Kate didn't cry on the drive home.
Her 2024 white Dodge Hornet hummed steadily beneath her, headlights cutting through the late‑night quiet. She kept both hands on the wheel, knuckles pale but steady, her baby‑blue tote resting in the passenger seat like a silent witness.
The neighborhood was calm — porch lights glowing, a few windows still lit, the world moving on as if her heart hadn't just been bruised.
She pulled into her driveway, the motion smooth and practiced. Her house — a cozy two‑story with soft yellow porch lights — greeted her with the kind of warmth she wished she'd felt earlier.
Kate stepped out, locked the car, and walked up the path. Her heels clicked softly against the concrete, each step measured, composed. She wasn't going to crumble. Not here. Not now.
Inside, she closed the door behind her and leaned against it for a moment, letting the silence settle around her.
Her home was peaceful — pastel accents, soft lighting, everything neatly arranged. A space built with intention. A space that reflected her.
She walked into the kitchen, setting her tote gently on the counter. The overhead light cast a warm glow across the marble surface, catching the faint shimmer of her necklace.
Kate placed both hands on the counter and bowed her head.
The hurt was there — sharp, fresh — but she breathed through it. Slow. Controlled. She wasn't going to let the words replay too loudly.
"I don't understand why I'm even still friends with you."
"Sweet strawberry shortcake."
"Dressed up all cutesy."
She inhaled deeply, then straightened.
She opened a cabinet, pulled out a glass, and filled it with water. Her hands were steady now. She took a sip, letting the coolness ground her.
Then she moved to the small kitchen table and sat down. The chair creaked softly beneath her, the house settling around her like it always did — gentle, familiar, safe.
She rested her elbows on the table, fingers interlaced.
She wasn't angry.
She wasn't bitter.
She was… disappointed.
She had shown up for Sarah.
She had defended Noah because he deserved fairness.
She had offered perspective, not judgment.
She had brought a thoughtful gift — something small, something kind, something meant to brighten Sarah's week.
And she had been mocked.
Dismissed.
Pushed out.
Kate closed her eyes for a moment.
"You did the right thing," she whispered to herself. "Even if they didn't want to hear it."
She reached into her tote and pulled out her planner — pastel blue, neatly tabbed, organized. She flipped it open to tomorrow's date.
A small note sat in the corner:
Dinner with Sarah — check in.
Kate stared at it for a long moment.
Then she drew a single, clean line through it.
Not out of spite.
Not out of anger.
But out of clarity.
She closed the planner, set it aside, and folded her hands again.
Her heart still ached, but her spine stayed straight.
She wasn't going to chase people who didn't value her presence.
She wasn't going to apologize for being thoughtful, or soft, or hopeful.
She wasn't going to shrink because someone else felt threatened by her kindness.
Kate lifted her glass, took another sip, and whispered into the quiet kitchen:
"I know what I must do now."
And for the first time that night, she felt steady.
Kate was still sitting at the kitchen table, hands folded, the soft hum of the refrigerator filling the quiet. Her planner sat closed beside her, the crossed‑out dinner plan staring back like a small, painful truth.
Headlights swept across the front windows.
A moment later, the front door opened.
"Kate?" Edward's voice carried through the entryway — warm, steady, familiar.
She straightened instinctively, wiping the last trace of hurt from her expression as he stepped into the kitchen.
Edward set two large takeout bags on the counter, the scent of warm tortillas and seasoned chicken filling the room. He wore a crisp white turtleneck tucked into dress pants, white sneakers still spotless, his blonde hair slightly tousled from the evening breeze. His light brown eyes softened the moment they landed on her.
"Mi amor," he said gently, "you look like you've had a night."
Kate tried to smile. "I'm okay."
Edward didn't buy it.
He walked over, cupped her cheek with one hand, and kissed her forehead. "You don't have to be okay for me."
That was all it took for her shoulders to drop.
He pulled out the chair beside her and sat, turning his body fully toward her. "Talk to me."
Kate hesitated, then exhaled. "I… had a falling out with the girls."
Edward nodded slowly, encouraging her to continue.
"Sarah said some things," Kate whispered. "Hurtful things. And Jada and Maya just… laughed. They all laughed."
Edward's jaw tightened, but his voice stayed calm. "What did she say?"
Kate swallowed. "That she didn't understand why she was even still friends with me. That I dress too cutesy. That I act like I know everything."
Edward's eyes softened with something protective. "You didn't deserve that."
Kate looked down at her hands. "I was just trying to help. I wasn't attacking her. I wasn't judging her. I was defending Noah because he's a good man. And they made me feel like I was wrong for caring."
Edward reached across the table and took her hand. His thumb brushed her knuckles, grounding her.
"Kate," he said gently, "you have a good heart. A strong one. But not everyone knows how to receive that."
She blinked, eyes stinging. "I just… I thought they valued me."
"They value what you give," Edward corrected softly. "Not who you are."
Kate looked up, surprised by the clarity in his tone.
Edward continued, voice steady and warm. "People like that love you when you're agreeable. When you're quiet. When you fit into the version of you they're comfortable with. The moment you challenge them? They show you exactly where you stand."
Kate's breath caught.
He squeezed her hand. "And that's why it's okay to let people go."
She swallowed. "But they were my friends."
"Friends don't belittle you," Edward said. "Friends don't mock your kindness. Friends don't punish you for having a different perspective."
He leaned closer, eyes locked on hers. "You didn't lose anything tonight. You learned something."
Kate felt her chest loosen — not from relief, but from truth settling into place.
Edward brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "You deserve people who see your softness as strength. Who appreciate your thoughtfulness. Who don't laugh at your generosity."
Kate's voice cracked. "I just wanted to be there for her."
"And you were," Edward said. "But she wasn't ready to hear it. That's not your failure."
Kate exhaled shakily, the tension finally breaking.
Edward stood, walked to the counter, and unpacked the food — warm tortillas, grilled chicken, rice, beans, salsa. He plated everything neatly, then set a dish in front of her.
"Eat," he said softly. "You need something warm tonight."
Kate smiled — small, tired, but real. "Thank you."
Edward kissed the top of her head. "Always."
As she took her first bite, the house felt a little less heavy.
Kate was still curled up against the kitchen table, the warmth of the Mexican food filling the room, when she heard Edward rustling through one of the bags he'd brought in.
She looked up, confused.
Edward turned toward her with a small gift bag in his hand — pastel blue with white tissue paper, matching her aesthetic perfectly. He wore a big, boyish smile that instantly softened the last of the tension in her chest.
He walked over and sat beside her, knees touching hers.
"Okay," he said, voice warm, "so… I know you've been holding onto that yellow iPhone XR for dear life. Like a decade."
Kate blinked, surprised. "Edward…"
He grinned wider. "And I know you've been working overtime on Saturdays and Sundays these 5 months."
He handed her the gift bag.
Kate's breath caught. "You didn't have to—"
"Ah my sugar plum. Don't." he said simply.
She opened the bag, pushed aside the tissue paper, and froze.
Inside was a brand‑new iPhone 15 in pastel pink — soft, elegant, and unmistakably her.
Her eyes lit up instantly, glowing with excitement. "Oh my god," she whispered, voice cracking. "Edward… thank you."
She threw her arms around him, hugging him tight. He laughed softly, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close.
They kissed — slow, grateful, full of warmth.
Kate pulled back just enough to open the box. She lifted the phone carefully, admiring the color, the shine, the way it felt in her hands.
"It's beautiful," she breathed. "It's perfect."
Edward brushed a thumb along her cheek. "It has crash detection on it. I want you to be safe while you're driving to work, running errands, shopping… especially when I'm not with you."
Kate's heart swelled. She leaned in and kissed him again — deeper this time, full of emotion she didn't have words for.
When she pulled back, she rested her head on his shoulder, the new phone still in her hand.
Edward wrapped an arm around her, pulling her into his chest. They sat like that in the kitchen — warm food on the counter, soft lights glowing, the world outside quiet and far away.
Kate exhaled, finally feeling safe again.
Loved.
Seen.
Chosen.
She cuddled closer, whispering, "You always know how to make everything better."
Edward kissed the top of her head. "That's my job."
And in that moment — wrapped in his arms, pastel pink phone in her hand, the weight of the night finally lifting — Kate knew she hadn't lost anything at Sarah's house.
She had everything she needed right here.