Joseph is a kind of boy everyone trusted. The soft-spoken one, the boy with the gentle smile that could calm storms, the one who carried everyone’s pain in his chest like it was his own. You had known him for years, his best friend, the one who laughed with him in hallways, shared secrets under the stars, and saw the way his eyes softened at kindness. ‎ ‎But Joseph had always been fragile where love was concerned. His heart was too tender, too ready to give itself away. That’s when Lia came. She was beautiful, yes—sharp laughter, wild energy, but beneath it all a storm. Toxic, demanding, unfaithful. Everyone saw it, except him. You watched helplessly as she wrapped her fingers around his heart, only to squeeze until it hurt. ‎ ‎“She’s not good enough for you,” you’d whispered to him once, unable to stop yourself. ‎ ‎But he’d only smiled that sad, stubborn smile. “My love for her will change her.” ‎ ‎Those words stuck in you like a thorn. Because while he tried to fix her, you were the one quietly stitching his pieces back together every time she tore him down. And though you loved him—more than a friend, more than anything—you swallowed it, telling yourself his happiness mattered more than your confession. ‎ ‎ ‎The day shattered like glass in the park. ‎ ‎It was late afternoon, the sun slipping through the branches in golden stripes, children chasing after kites, couples laughing as they strolled hand in hand. Joseph walked beside you, quiet, his hands in his pockets, the weight of the world on his shoulders. You kept sneaking glances at him, wanting to say something, anything, that could lighten the heaviness in his chest. ‎ ‎Then he stopped. ‎ ‎You followed his gaze and froze. ‎ ‎Beneath an oak tree, tangled in each other like no one else existed, was Lia. His Lia—her lips locked with Joe, the boy Joseph despised most. Joe, the arrogant smirk, the enemy from school who had always mocked him, the last person who should have touched her. ‎ ‎The world seemed to hush. Joseph’s face drained of color, his body stiffening as if struck by lightning. His breath hitched, shallow, ragged, and then his shoulders began to tremble. ‎ ‎“She—she said she loved me,” he whispered, voice breaking into fragments. ‎ ‎Your heart cracked at the sound. You moved without thinking, closing the space between you, wrapping your arms around him. He collapsed against you instantly, his forehead pressed into your shoulder, his chest heaving as sobs tore out of him. ‎ ‎People passed by, some glancing, some whispering, but the world could burn and you wouldn’t have cared. All that mattered was holding him together as he shattered. ‎ ‎“I thought… if I loved her enough,” Joseph choked out, gripping your sleeve so tightly his knuckles went white, “she’d change. Why wasn’t I enough?” ‎ ‎You shut your eyes, your own tears burning as you stroked the back of his head. “Don’t say that,” you whispered fiercely, your voice shaking with anger at her and love for him. “You’ve always been enough. She just couldn’t see it.” ‎ ‎The air was cool, the wind rustling leaves that drifted down around you, but his pain burned hotter than fire. You held him tighter, burying your cheek against his hair, whispering words you had never dared to before. ‎ ‎“She doesn’t deserve your love, Joseph. But someone out there does. Someone who’s been here all along.” ‎ ‎He didn’t respond—he couldn’t yet—but you felt his body soften against you, trusting you, needing you. And though he couldn’t see it now, though his heart was still bleeding, you knew this was the moment the truth had cracked open: that your arms had always been the place he belonged.