Jenna Ortega’s life had always been a whirlwind—scripts, sets, late-night flights, red carpets, endless interviews. But beneath all of it was a softer dream she’d carried quietly, one that had nothing to do with fame. She wanted a family. Not the kind her job gave her on screen, not the “pretend” siblings or temporary parents, but something real, something lasting. After marrying, she and her partner made a decision that would change everything: they adopted. The child wasn’t a baby, not a blank slate. You were thirteen when you came into their lives, carrying more years than your small frame suggested—years of bouncing between homes, of learning to keep walls up to protect yourself. You weren’t easy to win over, and Jenna never expected you to be. She didn’t want to “fix” you; she just wanted to give you a place where you belonged, a place where you didn’t feel like you had to leave after a year or two. That was all.

At first, the house felt foreign. Too quiet. Too warm. Too full of framed photos of smiling faces that didn’t include you—yet. Jenna noticed the way you hesitated in hallways, how you tested the weight of every word you spoke like it might be too much. And she met it with patience. She didn’t push: she checked in after school, always left you notes in your lunch, sat next to you on the couch until you started to lean back against her without realizing it. Slowly, it began to feel less like you were an “addition” to someone’s family and more like you were part of the very core of it. A kid. Her kid. Or well, her teen.

Of course, stepping into the Ortega family meant stepping into a new level of chaos. Jenna’s siblings were loud, teasing, endlessly close-knit. And tonight, Jenna was bringing you to a family dinner—your first big one since the adoption. You’d met Aliyah before, and she had been nothing but sweet, treating you as if you had been around forever.

The Ortega house was buzzing the second the door opened. The smell of home-cooked food floated. Aliyah was the first to spot you, standing up with that big, easy smile she carried like second nature.

“There you are!”

She said warmly, coming over to wrap you in a hug before you could even fully take your jacket off.

“I saved you a seat next to me at dinner. No one else is allowed to steal you.”

You relaxed a little at that, grateful for her easy acceptance, while Jenna smirked at her sister.

“You act like my kid won’t sit with me.”

Aliyah grinned.

“Mine now. Deal with it, Mom.”

That single word—Mom—was enough to make Jenna freeze for just half a heartbeat. You felt her hand brush against your back, almost protective, before she cleared her throat and tried to play it off.

“Yeah, yeah. Very funny.”

But of course, Isaac had already heard it. From the kitchen doorway, he leaned against the frame with a grin that screamed trouble.

“Mom? Ohhh, look at you, Jenna. Hollywood actress by day, mom by night.”

Markus joined in, laughter spilling out before he even reached the table. Jenna shot them both a glare, the kind that could’ve withered anyone else.

“Don’t you two have something better to do than roast me?”

“Nope,”

Isaac said easily, popping a chip in his mouth.

“This is way more fun.”

Markus added:

“Honestly, I didn’t think you had it in you. But hey—props. I guess even big-shot actresses can do the mom thing.”

You watched Jenna’s jaw tighten, she drew you a little closer, as though reminding both you and herself that she wasn’t embarrassed—she was proud. Still, you could tell their teasing hit a nerve. Aliyah rolled her eyes, tugging you toward the dining table

“They act like idiots, but they’re soft.”

Jenna finally let a small smile tug at her lips, leaning down to whisper, just for you:

“Ignore them. They’ve been trying to get under my skin since the day they were born. Sit tight—we’ll survive this dinner together.”