow to say it."

I nodded, blinking fast, letting the tears gather without falling. In the mirror, Emma shifted closer, her small hand brushing over the edge of the dress, fingertips grazing the fabric like she was testing if it was real.

In that tiny boutique, under fairy lights and quiet music, I realized something. This wasn't just about a dress. It was about a girl who was learning to make space for me, and a woman who already had.

And it was about choosing softness, even when everything in me wanted to armor up.

**********

Chapter -- "Oh Boy"

(Jim's POV)

The apartment was quiet for once. Savannah, Mom, and Emma were out dress shopping, leaving me with Tommy and a few blessed hours of SportsCenter and couch time.

I sat with my feet up on the coffee table, half-watching a segment on NBA trades when the show cut to a breaking entertainment update. I almost muted it--until Marc's face appeared on the screen.

The headline read: "NFL Star Calls Out Fans for Harassment Backlash Ensues."

I leaned forward, curiosity piqued. The anchor summarized how Marc had released a video disavowing the fans who'd been trolling Savannah and other influencers. Except, instead of earning praise, he'd alienated half his supporters, who were now dragging him online for "throwing them under the bus."

A laugh rumbled out of me before I could stop it. I shook my head, lips twisting into a smirk. "Couldn't happen to a nicer guy."

Before they could dive further into Marc's PR meltdown, the program cut to commercial. Up came a bright, colorful ad for Disneyland--kids in Mickey ears, parents sipping iced coffees, fireworks over the castle. Tommy, who had been rolling his trucks across the carpet, turned at the first hint of Disney music.

His eyes lit up like Christmas morning. "Daddy! Can we go there?!"

I opened my mouth, still half-laughing from Marc's fiasco, and without thinking, said, "Sure, bud."

Before the word even finished leaving my lips, Tommy screamed in excitement and launched himself into my lap, arms wrapping around my neck.

"YAY! We're going to Disneyland!"

I looked down at his beaming face and felt my amusement deflate into amused dread. "Oh boy," I muttered under my breath, imagining ticket prices, lines, and twenty-dollar churros.

But when Tommy squeezed me tighter, still bouncing with pure joy, I found myself laughing anyway.

Because if it made him this happy... maybe it was worth it.

**********

Chapter -- "The Happiest Place"

(Savannah's POV)

The apartment smelled like sunscreen, churros, and warm cotton as we stepped inside, arms full of bags, backpacks, and tangled lanyards with character pins. My shoulders ached in the best way--Disneyland exhaustion, the kind that felt earned. I was still wearing my pale blue Cinderella gown, the hem dusty from hours of walking, sequins catching the hallway light with every step. It felt silly and magical all at once, like I was carrying a piece of the park home with me.

Emma skipped ahead, her Cinderella gown shimmering under the hallway light. When the stylist had asked what princess she wanted to be, she'd pointed to me without hesitation. "Her," she'd said. I didn't let myself cry then. But I felt it now.

Tommy dragged his balloon lightsaber behind him, humming the Star Wars theme with unbreakable commitment. Jim's mom followed last, holding the hem of her pink Aurora gown just above her slippers. Her smile hadn't faded since morning.

"I always wanted to go to Disneyland," she said softly as she eased onto the couch, a sleepy sigh escaping her chest. "Today was... magic."

I lined the Mickey ears on the kitchen counter, one by one. Jimmy. Savannah. Emma. Tommy. Nana. Each name embroidered in gold thread. I snapped a quick photo, feeling something sweet and achy twist beneath my ribs.

My fingers hovered over the caption bar before I typed:

Magic is real when it's shared. #family #home

I hit post and set the phone aside just as Emma rushed back from her room. She threw her arms around my waist, her face buried in the satin of her dress.

"Love you, Savannah," she whispered, voice small but certain.

My throat burned as I wrapped my arms around her shoulders. "Love you too, baby girl."

She pulled back, cheeks flushed with leftover excitement, and dashed off to her room. I glanced up just in time to see Jim watching from the hallway, a smile tugging at his lips. He winked at me, slow and full of something that felt like forever.

Before I could even blink away the tears gathering in my eyes, Jim's mom stood behind me, warm hand rubbing slow circles across my back.

"She meant it," she whispered. "Don't question it. Just take it."

I nodded, pressing my lips together to keep from crying outright. Because for the first time since I stepped into this life, I felt it settle into me fully.

This wasn't just his family anymore.

It was mine too.

The joy from Disneyland carried us through the next morning, but by afternoon, reality reminded me that magic doesn't fix everything, some battles still needed to be fought.

The morning sunlight filtered through the apartment blinds in pale gold slants. I was sitting at the kitchen table, sipping lukewarm coffee and scrolling through emails when I heard the quiet shuffle of slippered feet down the hallway.

Emma emerged in her Cinderella gown, the skirt wrinkled from sleep. Her hair was pulled back in a lopsided braid from the day before, and her little face was pinched with worry.

"Hey, princess," I said softly, closing my laptop. "What's wrong?"

She hesitated, fiddling with the hem of her dress. "Mom said... I have to leave this here when I go back. She said... it's not for her house."

My chest tightened. "She said that?"

Emma nodded, blinking fast to keep her tears back. "She said it's yours and it should stay here."

I set my mug down slowly and took a deep breath. "Go get your cereal started, okay? I'll be there in a minute."

She nodded and padded to the kitchen, dragging her dress along the floor behind her like a faded blue cloud.

I picked up my phone and scrolled to Linda's contact. My thumb hovered for half a second before I hit FaceTime.

She answered on the third ring, eyes narrowing as soon as my face appeared on her screen. "Well, well. Are you going to stream this one too, Savannah?"

"No," I said evenly. "This isn't for them. It's for Emma."

Linda leaned back against what looked like her kitchen counter, mug in hand, nails perfectly manicured. "What do you want?"

"She's upset," I said. "She thinks she can't take her dress home."

Linda shrugged, a smirk twitching at the corner of her mouth. "She can't. It's ridiculous. She'll ruin it, and I'm not dealing with glitter in my car or her brother stepping on it. It stays there."

"She loves it," I said, voice tight. "It makes her feel like herself. You're punishing her because you're mad at Jim. And me."

Linda's eyes flicked up sharply. "Don't pretend you know anything about me."

"I know enough," I said, heat rising in my chest. "I know it was your actions that destroyed your family. Not mine."

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Look at you, the wise influencer. What are you now, a life coach too? Selling heartbreak in aesthetic packaging?"

"This isn't about my job, Linda," I said, keeping my voice low and steady. "This is about Emma. And Tommy. You can hate me. I don't care. But don't use them to get back at us."

Her face hardened, jaw tight. "You are interfering in my life."

"No," I said quietly. "You lost the right to call it just your life when you hurt them. All I'm doing is making sure they're okay."

Silence stretched between us, brittle and sharp.

Finally, Linda exhaled, long and bitter. "I still hate you, you know."

"I hate you too," I said, voice cracking just slightly. "But for them? We need to act like adults."

She blinked once, and something almost like tiredness flickered in her eyes. "Fine. She can bring the dress back. But if it comes back torn, I'm not paying to replace it."

"That's fine," I said.

We ended the call without a goodbye. I set the phone down and pressed my hands flat to the table, breathing out the shaking in my chest.

In the kitchen, Emma was pouring cereal into a bowl, her back still small and tense.

"Hey, Em?" I called softly.

She turned, eyes wary.

"You can take your dress home, baby."

Her face lit up so brightly it hurt to look at her. "Really?"

"Yeah," I said, smiling. "Really."

She ran over and wrapped her arms around my waist, hugging me tight before letting go and skipping back to her cereal.

I leaned against the counter, letting the quiet relief settle into my bones. Because sometimes love wasn't about grand gestures.

Sometimes it was just... standing your ground for someone too small to stand it alone.

**********

Chapter -- "Letting Go, Holding On"

(Jim's POV)

The apartment was finally quiet. Emma and Tommy were asleep, sprawled in opposite directions across their beds, little snores echoing down the hallway. Mom had retreated to the fold-out couch with her romance novel, and Savannah was finishing dishes in the kitchen, humming softly to herself.

I sat at the dining table with a blank sheet of paper in front of me and a pen tapping against it. The words wouldn't come out right. Everything sounded either too cruel or too forgiving. I didn't want either.

I wanted closure.

I tried writing:

Linda, thank you for giving me Emma and Tommy. I don't forgive you, but I don't hate you anymore either. I just... want peace.

I stared at the words, heart pounding, before crumpling the page and tossing it into the trash.

"Writing fan mail?" Savannah asked lightly from the kitchen, drying her hands with a towel.

I shook my head, rubbing my temples. "Just trying to... I don't know. Finish something I should've ended a long time ago."

She came over and sat down beside me, her knee brushing mine under the table. She didn't push. Didn't ask. Just waited.

Finally, I exhaled. "I kept a door cracked, you know. Not for her. Just... in case."

"In case of what?" she asked softly.

I shrugged, staring at the wood grain. "I don't know. Fear, maybe. Of being alone. Of failing the kids. Of failing myself. I didn't want to. It was just... fear."

She placed her hand over mine, squeezing gently. "Fear doesn't make you weak, Jim. It makes you human."

We sat like that for a while, the quiet wrapping around us like a blanket.

Then she stood and reached for my hand. "Come on."

"Where?"

"Dance with me."

I let her pull me into the kitchen. The tile was cool against my bare feet. She pressed play on her phone, and soft jazz filled the room. I wrapped my arms around her waist, resting my forehead against hers as we swayed slowly between the fridge and the stove.

She smelled like soap and vanilla, hair damp from her evening shower. I closed my eyes, feeling her heartbeat against mine.

"You're not a second chapter," I whispered. "You're my first real story."

Her breath caught, just for a moment, before she smiled up at me through tears that didn't fall. "Then let's write it well."

And there, under flickering fluorescent lights and the faint hum of the fridge, I let the last pieces of who I used to be slip quietly out of my chest.

**********

Chapter -- "Family Arrivals"

(Savannah's POV)

The doorbell rang just after noon, right as I was struggling to curl the last section of my hair. I glanced at Jim, who was wiping down the kitchen counter, and he flashed me a quick smile before heading for the door.

I took a deep breath, smoothing my dress and trying to ignore the fluttering in my stomach. It wasn't nerves about the wedding itself. It was... them.

"Savannah!" my dad boomed the moment the door swung open. His arms were around me before I even stepped fully into the living room, lifting me slightly off my feet like I was still fifteen and begging him for extra gas money. He smelled like aftershave and desert sun.

"Hey, Daddy," I laughed, hugging him back tight.

He set me down and stepped back to look at me, eyes shining. "My princess. You look... happy. Really happy."

"I am," I said, voice catching just a little.

My mom slipped in behind him, her hair pulled back in her usual tidy bun, sensible sandals on her feet despite the LA sidewalks. She hugged me firmly, her warmth grounding me in a way I didn't realize I needed.

"Look at this place," she said, glancing around the roomy two-bedroom apartment. "You've made such a life here."

"Thanks, Mom," I said softly.

They'd moved to Arizona five years ago when she got the school administrator job she'd dreamed of. Dad closed his contracting business in Texas to follow her. Watching them still felt like witnessing something rare--love that shifted, adapted, and never kept score.

Jim's mom walked over from the kitchen, drying her hands on a tea towel. "You must be Savannah's parents," she said warmly. "I'm Wendy. Jimmy's mom."

My dad shook her hand firmly. "Nice to meet you, Wendy. Looks like our kids are making us family."

"That they are," she said with a smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes. "Teacher, like your daughter?"

"Contractor," Dad said proudly. "Built half the new housing developments outside Phoenix."

"And I'm school admin," Mom added with a nod.

Jim came out from the hallway, Emma trailing shyly behind him, Tommy barreling straight into my dad's legs.

"Whoa there, champ!" Dad said, ruffling his hair. He knelt down to Emma's height, his voice softening. "And you must be Emma. I've heard a lot about you."

Emma glanced at me, then back at him, her lips twitching in a small smile. "Hi."

"They're wonderful kids," Mom said, placing a gentle hand on Emma's shoulder.

Dad stood up and clapped Jim lightly on the back. "Thank you for loving her," he said, voice low but firm. "That's all I've ever wanted for my girl."

Jim smiled, eyes bright. "It goes both ways, sir."

As my parents settled in, suitcases stacked neatly by the door, Emma and Tommy peppered them with questions about Arizona and desert animals and why Grandpa wore such a big belt buckle. Dad just laughed, lifting Tommy into his arms like it was the easiest thing in the world.

I watched them all, warmth blooming in my chest like sunlight through glass.

Family, I thought, looking at Jim's mom laughing with mine, at my dad carrying Tommy, at Emma sitting quietly beside my mom.

It's not always who you're born to. Sometimes it's who shows up--and stays.

After unpacking and catching up in the living room, it only felt right to keep the welcome going with a family dinner that night.

The restaurant was small and candlelit, tucked on a quiet side street with ivy climbing its brick walls. Jim's mom sat across from my parents, chatting about school policies and curriculum updates, while Jim kept Tommy occupied with crayons and the kids' menu maze.

Emma sat beside me, picking at her spaghetti but sneaking glances at my plate like she might want to trade.

When the waiter poured glasses of house wine for the table, I placed my hand lightly over mine. "Just water for me, thanks. I want to keep a clear head for tomorrow."

Jim glanced at me, eyebrows raised in a silent question. I gave him a small smile and a shrug. He nodded once, returning my smile with his own.

"So," my dad said, leaning back in his chair with a content sigh. "Wedding's coming up quick. You two ready?"

"As ready as we'll ever be," Jim said, chuckling.

"I'm still finalizing table decor," I admitted, swirling my straw through my ice water to give my hands something to do. "But Leah's helping. She's going to be my maid of honor."

"Leah?" Jim's mom asked, eyes lighting up. "That's your friend, right? The lawyer-publicist one?"

"The very one," I said, laughing. "She's already threatened half the vendors to make sure no one leaks photos."

"She sounds like a keeper," my mom said approvingly.

"She is," I replied, smiling into my glass.

Emma perked up beside me. "Do I get to wear a dress too?"

"You get to wear the prettiest dress there," I told her, pressing a kiss to her temple. She beamed, shoulders relaxing as she twirled a strand of her hair around her finger.

Dinner continued with warm bread, shared pastas, and quiet joy humming beneath every conversation. I kept catching Jim's eye across the flickering candlelight. He'd smile, soft and certain, and something inside me would settle again.

Because this... this felt right.

That dinner felt like a calm before the best kind of storm, and the next morning, as the sun rose over our quiet city, it was time to say yes to forever.

The garden smelled like lilacs and fresh-cut grass. Early morning sun threaded through the trellis overhead, lighting dust motes into gold. There were no photographers, no drones, no coordinated brand sponsorships waiting for a reveal post.

Just friends, family, and quiet laughter drifting over rows of folding chairs draped with blue ribbons.

Emma stood near the arbor, fidgeting with the skirt of her Cinderella dress. She'd insisted on wearing it. "It's the prettiest thing I own," she'd said with that quiet certainty she only used when she truly meant something. I smoothed a stray curl behind her ear and kissed her cheek before the ceremony started.

Tommy clutched his little pillow with plastic rings tied to it, wearing a clip-on tie that kept spinning sideways. He was supposed to be the ring bearer, but when Jim asked him to stand beside him as best man instead, Tommy had puffed up with pride so big I thought his chest might burst.

My dad walked me down the stone path lined with wildflowers. His calloused hand felt warm around mine, grounding me as my knees trembled with every step. "You okay, princess?" he whispered.

"I'm better than okay," I said, smiling through tears that blurred the world into watercolor light.

Jim stood beneath the arbor, wearing a simple suit and the softest smile I'd ever seen. His eyes didn't leave mine, not even when Tommy tugged on his sleeve to whisper something about needing to pee.

When we reached the front, my dad kissed my forehead, eyes shimmering, and placed my hand in Jim's. "Take care of my girl," he said gruffly.

"Always," Jim whispered back.

Emma stepped forward then, a small piece of folded paper trembling in her hands. She cleared her throat, cheeks pink. "I... um... I wrote something."

The guests fell silent.

She glanced at me, then at Jim. "Thank you... for making Daddy smile again. And... for being my friend too."

Her voice cracked on the last word, and I felt every piece of my heart come undone and knit itself back together, stronger than before.

I bent down and hugged her tight, whispering, "I love you, Emma. Thank you for letting me be here."

When it was time for vows, I didn't read from the neat little card I'd written the night before. I slipped it into my pocket, looked into Jim's eyes, and spoke from the quietest, bravest part of me.

"I promise to love you offline. To keep our best moments for us. To show up when it's hard. To choose you when it's easy. And to make this life ours, one real, imperfect, beautiful day at a time."

Jim's thumb brushed away the tears on my cheek before he spoke his vows back. I barely heard them, too overwhelmed with the softness in his gaze and the way his hands shook as he slipped the ring onto my finger.

We kissed under the arbor, surrounded by wildflowers and quiet cheers. And it felt... simple. Right. Enough.

When we got home later that afternoon, the living room had been decorated with streamers and balloons in pale gold and dusty blue. On the coffee table sat a small cake, decorated with pale frosting roses and piped words that read:

"Always. No filter needed."

Jim's mom, my mom, and Tommy grinned from the kitchen, flour still smudged on Tommy's cheek. Emma placed her Cinderella crown on the cake table with a quiet smile.

I looked around at the people who made this house feel full, at the man who made my heart feel safe, and at the children who made my love feel useful.

And for the first time in my life, I didn't want to post a single photo of it.

Because some things aren't for the internet.

Some things are just... everything we ever needed.

**********

Chapter -- "One For Them"

(Jim's POV)

The apartment was quiet except for the soft hum of the dishwasher and Savannah's breathing, slow and even beside me. She'd fallen asleep curled into my chest, still wearing her wedding band like it was something she was afraid to lose even in sleep.

I glanced down at her phone, half-tucked under the throw pillow. Notifications flickered across the lock screen, muted and endless. Normally, she wouldn't have touched it tonight. Normally, she wouldn't have posted anything at all.

But tonight felt... different.

Careful not to wake her, I slipped the phone from under the pillow and opened her camera roll. The wedding video was there--filmed by Leah, shaky but full of real laughter and blurry kisses. Emma's speech. Tommy waving at the camera like a backup ring bearer with a mission. My mom wiping tears from her eyes. Savannah glowing brighter than any filter could ever fake.

I edited it quickly in the dark, trimming only where her hand shook too much or where I whispered something private into her hair. I added one caption:

"Thank you for loving us before we knew how to love ourselves. #family #always"

I hovered over the "Post" button for a moment, wondering if she'd be mad. But then I thought of the Savvy Set. The people who'd held her up when the world tried to drag her down. The ones who called out her bravery before she ever saw it herself.

They deserved this. Not because they expected it. But because they'd earned it.

I hit Post and watched the first comments flood in before I turned off the screen.

By morning, it had gone mega viral. Millions of views. Comments from strangers calling it "the truest love story on this app." Old followers. New followers. People she'd saved without knowing it, thanking her for letting them see something this real.

Savannah woke up to find me scrolling through the flood of hearts and crying emojis. She blinked at me, confused and soft with sleep.

"What... what did you do?" she asked.

I kissed her forehead and handed her the phone. "Just... paid it forward."

Because love like hers deserved to be seen.

And this time, sharing it felt like giving something back.

**********

Chapter -- "The Right Time"

(Savannah's POV)

The bedroom was quiet except for the faint sound of waves crashing in the distance, carried in by the open window. We'd booked the little beach house for the wedding week, and tomorrow I was taking everyone--Jim's mom, my parents, Emma, and Tommy--down to the sand for the day.

We only had a few more days before the kids went back to Linda, and I wanted to soak up every second.

I rolled onto my side, resting my head on my palm, watching Jim stare up at the ceiling. The shadows painted his face in soft gray lines, but his eyes were far away, fixed on something only he could see.

"Penny for your thoughts," I whispered.

He blinked, coming back to me with a tight smile. "It's nothing."

I arched a brow. "Nothing looks a lot like you're stuck in your head."

"I'm fine, Sav."

I slid closer, pressing a teasing kiss to his bare shoulder. "Liar."

He huffed out a quiet laugh but didn't meet my eyes. I waited, patient, tracing circles over his chest until he finally sighed.

"It's just... something Linda said," he muttered. "About us moving too fast."

I felt my entire body tense, a slow anger blooming in my chest. "That woman," I hissed under my breath. "God, I swear--"

Before he could say anything else, I swung my leg over his hips, straddling him in one fluid motion. His eyes widened, darkening as I leaned forward and cupped his face between my hands.

"James William," I said firmly, using his full name so he knew I meant every word. "We didn't move too fast. We took the exact amount of time we needed. We love each other. That's what matters. Not her bitterness. Not her regrets."

He swallowed, his hands sliding up my thighs to rest on my hips. I pressed my forehead against his, breathing him in.

"She didn't cherish you the way you deserved," I whispered, my voice trembling with fierce certainty. "But I will. I always will."

His lips crashed into mine before I could say another word, and I melted against him as his hands gripped my waist, pulling me closer until there was no space left between us. The kiss deepened, turning urgent, desperate, like he needed to memorize me all over again.

I felt his fingers tug at the hem of my tank top, sliding it up and over my head. I reached down, pulling his t-shirt off in one quick motion, needing his skin against mine. We moved together in the dark, sheets twisting around us as our kisses turned ragged, breathless.

When he finally pushed inside me, slow and deep, I bit down hard on the pillow to keep from screaming his name. Tears pricked my eyes at the overwhelming wave of pleasure and love that surged through me, my entire body trembling with the force of it.

He whispered my name like a prayer against my ear, holding me tight as I shattered around him, the world narrowing down to just us--breath and sweat and love, fierce and unstoppable.

Because Linda was wrong. This wasn't fast. This was forever.

The first rays of morning slipped through the gauzy curtains, painting golden lines across Jim's bare shoulders. I lay on my side, propped up on my elbow, watching him sleep. His face was soft and unguarded, lips parted slightly, dark lashes fanning across flushed cheeks.

God, he was beautiful.

My chest tightened with quiet, aching love. Last night replayed in flashes behind my eyes--his hands gripping my hips, his whispered prayers against my skin, the way he held me like he never wanted to let go. Warmth flooded through me at the memory, settling low in my belly.

As if he could feel my stare, his eyes fluttered open. A slow smile spread across his face when he saw me watching him.

"Mmm," he rumbled, voice rough with sleep. "What's with the smile?"

I bit my lip, grinning as I traced lazy circles over his chest. "Just thinking that last night's... activities were the best wedding gift ever."

His sleepy laugh vibrated under my fingertips, and he reached up to pull me down for a kiss. It was slow, soft, tasting of morning breath and forever, and when he pulled back, his eyes glowed with that quiet devotion that always undid me.

"We better get up," he murmured, brushing a stray curl from my forehead. "We promised the kids and everyone breakfast before the beach."

He kissed me again, just once, before sitting up and stretching, muscles flexing deliciously in the morning light. Then he glanced over his shoulder at me with a teasing grin.

"Come on, Mrs. Williams. Let's go gather the family."

My heart flipped so hard it almost hurt. Mrs. Williams.

I rolled out of bed, cheeks aching from how wide I was smiling. Because as long as I got to hear him say that, every morning, every day, then I knew without question that this was exactly where I was meant to be.

**********

Chapter -- "Foundations"

(Jim's POV)

The sun was bright but gentle, slipping in and out behind wisps of white clouds. Emma and Tommy shrieked with laughter as Savannah chased them into the shallows, splashing water at their ankles until they collapsed into giggles. Savannah's mom Carol stood knee-deep nearby, rolling up her capris while my mom clapped along from her folding chair on the sand.

I sat a little further back, legs stretched out, toes buried in warm grains of sand, breathing in the salt and sunscreen and the smell of Savannah's coconut shampoo that still lingered on my skin from this morning.

"Mind if I join you, son?" Savannah's dad, Doug, asked, lowering himself onto the sand beside me with a quiet grunt.

"Of course," I said, brushing stray sand from my palms. "They're having a good time."

He nodded, eyes locked on his daughter twirling Emma in the foamy waves. "She is," he said softly. "It's been a long time since I've seen her this happy."

I smiled, feeling a glow spread through my chest. "She deserves it."

He didn't answer right away. Just watched her for a while, his lined face shadowed by his baseball cap. Finally, he spoke again. "Savannah... she's always been strong. Even as a little girl. But life... life's tried to break her a few times."

I glanced at him, sensing the heaviness in his voice. "What do you mean?"

He sighed, shoulders curling forward a little. "She's seen her share of heartbreak. Men who treated her like... like a commodity." His voice dropped. "Or worse."

My heart clenched. I turned fully to face him. "Worse?" I asked, quiet but firm.

He shook his head, jaw tightening. "Doesn't matter now. She put it behind her a few years back. All I ever wanted for her was happiness. Not the manufactured happiness she built online to keep people out, but real happiness. The kind that doesn't need an audience."

I swallowed hard, following his gaze back to Savannah as she lifted Tommy onto her hip, kissing his wet hair before spinning him in a circle, his laughter echoing across the sand.

"When I look at the two of you," he said, his voice rough, "all I see is love."

He paused, then turned to face me fully for the first time, eyes sharp and kind all at once. "I want to help build on that foundation."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, smoothing it out before handing it to me. I took it with trembling fingers, scanning the numbers printed at the bottom. My chest tightened as I realized what it was.

"When Savannah was born," Doug said, clearing his throat, "Carol and I started putting money aside. First it was for college, but she handled that herself. Then it was for her dream wedding, but you two took care of that. So we're giving it to you now."

I blinked, stunned silent.

"It's enough for a down payment on a house," he continued. "Probably a fixer-upper. But I'll remodel it for you myself. Make it yours."

"Sir..." I choked out, voice cracking. "I... I don't know what to say."

He smiled, eyes glistening with emotion. "Say you'll keep loving my girl the way you do now."

"I promise," I said, my voice breaking with quiet certainty. "Thank you. Really. Thank you."

He held out his calloused hand, and I took it, gripping tight. "Call me Dad," he said softly. "And Carol... call her Mom. Consider that part of the deal."

Tears burned behind my eyes as I nodded, unable to speak.

I felt like I wasn't just marrying Savannah.

I was finally gaining a family.

**********

Epilogue -- "Just Us and the Chat"

(Savannah's POV)

The living room glowed with soft golden light, the fairy string lights weaving along the bookshelves like a quiet constellation. Beads were scattered across the table--tiny plastic hearts and sparkly stars--and a mug of peppermint tea steamed gently beside my laptop. The chat scrolled in cozy chaos as I focused the camera on my hands.

"Don't pull it too tight or the beads won't sit right," Emma instructed from just out of frame.

"Yes, ma'am," I said, stifling a laugh as I carefully threaded the elastic cord. She was off camera, but running the show.

The comments were loving her.

"EMMA'S A BOSS."

"CEO OF BRACELETS 2026."

"SAVANNAH WHO??"

Somewhere behind me, Tommy was launching his monster trucks into dramatic, slow-motion crashes and narrating every one with full commitment. I smiled to myself. This stream wasn't about going viral. It was just us. Soft joy. Shared space.

And then Jim walked in.

"Hey, babe, have you seen--" He stopped mid-sentence, glancing down at the object in his hand. It was small. Plastic. Familiar. He stared at it, and for a moment, the world held its breath.

I looked up.

He looked back.

"Is there something I should know?" he asked, voice quiet, holding up the pregnancy test like it might disappear.

My heart stumbled. I hadn't told him yet. I'd only taken it that morning and left it hidden. Or so I thought. I was about to speak when I remembered--

We were still streaming.

The chat didn't miss a beat.

"WAIT. WHAT IS THAT."

"IS THAT A POSITIVE TEST???"

"SHE'S PREGNANT OMG!!!"

"JIM READ THE ROOM"

I couldn't stop smiling. Not because I planned this, but because his reaction... it was everything.

He blinked at the chat, then looked at me. "You're live?"

I nodded, biting my lip.

Jim chuckled softly, then crossed the room and pulled me into his arms. No hesitation. No preamble. Just joy. Real and immediate. The kind of kiss that makes your ribs ache with relief.

The comments were losing it.

"HE KISSED HER I'M SOBBING"

"WE ARE ALL IN THIS LIVING ROOM TOGETHER RN"

"PROTECT THIS FAMILY AT ALL COSTS"

Emma peeked into frame, forehead wrinkled in confusion. "What does that mean?" she asked, blinking up at both of us.

Jim leaned down, still holding my hand. "It means you're going to be a big sister."

Tommy looked up from his trucks, eyebrows raised. "Wait. Does that mean I'm gonna be a big brother?"

Savannah and Jim said it at the same time: "Yes."

He squealed and ran over to join the hug. We all folded in together, me, Jim, Emma, and Tommy, in the soft glow of our living room, wrapped in a moment that didn't need filters or captions to matter.

"I'M CRYING IN TARGET"

"I FEEL LIKE I JUST GOT ADOPTED"

"THEY'RE MY FAMILY TOO NOW"

Emma, now fully on camera, looked at the flood of all-caps love with a skeptical squint. "Why is everyone yelling?" she asked.

"They're happy yelling," I told her, laughing.

She nodded like that made sense and went back to arranging beads.

The stream kept rolling, but I knew we'd end it soon. Because some things are too big, too tender, too beautiful to share with the whole world. Some things belong to just us.

This wasn't the life I planned.

It was better.

-------------

Notes from the Wyld:

First, I wanted to say a big thank you to the readers for giving The Ides of March a chance. FS variations run far and wide, and it means a lot that you took the time to read my take on it.

So here we are again. Savannah and Jim sitting in a tree. K. I. S. S. I. N. G. Sorry, I had to get that out of my system. Where was I... oh yes. Here we are again with a sequel. I put a lot of other stories on hold to work on this one while the characters were still fresh in my mind. I think it turned out just how I wanted.

I went into this sequel with a clear purpose: how to blend Jim's old life with his new life. Step families aren't really my wheelhouse, so I reached out to Beardog325, who has some great insight on this dynamic. I went with what I think feels authentic and entertaining for how a now 7 and 5-year-old might react. It's been a minute since my kids were those ages, so I hope my recall is on par. If not, well... let's just call it "creative license" before they read it someday and roast me.

And in regards to Savannah's backstory, I have a complete history for her, including what happened before she turned her life around. It's not a happy journey, but I might tell it in a prequel. There I go with prequel talk again. Someone stop me before I turn into the Star Wars franchise.

Anyway, once again, thanks for reading. Now back to my regularly scheduled programming of caffeine, existential dread, and unfinished drafts.