I always thought breakups happened face-to-face. You know, with some kind of awkward conversation, maybe a few tears, and definitely a lot of uncomfortable silences. What I didn’t expect was to get dumped via text while eating leftover pizza in my sweatpants.

But hey, Jessica always was full of surprises.

My phone buzzed with a notification, and I glanced at it without much thought. Probably Max sending another meme about how I looked like a “before” picture in a shaving commercial.

But nope.

It was her.

Jessica: Hey… I’ve been thinking, and I just don’t see us working out anymore. I’m seeing someone else. Good luck, though! And I’m never coming back to your place, so don’t bother texting.

I stared at the screen, waiting for the punchline. Any second now, she’d send another message with “jk lol.” Right?

Right?

Spoiler alert: she didn’t.

I’m not proud of what happened next.

I just… stared at the text for a solid five minutes, like if I blinked, it would disappear. It didn’t. Then, my heart did this weird crunch thing, and I realized—holy shit, this was real. Jessica had dumped me. Over. A. Text.

And the part about seeing someone else? Yeah. That hit like a truck.

I sat there, frozen, the half-eaten pizza slice dangling from my hand like it, too, was horrified by what had just happened.

Then came the spiral.

“Dude. She texted you?” Max’s voice crackled through my phone, laced with disbelief. “That’s some high-level cowardice.”

“I know,” I croaked. I sounded like I’d just run a marathon. “She said she’s seeing someone else. Someone else, Max.”

There was a pause, then a snort. “Honestly? I’m not surprised.”

That pulled me out of my pity pit, just a little. “Wait, what?”

“Bro, Jessica was the worst. She’s been a shallow, manipulative nightmare since day one. We’ve all seen it.”

I blinked. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“We tried!” Max groaned. “Remember when she made Amanda cry because she brought the ‘wrong’ wine to game night?”

I winced. Oh. Yeah. That had been… not great.

“And don’t even get me started on how she ‘borrowed’ Katie’s dress and never gave it back,” Max added. “She’s a menace.”

I sighed, the weight of the breakup still pressing down on me like a two-ton truck. “Can we… can we just grab drinks? I don’t wanna be alone.”

“Say no more,” Max said. “O’Malley’s in 20.”

By the time I stumbled into O’Malley’s Dive Bar, Max and our friends were already camped out in a booth, surrounded by half-empty pitchers of cheap beer.

“There he is!” Max called, waving me over like I was the guest of honor at my own pity party.

I slid into the booth, and Amanda immediately shoved a shot glass in my direction. “For Jessica,” she said with a wicked grin. “May her next boyfriend have terrible Wi-Fi.”

I chuckled weakly and knocked back the shot. It burned, but not enough to drown out the ache in my chest.

Katie leaned in, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Remember when she made that waitress cry because her salad had too much lettuce?”

“Oh my God,” Amanda snorted. “And she said, ‘Do I look like a rabbit to you?’ Like, who even says that?”

Laughter bubbled around the table, but I just swirled my beer, feeling like I was floating outside my own body.

Max clapped me on the back. “Dude, you dodged a bullet. She was shallow, mean, and unnecessarily cruel. You deserve way better.”

I nodded, but the words felt hollow. Better? Right now, I just wanted to stop feeling like my insides had been fed through a blender.

Hours—and way too many drinks—later, I stumbled back to my apartment, the weight of the night settling in my chest like a bad hangover that hadn’t even started yet.

I flopped onto the couch and stared at the mess Jessica had left behind. Her stupid, overpriced throw pillows. That hideous lamp she insisted was “quirky.” A drawer full of her random junk—hair ties, lip balm, and some overpriced face cream that probably cost more than my rent.

The more I looked, the angrier I got.

How dare she waltz out of my life like I was some footnote? How dare she move on so easily, like I was nothing?

Fueled by a potent mix of heartbreak and whiskey, I started chucking her stuff into a pile. The pillows went first, followed by the lamp. The drawer of random junk got upturned onto the floor, and I stomped on her stupid fancy face cream for good measure.

My heart pounded in my chest, hot and furious. I was done being the sad, dumped ex. She was the one who should be miserable. She should be the one regretting everything.

I slumped onto the floor, surrounded by the wreckage of our relationship, and whispered to the empty room, “I wish I was the hot ex she’d regret losing.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and final.

And as the room spun around me, I felt something soft—like silk—brush against my cheek.

But before I could even register it, the darkness pulled me under, and I passed out cold.

The first thing I noticed was the pounding in my skull.

You know that feeling when you’ve had just enough to drink that your brain decides to punish you with a jackhammer behind your eyes? Yeah. That. A hangover so brutal it felt like my head had been used as a drum at a heavy metal concert.

The second thing I noticed was the cold.

I groaned, pulling the blanket tighter around me. Except… it wasn’t the blanket. It was my shirt. And it felt weird. Like… scratchy in all the wrong places. I frowned, trying to make sense of it. Maybe I slept funny?

And that’s when I realized: my shirt was huge.

I blinked, squinting at the familiar Batman logo stretched across my chest—except it wasn’t stretched. It was… baggy. Like, absurdly baggy. The sleeves swallowed my arms, and the collar hung off one shoulder, sliding down my skin in a way that felt—off.

What the hell? Did my shirt grow overnight?

I tried to sit up, but my balance felt weird. Like I was too light. Too… small.

The pounding in my head intensified as I swung my legs over the side of the bed, and that’s when I noticed my boxers.

They weren’t just loose—they were falling off.

I frowned, tugging them up, but they slid right back down over my hips. Wait. Hips? Since when did I have hips?

I shook my head, trying to clear the fog. Maybe I’d shrunk in my sleep. That was a thing, right? Like, dehydration or something?

Yeah. Totally normal.

I stumbled into the kitchen, rubbing my eyes. Everything looked the same—my ratty old couch, the pile of pizza boxes I still hadn’t thrown out, even Mr. Whiskers, my grumpy tabby cat, perched on the windowsill, glaring at me like I’d personally offended him.

“Morning, buddy,” I mumbled, reaching for the coffee pot.

Mr. Whiskers let out a long, annoyed mrrrow and leapt onto the counter, sniffing at me like I was a stranger.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” I muttered, scratching behind his ears. “I smell like a brewery.”

But Mr. Whiskers just hissed and batted at my oversized sleeve.

Jeez. Someone’s cranky today.

I poured myself a cup of coffee, nearly spilling it because my hands felt… weird. Smaller. More delicate. But my brain, still swimming in a cocktail of whiskey and regret, shrugged it off.

I shuffled to the bathroom, yawning. Maybe a shower would clear my head.

But first—nature called.

I flipped up the toilet seat and prepared to do my business, still half-asleep.

And that’s when it happened.

I let loose—and nothing felt right.

I froze.

Blink.

Blink.

I looked down.

And screamed.

Staring back at me was not the usual sight I’d been expecting.

Gone was anything remotely familiar. Instead, I saw smooth, soft skin, a flat stomach, and—

“WHAT THE—?!”

I stumbled back, tripping over my now-giant boxers and crashing into the sink. My reflection stared at me from the mirror above, and my brain short-circuited.

Because staring back wasn’t me.

It was a woman.

A gorgeous woman.

I blinked, heart pounding in my chest. My reflection blinked back, wide-eyed and panicked.

Long, auburn hair tumbled in soft waves down my shoulders, catching the light and gleaming like a damn shampoo commercial. My skin was flawless—smooth, glowing, like I’d been airbrushed. My lips were full and pouty, my cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass.

And my eyes—holy shit—my eyes were a deep, striking green, framed by thick lashes that looked too perfect to be real.

I looked like I’d walked out of a Victoria’s Secret catalog.

Tiny. Petite. Smoking hot in that adorable, girl-next-door kind of way.

I waved a hand in front of the mirror. The reflection waved back.

I touched my face. The reflection did the same.

“Oh my God,” I whispered, my voice high and breathy. It sounded like I’d inhaled helium, but in a sexy, sultry way.

I staggered back, clutching the sink. “What the hell is happening?!”

And then, like a lightning bolt, it hit me.

I wish I was the hot ex she’d regret losing.

Oh.

Shit.

I stared at my reflection, heart racing. This was bad. This was really bad.

But then… I tilted my head.

I mean… damn.

Jessica was definitely gonna regret this, but I hoped I wasn’t going to as well. 

I scrambled out of the bathroom, nearly tripping over my boxers again, and lunged for my phone on the nightstand.

This was bad. No, worse than bad. This was DEFCON 1-level catastrophic. I needed backup. I needed Max.

I fumbled to unlock my phone, my now-slim fingers slipping on the screen. Finally, I managed to pull up Max’s contact and started texting like my life depended on it.

Me: EMERGENCY. SOS. CALL 911. SEND HELP. I’M DYING.

I stared at the screen, heart pounding. Three dots popped up. Then—

Max: Dude, it’s 9 AM. Are you hungover or did Mr. Whiskers finally snap and kill you?

I groaned, typing as fast as my shaking fingers allowed.

Me: SERIOUSLY. LIFE-THREATENING SITUATION. GET OVER HERE NOW.

Pause.

Max: Is this about Jessica again? Because I’m not bailing you out of any more pity parties, man.

I nearly screamed.

Me: THIS ISN’T ABOUT JESSICA. TRUST ME. IT’S WORSE. JUST COME OVER.

Another pause.

Max: Worse than getting dumped via text? Highly doubt it.

I threw my head back and groaned. This wasn’t working. I needed to up the stakes.

Me: BRO. I’M BEGGING YOU. BRING AMANDA TOO. AND TELL HER TO BRING CLOTHES SHE DOESN’T WANT ANYMORE. THE SMALLER, THE BETTER.

There was a long pause this time.

Too long.

Finally:

Max: ...Are you drunk again? What the hell do you need Amanda’s clothes for?

I banged my head against the wall, trying to find the words that would make sense. Spoiler: there weren’t any.

Me: JUST TRUST ME, OKAY? I’LL EXPLAIN WHEN YOU GET HERE. I’M HAVING A CRISIS.

Max: Define “crisis.”

I let out a strangled noise.

Me: THE KIND THAT INVOLVES BOOBS.

Another pause. Then—

Max: ...Are you wearing them? Or do you have them?

I nearly threw the phone across the room.

Me: I’LL EXPLAIN WHEN YOU GET HERE. JUST COME OVER. AND BRING THE DAMN CLOTHES.

This time, Max replied instantly.

Max: On our way. If this is a prank, I’m stealing your cat.

I collapsed onto the couch, clutching my phone like a lifeline.

Now all I had to do was survive until they got here.

And figure out how the hell I was going to explain this without sounding completely insane.

I paced back and forth in the living room, the oversized Batman shirt swishing around my thighs like some kind of weird, superhero-themed dress. It was so big, the hem nearly brushed my knees, and every time I moved, the fabric slipped off my shoulder, exposing smooth, pale skin that definitely didn’t belong to me.

“What the hell is happening…” I muttered, tugging the shirt down in a futile attempt to feel normal. My voice—high, breathy, and way too cute—bounced off the walls, making me cringe every time I spoke.

Mr. Whiskers sat on the windowsill, tail flicking in slow, deliberate annoyance. His golden eyes followed my every move, his usual judgmental stare now tinged with something that almost resembled amusement.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I snapped, glaring at him.

He blinked, slowly, then let out an indignant mrrrow before hopping down and trotting over to his food bowl. He sniffed at the empty dish, then turned back to me with a sharp, accusatory glare.

“Oh, right,” I muttered, rubbing my temples. “Because that’s the priority here. You don’t care if I’ve turned into some… some auburn-haired bombshell, but God forbid you miss breakfast.”

Mr. Whiskers yowled louder this time, as if to say, Exactly.

I sighed, shuffling over to the kitchen, the Batman shirt swaying with every step. As I bent down to scoop some kibble into his bowl, I caught sight of my reflection in the microwave door.

Big mistake.

A pair of sparkling green eyes stared back at me, wide and panicked. My auburn hair cascaded around my face in soft waves, and my lips—full and pink—were pouting without me even trying.

I looked like I’d stepped off the cover of a romance novel.

“Okay,” I whispered to my reflection, voice trembling. “It’s fine. Max will fix this. Max always fixes things.”

Mr. Whiskers finished his breakfast and strutted back over to me, rubbing against my legs with a soft purr. I frowned down at him.

“Why are you so chill about this? Do you even recognize me?”

He purred louder, curling around my ankle, his tail flicking against my bare skin.

“Huh,” I mumbled. “Maybe you do like me better this way.”

But the moment I paused to consider this feline betrayal, there was a sharp knock at the door.

My heart leapt into my throat.

I shuffled to the door, clutching the too-big shirt around me like a shield. My pulse pounded in my ears as I peeked through the peephole.

Max.

And… Amanda.

Great.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. This was fine. I’d explain everything, and Max would know what to do. He always did.

I swung the door open.

Max’s easygoing grin immediately slid off his face.

He stared at me.

I stared back.

Silence.

“…Uh,” I squeaked, my voice coming out even higher than usual. I cleared my throat, trying to deepen it. “H-Hey, man.”

Max blinked. His mouth opened, then closed. Like a goldfish.

Amanda peeked over his shoulder, her eyes widening. “Whoa.”

Max frowned, shaking his head like he was trying to clear it. “Uh… hi?” He glanced at Amanda, then back at me. “Can I… help you?”

I swallowed hard. “It’s me, Max. It’s… it’s Alex.”

Max blinked again. “Okay. Good one. Where’s Alex?”

“I am Alex!” I squeaked, throwing my arms out dramatically—which only made the shirt slip even further off my shoulder. I yanked it back up, face burning. “Dude, just… look at me! Really look!”

Max squinted, his eyes narrowing. I watched as confusion morphed into suspicion, and then—slowly—into horrified realization.

“No. No, no, no,” he muttered, stepping back. “This… This is some kind of prank, right? Amanda, did you put him up to this?”

Amanda just stared, her mouth slightly open.

“Max, I swear!” I cried, my voice cracking adorably in a way that made me want to punch myself. “It’s me! Remember that time in college you got so drunk you tried to fight a mailbox because it ‘looked at you funny’? Or when we—”

“Okay, stop,” Max groaned, rubbing his temples. “That’s… weirdly specific.”

“Because it’s me!” I yelped, throwing my hands up in frustration. “I don’t know how, but this happened, and I need your help!”

Max stared at me for a long moment, his eyes darting over my face, like he was trying to find the person he knew beneath all the… well, hotness.

And then, finally, he let out a slow, disbelieving breath.

“…Holy shit.”

Amanda, on the other hand, was already grinning like she’d won the lottery.

“Oh my God,” she gasped, stepping around Max and grabbing my hands. “You’re adorable! Look at you! You’re like a tiny, sexy pixie!”

I gaped at her, completely caught off guard. “Wha—Amanda, this is serious!”

She just giggled, giving my hands a squeeze. “Oh, don’t worry, sweetie. We’ll fix it. But first…” She held up the bag of clothes she’d brought, eyes sparkling with excitement. “Girl time.”

I blinked. “Wait, what?”

Before I could protest, Amanda hooked her arm through mine and started dragging me toward the bedroom.

Max just stood there, looking like he was about to have a stroke.

“Amanda, what—” I squeaked, trying to pull back, but she was surprisingly strong for someone her size.

She leaned in, whispering conspiratorially in my ear.

“Trust me,” she purred. “You’ll thank me in a moment.”

Amanda tugged me into the bedroom like it was the most natural thing in the world, shutting the door behind us with a soft click. The bag of clothes hit the bed with a thump, but I barely noticed.

I was too busy staring at Amanda.

I mean, I’d always looked up to her—literally and figuratively. She was like the cool older sister I never had, the one who’d always had my back, whether it was covering for me when I flaked on plans or roasting me when I deserved it. She was awesome.

But now?

Now, I was staring up at her.

Like, way up.

Amanda was 5’7”. I’d always been a solid 6’2”. But now? I was tiny. I had to be, what, 5’2”? 5’3” tops? She towered over me by a good five inches, and the way she was grinning at me like I was some kind of adorable doll wasn’t helping my mental stability.

“Okay,” Amanda said softly, her hands warm on my shoulders. “Let it out.”

I blinked up at her, trying to hold it together, but the second those words hit, something inside me snapped.

“I HAVE BOOBS, AMANDA!” I wailed, collapsing into her arms like a dramatic soap opera star. “PERKY ones! And I’m SHORT! And my hair—my hair is like some kind of magical auburn waterfall! What the hell is happening to me?!”

Amanda giggled, running her fingers through my ridiculously soft hair. “Yeah, the hair’s kinda amazing.”

I clutched at her like a lifeline, the words pouring out of me in a hysterical, barely coherent stream.

“I WOKE UP AND I WAS ADORABLE, AMANDA! I’M LIKE A TINY, SEXY LEPRECHAUN! I CAN’T EVEN PEE NORMALLY ANYMORE! I ALMOST FELL INTO THE TOILET!”

Amanda snorted, trying—and failing—to suppress her laughter. “Oh my God, Alex—”

“And MY VOICE!” I shrieked, flailing my arms in wild exasperation. “I sound like I swallowed a Disney princess! I CAN’T EVEN YELL RIGHT!”

Amanda was full-on laughing now, but she pulled me closer, hugging me like I was her kid sister having a meltdown over a broken toy.

“And—AND—” I hiccupped, tears streaming down my face, “Jessica! That witch! She dumped me over TEXT! And now I’m stuck like this, and she’s out there with some protein shake with legs, and I have—I have FRECKLES, Amanda! FRECKLES!”

I buried my face in her shoulder, sobbing like the world had ended, while Amanda just rubbed my back in soothing circles, giggling at my absurdity.

But even I knew it was funny.

“I swear to God,” I sniffled between hiccups, “if I start craving pumpkin spice lattes, just end me.”

Amanda let out a snort so loud it startled Mr. Whiskers in the other room.

We stayed like that for a while—me curled up in her arms, letting out every ridiculous, over-the-top fear and frustration that had been bottling up inside me, and Amanda just holding me, laughing with me, not at me.

Eventually, my sobs slowed to sniffles, and I pulled back, wiping my eyes with the sleeve of my too-big Batman shirt.

“Feel better?” Amanda asked, her eyes soft and warm.

I let out a shaky breath. “Not really.”

She grinned. “You will.

Then, she reached for the bag of clothes and tossed it onto the bed.

“Alright,” she said, clapping her hands together. “Now strip. Let’s see what we’re dealing with.”

Amanda crossed her arms, giving me that look—the one that said you’re going to do what I say, or I’ll make your life miserable. I’d seen it enough times to know resistance was futile.

“Alright,” she said again, her grin widening. “Strip.”

I stared at her, my mouth dropping open. “What? No!”

She raised an eyebrow. “Alex. You’re wearing a Batman shirt that could double as a tent. We need to see what we’re working with.”

I hesitated, tugging the hem of the shirt down like it would magically cover more.

Amanda sighed, stepping closer and gently tugging at my sleeve. “Look, I know this is weird. But it’s just me. I’ve seen you puke in your own shoes, remember? This is nothing compared to that.”

I groaned, but deep down, I knew she was right. With a dramatic sigh that felt like I was surrendering to the universe, I grabbed the hem of the shirt and pulled it over my head, letting it fall to the floor.

Amanda let out a low whistle. “Damn, girl.”

I stood there, arms crossed over my chest, glaring at her. But even I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks.

“Alright,” Amanda said, grabbing my wrist and dragging me toward the full-length mirror on the closet door. “Time for a reality check.”

“I hate you,” I muttered, but she just laughed, spinning me to face the mirror.

And then… I saw her.

Me.

But not me.

The woman staring back from the mirror was… breathtaking.

My skin was smooth and flawless, with a soft, natural glow that made me look like I’d just stepped out of a skincare commercial. My curves were perfectly proportioned—small waist, full hips, and perky, round breasts that defied gravity. My stomach was flat, my thighs toned but still soft, and there was a delicate sprinkle of freckles across my nose and shoulders that made me look ridiculously cute.

And my face… God, my face.

Full, pouty lips. High cheekbones. Big, expressive green eyes framed by long, dark lashes. And that auburn hair—thick, shiny, cascading down my back in soft waves like it belonged in a shampoo ad.

I blinked, stunned into silence.

Amanda stepped up behind me, her chin resting on my shoulder. “I know you don’t want to hear this,” she said softly, “but you’re a solid 9. Maybe even a 10.”

I groaned, burying my face in my hands. “Kill me now.”

She just giggled, pulling me toward the bed where she’d dumped the clothes. “Come on, supermodel. Let’s get you dressed.”

Trying on Amanda’s clothes was an adventure.

Most of it was still a little big on me—apparently, I was even tinier than I thought—but at least it didn’t feel like I was drowning in fabric anymore.

But the bra?

The bra fit perfectly.

Amanda clapped her hands, looking way too pleased with herself as I fumbled with the straps. “Oh my God, it’s like it was made for you!”

I scowled at her through the mirror, adjusting the cups. “Yeah, great. Now I have to deal with this.”

But even I had to admit… I looked good.

Finally, Amanda pulled me in front of the mirror again. She stood behind me, gathering my thick auburn hair in her hands.

“Alright,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “Let’s see what we can do with this glorious mane.”

As she worked, twisting and braiding and brushing, I caught glimpses of myself in the mirror.

And for the first time… I didn’t hate what I saw.

I stared at my reflection, my breath catching in my throat.

The woman looking back at me was… insane. Like, ridiculously gorgeous, in that effortless I-woke-up-like-this kind of way.

My auburn hair cascaded down in soft, glossy waves, perfectly styled thanks to Amanda’s magic touch. It framed my face like it had been designed to, highlighting the sharp curve of my cheekbones and the subtle sprinkle of freckles across my nose. My green eyes—bright, wide, and framed with long, dark lashes—sparkled in the soft light, and even I had to admit they looked kind of hypnotic.

The bra fit like a glove, hugging my perky, round bust in a way that made me feel way too aware of every little movement. The fitted top Amanda gave me hung just a little loose, skimming over my slim waist and hinting at the soft curves underneath. The jeans hugged my toned thighs but sagged slightly at the waist, just enough to remind me how tiny I’d become.

I looked… adorable. But in that dangerous kind of way. Like I could make hearts stop with a smile.

Amanda grinned behind me, resting her chin on my shoulder. “Told you. Nine out of ten. Minimum.”

I groaned, but deep down… maybe I was starting to believe her.

Amanda stepped back from the mirror, admiring her handiwork like she’d just painted the Mona Lisa.

“Alright,” she said, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Time for the big reveal.”

I groaned. “Amanda, no—”

But she was already halfway to the door.

“MAX!” she called out, her voice sing-songy. “Come in here! You have to see this!”

I spun toward her, my heart lurching into my throat. “Amanda! Are you serious?!” I hissed, trying to tug the slightly-too-big shirt lower over my jeans. My cheeks were already heating up, and I hadn’t even seen Max’s face yet.

“Oh, relax,” she said, waving me off with a grin. “He’s your best friend. He’s seen you at your absolute worst. This’ll be nothing.”

I barely had time to respond before the door creaked open, and Max’s head poked into the room.

“Yo, what’s the—” His words cut off mid-sentence as his eyes landed on me.

I watched, frozen, as his jaw dropped.

He blinked. Once. Twice.

“...Holy shit,” he finally breathed.

If I thought my face was on fire before, it was practically melting now.

Max stepped into the room like he was seeing a ghost, his eyes darting up and down my body like he couldn’t quite believe what he was looking at.

I crossed my arms over my chest, feeling way too exposed. “Dude, stop staring.”

But Max just kept blinking, his mouth working like he was trying to form words and failing miserably.

“You look…” He trailed off, his eyes wide. “You look like a freaking supermodel, dude.”

I groaned, burying my face in my hands. “Don’t say that.”

Amanda laughed, plopping down onto the bed and patting the spot next to her. “Alright, lovebirds. Sit down. We need to figure out what the hell is going on.”

Max finally tore his eyes away from me and sank onto the bed, still looking dazed. I sat down on the other side of Amanda, hugging my knees to my chest.

“So,” Amanda began, glancing between us. “Let’s recap. Alex, when exactly did you turn into a Disney princess?”

I sighed, running a hand through my perfectly styled hair. “Last night. After you guys left O’Malley’s. I got home, saw all of Jessica’s crap still lying around, and… I don’t know, I just lost it. I was drunk and pissed off, so I started smashing her stuff. And then…” I trailed off, my throat tightening at the memory.

“And then what?” Max prompted, his brows furrowed.

I glanced between them, suddenly feeling really stupid.

“I… might’ve said something,” I muttered.

Amanda raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

I groaned, hiding my face again. “I said I wished I was the ‘hot ex’ Jessica would regret losing.”

Silence.

Then, Max let out a low whistle. “Damn. The universe heard you, man.”

Amanda snorted. “The universe didn’t just hear you. It rolled up its sleeves and said, ‘Bet.’”

I peeked out from behind my hands, giving them both a weak glare. “Guys, this isn’t funny.”

But Amanda was already laughing, and even Max couldn’t suppress a grin.

“Dude,” Max said, shaking his head. “I mean, it’s kinda funny.”

I groaned louder, flopping back onto the bed. “This is a nightmare.”

Amanda nudged me with her elbow. “Or… it’s an opportunity.”

I shot up, staring at her like she’d grown a second head. “An opportunity?! Amanda, I have boobs! And I’m, like, a full-blown snack now! How is this an opportunity?!”

She grinned. “Because now you can make Jessica really regret dumping you.”

I blinked.

Max’s grin widened. “Dude… she’s right.”

I stared at them both, my mind racing. Could I really pull that off? Could I actually show up and make Jessica eat her heart out?

A slow, wicked smile crept onto my face.

“Okay,” I whispered. “Let’s do it.”

Max pulled out his phone, fingers flying across the screen like he was on some kind of mission.

“Alright,” he muttered, scrolling through his social media feeds. “Let’s see where our favorite narcissist is spending Valentine’s Day.”

I leaned over his shoulder, still trying to wrap my head around the fact that this was my life now. Amanda perched on the bed next to us, her grin only growing wider by the second.

“Found her!” Max announced, holding up his phone like it was a holy relic. “Jessica’s tagged at—get this—Le Petite Amour.”

Amanda snorted. “Of course she is. That place is like, pretentious romance central.”

But Max’s face darkened as he scrolled further. “Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me…”

“What?” I frowned, leaning closer.

Max turned the phone around.

And there he was. Sitting next to Jessica, his arm slung casually around her shoulders like he hadn’t just set my entire life on fire.

Bryce.

I felt my stomach drop.

“Bryce?!” I shrieked, my voice cracking in that annoyingly high soprano. “She’s dating Bryce?!”

Amanda’s jaw clenched. “That slimy little snake.”

Max growled, shaking his head. “Dude sabotaged your relationship, and now he’s dating her? What a douchebag.”

I threw my hands in the air. “Seriously, who does that?!”

Amanda’s grin turned downright wicked. “Well… looks like we’ve got some serious payback to deliver.”

I should’ve known better than to trust Amanda with anything that involved the words makeover and revenge.

The second we figured out Jessica’s dinner plans, Amanda sprang into action like a woman possessed. Max wisely retreated to the living room, muttering something about not wanting to get caught in the crossfire, while I was left to fend for myself against Amanda’s unholy beauty regimen.

“Okay,” Amanda announced, yanking open her closet and rifling through hangers. “We need something that screams ‘I’m hot, I’m confident, and you’ll never be this lucky again.’”

I flopped onto the bed, groaning. “Amanda, do we have to do this?”

She shot me a glare that could melt steel. “Oh, we absolutely do.”

After a few minutes of rummaging, she let out a triumphant squeal.

“Aha!”

She pulled out a dress that shimmered in the light—a deep crimson satin number with a plunging neckline and a slit up the side that could probably be considered a hazard in some states.

I blinked. “What the hell is that?”

Amanda grinned. “My prom dress. And you, my dear, are going to look smoking hot in it.”

My eyes widened in horror. “No way.”

“Oh, yes way.” She tossed it at me. “Try it on.”

I groaned but reluctantly slipped into the dress, grumbling the entire time. To my absolute horror, the thing fit like a glove—hugging my curves in all the right places, the satin smooth against my flawless (ugh) skin. The only issue was the length—it pooled slightly at my feet, but Amanda waved that off like it was nothing.

I stepped in front of the mirror and nearly had a stroke.

“Oh my God,” I whispered. “I look like a Bond girl.”

Amanda beamed. “Told you.”

I turned to her, panic rising in my chest. “Amanda, this is too much. I can’t go out like this! I’ll trip over my own damn feet!”

Amanda rolled her eyes. “You’ll be fine. Now, sit your ass down. We’ve got hair and makeup to do.”

If I thought the dress was torture, I hadn’t even scratched the surface.

Amanda sat me down in front of the mirror, pulling out an arsenal of brushes, palettes, and tools that looked more like medieval torture devices than beauty products.

“Okay,” she said, cracking her knuckles like a mad scientist. “Let’s make some magic.”

I whimpered. “Amanda, I don’t think—”

“Shush.” She grabbed a brush and got to work.

What followed was an hour of absolute hell.

Amanda tugged, twisted, and yanked my hair into submission, muttering about volume and shine while I winced and yelped with every pull.

“Ow! Amanda, I need my scalp!”

“Beauty is pain, sweetie.”

Then came the makeup.

She dusted powders, blended shadows, and swiped on lipstick like she was painting the Sistine Chapel. I squirmed, flinched, and complained the entire time.

“Amanda, are you sure my eyebrows are supposed to look like that?”

“Yes, Alex. They’re perfect.”

“I feel like I’m wearing a mask!”

“You’re wearing art.”

By the time she was done, I felt like I’d been through a war.

But when I looked in the mirror… damn.

My auburn hair cascaded in soft, perfect waves. My eyes popped with just the right amount of smoky shadow, making the green practically glow. My lips were a deep, sultry red, matching the dress perfectly. And my skin? Flawless. Absolutely radiant.

I looked like I’d stepped off the cover of a magazine.

Amanda grinned, hands on her hips. “See? I told you you’d thank me.”

I stared at my reflection, stunned into silence.

“…I still hate you,” I muttered, but even I couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at my lips.

Amanda laughed, pulling me into a hug. “You’ll do great. Now go out there and make that witch regret everything.”

And with that, we stepped out of the bedroom, ready to make Jessica’s Valentine’s Day one she’d never forget.

As I stared at myself in the mirror, still reeling from the transformation Amanda had gleefully forced upon me, I felt a growing pit of anxiety settle in my stomach.

“Alright,” Amanda said, snapping her fingers in front of my face. “Before we head out, one last thing.”

I groaned, adjusting the dress that somehow fit like a second skin. “Amanda, if you try to glue rhinestones to me, I swear—”

She rolled her eyes and pulled a soft, black shrug from her closet, tossing it to me. “Calm down, glitter phobe. It’s just a shrug. It’ll keep you warm, and it adds a little mystery.”

I slipped it on, surprisingly grateful for the extra layer. The dress may have made me look like a femme fatale, but the shrug gave me a tiny bit of armor. Like I wasn’t completely exposed.

Max poked his head into the room, keys jingling in his hand. “Alright, ladies, you ready to roll?”

Amanda grinned, linking her arm with mine. “Ready as she’ll ever be.”

I shot her a death glare. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“You’ll thank me later,” she whispered with a wink.

The ride to Le Petite Amour was a special kind of torture.

Max’s old Honda rattled down the street, the bass from the ancient stereo system vibrating through the seats. I sat in the passenger seat, nervously fidgeting with the hem of my dress, while Amanda lounged in the back, clearly having the time of her life.

“Alright,” Max said, glancing over at me with a smirk. “Let’s rehearse. What’s your game plan?”

I groaned, staring out the window. “I don’t know. Walk in. Look hot. Hope Jessica chokes on her overpriced risotto?”

Amanda snorted from the back seat. “You need more confidence than that. You’re not just there to look good—you’re there to own the room.”

Max nodded. “Yeah, walk in like you’re on a runway. Head high. Shoulders back. And don’t trip over your dress.”

I glared at him. “Thanks, coach.”

But as much as I hated to admit it, they had a point. I needed to act like I wasn’t a bundle of nerves stuffed into a satin prom dress.

I took a deep breath, straightened my shoulders, and practiced my best sultry smirk in the side mirror.

Max snorted. “Dude, you look like you’re trying to seduce a speeding ticket.”

Amanda burst out laughing, nearly choking. “Oh my God, he’s right. That’s your ‘I’m trying too hard’ face.”

I groaned, burying my face in my hands. “This is impossible. I can’t do this.”

Amanda leaned forward between the seats, her tone softening. “Hey. You’ve got this. You’re smart, you’re funny, and right now, you’re drop-dead gorgeous. Jessica’s not going to know what hit her.”

I peeked at her through my fingers. “You have to say that. You’re basically my big sister.”

Amanda grinned. “Exactly. And sisters don’t lie.”

Max chuckled. “Well, unless it’s about who stole the last slice of pizza.”

“Shut up, Max,” Amanda shot back,looking exasperated.

I couldn’t help but laugh, the tension easing slightly. But as we neared the restaurant, my heart started racing again.

I stared out the window, watching the city lights blur past, and felt my nerves tighten into a knot.

This was really happening.

I was about to crash my ex’s Valentine’s Day date.

As a woman.

What could possibly go wrong?

It turns out everything—and I mean everything—can go wrong.

If there were an Olympic event for public humiliation, I’d have walked away with gold, silver, and bronze.

The plan had been simple: walk into Le Petite Amour, look like the human embodiment of every regret Jessica should’ve had, and strut out with my dignity intact.

What actually happened?

Let’s just say the dignity part didn’t quite make it.

It started the second I stepped through the door.

I was expecting heads to turn, jaws to drop, maybe even a few gasps of admiration. But no. The hostess barely glanced up from her reservation book, and I nearly tripped over the rug at the entrance because the heels Amanda had picked out were clearly designed by a sadist.

Max snorted behind me, trying (and failing) to stifle his laughter as he watched me wobble my way toward the dining area. Amanda gave me an encouraging shove between the shoulder blades.

“Go get ’em, Lacy,” she whispered with a grin.

Right. Lacy. That was the name I’d settled on. I’d considered Lexie, but something about Lacy felt right. Feminine, flirty, and just detached enough from Alex that Jessica wouldn’t suspect a thing. We Discussed at length and Lacy was the one I would respond to the most natural so it stuck. 

I spotted Jessica almost immediately.

She was sitting at a corner table, her perfectly manicured hand resting on the arm of none other than Bryce. The traitor. He was laughing at something she’d said, probably one of her riveting stories about how hard it was to find a good facialist.

My blood boiled.

Time to make my entrance.

I sauntered toward their table, channeling every ounce of confidence Amanda had drilled into me. But as I passed the row of tables, I could feel the fabric of my dress catching on something—chairs, table legs, my own damn knees—and I nearly face-planted into a waiter carrying a tray of water glasses.

But I recovered. Barely.

I reached Jessica’s table, plastered on my best sultry smile, and purred, “Oh, hi there.”

Jessica’s eyes flicked up, and for a split second, I thought it had worked. Her jaw dropped. Bryce blinked, clearly confused.

But then Jessica’s expression twisted into something… almost amused.

“Can we help you?” she asked, her voice dripping with condescension.

My brain short-circuited. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

I faltered, trying to find my footing. “I… I just thought you looked familiar,” I stammered.

Bryce raised an eyebrow. “Do we know you?”

I felt my cheeks flush. “Oh, no. I’m… Lacy.”

Jessica tilted her head, her lips curving into that smug smile I hated. “Well, Lacy, we’re kind of in the middle of something.”

I froze, the words sticking in my throat. This was a mistake. This was a huge mistake.

I tried to laugh it off, but it came out as a weird, breathy giggle that sounded like I was choking on air. “Oh, sure! My bad.”

I turned to leave, but in my panic, I caught the edge of Jessica’s chair with my heel and nearly toppled over.

Smooth. Real smooth.

I stumbled back toward the bar, my heart pounding in my chest. Max and Amanda were watching from a nearby table, Max’s face buried in his hands while Amanda tried to hold in her laughter.

I sank onto a barstool, burying my face in my hands.

“Well, that was a disaster,” I muttered.

“First time in heels?” a voice drawled beside me.

I glanced up, and there she was—the bartender.

Tall, blonde, with piercing blue eyes and a faint accent that hinted at something very Scandinavian. She had that effortless kind of beauty that made you feel like you were standing next to a goddess carved out of marble.

“Uh…” I blinked, my brain scrambling to process her question. “Y-Yeah. First time.”

She chuckled, setting a glass of water in front of me. “You’re doing better than most. But you looked like you were about to pass out over there.”

I groaned, resting my head on the bar. “I was trying to make my ex jealous. It’s… not going well.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Your ex? Which one?”

I jerked my thumb in Jessica’s direction, keeping my gaze firmly off the trainwreck behind me.

“Brunette. Table in the corner.”

The waitress followed my gesture, then let out a low whistle. “Her? She looks like she’d return a salad just for existing.”

I snorted, surprising myself. “You’re not wrong.”

She grinned, holding out her hand. “I’m Elsa.”

Of course her name was Elsa. Because why wouldn’t I meet a tall, gorgeous Swedish woman named Elsa while I was busy ruining my life?

I shook her hand, feeling my cheeks flush again. “Lacy,” I replied, the name slipping off my tongue with surprising ease.

“Well, Lacy,” Elsa said, her eyes twinkling. “Looks like you could use a rescue.”

I blinked. “What do you mean?”

She leaned in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “You stay here. I’ll take care of your little problem.”

Before I could respond, she was gone, striding toward Jessica’s table like she owned the place.

I watched in stunned silence as Elsa worked her magic. She chatted with Jessica and Bryce, her smile bright and disarming. Whatever she said, it had Jessica scowling and Bryce looking uncomfortable.

After a few minutes, Elsa returned, her grin triumphant.

“Well?” I asked, my heart pounding.

“They’re leaving,” she said simply, sliding a napkin toward me. “And you? You’re buying me a drink after your victory lap.”

I stared at the napkin, then back at her. “You’re serious?”

She winked. “Oh, I’m very serious.”

As Jessica and Bryce slinked out of Le Petite Amour, Jessica glaring daggers at the world while Bryce tried to keep up with her furious pace, I felt something I hadn’t felt in days—triumph.

I turned back toward Elsa, my heart still racing but for very different reasons now. She was wiping down the bar, a smug little grin playing on her lips like she hadn’t just pulled off a social miracle.

I couldn’t stop the beaming smile that stretched across my face. It felt so natural, so easy, like it belonged there.

“Okay,” I said, leaning forward with my chin resting on my palm, my voice playful and light. “Spill. You have to tell me what you just did. Are you, like, a sorceress or something?”

Elsa let out a low, melodic laugh, the kind that sent a shiver down my spine. She tilted her head, her blonde hair falling over one shoulder as she met my gaze with those piercing blue eyes.

“A sorceress?” she repeated, amusement dancing in her voice. “Not a witch?”

I grinned wider, shaking my head. “Nope. Definitely a sorceress. Too glamorous to be a witch.”

Elsa chuckled, wiping her hands on a towel before leaning in closer, her elbows resting on the bar. “Well, if I were a sorceress, I’d say I cast a little spell of public embarrassment.”

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? Do tell.”

She smirked, her eyes glinting mischievously. “Let’s just say I may have accidentally mentioned to your ex that her boyfriend has been hitting on half the waitstaff.”

My jaw dropped. “No. You didn’t.”

Elsa’s grin widened. “Oh, I absolutely did. Turns out Bryce isn’t just a traitor—he’s a flirt too. Jessica didn’t take it well.”

I burst out laughing, the sound bubbling up from deep inside me. It felt good, like I was finally letting go of all the crap that had been weighing me down.

“You’re evil,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief. “Brilliantly evil.”

Elsa winked. “I prefer resourcefulness.”

I let out a contented sigh, still grinning like an idiot. “Well, whatever you are, you’re my hero tonight.”

Elsa raised an eyebrow, her smile softening just a bit. “And here I thought you didn’t need saving.”

I felt my cheeks flush, but this time it wasn’t from embarrassment. I held her gaze, feeling a spark of something new—something exciting—flicker between us.

“Well,” I said softly, “even heroes need a little help sometimes.”

Elsa leaned against the bar, her elbows resting on the polished surface as she watched me with those piercing blue eyes that sparkled like freshly fallen snow under moonlight. Her golden hair was pulled back into a loose braid, a few wisps escaping to frame her sharp cheekbones and soft, full lips. There was an ease about her, like she belonged in this chaotic, bustling space, commanding it without even trying.

“So,” she said, her voice a smooth, melodic blend of amusement and curiosity, “now that I’ve rescued you from certain humiliation, tell me—what’s a gorgeous girl like you doing wasting her Valentine’s on that disaster?”

I blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the way her lips curled into a teasing smile, the faintest dimple appearing on her left cheek. She was stunning in that effortless, I-don’t-even-know-I’m-hot way, and it was honestly unfair.

“Uh… complicated,” I managed, feeling my face heat under her gaze.

She raised a perfectly arched brow, her smile widening just enough to reveal a flash of white teeth. “I like complicated.”

I chuckled, nervously tucking a stray auburn curl behind my ear. “Well, I was not always a gorgeous girl, for one.”

That piqued her interest. Her head tilted slightly, a soft, amused glint in her eyes as she leaned in closer, her perfume—something fresh and floral—drifting between us.

“Oh?” she murmured, her voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down my spine.

Before I could dig myself deeper into this very confusing hole, I felt an arm drape around my shoulders, pulling me into a familiar, warm side-hug.

Amanda.

Amanda slid onto the barstool next to me with the ease of someone who owned whatever room she walked into. Her dark brown eyes sparkled with mischief, her lips curled into that signature grin of hers—the one that meant trouble.

“Look at my little sis,” she cooed, giving me a playful squeeze. “All grown up and breaking hearts.”

Elsa’s eyebrows shot up, and she straightened, glancing between Amanda and me with a curious expression. “Little sis?”

The confusion in her voice made me groan inwardly. I could already feel Amanda gearing up to milk this for all it was worth.

Elsa’s gaze lingered on me, her head tilting slightly, a blonde brow arching as if to say, Go on… explain.

I sighed, giving Amanda a playful elbow to the ribs before turning back to Elsa. “Okay, so… funny story.”

Amanda snorted beside me. “Hilarious story.”

I shot her a glare, but the corners of my mouth twitched, betraying my amusement.

“I made this stupid wish last night,” I began, swirling the glass of wine Elsa had slipped me. The deep red liquid caught the dim lighting, casting a soft glow against my skin. “After way too much drinking. I wished I was the ‘hot ex’ Jessica would regret losing.”

Elsa blinked, her lips parting slightly in surprise. Then, slowly, a smile spread across her face—wide, genuine, and dangerous.

“And the universe… delivered?” she asked, her voice rich with disbelief and amusement.

I threw my hands up in surrender. “Apparently, it’s taking customer satisfaction very seriously.”

Elsa’s laughter rang out, light and melodic, drawing a few glances from nearby tables. She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, still chuckling.

“That explains the graceful walking in heels,” she teased, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

I groaned, dropping my head onto the bar with a loud thunk. “Oh God, it’s that obvious?”

Her voice softened, and when I peeked up through my fingers, she was still smiling, but there was a warmth in her gaze that made my heart flutter.

“Not to everyone,” she murmured, her fingers brushing mine as she slid me a plate of truffle fries.

“But I’m very observant. Let’s say I believe you although you are the first person I’ve met that has told me this story”

Just then, Max wandered over, his easy grin lighting up his face. His messy brown hair was slightly tousled, his shirt untucked in that I-don’t-care-but-I-definitely-care kind of way. He slid onto the stool next to Amanda, his dark eyes glinting with amusement.

“Well, well,” he said, giving me a once-over. “I see you’ve got everything under control here.”

Elsa gave him a playful salute, her smile never fading. “We’re just getting started.”

Max chuckled, nudging Amanda with his elbow. “She’s doing better than I expected.”

“Gee, thanks,” I muttered, rolling my eyes but smiling despite myself.

Elsa leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You’ll need this if you’re sticking around.” She slid me another glass of wine, her fingers lingering just a fraction too long. “I’m very distracting.”

My face heated again, and I shot Amanda a desperate look. But she just smirked, clearly enjoying every second of my discomfort.

“Oh, she needs it,” Amanda said, sipping her drink with a smug grin. “Our little Lacy here’s still adjusting to… everything.”

Elsa’s eyes flicked between us, amusement dancing in their depths. But instead of pressing further, she simply chuckled and turned to Max, giving him a playful nudge.

“And you?” she asked, her tone light. “You’re the supportive friend?”

Max shrugged, his grin widening. “Someone’s gotta keep her from tripping over herself.”

“Hey!” I protested, but my voice cracked in that annoyingly cute way, and they all burst into laughter.

The night stretched on, filled with easy conversation and laughter that felt like it came from somewhere deep, somewhere real. Elsa kept sneaking us appetizers—tiny plates of bruschetta, crispy calamari, and little chocolate truffles that melted in my mouth—and every time her fingers brushed mine, I felt that spark, that electric pulse that left me reeling.

She was good at this. Too good.

Between balancing trays, charming other customers, and dodging the sharp-eyed manager who kept glancing our way, Elsa still found time to circle back to me, her flirty comments growing bolder, her smiles warmer.

And through it all, I felt something shift inside me.

For the first time in what felt like forever, I wasn’t thinking about Jessica. I wasn’t thinking about the disaster that had been my relationship or the wish that had flipped my world upside down.

I was thinking about Elsa.

The way her eyes crinkled when she laughed. The warmth of her hand brushing mine. The way she looked at me like I was more than just some cosmic accident.

Three hours later, I was still sitting at the bar, cheeks flushed from wine and laughter, while Elsa leaned across the polished counter with that same infuriatingly gorgeous smirk plastered on her face.

Amanda and Max had bailed about an hour ago, leaving with matching grins and overly dramatic winks.

“We’re gonna let you two lovebirds figure things out,” Amanda had teased, ruffling my hair before grabbing Max’s hand and dragging him out the door.

Now it was just me, Elsa, and the dim glow of the bar lights casting soft shadows over her perfect cheekbones.

“So,” Elsa purred, twirling a cocktail straw between her fingers, her gaze never leaving mine. “You’ve been in that body for what—a day?”

I blinked, my brain slightly slow from the wine. “Uh… yeah. Roughly.”

She leaned in, lowering her voice to a teasing whisper. “Have you even test-driven that gorgeous thing yet?”

I nearly choked on my drink, coughing and sputtering while Elsa laughed, the sound low and melodic. My face felt like it was on fire.

“I—what?” I squeaked, my voice hitting an octave I didn’t know I had.

She grinned, unapologetic. “I mean, if I woke up looking like that, I’d probably spend the day in front of a mirror.” Her eyes flicked down, lingering on my curves before meeting my gaze again. “Just saying.”

I gaped at her, completely at a loss for words, which only seemed to amuse her more.

As the night wore on, the restaurant slowly emptied out, leaving us in a cozy bubble of dim light and soft music. Elsa moved around the bar with practiced ease, wiping down tables and stacking glasses, but her eyes kept drifting back to me, her smile never fading.

Finally, she glanced at the clock on the wall, then back at me with a raised eyebrow.

“Do you even realize what time it is?”

I blinked, glancing around the now-empty restaurant. The world outside the windows was dark, the streetlights casting long, soft shadows across the floor.

“Oh, crap,” I mumbled, realizing how late—or rather, early—it had gotten. “I… uh, I guess I lost track of time.”

Elsa chuckled, setting down the last glass and leaning on the bar, her eyes sparkling with something that made my stomach flip.

“Well,” she said, her voice soft and teasing, “since you’ve been abandoned by your friends, maybe I could offer you… some company?”

I blinked, my heart racing. “Wait, are you—?”

She stepped out from behind the bar, closing the distance between us in a few smooth strides. Standing this close, I realized just how tall she was. She wasn’t towering over me, but the difference was enough to make me feel… small. In a good way.

Her smile softened, and she reached out, tucking a stray curl behind my ear with surprising gentleness.

“I’m saying,” she murmured, “if you’re new to all this, maybe you could use a little… guidance.”

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my chest. “I… I don’t know how to be a girl in these situations.”

Elsa’s grin turned downright wicked.

“Good thing I’m an excellent teacher.”

We stepped out into the crisp night air, the cold nipping at my exposed skin and sending a shiver down my spine. The street was quiet, the city lights casting a soft, golden glow over everything.

As we walked, I realized just how drunk I was. The world swayed slightly with each step, and I had to focus hard to keep from tripping over my own feet.

“So,” I slurred, shooting Elsa a sideways glance, “I gotta ask… do you wanna build a snowman?”

Elsa stopped mid-step, turning to stare at me with wide, incredulous eyes.

“Did you seriously just—?”

“It’s been three hours,” I giggled, swaying slightly. “I had to get the Frozen joke out eventually.”

Elsa shook her head, laughing as she reached down to scoop up a handful of snow from the sidewalk.

Before I could react, a snowball hit me square in the shoulder.

“Hey!” I yelped, stumbling back with a laugh.

“That’s for taking three hours to make the obvious joke,” she teased, her eyes dancing with amusement.

I pouted, rubbing my shoulder dramatically. “Rude.”

She grinned, stepping closer until we were only inches apart. The cold air buzzed between us, but her warmth pulled me in like gravity.

And as I looked up at her—really looked up—I realized just how small I felt next to her. But instead of feeling intimidated, it felt… safe. Comforting.

The entire walk back, I kept reminding Elsa—and myself—that this was Alex’s apartment. Not Lacy’s. Alex’s.

So she shouldn’t expect girly decorations. Or a closet full of cute outfits. Or anything remotely resembling a feminine touch.

Not that she asked. But I kept saying it anyway.

We reached my building, and I struggled to get my keys out of my tiny clutch—because why are girl pockets fake?!—before finally shoving the door open.

“Alright,” I declared, wobbling slightly as I stepped inside. “Welcome to… uh, not Lacy’s apartment.”

Elsa snickered behind me. “Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

I shot her a look before kicking off my heels—blessed relief!—and stumbling toward the living room. The place was exactly as I left it: messy but not disgusting, minimal decorations, and—

MR. WHISKERS.

The little traitor.

Because the instant we stepped inside, he pranced right up to Elsa, purring like she was his long-lost soulmate.

“WHAT?!” I gasped, dramatically pointing at him. “You traitor!”

Elsa, completely unbothered, crouched down and scratched behind his ears. “Aww, hey there, buddy. Are you the real boss of this place?”

Mr. Whiskers purred louder. The little bastard.

“He never does that,” I whined, dropping onto the couch with all the grace of a thrown ragdoll.

“We’ve been best buds for years and doesn’t like strangers but you he runs right up to, it took a full year before I even got a welcome home meow”

Elsa smirked as she picked up the fluffy Benedict Arnold and cradled him against her chest. “Maybe he just has good taste.”

I let out a dramatically long sigh and flopped backward, throwing an arm over my face. “First my body, now my best friend… what else is the universe gonna take from me?”

Elsa chuckled, setting Mr. Whiskers down as she walked over to me. “Oh, please. You’ll be fine.”

She gently nudged my legs aside and sat down next to me, close enough that I could feel the warmth of her body. It was… nice. Too nice. I wasn’t used to this kind of softness, the way she could so effortlessly make me feel safe just by being there.

I turned my head to look at her, and the room tilted slightly.

“Ohhh, that’s not good,” I mumbled, blinking slowly.

Elsa rolled her eyes, laughing softly. “Yeah, you’re very drunk.”

“Not that drunk,” I argued, only for my head to loll to the side again.

Elsa snorted. “Uh-huh.”

I pouted. “You’re laughing at me.”

“Because you’re adorable,” she teased.

I groaned, burying my face in a couch pillow. “Ugh, I don’t wanna be adorable. I used to be manly.”

Elsa laughed again, leaning back comfortably. “Somehow, I highly doubt that.”

I peeked out from behind the pillow, mock-offended. “Excuse you! I was very manly.”

Elsa grinned, her blue eyes twinkling. “Oh, sure. Nothing says ‘manly’ like a 5’2” redhead in a dress making Frozen jokes.”

I groaned again, but I couldn’t help giggling. I felt… good. Warm. Light. Like I wasn’t carrying anything heavy for once.

Elsa must have noticed, because her smile softened. “You know,” she said, tilting her head slightly, “for someone who had a meltdown a few hours ago, you seem… happy.”

I blinked up at her. “I am happy.”

And it hit me—I wasn’t lying.

I wasn’t thinking about Jessica. I wasn’t thinking about Bryce. I wasn’t even thinking about my old life.

I was thinking about this moment.

The warm glow of the apartment lights. The sound of Elsa’s soft laughter. The way her blonde hair framed her face, golden in the dim light.

Without thinking, I reached out and brushed a strand behind her ear.

She stilled, watching me closely.

Oh.

Ohhh.

We’re doing this.

I wasn’t sure who leaned in first, but suddenly, her lips were right there. Soft, warm, just barely brushing against mine, sending a thrill through my entire body.

She pulled back slightly, her eyes searching mine. “You sure?”

I wasn’t. Not logically. I’d been a guy 36 hours ago, I was drunk, and I had no idea what I was doing.

But right now? Right now, I just wanted to feel this.

So I whispered, “Yeah,” and closed the gap.

Elsa kissed like she knew she was good at it. Slow, teasing, making me chase her as she pulled back just enough to keep me wanting more.

My fingers curled into the fabric of her shirt, pulling her closer. She chuckled against my lips, and the sound sent a shiver down my spine.

Somewhere between kisses, my head spun, and before I knew it, I was mumbling, “I wanna be your wife.”

Elsa froze. Then pulled back slightly, her expression halfway between amusement and disbelief.

“You what?” she asked, laughing.

I blinked up at her. “I wanna be your wife.”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “Lacy, you said were a guy two days ago.”

I whined. “So? I still wanna be your wife.”

She kissed my forehead, still grinning. “You just met me.”

“Doesn’t matter,” I huffed, snuggling against her. “You’re pretty. You’re nice. I like you. I wanna be your wife.”

Elsa outright laughed, her voice warm and full of affection. “Oh, sweetheart. You are so drunk.”

I nodded sleepily. “Mhm.”

She sighed, brushing a thumb over my cheek. “You’re gonna regret saying that in the morning.”

I yawned a drunken yawn. “Nope. Gonna marry you.”

Elsa just smiled, shaking her head. But she didn’t say no.

She just pulled me closer, tucking me against her side like I was something precious, and let me drift off with a contented sigh.

Maybe I was drunk.

Maybe I was still figuring everything out.

But as I curled up next to Elsa, feeling safe and warm for the first time in what felt like forever, I couldn’t help but think—

The first thing I noticed was the smell.

Pancakes. Bacon. Coffee.

My brain, still swimming in a sea of post-wine fog, tried to piece together why my apartment smelled like a brunch commercial.

Did Jessica order breakfast?

The thought popped into my head before I could stop it, and I groaned, rolling over and burying my face in the pillow. No, Jessica was definitely not here.

But… then who—

A soft, melodic laugh floated through the apartment, followed by the sound of a spatula clinking against a pan. “Jessica?” I asked certain it couldn’t be her, but who else?

“Unless Jessica suddenly stopped being a manipulative bitch,” came Elsa’s teasing voice from the kitchen, “I think you’ve got someone much nicer cooking with very limited resources.”

My eyes snapped open.

Oh.

Oh.

I sat up too fast, my head pounding like a drum solo at a metal concert.

“Ughhh,” I groaned, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. I was wearing Alex’s—my—oversized batman t-shirt, the hem hanging down past my thighs, and it felt like I was swimming in fabric.

I stumbled toward the living room, one hand pressed against my temple, the other gripping the doorway for support.

The sight that greeted me stopped me in my tracks.

Elsa stood in my tiny kitchen, wearing nothing but a pair of boyshorts and a loose tank top that clung to her in all the right places. Her golden hair was slightly messy from sleep, but it only made her look more like some kind of Nordic goddess who had accidentally wandered into my apartment to make breakfast.

I blinked.

“Who the hell…” I started, my voice hoarse.

Then it hit me.

Oh.

OH.

Everything from last night came rushing back—the bar, the flirting, the kissing, the drunken declarations of wanting to be her wife.

I groaned again, covering my face with both hands.

“Good morning, sunshine!” Elsa called cheerfully, glancing over her shoulder. When she saw me standing there, squinting like a vampire seeing daylight for the first time, she grinned. “You look like a hot mess.”

I peeked through my fingers, glaring at her. “Do you have to be so loud?”

She laughed, setting down the spatula and walking over to me. Her blue eyes sparkled with amusement as she gave me a once-over, her gaze lingering way too long on…

Oh.

I glanced down and realized—yep.

My whole boob was just hanging out.

“Shit!” I yelped, yanking the shirt up and turning bright red.

Elsa just laughed harder. “Relax, Lacy. I’ve seen all of you already. I believe you when you say you were a guy, this is definitely not a woman’s apartment”

I groaned again, but I couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.

She stepped closer, cupping my face in her hands and lifting me off the ground like I weighed nothing.

“You are way too small,” she teased before planting a soft, lingering kiss on my lips.

I melted into her, my arms wrapping around her neck as my feet dangled a few inches off the floor.

When she finally set me down, she tugged at the hem of my shirt.

“Breakfast’s better without clothes,” she whispered, her breath warm against my ear.

Before I could respond, she whipped the shirt over my head, leaving me standing there completely naked in the middle of my living room.

I squeaked, covering myself instinctively, but Elsa just grinned and stripped off her own tank top in one smooth motion.

“Well,” she said, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the kitchen. “Come on, wife. Let’s eat.”

Can you die from blushing too much?

We sat at the tiny kitchen table, both completely naked, giggling like teenagers as we stuffed our faces with pancakes and bacon.

Mr. Whiskers sat on the floor beside us, glaring like we had personally offended him by not feeding him first. He let out a loud, insistent mrrrow, batting at my leg with his paw.

I sighed dramatically, looking down at him.

“Now you want my attention?” I muttered. “Betray me for Elsa, but expect breakfast? Rude.”

Elsa chuckled, leaning over to kiss my temple.

“Don’t worry,” she whispered, her lips brushing against my skin. “I’ll make it up to you.”

I was mid-bite into a fluffy pancake, savoring the perfect combination of syrupy sweetness and crispy bacon when disaster struck.

The syrup bottle slipped from my fingers—because apparently, being a girl came with a sudden inability to hold onto anything—and a thick, golden stream dribbled down the edge of my plate… and straight onto my chest.

Right onto my boob.

I froze, staring down at the sticky mess spreading over my skin.

“Well,” I muttered, setting my fork down and inspecting the damage. “That’s unfortunate.”

Elsa, across from me, raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching into a wicked grin. “Unfortunate?” she repeated, her voice dropping into that teasing, sultry tone that made my stomach flip.

She pushed her plate aside, leaned across the table, and before I could even process what was happening, she murmured, “I can fix that.”

Her lips brushed against my skin, sending a shiver down my spine. I gasped as her tongue flicked out, warm and soft, tracing the sticky trail of syrup over my breast. She moved slowly, deliberately, her hands resting on my thighs as she licked a path up to the curve of my nipple.

My breath hitched, and I felt my entire body heat up like someone had flipped a switch.

She pulled back just enough to meet my eyes, her blue gaze dark with mischief and something deeper, something that made my heart race.

“Delicious,” she whispered, her lips curling into a grin.

I blinked, my brain short-circuiting. “I… uh…”

Elsa chuckled, brushing a kiss against my lips before pulling back.

Elsa slid back into her chair, her lips still glistening from the syrup she’d just very thoroughly licked off me. She gave me a sly grin as she reached for her coffee, like this was just another perfectly normal part of her morning routine.

Meanwhile, I was sitting there with my heart pounding in my chest, my skin still tingling from her touch, and definitely still sticky in places that weren’t supposed to be sticky.

I cleared my throat, trying to sound casual, but my voice came out way too breathy. “So, uh…” I started, glancing down at the syrup still clinging to my skin. “Maybe we should… I don’t know… shower?”

Elsa raised an eyebrow over her coffee cup, her blue eyes gleaming with mischief. “Oh?” she said, setting the mug down slowly. “We?”

I felt my face heat up, but I managed to hold her gaze, my lips curling into a playful smirk. “I mean…” I shrugged, pretending to inspect the sticky mess on my chest. “I’m a bit of a disaster over here, and it’s only fair since you started this.”

Elsa chuckled, pushing her chair back with a soft scrape against the floor. She stood, the morning light streaming through the window catching in her tousled blonde hair, making her look like some kind of sun-kissed goddess.

She stepped closer, her fingers hooking under my chin to tilt my face up toward hers. “Lacy,” she murmured, her voice a delicious mix of sweet and teasing, “I’d be happy to help you… clean up.”

My breath caught in my throat, but I managed a grin. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

She leaned down, brushing her lips against mine in a kiss that was just soft enough to leave me wanting more. Then, with a gentle tug on my hand, she led me toward the bathroom, our laughter echoing through the apartment.

Mr. Whiskers watched us go, his tail flicking in clear disapproval of the fact that once again, breakfast had been delayed for reasons that definitely didn’t involve him.

But, honestly?

He’d have to get used to it.

The bathroom was small, the kind of cramped space you’d expect from a one-bedroom apartment that hadn’t been updated since the early 2000s. The tiles were a little chipped, the mirror had that faint, permanent fog at the corners, and the showerhead made this questionable hissing noise whenever you turned the water on too hot.

But in that moment? It might as well have been the most beautiful place on Earth.

Because Elsa was here.

And I wasn’t thinking about cracked tiles or aging fixtures. I was thinking about the way her fingers felt, laced through mine, as she pulled me into the small, steamy space like it was just ours.

The second the bathroom door clicked shut behind us, Elsa reached for the waistband of her panties, revealing smooth, golden skin and toned muscles that looked like they belonged in a fitness magazine. She tossed it onto the floor with a casual flick of her wrist, then turned those piercing blue eyes on me.

Her lips curled into a slow, knowing smile. “Your turn.”

Elsa’s gaze roamed over me, lingering on the soft curves that were still unfamiliar to me. I felt exposed, vulnerable… but not in a bad way. Not with her.

Her smile softened as she stepped closer, closing the small distance between us. She reached up, her fingers brushing a stray curl from my face before cupping my cheek, her thumb tracing slow, gentle circles against my skin.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” she whispered, her voice low and sincere.

I felt my heart swell, my cheeks flushing under her gaze. “I—uh…”

Words failed me. But maybe that was okay. Because Elsa didn’t need words.

She leaned in, her lips brushing against mine in a kiss that started soft and tentative but quickly deepened, her hands sliding down my arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. I melted into her, my fingers finding their way to the back of her neck, pulling her closer like I was afraid she might vanish if I let go.

The sound of the shower sputtering to life broke the trance, and Elsa pulled back just enough to flash me a grin. “We should probably get in before the hot water runs out.”

I nodded, my pulse racing as she stepped into the tub, the warm spray cascading over her shoulders, making her skin glisten under the bathroom’s dim light. She reached for me, her hand outstretched, and I took it without hesitation, letting her pull me into the steamy cocoon.

The water was hot, almost scalding, but I welcomed the heat as it poured over us, mixing with the electricity already crackling between our bodies.

Elsa’s hands found my waist, her fingers splaying out against my skin as she guided me under the spray. The water rushed over my hair, down my face, and over my shoulders, washing away the remnants of the night before—but nothing could wash away the way I felt in that moment.

She pressed her forehead against mine, her eyes locked on mine, and for a heartbeat, the world outside the steamy bathroom ceased to exist.

“You okay?” she whispered, her breath warm against my lips.

I nodded, my heart swelling with something I couldn’t quite name. “Yeah,” I whispered back. “I’m… really okay.”

She smiled, and then her lips were on mine again, more urgent this time, like we were both afraid of losing this moment if we didn’t hold on tight.

The water pounded against our skin, but it was nothing compared to the fire igniting between us.

Elsa’s hands roamed over me, tracing the curve of my back, the dip of my waist, the softness of my hips. Everywhere she touched, my skin tingled, like I was waking up for the first time in years.

And I explored her too—tentatively at first, my fingers sliding over the firm muscles of her shoulders, the smooth expanse of her back. But the more I touched, the more confident I became, learning the shape of her, the way she fit against me like we were two pieces of the same puzzle.

We moved together under the water, our bodies slipping and sliding against each other, laughter bubbling up between kisses whenever one of us lost balance. But neither of us cared. The world outside that shower didn’t exist.

At one point, Elsa reached for the soap, squirting a generous amount into her palm before turning her attention back to me.

“Turn around,” she whispered, her voice low and rough in a way that sent a shiver down my spine.

I obeyed, my heart racing as I felt her hands on my shoulders, sliding down my arms, over my back, and around my waist. She worked the soap into my skin with slow, deliberate movements, her touch both soothing and electrifying.

When her hands finally reached my hips, she paused, pressing a soft kiss to the back of my neck.

“You’re incredible,” she murmured, her lips moving against my skin.

I turned to face her, my heart in my throat.

“So are you,” I whispered, and I meant every word.

We stayed in the shower until the water started to cool, the steam slowly dissipating around us. But the warmth between us remained, a steady, glowing ember that I knew wouldn’t fade anytime soon.

Elsa shut off the water, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around my shoulders before pulling me into her arms, holding me close like I was something precious.

We stood there for a moment, wrapped in each other and the lingering warmth of the shower, before she finally pulled back just enough to press a soft kiss to my forehead.

“Come on,” she whispered, her voice soft and full of promise. “Let’s get you dried off, wife.”

I laughed, the sound light and full of something I hadn’t felt in a long time—hope.

And as we stepped out of the bathroom, hand in hand, I knew one thing for sure:

This was just the beginning.

After the shower, my skin still tingled from Elsa’s touch, my head light—not just from the hangover, but from everything.

I stepped into the bedroom, towel wrapped tightly around me, expecting to throw on whatever vaguely clean thing I could find in my disaster of a closet. But Elsa had other plans.

“Oh no, no,” she said with a grin, standing in front of my dresser, hands on her hips like she was about to conduct a full-scale wardrobe intervention. “We’re not ruining this glow-up with some baggy T-shirt and sweatpants.”

I groaned, flopping onto the bed, the towel barely clinging to me. “Elsa, it’s Sunday. We’re hungover. Who are we trying to impress?”

She shot me a look, one eyebrow raised, her blonde hair still damp and curling slightly at the ends. “Me, obviously.”

I blinked, my heart doing a little somersault.

“Well, when you put it that way…” I muttered, but my protest was weak at best.

Elsa rifled through my closet, pulling out items that were never meant for someone my size. Flannel shirts that used to fit my shoulders now hung like dresses. Oversized band tees could double as nightgowns. Jeans that once clung to my hips now sagged comically, threatening to slide right off.

She held up a particularly enormous hoodie, inspecting it with a critical eye. “Alright,” she murmured, more to herself than to me. “Challenge accepted.”

I sat up, wrapping the towel tighter around myself as I watched her. There was something mesmerizing about the way she moved—confident, precise, like she knew exactly what she was doing.

After a minute of rummaging, she turned to me, holding up a plan in her hands:

An old, soft, faded Nirvana T-shirt that had seen better days and a pair of jeans that were definitely not made for my new, petite frame.

I raised an eyebrow. “That’s the look?”

Elsa grinned, her eyes twinkling. “Just trust me.”

I stood in front of the mirror, watching as Elsa worked her magic.

First, she tugged the Nirvana shirt over my head. It hung off my shoulders like a dress, the neckline drooping dangerously close to exposing everything.

Elsa didn’t seem concerned.

She grabbed a few safety pins from her bag—because of course she carried those around—and began folding and tucking the fabric at my waist, pinning it in place to create a cinched, cropped look.

Next came the jeans. They sagged comically at first, but Elsa grabbed a thick, worn leather belt from my closet and looped it around my waist, pulling it tight until the jeans hugged my hips just enough to stay up without losing that casual, slouchy vibe.

She cuffed the hems a few times, revealing my bare ankles, and stepped back, tilting her head to inspect her work.

But she wasn’t done yet.

She found an old flannel shirt—one that used to fit me perfectly—and rolled the sleeves up to my elbows, tying it around my waist for that effortlessly cool look I’d never managed to pull off before.

When she finally stepped back, hands on her hips, I turned to the mirror and…

Holy shit.

I looked… adorable.

The oversized Nirvana shirt, now perfectly tucked and pinned, clung to my curves in just the right way. The flannel around my waist added a playful touch, and the slouchy jeans somehow made my legs look even longer despite my new, shorter stature.

I blinked at my reflection, barely recognizing the girl staring back at me.

“See?” Elsa said, stepping up behind me and resting her chin on my shoulder. “Told you.”

I turned to face her, my heart doing that annoying fluttery thing again.

“You’re dangerous, you know that?” I murmured.

She grinned, leaning in to press a soft kiss to the corner of my mouth. “Only if you want me to be.”

And, well… I definitely did.

The apartment had that perfect kind of quiet—the kind where the world outside felt miles away, and nothing existed except the soft hum of the heater, the lazy flick of Mr. Whiskers’ tail as he claimed the sunniest spot on the floor, and the rhythmic sound of Elsa’s breathing against my ear.

We were curled up on the couch, tangled together like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her arm was wrapped around my waist, her fingers tracing slow, lazy circles against the exposed skin just beneath the hem of the Nirvana shirt she’d artfully adjusted for me. My head rested on her chest, rising and falling with each of her breaths, while my hand absently played with the ends of her golden hair.

We’d been like this for hours. No plans, no expectations. Just being.

Every now and then, she’d shift slightly, her lips brushing against my temple, my jaw, the corner of my mouth—like she couldn’t help herself. And, honestly? I couldn’t blame her.

Because every time her fingers slid just a little lower, or her breath ghosted over my skin, my heart would race like it was trying to beat out of my chest.

I’d never felt anything like this before. This overwhelming need to be close, to touch, to just… exist in the same space as her.

At some point, Elsa reached for the blanket draped over the back of the couch, pulling it over us with a soft chuckle. “We’re going to end up napping here all day,” she murmured, her voice low and warm against my skin.

I tilted my head to look up at her, my fingers trailing along the line of her jaw. “Would that be such a bad thing?”

Her blue eyes softened, and she leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to the tip of my nose. “Not even a little.”

I smiled, my heart swelling in my chest.

Because in that moment—curled up on a beat-up couch in an apartment that still felt more like Alex’s than Lacy’s, wearing clothes that didn’t really fit, with a cat that had definitely chosen Elsa over me—I knew.

I’d found my person.

My one.

And nothing had ever felt more right.

We spent the rest of the day like that—talking, laughing, kissing, and occasionally arguing over whose turn it was to get up and grab snacks. (Spoiler: I lost. Every time.)

And when the sun finally dipped below the horizon, casting the apartment in a soft, golden glow, I realized I didn’t care what the future looked like.

As long as Elsa was in it, I knew I’d be okay.

Epilogue: Six Years Later

If you’d told me six years ago that I’d be here—curled up on a sun-drenched porch with a cup of coffee in one hand and a gorgeous wife inside cooking breakfast—I would’ve laughed in your face.

But here I was.

And life? Life was perfect.

After that fateful Valentine’s Day, things moved faster than I could’ve imagined. Max, being the wizard that he is, managed to navigate the bureaucratic nightmare of adjusting all my IDs. He pulled a few strings, filled out the mountains of paperwork, and within months, Lacy Quinn was officially etched into every legal document I had.

Elsa’s reaction when I showed her my new ID?

“I always knew you were trouble,” she’d whispered, pulling me in for a kiss that made me forget about the years of red tape.

Fast forward a few years, and Elsa wasn’t just the goddess who rescued me from my disastrous ex. She was the owner of three bustling bistros scattered across the city—each one more successful than the last. Watching her build her little empire from scratch was like watching a star being born. She poured her heart and soul into every dish, every detail, and the city couldn’t get enough of her.

As for me?

I traded in my old accounting job for something that felt right. I became Elsa’s bookkeeper—her behind-the-scenes wizard who made sure everything ran smoothly. Turns out, all those years of crunching numbers in a cubicle paid off. Now, I got to work from home, sipping coffee in my pajamas while balancing books and making sure Elsa’s empire thrived.

Our wedding? Oh, you bet it was magical.

We rented out one of Elsa’s bistros, turned it into a fairy tale wonderland with twinkling lights and flowers spilling from every surface. Max officiated—because of course he did—and Amanda was my maid of honor, tears streaming down her face as I walked down the aisle in a dress that Elsa insisted on picking out.

And the honeymoon?

Disney World.

Because if you think Elsa was going to pass up the chance to meet her namesake, you clearly don’t know her.

The look on her face when she met the real Elsa from Frozen? Priceless. She couldn’t stop laughing, and neither could I. We spent the whole trip acting like kids—riding roller coasters, eating way too much cotton candy, and taking pictures with every princess we could find.

It was perfect.

Max and Amanda? They’re still our best friends. Even closer now, if that’s possible. They have two kids—the most adorable little troublemakers you’ve ever met—and I watch them all the time.

Elsa and I love having them around. The house feels alive with their laughter, their tiny footsteps echoing through the halls.

And lately…

I’ve been thinking.

About us.

About maybe adopting a child of our own. Or, who knows, maybe even having one myself. The idea of asking Max to be a donor has floated through my mind more than once, but I haven’t brought it up yet.

Not because I’m unsure. But because…

Life is just so good right now.

One lazy afternoon, I was scrolling through my phone, curled up on the couch with Mr. Whiskers purring on my lap, when I stumbled across something that made me pause.

Jessica.

Or rather… what was left of Jessica.

There she was, plastered across my feed—living in a rundown trailer park, four kids clinging to her legs, and a caption about how “men are trash” and “no one sticks around anymore.”

I stared at the photo for a long moment, a slow smile spreading across my face.

Karma.

It really does exist.

I set my phone down, glancing toward the kitchen where Elsa was humming to herself, flipping pancakes like the Nordic goddess she was.

And in that moment, I realized…

Everything had worked out exactly the way it was supposed to.