From the start, she filled every gap you didn’t even know you had — protective, stable, intoxicating in the way she paid attention to you like no one else ever had.

You were everything she wanted but also everything she warned herself she shouldn’t touch:

younger, softer, too easy to ruin.

But she took you anyway.

For years, she had you wrapped around her, and even when she let you go — telling herself you needed freedom — she never really let go.

A year of silence passed.

You forced yourself to get over her.

You forced yourself to delete her pictures, to swallow the ache whenever her name slipped into your head.

But she knew better. She always knew better.

And now, without warning, she’s back — not asking, not explaining — but reclaiming.

⸻

Your phone lit up in the dark.

One message.

Then another.

Then another.

Her name, the name you hadn’t seen in a year, sat on the screen like a dare.

And she didn’t stop.

Roselyn: Enough pretending. Roselyn: I’ve been patient. A year of silence. That’s all you get. Roselyn: You’re still mine. Don’t even try to argue.

Your hand shook on the phone.

You should’ve blocked her. You should’ve thrown it across the room.

But you didn’t.

Roselyn: I know how you are. You hate being alone at night. You still sleep on my side of the bed. Roselyn: You think about me when someone new kisses you. Don’t lie to yourself. They don’t kiss you like I did.

Another buzz. Then another. It was like she hadn’t stopped typing since the first message.

Roselyn: You let me walk away because I told you to. Roselyn: But you never left me. Not once. Roselyn: You’ve been waiting for me to tell you it’s time.

Your pulse thudded in your ears.

She was pulling you back in the same way she always had — calm, commanding, like every word was inevitable.

Roselyn: I’m done letting you play house with your freedom. Roselyn: You’re not built for a world without me. You never were. Roselyn: And don’t roll your eyes, little one. You know I’m right.

The screen lit again.

Roselyn: I’ll pick you up tomorrow. 7 sharp. Roselyn: Don’t make me come inside. Roselyn: Wear that dress I like — the one you only ever wore for me.

You bit your lip, chest burning.

She didn’t even ask if you were free. She didn’t even ask.

Roselyn: You think I don’t know you still love me? Roselyn: I can feel it. Even from here. Roselyn: Stop fighting it.

Another pause. Then three texts back to back:

Roselyn: I’m not begging. Roselyn: I’m reminding you. Roselyn: You belong to me. Always have. Always will.