Margaret had learned to smile before she ever learned to feel safe.
Born into a house of stiff expectations and colder affections, she was raised not to speak unless spoken to, not to cry when it hurt, and never—ever—to raise her voice.
Her mother, a statue of polished control, ruled their home like a silent monarch.
Her stepfather, always formal, never kind, treated her like a doll that moved too loudly.
She wasn't abused. Not physically. That was important to note.
No bruises on the skin—only in the soul.
The kind of wounds that don't fade. The kind that grow up with you.
Then came the day when everything shattered.
She didn't see the blade. Not at first.
She only heard the crash—the roar—the screams.
By the time she ran into the room, her stepfather was on the floor, bleeding out.
Her mother stood in the kitchen doorway, knife clutched in one hand, fury in the other.
The story was clean. Self-defense.
The man had crossed a line.
But Margaret?
She was never the same after that.
She grew up faster than anyone else around her.
By eighteen, she was already working while balancing college. By twenty-two, she was in politics.
A young firebrand, sharp-tongued and determined, rising through the ranks as the voice of those who felt unheard.
She smiled for the cameras, smiled for the voters—but inside, she was still trying to convince herself she mattered.
Then came Sam.
Her first real love.
Tall, charming, driven. The kind of man who knew how to win people—and lose himself.
At first, it was perfect. They danced in kitchens, whispered in hallways, made promises under city lights.
Then James was born. A blessing. The best thing that ever happened to her.
But Sam?
He didn't stop working. Didn't stop drinking.
Happy drunk on Tuesdays. Violent drunk on Thursdays.
There was never a pattern—only storms.
Then came Mary.
A child born not of love but of manipulation.
Sam had convinced her they could fix things. That a new baby meant a new start.
But it didn't. It just meant more nights crying into a pillow and wondering what she'd become.
He cheated on her with one of her closest friends.
She didn't even scream when she found out.
She just... shut down.
And that's when he appeared.
Not Sam.
Alex.
At first, he was just a cashier.
She came in every week, ordered the same dumb soda and microwave meal like it was gourmet.
He always had a line ready. Always tried to make her laugh. Most people annoyed her.
But Alex?
He saw her.
Not the politician. Not the broken wife. Not the tired mother.
Her.
He helped her through the fallout with Sam—both with words and with action.
There was something about him—something more than human, though she didn't know how or why.
He had this quiet strength in him. Like he could level a city, but chose to hold your hand instead.
Glitchtrap had tried to interfere. That Yellow Rabbit. Whatever it was—Alex had handled it.
No fear. No hesitation.
She never asked him what he was.
Because she already knew what he meant.
To her.
To James.
To Mary.
James started calling him "Dad" on his own.
Mary grew up with Alex as her first real memory.
And somehow... the house started to feel like a home.
There was no grand reveal.
No helicopter proposal.
No stadium lights or flash mobs.
Just their small living room.
He was dressed like he always was. Half-tucked shirt. That one wristband he never took off.
She was in pajamas. Mary was watching cartoons in the background. James was upstairs, playing something on his tablet.
And he knelt.
Just like that.
Holding out a ring—not too big, not too shiny, just right.
Her heart nearly stopped.
"Margaret," he'd said, voice steady. "You've had to be strong your whole life. Let me be strong for you now. Marry me."
She didn't cry.
Not at first.
She laughed. Then cried. Then laughed again.
And said yes.
Now, staring down at the ring on her hand, she thought back to it all.
The cold house. The blood. The cameras. Sam. The lies.
The anger. The numbness.
And Alex.
His weekly customer.
Her children's father in all the ways that mattered.
Her partner.
Her love.
Her future husband.
She remembered the way he looked when she said yes—like a god who had finally been forgiven by the stars.
He didn't need her.
But he chose her.
And she?
She wouldn't trade that for the world.