Always Stayed Faithful

Victoria walked into Nicole's place and stopped dead. The ceiling stretched above her like polished stone over a cathedral. Their home—Nicole said the word like it meant marriage certificate, not lease. Her voice came out soft but steady, fingers pressed against the banister. Ten years gone. Ten years erased in broken glass on asphalt. They had been stealing away the night her parents threatened to lock Victoria away if the two of them signed anything. The crash came before the ink dried. Nicole hadn't touched anyone else since. Still wore the bruise of those years under her smile. Victoria's parents finally accepted it, because time had had no mercy on them, either. The sorrow sat behind Victoria's ribs like lead, too heavy for breathing. Nicole reached under the sofa and brought out the metal box. Inside were ticket stubs, beach photos, candy wrappers, the snapshot someone had taken of them at city hall before everything snapped in half. Tucked in folded cloth lay their rings, scraped but intact. Nicole laid one on Victoria's palm. The metal warmed fast against skin. The air went thick. They didn't need another word after Nicole checked—yes, god, yes—before their mouths met like a promise overdue. Clothes hit the floor in silence that hummed louder than any promise. They sank into the mattress slowly, carefully, every thrust threaded with the weight of lost time and found desire. Nails digging, breath breaking, body to body they carved new memories into skin, hard and breathless, until dawn bruised the windows.