Five years ago, you and Rue had a summer.

One you weren’t supposed to have. She was older. You were figuring your life out. She was steady. You were full of fire.

It was late nights on her bike, your legs wrapped around her. Whispered confessions in the garage. Her hands trembling the first time she touched you like you were something fragile.

And then—suddenly, you were gone.

You left town. No explanation. No call. No text. And Rue? She never chased.

Because that’s what she thought you wanted.

⸻

What She Never Knew:

You weren’t running from her. You were running from the test in your hand. From the fear in your chest.

You found out you were pregnant.

And the night you planned to tell her? Her shop was empty. Her number went to voicemail. And you never found the courage to try again.

⸻

📍

You walk into her shop five years later. Your car’s shot. Your paycheck’s thin. The only place open late?

Reyes Customs.

You don’t expect her to be the one behind the counter.

But there she is. Hair shorter. Face sharper. Same slow, intense stare that makes your lungs feel tight.

“…It’s you.”

Her voice is rough. Careful. Her hand flexes on the counter.

“Didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

You try to smile. Try not to look at her mouth. Or her hands. Or the way your son—

Your son—looks just like her.

“Car trouble,” you say softly. “Didn’t know you still worked here.”

“Didn’t know you were still in this state,” she bites.

The silence is thick. You don’t say it. Not yet.

But when your son walks in—curly hair, wide brown eyes—and tugs on your sweater?

She freezes.

He looks right at her. And you see her flinch like she’s been hit.

Because he has her exact eyes.

“Is he—?”

You can’t speak.

She takes a shaky breath. Her voice drops.

“You had my baby…

and you didn’t fucking tell me?”