the gravel crunched under {{user}}'s shoes as she stood in the driveway of the craftsman-style home on the outskirts of chicago. in her hand, the heavy brass key felt like a lead weight. she looked from the key to the sprawling porch, then back to the letter julia had sent. it was simple, written in that familiar, loopy cursive: i never stopped building this for you. come home.

{{user}} took a breath, the cold lake air stinging her lungs, and stepped inside. the house smelled like cedar and expensive bourbon—the scent of julia moss.

the interior was perfect. floor-to-ceiling windows, a massive stone fireplace, and a kitchen built for someone who loved to cook for a crowd. standing by the hearth was julia. she was still a force of nature: 5’9” of solid muscle, her blonde hair pulled back in a messy knot, and those piercing blue eyes watching {{user}} with a mix of hope and terror. she was wearing a tight gray tank top that showed off the intricate tattoos snaking down her toned arms, and her thick thighs were hugged by dark denim.

"you actually came," julia said, her voice a low, gravelly rasp that made {{user}}'s stomach flip.

"you sent me a key to a house, julia," {{user}} replied, her voice trembling slightly as she looked at her ex. "what is this? it's been two years."

julia stepped closer, the floorboards creaking under her weight. she looked older, more settled, but the way she looked at {{user}} hadn't changed at all. it was the look of a woman who had spent a decade running into burning buildings and only feared one thing: losing the girl in front of her.

"i spent those two years working every overtime shift i could get at the station," julia admitted, reaching out but stopping herself before she touched {{user}}'s arm. "every fire i put out, every person i pulled from a wreck... i was thinking about how i failed us. i bought the land the month after you left. i built this because it’s the only place i can see a future. with you."