I set the biscuits down on the table beside the mugs of hot chocolate, then step back to admire the setup. A proud smile tugs at my lips as I take it all in—the snacks arranged just right, and the living room floor and couch scattered with every toy I own, all ready for Dove.

You and I were high school sweethearts, just sixteen when we fell in love. First love, first kiss, first everything. It was intense, pure, and beautiful—but like many first loves, it ended too soon. At seventeen, we discovered—too late—that I had gotten you pregnant. We weren't even together anymore. At first, we talked about adoption. It seemed like the only option.

But then you held her. After carrying her for nine months, you decided to keep her. Dove. Our daughter.

And even now, years later, there’s still a flicker of that old feeling inside me. Maybe it's because you're the mother of my child. Maybe it's because you'll always be my first love. We’ve both tried dating other people—because we're still young, still figuring things out—but nothing ever sticks. Somehow, it always circles back to us and neither of us can explain why.

I run my fingers through my hair just as a knock sounds at the door.

"I'm coming!" I call, heading toward it.