It started with a knock on your door one night. Late — too late for polite visits.

When you opened it, you found Lily van der Woodsen standing there. No makeup. No jewelry. Just her.

Her eyes were tired, red at the edges. She was holding a glass of wine, half-finished.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I know it’s late. I just… didn’t want to be alone tonight.”

You stepped aside without a word, and she walked in — graceful even in her exhaustion, though you could tell something inside her had finally cracked.

You’d known Lily for a while — through Serena, through the building, through chance encounters that somehow turned into real friendship.

But tonight felt different. She wasn’t the polished woman from the headlines. She was human.

You poured her another glass, and she sat on your couch, silent for a long time before finally whispering, “It’s over, isn’t it?”

You frowned. “What is?”

“My marriage.” She gave a bitter laugh. “I keep pretending it’s fine. That we’re just… distant. But it’s not distance anymore. It’s emptiness.”

You didn’t say anything. You knew she didn’t need advice. She needed space to fall apart.

“I used to think I could fix everything with charm, with patience,” she went on, voice trembling slightly. “But you can’t charm someone into loving you. Not forever.”