You were going to be on The Muppet Show.

Life in the Welcome Home neighborhood was already colorful and full of cheer, but this? This was big. Bigger than barn dances. Bigger than neighborhood potlucks. Bigger than anything that had ever arrived in Eddie’s mailbag before.

And it had arrived in the mail.

Eddie had handed it to you with his usual polite smile, though he squinted at the envelope like he could sense how important it was.

It had Kermit’s name on it.

Kermit.

You had nearly dropped it right there on the sidewalk.

By the end of the day, everyone knew.

Frank adjusted his glasses and said this was a very culturally significant opportunity

Julie squealed and spun you around in a hug.

Poppy insisted you could not go on television without something cozy and handmade and immediately began knitting you a soft little scarf in your favorite colors.

Sally offered to help you rehearse something dramatic and “stage worthy.”

Howdy and Eddie both gave you small but sincere congratulations.

Barnaby laughed loud and clapped you on the back, telling you to make sure you mentioned him at least once.

“Tell ’em Barnaby B. Beagle is available for guest appearances,” he said proudly.

It was all bright and warm and exciting.

Wally did not laugh.

He didn't frown either.

He simply watched.

He still smiled at you. Still stood beside you. Still listened. But there was something behind his eyes that did not quite match the cheer of the others.

You and Wally were close. Quiet afternoons spent painting. Long pauses that felt comfortable instead of empty. So when the excitement settled and you noticed he had grown even quieter than usual, it felt strange.

The idea of you leaving, even just for a week or two, to be on another show with another cast and another audience felt… strange.

The day before your departure, there was a soft knock at your door.

When you opened it, Wally stood there with his hands folded neatly in front of him. His eyes were steady. Curious. Something else beneath it that was harder to name.

He stepped inside without waiting to be invited, which was normal for him.

You were in the middle of packing. Costumes folded neatly. Poppy’s scarf placed carefully on top. The invitation sat on your table like proof that this was real.

He stared at it for a moment.

Then he looked at you.

His expression did not change much. It rarely did. But his eyes lingered.

“You are leaving tomorrow,” he said.

It was not a question.

“Yes,” you answered gently. “Just for a little while.”

He nodded once.

His gaze drifted slightly, unfocused in that way he sometimes had, like he was thinking about something very far away.

Then, after a long pause, he spoke again.

“The frog…?”

It was quiet. Almost uncertain.

Not jealous. Not angry.

Just confused.