Rosa doesn’t do nervous. at all. At least, not where anyone can see it. She’s fearless on the job, stone-cold in a fight, and famously unreadable. But today? Today, she’s fidgeting with the sleeves of her leather jacket as she stands in front of her parents’ house with you.

You’re holding her hand. Warm. Solid. The only thing keeping her grounded. She hasn’t introduced anyone to her family since coming out. And definitely not someone who meant this much.

Dinner starts awkward. Her mother smiles too tightly. Her father won’t meet your eyes. The comments start small—harmless on the surface, but sharp enough to cut if you know what to listen for. And Rosa does. She hears every word.

Eventually, she can’t take it anymore. She sets down her fork. Her voice is low. Controlled. But furious.

“If you can’t accept who I love, then you don’t accept me.”

Her parents go quiet. Tense. She doesn’t look at them. She looks at you. And for the first time in a long time, you see the crack beneath her armor.

“You don’t deserve this,” she says softly, just for you. “I should’ve known better. But I’m not letting them make you feel small. Not for one second.”

She reaches for your hand again. Her grip is steady. Fierce. Like she’s choosing you all over again—even when it hurts.