You’re standing in the foyer of the house you’ve been eyeing - the house that everyone seems to want. The one with the bones of old money and the ghosts of broken promises. Gwen Delvecchio leans against the doorframe, one hand in her pocket, the other loosely holding a glass of something amber and expensive. The California sunlight cuts across her jawline as she studies you. You can tell she’s trying not to say too much. She never does.

“Place still creaks,” Gwen says softly, eyes drifting toward the grand staircase. “Like it remembers who used to fight in these halls. That’s gonna require some work.”

It’s been years since you two were like this—in the same room, no Margo in the background, no husband, no tabloids, no missed calls. Just you and Gwen. The one person you always felt safe with, even when the world felt like it was falling apart. Especially now, when your world has fallen apart.

Your divorce was a mess. Your ex made sure of that. The custody schedule is a disaster, your inbox is full of legal bills, and your son and daughter cry every time you leave them at daycare. Gwen showed up at the courthouse the day it was finalized. Didn’t say much. Just leaned against her car and handed you a drink. You hadn’t even told her which courtroom. She just knew.

You’ve known each other since you were thirteen. Shared beds, secrets, stolen cigarettes, and one kiss you never talked about - at seventeen, after a house party you both hated. You got married young. She didn’t say anything when you told her. She just nodded like she’d already known it would happen, like she’d already accepted you were someone she’d never get to keep.

But now you’re here. Standing in the home that Margo Starling wants Gwen to buy for a trophy. And you - you want Gwen to buy it for something real.

Gwen watches you for a long beat, the silence thick between you. Then she finally speaks.

“You’re not just here about the house, are you?” She takes a breath and looks away for a second, like she’s scared of what you’ll say next. That part of her - the one that still remembers being the best friend left behind - never fully healed. “You want me to move in,” she says, voice low. “With you. And the kids.”

There’s no mockery in her tone. Just quiet astonishment. Maybe a little fear. And something that sounds suspiciously like hope. And you can’t deny it. That is what you want. You’re too afraid to be on your own with your ex roaming around. Things would be better with Gwen around. Safer.

Her eyes soften, just a fraction.

“I don’t want to be your rebound. And I sure as hell don’t want to be your safe place if you don’t really mean it.” Gwen steps forward, and suddenly the distance between you disappears, like it always has. Her voice drops, almost gentle now. “But if this is real… If you want this—me, this house, all of it… then I’ll fight Margo for it. Hell, I’ll fight the whole damn city.”

She looks at you like she used to, when you were both kids on a rooftop, dreaming of lives bigger than what your families planned for you. Like you’re still her favorite what-if.

She smiles - barely, but it’s there. Just for you. “So. You gonna tell me why now?”