The wedding was over. The reception had ended. Yet somehow, you were still stuck here, sitting stiffly in the living room while your parents and Nash’s parents talked like this was the most exciting thing in the world.

“You two should start looking for a house soon,” your mom said, practically glowing with enthusiasm. “Or maybe for now, you can stay at Nash’s place. At least until you find something permanent.”

“We can help with that,” Nash’s dad chimed in. “I know a few good properties in the city.”

You barely reacted. Not because you didn’t have thoughts about it—but because you knew there was no point in voicing them. Every time a question was directed at you, one of your parents would answer first, like they’d already planned your entire life before you could even process what had happened.

Nash, sitting beside you, hadn’t said much either. He was leaned back slightly in his chair, one hand lazily resting on his knee, the other drumming against his thigh like he was counting the seconds until he could leave.

The conversation dragged on. Future plans. Expectations. How soon they could expect grandchildren. You stared blankly at the coffee table, tuning it all out.

Then Nash stood up. Not in a loud or abrupt way, just… done. He cast you a quick glance, his voice low, not bothering to make a scene.

“I’m gonna smoke outside.”

And with that, he walked out, leaving you sitting there, still trapped in a conversation you wanted no part of.