October faded into November, and with it came crisp winds, golden trees, and the early hints of winter in the air. The city grew quieter, the days shorter, and every night felt like the kind you wanted to spend wrapped in soft blankets with someone you loved.
For Crystal and Justin, life was beginning to look almost perfect.
And that's what scared her.
Because perfection had always been followed by loss.
On a chilly Friday evening, Justin picked her up from work wearing that warm smile she loved, holding two cups of hot cocoa with extra whipped cream just the way she liked it.
"What's the occasion?" Crystal asked as she slid into the passenger seat.
He handed her the cup. "You."
She laughed. "That's dangerously sweet."
He grinned. "Well, buckle up. Because tonight, I have one more surprise."
They arrived at an art gallery downtown a small, private opening featuring local artists. Crystal's eyes lit up when she saw the display through the window: paintings, black and white photographs, and delicate ink sketches.
"Justin… this is amazing."
He held open the door. "Thought you could use some inspiration."
They moved through the gallery slowly, hand in hand. At one point, Crystal stopped in front of a photograph of a woman sitting alone on a park bench, her face hidden by a wide brimmed hat, sunlight spilling across her shoulders.
"It feels like waiting," Crystal murmured.
Justin glanced at her. "Or maybe healing."
She smiled up at him, grateful for his insight. For how well he saw her.
As they rounded the next corner, Crystal's breath caught.
There it was.
A single photo, printed in soft sepia tones. A girl curled on a window seat, a sketchbook in her lap, sunlight in her curls.
Her.
From college.
It was a photo she didn't even remember being taken.
Below it, the artist's note: "The Moment She Remembered Herself."
Justin leaned in. "I found the artist through one of your old classmates. Bought this for you, by the way. It'll be waiting at home."
Crystal blinked away tears. "Why do you do things like this?"
"Because loving you makes everything else feel small."
Her heart swelled, and for a few perfect moments, she let herself believe that maybe just forever could look like this.
Later that night, back in Justin's apartment, they lay tangled together under a shared blanket. Crystal rested her head on his chest, her fingers drawing lazy circles on his skin.
"Do you ever feel like we're too happy?" she whispered.
Justin glanced down. "Too happy?"
"Like… it's all going so well, something's bound to go wrong."
He tightened his arms around her. "You're scared because it feels safe. And maybe you've never had that before."
She nodded.
He kissed her hair. "But just because something feels good doesn't mean it's temporary. Sometimes happiness sticks around."
Crystal listened to the beat of his heart. Steady. Comforting.
She wanted to believe him.
More than anything.
But the universe has its own sense of timing.
And just when things feel like they've found their rhythm, life reminds you that it's still unpredictable.
The next morning, Crystal received a call from her mother.
Her voice was tight. Shaken.
"Honey… I didn't want to worry you before, but your grandmother's been in and out of the hospital. And last night… she took a turn."
Crystal sat up, heart pounding. "What? Why didn't anyone tell me sooner?"
"She didn't want to worry you. She said you were finally happy again. But… they're saying it might be time."
Crystal felt the breath knock out of her.
"I'm coming," she whispered. "I'll be there in an hour."
Justin found her sitting on the edge of the bed, her coat half on, hands shaking.
"What happened?"
"My grandmother… she's dying."
His expression crumpled. "I'm so sorry."
"I have to go. Right now."
He reached for her. "I'll drive you."
But Crystal shook her head. "You have meetings today. Big ones. I'll be okay."
"Nothing's more important than you," he said.
She kissed his cheek. "You are important. And I know you'll be here when I get back."
Then she paused at the door, turned, and said with a faint, bittersweet smile:
"I love you. Even when it's not perfect."
And she was gone.
As Justin stood in the quiet apartment, the air still scented with her perfume, he realized something with clarity:
This woman had survived so much.
And still… she chose love.
Chose him.
So no matter what came next
Whether grief, distance, or shadows from their past,he would choose her right back.
Every single time.
Even when it wasn't perfect.
Especially then.
The drive to her grandmother's house felt longer than usual, even though Crystal had taken that road a thousand times before. The familiar curves and countryside felt unfamiliar this time, draped in the gray weight of grief she wasn't ready to face.
As the wind rustled the autumn trees outside the window, memories rushed in of a little girl chasing fireflies in the backyard, warm cinnamon cookies cooling on the kitchen counter, and the gentle voice of a woman who always called her "mi sol," her sun.
Tears spilled silently down her cheeks.
This wasn't just saying goodbye to a person.
It was saying goodbye to a part of herself.
When she arrived, the house was quiet, save for the soft hum of a machine and the occasional creak of the floorboards. Her mother met her at the door with red rimmed eyes and a long, weary hug.
"She's still holding on," she whispered. "She kept asking for you."
Crystal nodded, her throat too tight for words.
She stepped into the bedroom where her grandmother lay small, frail, and sunken into a bed that now seemed far too big for her fragile frame.
But her eyes lit up when Crystal entered.
"Mi sol," she whispered, her voice no louder than a breath.
Crystal knelt by the bed, taking her grandmother's hand in hers. "Abuela (Grandma)," she choked, smiling through tears. "I'm here."
"I knew you'd come," her grandmother said softly, her lips curling into a weak smile.
They talked in whispers.
About nothing. About everything.
Crystal shared how happy she'd been lately. How she'd found someone who made her feel like the world was beautiful again. How she finally felt like she was moving forward, like love didn't have to end in pain.
Her grandmother's eyes gleamed with knowing warmth. "Then hold on tight," she said. "Love like that… is rare."
A few hours later, as dusk settled outside the window, her grandmother's breathing grew slower. Softer. Until it was gone.
Just like that.
Gone.
And Crystal was left kneeling beside her, holding her hand long after it had turned cold.
The funeral was small.
Close friends. Family. A few neighbors who'd brought too much food and offered tight lipped condolences.
Justin sent flowers. He called every night, texted every morning, and never once pushed her to come back before she was ready.
But grief was a strange, lonely house, and Crystal didn't know how to leave it.
A week later, she returned to the city.
Justin met her at the door, wrapping his arms around her before she could even step inside.
"I didn't know what to say," she whispered into his chest. "So I said nothing."
"You don't have to say anything," he murmured. "I'm just glad you're back."
They sat on the couch, her legs over his, a blanket around her shoulders.
For a long time, they didn't speak.
Then Crystal said, "She always said love wasn't about never leaving. It was about always coming back."
Justin brushed his fingers along her cheek. "Then let's promise each other that. No matter what."
She nodded.
Tears welled in her eyes again, but this time they weren't from pain alone. They were from love. From presence. From the gentle reminder that she wasn't alone.
Not anymore.
That night, as Crystal unpacked, she found a small box tucked into her bag something her mother had slipped in quietly.
Inside was a locket.
Her grandmother's.
And inside that, a picture of Crystal at age six, sitting on her grandmother's lap, drawing hearts on a napkin.
On the other side: a faded quote, in Spanish.
"El amor verdadero siempre vuelve a casa."
True love always finds its way home.
Crystal closed her eyes, clutching it to her chest.
And for the first time since the loss, she felt the warmth of hope again.