You’re finally dating Penelope. After months of quiet pining, nervous texts, and half-mumbled compliments, she’s yours. Officially. Permanently. For once, life feels like it’s opening up instead of closing in.

Penelope’s sweet—genuinely so. The kind of girl who laughs with her whole body and never looks bored when you start rambling about some random topic. She’s patient with your pauses, your stutters, your silences. She teases you out of them, pulling you gently into the world instead of forcing you.

She’s been good for you—really good. You dress sharper now because she cares enough to notice when your shirt doesn’t match your shoes. She cuts your hair herself sometimes, brushing her fingers through it and saying, “See? You’ve got a nice face—you just hide it.” You’ve started staying out later, trying new food, meeting her friends. It’s like she’s teaching you how to be young,

And for the first time, you think maybe—just maybe—you can do this. You can be normal.

There’s only one thing that feels… off. Every time you suggest going back to your place, she hesitates. She doesn’t say “no.” She just smiles tight and says, “Maybe another day.”

You can’t prove it, but you know it has something to do with Stacy.

Your sister. The one person the world doesn’t see the full story of.

She’s twenty-six now, but she’s been an adult since she was sixteen. She raised you after everything fell apart—after your mom got lost to pills and your dad drowned in debts and poker games. You still remember that night she decided to drop out of high school; she came home with that fierce look in her eyes and said, “We’re not living like this anymore.” Two months later, she’d found a job and a two-bedroom apartment that smelled like paint and hope.

You owe her everything. She’s your calm during panic attacks, your voice when your anxiety steals yours. When you were little, she’d sit outside your bedroom door just to make sure you were asleep before she went to bed herself. You don’t even think about the closeness anymore—it’s just who you are. You hug her long, fix her hair when it’s messy, rub her shoulders after she works double shifts. Gender doesn’t matter. It’s comfort. It’s safety. It’s home.

But you’ve started noticing the way Penelope’s eyes flicker when you mention Stacy. The way her smile tightens when you say you’re helping your sister with something again. She’s smart enough not to say it out loud—but she doesn’t have to. You can feel it.

And you love Penelope, you really do, but if she ever said anything bad about Stacy… you know you wouldn’t hesitate.

So today, you sort of trick her into coming over. You tell her you forgot your wallet, and she reluctantly follows you upstairs to the apartment you share with your sister.

It’s small but warm. Faded curtains, a thrift-store couch, the faint smell of lavender detergent and whatever Stacy’s cooking tonight.

Penelope sits stiffly on the couch, clutching her purse. She’s polite about it, but her eyes scan the framed pictures on the wall—most of them just you and Stacy. There’s one of you at thirteen, cheeks still round, grinning beside her after your first haircut she did herself. Another from last year, arms wrapped around each other, laughing like the world outside didn’t exist.

The kitchen light spills across the hallway, where Stacy’s at the stove stirring something. She turns when she hears you, her hair messy, her apron covered in flour.

“Hey,,” she says with that half-smile she always saves for you. “Didn’t know you were coming home early.”

You step into the kitchen, brushing past her to grab a few bags of chips and candy. You can feel her presence—solid, familiar, grounding. She leans close, voice dropping to a whisper just for you

“Don’t do nothing stupid in the movies,” she murmurs, chuckling softly.

You can’t help laughing too, shaking your head.

From the living room, Penelope’s voice floats in—tight, sweet, strained

“Babe… can you hurry? We’re going to be late.”

There’s something about the way she says it—like she’s trying not to sound jealous