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A House In Nevada

(loosely based on A House In Nebraska by Mother Cain & this TikTok)

Summary: It had been five years since that house, and yet they are still plagued by what happened and what could have been—or maybe what still is.

Masterlist!

Teenage!Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Season one!Spencer Reid x Female Reader Season ten!Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Genre: Angst⏳ & Fluff 💌 Ending

Word count: 11.3K

Warnings: Timejumps, Humor, Explicit Language, Sexual Content, Emotional Struggles, Mental Health, Romance, Emotional Angst, Unresolved Love, Religious Themes, Sexuality, Purity Culture, Family Struggles, Feelings of Inadequacy/Worthlessness, Tenderness/Comforting Themes, Emotional Angst, Heartbreak, Grief/Loss, Depression, Abandonment, Anger, Guilt, Regret, Trust Issues, Betrayal, Alcohol Consumption, Relationship Drama, Emotional Vulnerability, Intimacy, Happy Ending.

1997, June

As they lay together on the worn, dirty mattress, the threadbare cloth covers barely shielding their bare skin from the biting cold, their breath escaped in faint plumes of fog. The air was still, save for the quiet aftermath of their shared intimacy, their hearts beating in rhythm as they tried to catch their breath. Spencer lay on his side, his sharp features softened in the dim light, his hazel eyes studying her with quiet reverence.

(Y/N) stared up at the crumbling ceiling, lost in a maze of thoughts that seemed to drift aimlessly between everything and nothing. Her expression was serene, though a flicker of curiosity played on her lips. Spencer could have stayed like this forever, just watching her, memorizing the contours of her face, the way her hair fanned across the mattress like a halo. He was so captivated that he didn’t realize she had turned to look at him until her voice broke the silence.

He blinked, caught off guard, and quickly apologized. “I’m sorry, my love. What did you say?”

She didn’t seem bothered, her affection for him evident in the patient smile that tugged at the corners of her lips. Her pupils, wide and dark, gazed at him with a love so deep it made his chest ache.

“I said, can you imagine if we just had sex and there are rats in here?” (Y/N) repeated, her tone light and teasing, as though the absurdity of the thought amused her.

Spencer’s brows furrowed as he processed the question, and then the familiar spark of intellectual excitement lit up his face. “Well,” he began, propping himself up slightly on one elbow, “it’s actually quite probable. A house like this—abandoned, in a state of disrepair—is the perfect habitat for rats. They’re remarkably adaptable creatures, you know. The brown rat, Rattus norvegicus, for example, is known for its ability to thrive in urban and rural environments. They’re incredible climbers and swimmers, which means even if the house is difficult to access, they—”

“Spence,” she interrupted, a soft laugh escaping as she reached up to place a finger against his lips. “I was joking. I meant it’s kind of gross, not an invitation for a lecture on rat biology.”

His mouth closed, his cheeks flushing as he realized he had once again gotten carried away. “Right. Of course. Gross. I mean, they are gross, objectively speaking, but…” His voice trailed off, and a sheepish smile broke across his face.

She chuckled, her laughter warm and affectionate, and leaned up to press a soft, lingering peck to his lips. “Never change, genius,” she whispered as she pulled back, her forehead gently resting against his.

He relaxed into her embrace, the faintest hint of a smirk still lingering on his lips. “I wasn’t planning to.”

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

2005

“Who’s occupying your mind?” Elena’s teasing voice broke through the quiet, snapping her out of her daydream. She flinched, startled, before quickly turning toward her best friend. To hide her reaction, she lifted her coffee cup to her lips, taking a long sip and deliberately avoiding Elena’s knowing gaze.

“No one,” she replied, the words tumbling out far too quickly to be convincing.

Elena raised a brow, her smile widening with that playful, smug look she always got when she was sure she had hit the nail on the head. “No, you’re definitely thinking about him again,” she said, her voice teasing but laced with an undeniable knowing.

(Y/N) felt her face scrunch involuntarily, a mix of frustration and embarrassment bubbling up inside her. Of course, Elena was right. She was always right about these things, and yet admitting it out loud still felt like an impossible task.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said defensively, gripping her coffee cup a little tighter as though the action could somehow help her hold onto control. “It’s been five years since I went to that house.”

Elena leaned back in her chair, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she absentmindedly swirled her tea. “Five years, sure. And yet you still think about him all the time,” she quipped, her smile widening. “Don’t deny it—you still love him.”

The words hit like a physical blow. Her breath hitched, and her chest tightened painfully. The truth was suffocatingly close, hanging in the air between them, but she wasn’t ready to face it—not now, not ever. She scoffed, the sound sharper than she intended, a thin layer of defensiveness slipping over the raw feeling inside her. “That’s not true.”

Elena’s smile softened, but the certainty never left her eyes. She took another sip of her tea, shaking her head gently as if she were humoring a child who couldn’t see what was plainly obvious. “You can say whatever you want, but I know you. You’ve never stopped loving him, and you probably never will.”

She felt the weight of those words sink deep, settling in her chest like an unshakeable truth. She looked away, her gaze falling to the steam rising from her coffee cup. She could feel Elena’s eyes on her, steady and patient, waiting for some sort of admission. But she couldn’t speak. Instead, she stayed silent, and in the stillness, her silence spoke volumes.

It had been five years since she’d last been to that house—since she’d last seen him. Five years that hadn’t dulled the ache, the quiet longing that still lingered at the edges of her thoughts. She hadn’t forgotten the way things felt there—the rush of memories, the pull of a love that had once felt like home. And no matter how hard she tried to move on, something inside her still ached to return, to walk back through that broken door.

But instead, she sat there, silent, pretending to be fine.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

1999, November

Walking the familiar route to their house, the late teenage couple wandered through the trees, overgrown bushes, and the sprawling farmland. The path was a quiet escape from the world, the sounds of nature surrounding them. But today, the conversation between them felt heavier than usual, a tension in the air that neither of them could shake. They walked side by side, their pace in sync, but the weight of the moment seemed to stretch out between them.

Spencer glanced over at her, watching the delicate bounce of her necklace as she walked. The sight of it, swaying gently with each step, brought an odd sense of calm to his racing thoughts. After a moment, he spoke, his voice quiet but carrying a vulnerability that he rarely showed.

“Do you think your father will ever accept me?” Spencer asked, his gaze drifting away from her face as if the question itself was too much to look at directly.

She didn’t answer immediately. She kept walking, her eyes trained ahead, but her lips pressed together in a way that meant she was thinking carefully. When she did speak, her words came with an air of practiced nonchalance, the way she always deflected difficult questions.

“A man who thinks that schizophrenia is caused by worshipping the devil?” Her voice was steady, but Spencer could hear the underlying pain in it. He knew it wasn’t just a rhetorical question; it was the painful truth that shaped her relationship with her father. Her father had always been a strict believer in God, attending church without fail and pushing his beliefs onto her and her mother. But that same faith had no room for understanding Spencer’s reality, especially the fact that his mother was struggling with schizophrenia. The two worlds couldn’t have been more different, and the divide between them felt insurmountable.

She sighed, her breath visible in the cool air. “He already thinks that I’ve had sex and I’m not his perfect little girl anymore.” There was a bitter edge to her words, something Spencer had heard before. She had told him how her father believed that every time a woman had sex out of wedlock, a part of her died. A petite mort, as Spencer had corrected her when they first discussed it, a small but cruel idea that made her relationship with her father even more strained.

Spencer stopped in his tracks, his heart aching at the thought of her carrying that weight. He reached out, cupping her face gently in his hands. He felt the need to erase the hurt from her eyes, even if just for a moment.

“You are perfect to me,” he said softly, his thumbs brushing over her skin. “And that’s all that matters.”

The words lingered between them, a promise that, despite everything they couldn’t control, Spencer would always see her as she truly was. Perfect, flaws and all. The weight of the world lightened, just a little, as they stood there in the quiet of the countryside.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

2005

“Spencer?” The soft, familiar voice of Diana, Spencer’s mother, broke through the haze of his thoughts. He had been sitting in the small, sterile room of the psychiatric ward where his mother stayed, his gaze fixed on the window, watching the cold, winter air swirl outside. The holiday decorations in the ward were bright and festive, but the cheerfulness did little to ease the weight pressing down on his chest. He had come to visit her during Christmas break, as he always did, returning to his hometown to spend time with her. But today, something felt off—distant, even though he was right there in the room with her.

“You’ve been looking out that window for the past ten minutes,” Diana’s voice came again, gentle yet full of concern. Spencer blinked, momentarily disoriented, before he turned his attention back to her. Her eyes were filled with the kind of tenderness that only a mother could offer, the kind that always made him feel safe, even in the most uncertain of times. Snapping back to reality, Spencer tried to brush it off, offering a small, reassuring smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m alright, Mom,” he said, his voice steady, though it carried the faintest trace of exhaustion. He didn’t want to worry her, didn’t want to add to the weight of her already constant concerns about him. She carried enough as it was, and the last thing he wanted was for her to see the cracks in him, to see how tired he truly was.

But Diana didn’t miss the subtle tension in his posture or the way his eyes seemed distant, as if the weight of the world was pressing against him. She had always known when something was off, even if Spencer tried to hide it. She had raised him, after all—her perceptiveness was something that had been honed over years of navigating her own struggles.

“You are my perfect boy, Spencer,” Diana said softly, her voice laced with warmth and unwavering love. Her eyes locked onto his with a quiet intensity, as if she was trying to press the weight of her words into his heart. “Always remember that. No matter what happens, no matter what you’re feeling, you are my perfect boy.”

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with the kind of truth only a mother could give. Spencer’s throat tightened, a lump forming as the rush of emotions he had been suppressing all day threatened to surface. His mother, despite everything she had been through, still saw him as perfect. It was a reminder, both comforting and painful, of the love that anchored him even when he didn’t feel worthy of it.

Spencer nodded slowly, his chest tight, and for a moment, he let himself believe it—let himself feel the warmth of his mother’s love, allowing it to wash over him. Even if he couldn’t always see the good in himself, she did. And for that moment, that was enough.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

2000, December

“Spence?” (Y/N)’s voice echoed through the broken-down house, the sound bouncing off the peeling walls and creaking floorboards. The house, if it could even still be called that, had seen better days long before they had claimed it as their own. The paths leading to it were worn bare, the grass never daring to grow back after countless trips in and out. It was theirs in a way no one else could understand—crumbling, imperfect, but filled with memories that made it feel like home.

The familiar groan of the warped front door announced her arrival, but there was no response. Her heart gave a strange, uneasy flutter as she stepped inside and climbed the stairs, the old wood creaking beneath her weight. Reaching the second floor, she paused in the doorway of their bedroom. The dirty mattress lay on the floor as always, the cotton sheets doing little to mask the years of wear and stains.

But what caught her eye was the letter sitting atop it, her name scrawled in Spencer’s familiar handwriting. The sight sent a chill through her chest.

Lowering herself onto the mattress, she reached for the letter, her fingers trembling as she unfolded it. As her eyes scanned the words, a heaviness settled over her, the room suddenly feeling colder and emptier. It was Spencer’s words, and she already knew this letter would change everything.

My dear (Y/N),

This is the hardest letter I’ve ever had to write, and I’m not sure where to begin. You’ve been my everything, (Y/N). My light when the world felt dark, my calm in the storm. Loving you has been the most incredible, life-altering experience I could ever hope for. Being with you has taught me things I never thought I’d learn—about trust, about vulnerability, about love. Not the kind of love that comes and goes, but the kind that stays, the kind that roots itself so deeply that no force on earth could ever truly uproot it.

You’ve always had this way of making me feel seen, of looking past all the things I try to hide, and loving me anyway. You made me feel like I could be more than I ever thought possible, just by being at my side. Your laugh—God, your laugh. I’ll never forget it. It’s the kind of sound that could soften the edges of the hardest day, the kind of thing that made me believe there was still good in the world, even when everything else felt like it was falling apart.

I want you to know something: you are unforgettable. You are the type of person who leaves a mark on everyone you meet, but the mark you’ve left on me feels permanent like it’s carved into my very being. You’ve taught me how to be brave, how to let myself feel things I was always too scared to feel. And I’ll never stop being grateful for that.

I don’t know if you’ll ever truly understand how deeply you’ve been loved. But I hope you feel it when you think of me. And I hope one day, you’ll forgive me for not being the person you needed me to be.

You are, and always will be, the greatest love of my life.

Forever yours, Spencer

(Y/N) broke the moment her eyes reached the end of the letter. The words blurred together as tears spilled down her cheeks, soaking the paper in her trembling hands. She cried as she read it, cried harder as the weight of its meaning sank in, cried until her chest ached and her breaths came in ragged gasps. The silence in the house, once a comforting backdrop to their life together, now felt suffocating, pressing in on her like a cruel reminder of what she had lost.

Sliding off the mattress, she curled into herself, clutching the letter as if holding it tightly could somehow bring him back. Her sobs echoed through the empty house, filling the space he had left behind. The walls, which had once witnessed laughter and whispered dreams, now bore witness to her heartbreak, to the shattering of everything they had built together.

Hours passed, but the ache only grew. She lay on the filthy mattress that had been their refuge, their sanctuary, but it felt hollow now, nothing more than a pile of fabric and springs in a house that wasn’t home anymore. Spencer had promised he’d never leave, and that promise had been her lifeline. But now he was gone, and with him, he had taken the pieces of her heart that she wasn’t sure she’d ever get back.

And that was what broke her.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

2005

(Y/N) wandered aimlessly, her feet carrying her without thought or direction. The wind whispered through the trees, the sky above painted in soft hues of twilight. It wasn’t until she stopped, standing in the middle of a dirt road, that she realized where her walk had led her. Her heart sank as she recognized the familiar broken house in the distance, its silhouette stark against the fading light.

The house stood there, just as it had five years ago—weathered, battered, yet defiant. She stared at it, the memories flooding back uninvited. That house wasn’t just wood and nails; it was a monument to everything she’d shared, everything she’d lost. She didn’t even realize she had started walking toward it until her hand brushed against the old wooden fence.

“Hey, Bertha,” she whispered, her voice trembling as she tapped the doorway lightly. It was a habit Spencer had started, a silly gesture he’d done every time they came here, like greeting an old friend. Now it felt like a ghost of the life they once had, a bittersweet echo that made her chest tighten. The front door hung open, as if inviting her in, but the thought of stepping inside made her stomach churn.

Meanwhile, across the abandoned cornfields, Spencer approached the house he had avoided for years. The sight of it sent a pang of guilt through him. “Bertha,” he murmured softly, the name falling from his lips like an old prayer. “You look the same as always.” The wind rustled the cornstalks around him, but all he could hear was his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

He had spent so long convincing himself not to come back, and yet here he was, drawn to the house like it was calling him. Each step felt heavier than the last as he crossed the field, memories of laughter and love resurfacing with every inch closer.

Inside the house, (Y/N) wandered the familiar halls, running her fingers along the walls that once echoed with their shared whispers. Everything felt smaller now, the weight of time and grief pressing down on her. She paused by the window, looking out toward the fields, when movement caught her eye.

Her heart froze. Someone was walking toward the house.

She blinked, thinking her mind was playing tricks, but the figure grew clearer with every step. Her breath caught when she realized who it was. Spencer.

Anger flared in her chest, hot and overwhelming, overtaking the shock and sadness that had lingered for years. Without thinking, she stormed down the stairs, to the back door, the closest exit to the cornfields, her steps quick and purposeful. The broken screen door slammed behind her as she crossed the yard, her eyes locked on the man who had haunted her dreams and her nightmares for so long.

Spencer stopped in his tracks as the figure approached him, the fiery determination in her stride unmistakable. His chest tightened as he recognized her, her beauty still undeniable even as anger radiated from her like a storm.

“You’re not allowed here,” (Y/N) said, her voice trembling with a mix of rage and pain. Her lips quivered, betraying the tears she was fighting to hold back. “You made that decision when you left me.”

Spencer swallowed hard, his breath hitching as he took her in. She was more beautiful than he remembered, though time had etched a hardness into her expression he hadn’t seen before. “(Y/N)...” he breathed, his voice soft, full of longing.

Seeing her was like a punch to the gut and a breath of fresh air all at once. He had thought about this moment a thousand times, but none of his imagined scenarios had prepared him for the reality of standing before her again.

“I know,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know I have no right to be here.” He took a tentative step closer, his eyes searching hers for something—understanding, forgiveness, anything—but all he found was the raw wound he’d left behind.

(Y/N) shook her head, tears finally spilling over. “You don’t get to just show up here, Spencer. You don’t get to walk back into my life like nothing happened. You left. You left without a word, without an explanation, and you took everything with you.” Her voice cracked, the weight of five years’ worth of pain spilling out all at once.

“I know,” Spencer said again, his own voice breaking. He wanted to reach out, to touch her, to offer some kind of comfort, but he knew he had forfeited that right. “I know I hurt you. I know I can’t fix this. But I—I had to see you. I had to come back.”

“Why?” she demanded, her voice sharp and desperate. “Why now? After all this time, why would you come back here, to our place, knowing what you did to me?”

Spencer looked down, his hands trembling at his sides. “Because this is the only place that ever felt like home,” he admitted, his voice barely audible. “Because you’re the only person who ever felt like home. And I’m sorry—God, I’m so sorry for what I did to you. But I had to see you, even if it’s the last time.”

(Y/N) turned away, her shoulders shaking as she tried to compose herself. The words she had dreamed of hearing, the apology she had desperately wanted, had finally come. But the wounds were still too fresh, the scars too deep.

“Spencer,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I don’t know if I can forgive you.”

The silence between them stretched, heavy with unspoken words and shattered dreams. And yet, for a moment, they simply stood there, two broken souls in the shadow of the house that had once held all their love.

Spencer couldn’t help himself—his gaze was caught in a rhythm he couldn’t break, oscillating between the cross resting against her chest and her eyes. Her eyes, which held a depth of emotion he wasn’t sure he deserved to witness. The silence stretched between them, heavy yet familiar, like the comforting hum of a favorite song long since forgotten but never truly lost. It was a silence they had shared countless times before, but now it carried the weight of all that had been left unsaid.

She noticed, of course. She always noticed him. With a quiet sigh, she reached up and gently fiddled with the cross around her neck, a small, almost imperceptible movement that spoke volumes. The motion seemed to ground her, steadying her breath, easing her tumultuous emotions just enough to let the words come.

“He’s dead,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper but cutting through the silence like a sharp blade. “He passed two years ago.”

Spencer didn’t need her to say more. He knew who she meant. Of course, he did. Her father had been an unyielding presence in her life, a looming figure who had defined so much of who she was and who she fought to be. The news hit him like a sudden wind, unexpected and jarring, even after all this time.

He took a hesitant step forward, closing some of the distance between them, the broken-down fence still standing as a barrier between them. His eyes softened, filling with a sadness that wasn’t just for her loss but for all the ways he hadn’t been there to share the weight of it. He swallowed hard, his throat dry, before finally speaking.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice thick with sincerity and regret.

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, they just stared at each other. Spencer wished he could say more, could offer something that might ease the ache he knew had settled in her heart long ago. But what could he say? I should have been here? I shouldn’t have left? I should have stayed to hold you through it all? None of it felt like enough, not now, not after all this time.

Her hand stilled on the cross, her fingers curling around it protectively, almost instinctively. She nodded once, acknowledging his apology, but the pain in her eyes told him it wasn’t enough. It never could be.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Hello, Diana,” (Y/N) greeted softly, stepping into the familiar, quiet room with a gentle smile. It was a ritual now, one that had been born out of a promise made long ago—a promise to Spencer during their teenage years, back when the world felt a little smaller and their love a little bigger. He had confided in (Y/N) about his fears, his guilt over leaving his mother alone, trapped in her own thoughts and memories. It was a promise (Y/N) never wavered from, even after everything had fallen apart between them.

Diana looked up from the worn pages of her diary, her face brightening with a smile that could only be described as maternal warmth. “Oh, my gorgeous,” she said, her voice full of affection. “Don’t you look lovely?”

“Thank you, Diana,” (Y/N) replied, her smile widening but tinged with a subtle sadness she couldn’t quite shake. Sitting down beside her, she glanced at the familiar handwriting scrawled across Diana’s open journal. The pang of guilt hit her like it always did—memories of Spencer, of the house, of the way she’d left things with him, still fresh in her mind despite the passage of time. She tucked those thoughts away for now, focusing instead on the woman in front of her. “How are you today?”

“Oh, I’m alright,” Diana said, her tone light, though her pen never stopped moving across the page. “Spencer is back in town.”

The words were delivered so casually, almost offhandedly, but they landed like a thunderclap in (Y/N)’s chest. Her breath hitched, and she froze mid-movement, her fingers curling tighter around the strap of her bag. Spencer. Back in town. The name alone was enough to set her world spinning, the memories rushing in before she had a chance to stop them. The broken-down house. The letter. His face when they had confronted each other just days ago.

“Oh?” she managed to say, keeping her voice as even as possible.

Diana looked up at her then, her expression soft and content, as if Spencer’s presence in town was the most natural thing in the world. “Yes, my boy’s home again. He always comes to see me when he can. Such a thoughtful son.”

“Of course,” (Y/N) murmured, her throat tightening as she forced a smile. She glanced at Diana’s diary again, the pages filled with fragments of a life she had once been so deeply entwined with. A life that now felt impossibly far away.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Your mother already has a visitor,” the nurse informed Spencer gently as he approached the front desk, her voice soft and professional. Spencer paused, surprised. It was rare for anyone to visit his mother; she wasn’t close to many people, and Spencer himself was usually the only one who came regularly.

“That’s not possible,” Spencer replied quietly, his brows furrowing. He wasn’t trying to challenge the nurse—more so, he was questioning himself. Who could it be?

The nurse glanced at her chart, her tone still sweet as she clarified. “A (Y/N) (Y/L/N)?”

Spencer’s breath caught, his body stiffening as the name hit him like a wave crashing over jagged rocks. Her. Memories of (Y/N) surged to the forefront of his mind: the house, the letter, the confrontation just the day before. Even after all these years, the mere mention of her name haunted him.

Seeing his reaction, the nurse hesitated before offering, “If it’s an issue, we can revoke her visitor privileges—”

“No,” Spencer interrupted, his voice soft but resolute. “You don’t have to do that.” The last thing he wanted was to cause trouble for (Y/N). But curiosity gnawed at him, refusing to let go. “How long has she been visiting my mother?” He already suspected the answer, but he needed to hear it.

The nurse rechecked her records, her answer landing with a weight that Spencer wasn’t entirely ready to bear. “Five years.”

“Five years,” Spencer echoed under his breath, the words heavy with guilt. She’s been visiting her for five years while I—

He cut off the thought, straightening slightly. “Can you take me to her?” he asked, his voice quieter now. He wasn’t sure why he wanted to go—perhaps to see (Y/N) with his mother, to understand the depth of her loyalty. He didn’t intend to interfere, but the pull was undeniable.

The nurse led him down the familiar hallway to Diana’s room. From the doorframe, Spencer stopped, lingering awkwardly in the shadows. He stood there, his tall frame hunched slightly as he leaned against the threshold, watching.

Inside, (Y/N) sat beside Diana, their hand resting gently on hers as they spoke with warmth and care. Spencer could hear her voice, tender and soothing, as she asked Diana about her day, her writing, her dreams. It was the kind of care Spencer had promised himself he’d always provide—but (Y/N) had been the one to keep that promise, even when he hadn’t.

The sight made his chest tighten painfully. He watched her, her dedication shining brightly, as he stood rooted in place, grappling with the bittersweet reality before him.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I didn’t think you’d still visit her,” Spencer said softly, his voice carrying the weight of years unspoken as he saw (Y/N) leaving the psych ward. She had been engrossed in her thoughts, her keys jangling in her hand, when his words stopped her in her tracks.

“Unlike some people, I keep my promises,” she shot back, her tone sharper than she intended. Bitterness bubbled up from the place in her heart he had broken all those years ago. But underneath it, there was something else—something softer, yearning. She didn’t want to keep fighting, didn’t want to keep holding this grudge. What she really wanted was to fall into his arms and let his familiar scent wash over her, to be enveloped in the safety they once knew. Instead, she turned and began walking toward her car, forcing her feet to keep moving.

Spencer hesitated but followed, his steps careful, his presence lingering just close enough to be felt. “(Y/N)…” he said, her name falling from his lips like a plea. Hearing him say it again felt like a punch to the gut and a balm all at once—a bittersweet reminder of the life they had shared.

She froze for a moment before taking a deep breath and speaking, her voice trembling slightly. “Why didn’t you tell me why you left, Spence? Why didn’t you tell me yourself? If anything, I would’ve understood.” She turned to face him, the hurt she had carried for years spilling into her words. Her eyes, usually so bright, were now heavy with questions she had been waiting far too long to ask.

Spencer’s face fell, guilt settling in his features like a storm cloud. “I was young and dumb,” he admitted, his voice low. “I thought… I thought that leaving you a letter would hurt less than having to look you in the eye and tell you I was leaving.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, glancing down at the ground. “But I see now that it was cowardly. That it was wrong.”

“Spence…” (Y/N) said, her breath hitching as tears threatened to fall. She looked at him for a moment, the ache in her chest threatening to pull her apart, before shaking her head softly. “For someone with an IQ of 187, that was the dumbest decision of your life.”

She turned and began packing the trunk of her car, her hands busy to distract from the storm of emotions threatening to consume her. Spencer watched her, his heart pounding in his chest, wishing he could undo all the pain he had caused. All he wanted was to reach out, to hold her, to make things right—but he knew that forgiveness was not his to take. Not yet.

(Y/N) slammed the trunk shut with a little more force than necessary, the sound echoing in the stillness of the lot. Spencer flinched at the noise, his heart sinking further into his chest. He hated the space between them, the invisible wall that felt insurmountable despite the years they had shared.

“Is there even a point to this conversation?” (Y/N) said, her voice cracking slightly despite her best effort to keep steady. She turned to face him, crossing her arms as if it could shield her from the vulnerability she felt under his gaze. “I mean, what’s the point, Spencer? You left. You decided I didn’t deserve the truth, and now you’re here like nothing happened.”

Spencer took a step closer, careful not to overstep the boundaries they had silently drawn. “It’s not like that,” he said earnestly, his voice shaking. “I—I don’t expect you to forgive me. I just…” He paused, running a hand through his hair as he searched for the words. “I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry. For everything.”

(Y/N) let out a bitter laugh, brushing a tear away angrily before it could streak down her cheek. “Sorry doesn’t fix anything, Spencer. Sorry doesn’t erase the fact that you left me with nothing but a letter, no answers, and no closure. Sorry doesn’t take away the years I spent wondering what I did wrong.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Spencer interrupted, his voice stronger now. He stepped closer again, his eyes pleading. “It wasn’t you. It was me. I left because I was scared, because I didn’t think I could be enough for you. You deserved someone better, someone who wouldn’t bring all their baggage into your life.”

(Y/N) shook her head, disbelief mingling with heartbreak in her expression. “You didn’t get to make that decision for me, Spencer. I loved you. I still—” She stopped herself, the words catching in her throat. Taking a step back, she turned away from him, staring at the car as if it could offer an escape from the storm of emotions.

Spencer hesitated, unsure if he should press further or give her the space she needed. “Do you really think I don’t know how badly I messed up?” he asked softly. “Every day, I regret leaving. Every single day, I think about you—about us—and wonder if I made the biggest mistake of my life. Seeing you here… it only confirms what I’ve always known: I’ll never stop loving you.”

(Y/N) turned away from Spencer, her chest tightening as she fought back tears. She couldn’t let him see the vulnerability in her eyes, not yet. Hugging herself, she took a shaky breath before speaking.

“Spencer,” she began, her voice trembling, “I need time. Time to process this. Time to figure out if I can trust you again.”

Spencer nodded, his hands clenched at his sides. “I understand,” he said softly. “Take all the time you need.”

(Y/N) glanced at him, her tear-filled eyes meeting his briefly. “You hurt me. You left without telling me why, and now you’re saying the things I’ve wanted to hear for years. But I don’t know if I can believe them.”

“I’ll wait,” Spencer promised, his voice steady despite the crack in his heart. “As long as it takes.”

(Y/N) nodded, turning toward her car. Spencer stayed rooted in place, watching as she walked away, each step making his chest ache. All he could do now was hope she’d find a way back to him.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Elane didn’t even bother to knock before stepping into (Y/N)’s home, her face a mix of disbelief and urgency. “You went back to that house?” she asked, her voice laced with incredulity. She still couldn’t wrap her mind around the texts (Y/N) had sent—Spencer was back, and apparently, he wanted to make things right after everything he had done.

(Y/N) sat on the edge of her couch, her elbows resting on her knees as she buried her face in her hands. “I don’t know what to do, Elane,” she mumbled, her voice muffled and tinged with exhaustion.

Elane crossed her arms, her expression softening as she studied her best friend. She could see the storm of emotions brewing in (Y/N)’s chest—the confusion, the longing, the anger, and the vulnerability that came with someone reopening a wound that had never fully healed.

“You obviously have to take him back,” Elane said simply, as though the answer was glaringly obvious.

(Y/N)’s head shot up, her eyes wide with shock. “Take him back? Are you serious?”

“Yes,” Elane replied, unflinching. She knew exactly what (Y/N) was thinking. She had been there when Spencer left, when (Y/N) had crumbled under the weight of his absence. Elane had seen her at her worst—crying herself to sleep, replaying every moment of their relationship, searching for reasons in the silence he’d left behind. “Listen, Vi, I know how much he hurt you. Believe me, I know. I was the one holding you together when he walked away. But I also know that I haven’t seen you truly happy in a long time. As much as you hate to admit it, he makes you the happiest.”

(Y/N) clenched her jaw, her gaze dropping to the floor as she twisted her fingers in her lap. She hated how right Elane was. She hated how the mere mention of Spencer’s name stirred something in her chest that felt dangerously close to hope. Rising from the couch, she turned away, heading toward her wine cabinet. “I need a drink,” she muttered, reaching for a bottle of red wine.

Elane chuckled as she watched (Y/N) fumble with the cork. “Typical,” she teased, sinking into the couch. “Wine fixes everything, huh?”

(Y/N) flashed her a sarcastic smile as the cork finally popped free. “It certainly doesn’t hurt.” She poured them each a glass, handing one to Elane before sitting back down.

Hours later, the room was dim, illuminated only by the soft glow of a lamp in the corner. The wine bottle sat empty on the coffee table, and the two women were slumped against the cushions, giggling uncontrollably.

“Okay, okay, but seriously,” Elane said, clutching her stomach as tears of laughter welled in her eyes. “I genuinely thought you only kissed him that night. And then you casually drop the bombshell that you went to that creepy abandoned house everyone thought was haunted to—” She broke off, unable to finish the sentence through her laughter.

“To have sex,” (Y/N) finished for her, rolling her eyes but grinning despite herself. She brought her glass to her lips, shaking her head at the memory. “What can I say? I was bold.”

“Bold? That’s putting it lightly!” Elane snorted. “You were reckless! But, honestly, I have to give you credit. That’s some next-level teenage rebellion.”

(Y/N) shrugged, her grin turning mischievous. “Hey, I wasn’t the only one with game, you know.”

“Oh, trust me, Vi, I know. You had all the game. I mean, haunted house hookups? That’s iconic.”

The two dissolved into another fit of laughter, their voices echoing through the quiet of the late-night hour. For a moment, the weight of Spencer and all the complicated emotions he carried with him was forgotten. It was just two best friends, a bottle of wine, and a shared history of mistakes, triumphs, and the kind of memories that made life feel a little lighter.

“But seriously, Vi—what are you so scared of?” Elane’s voice softened this time, the playful edge gone. She leaned forward, her glass cradled between her hands, and looked at her best friend with genuine concern. “You know I’ve got you, no matter what. Just talk to me.”

(Y/N) stared at the deep red swirl of wine in her glass, hesitating. Her fingers traced the rim as though the motion might distract her from the emotions bubbling to the surface. Finally, she sighed, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m scared he’ll leave me again.” She swallowed hard, as if forcing the words out made them easier to bear. “I don’t think I could survive that pain a second time.”

Elane’s chest tightened at the vulnerability in (Y/N)’s tone. She shifted closer, placing her wineglass on the table so she could focus fully on her friend. “Vi,” she said gently, waiting until (Y/N) looked up at her. “Trust me, Spencer could live a hundred lifetimes and still never forgive himself for what he put you through.”

(Y/N)’s lips parted, but no words came. Elane pressed on, her voice steady yet full of warmth. “He’s not just some guy, okay? You landed the one man on this planet who is actually in touch with his emotions. He’s not just sorry—he’s hurting, Vi. Probably just as much as you were when he left. Maybe even more, because he’s carrying the guilt of knowing he caused it.”

(Y/N) blinked back tears, the weight of Elane’s words sinking in. Deep down, she knew Elane was right. Spencer wasn’t like other people. He felt everything so deeply—he always had. That was part of what drew her to him in the first place. And part of what made losing him so unbearable.

“Maybe you’re right,” she said softly, her voice tinged with cautious hope.

Elane smiled, her signature confidence shining through as she reached out and placed a comforting hand over (Y/N)’s. “Of course I’m right. I’m always right.” Her tone was light, but her touch was steady, grounding. “Look, I can’t promise it’ll be easy, or that he won’t screw up again. But I know you, Vi. I’ve watched you fall apart and build yourself back up. And if anyone’s worth taking a chance on, it’s Spencer.”

(Y/N) bit her lip, her chest tightening with a mix of fear and possibility. She glanced at Elane’s hand covering hers and felt a flicker of reassurance. The knot of doubt inside her didn’t unravel completely, but it loosened just enough to let a sliver of hope shine through.

“Thanks, Elane,” she whispered, giving her friend a small, grateful smile.

“Always, babe,” Elane said, squeezing her hand. “Now, finish your wine. You’re not getting out of a second glass just because I got all deep and emotional.”

(Y/N) laughed, the sound light and cathartic. For the first time that night, she felt like maybe—just maybe—things might turn out okay.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

It had been days—agonizing, sleepless days—of overthinking her decision without Elane’s steady presence to nudge her forward. Now, standing in front of Spencer’s childhood home, where he always stayed during his work holidays, (Y/N)’s mind was still at war with itself. Every instinct screamed for her to turn around and leave, to abandon the idea entirely. Her knuckles hovered near the door, but she couldn’t bring herself to knock. Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat a reminder of how terrified she was.

Before she could gather the courage, the door creaked open, and there he was. Spencer stood in the doorway, looking like he was on his way out—keys in one hand, wallet in the other, his worn satchel slung over his shoulder. The sight of him made her breath hitch. He hadn’t changed much, but there was a softness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

“Oh… Viv,” he said, his voice gentle, as though her name was a fragile thing he was afraid to break. The sound of him calling her by that nickname—Viv—hit her like a freight train. He hadn’t called her that since before their relationship fell apart, before those nights spent sneaking off to the old house together, before everything unraveled.

Her lips parted, but no sound came. She hated how vulnerable she felt, how just standing here in front of him could undo all the walls she’d built. Spencer’s brow furrowed slightly, concern flickering across his face. “Is something wrong?” he asked, his voice laced with worry.

“No, not at all,” she lied, her voice shaky but determined to sound convincing. She toyed with the small cross necklace around her neck, her thumb rubbing against it in a nervous rhythm she couldn’t stop. But Spencer saw right through her; he always could. His gaze lingered on the anxious movement of her fingers, and she could see the understanding in his eyes.

(Y/N) wanted nothing more than to run. To turn and walk away, pretend this moment hadn’t happened, and let the fear swallow her whole. But her legs refused to move, leaving her frozen in place, rooted by a strange mixture of longing and dread.

“Here, come in,” he said softly, stepping back and holding the door open wider, an unspoken invitation. The warmth of his voice almost coaxed her forward, but her eyes darted to the keys and wallet in his hands, to the satchel on his shoulder. He’d been heading out, clearly on his way somewhere. She couldn’t impose—not like this.

“No, it’s alright,” she replied quickly, shaking her head. Her voice came out softer than she intended, almost apologetic. “You’re busy. I’ll… I’ll come back another time.” She began to turn away, retreating down the driveway toward the comfort of her own childhood home. But before she could take another step, Spencer’s voice stopped her.

“I’m never busy enough for you,” he said, his tone so earnest it nearly broke her.

She paused, turning back to him. His lips curved into a small, reassuring smile, his eyes searching hers with a patience that felt as familiar as it was disarming. The door was still open, a silent testament to his willingness to let her in, no matter how unexpected her arrival.

(Y/N)’s gaze flickered between his face and the hallway behind him, the path that led to the familiar comfort of his home—a space that once felt as much hers as his. Her feet felt heavy, as though crossing that threshold would mean crossing into a territory she wasn’t sure she was ready to face.

Spencer waited, unmoving, giving her the space to decide but never pulling back his invitation. There was no rush, no pressure—just the soft warmth of his gaze, steady and unyielding.

After what felt like an eternity, (Y/N) took a tentative step forward, her fingers still trembling as they brushed against the doorframe. She didn’t trust herself to speak, didn’t trust her voice not to crack under the weight of her emotions. But Spencer’s smile grew just a fraction, as if he understood the monumental effort that single step took.

And with that, she crossed the threshold, her heart pounding in her chest, a thousand fears and hopes colliding all at once. Spencer gently closed the door behind her, the quiet click reverberating through the stillness of the house.

They stood in the living room of Spencer’s house, the air heavy with the silence that stretched between them, thick with unspoken words. The quiet felt like an old song—one they hadn’t heard in years, but somehow, the melody still lingered in the spaces between them, a bittersweet reminder of everything they once were. It hung there, unresolved, yet full of everything they hadn’t been able to say.

(Y/N) fidgeted with her necklace, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the chain, a habit she had when she was nervous. Spencer noticed the small gesture—how it had always been her way of grounding herself when she didn’t know what to do. He wanted to speak, to say something, but he couldn’t find the words. He just watched her, waiting, as she took a deep breath and began to speak.

“I came because I wanted to talk,” (Y/N) said, her voice soft, almost fragile as it broke the silence between them. There was an earnestness in her tone, a vulnerability Spencer wasn’t sure he was ready to face.

Spencer stayed silent, his heart racing, his mind spinning. He wanted to reach out, to say something, but the words were trapped in his chest. He watched her carefully, his eyes tracing the contours of her face, every inch of her looking both familiar and foreign to him now.

(Y/N)’s gaze lifted to meet his, her eyes searching his face with an intensity that made his chest tighten. “I think I want to try again,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, as if the weight of the words could shatter something between them if she spoke too loudly. “Try us again.”

Her words lingered in the air, fragile and hopeful, yet underscored with a quiet fear. Spencer’s throat went dry, and though he longed to say something, anything, he didn’t interrupt. He let her continue, silently urging her to say what she needed to say.

“But I need you to know,” she continued, her voice thick with emotion, “that things won’t be the same as they used to be.” She paused, her gaze dropping to the floor for a moment, as if the reality of what she was saying weighed too heavily on her. “We’re not the same people we were, Spencer. I’m not the same.”

The confession hung in the air, raw and exposed, but Spencer didn’t move. He didn’t pull away. Instead, his gaze softened, and something in him—something buried deep within—finally broke free.

“I understand, Viv,” he said, his voice low, steady, but filled with emotion. His heart pounded in his chest as his hand slowly reached up, trembling ever so slightly as he cupped her face in his palm. His touch was tentative, as if afraid of breaking the fragile moment between them, but she leaned into it instinctively, her eyes fluttering shut as the warmth of his hand soothed her.

(Y/N)’s hand moved to his wrist, her fingers gently wrapping around it, grounding both of them in that quiet space. She held on, as if she was afraid to let go, afraid of what might slip through her fingers if she did. Her eyes met his again, desperation and hope mingling in the depths of her gaze.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, yet filled with an aching plea. She nodded softly, as if surrendering to the vulnerability, to the possibility of what could come next.

Spencer’s breath hitched, and without thinking, he leaned in, his hand still cupping her face, and pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was slow, hesitant at first, as though both of them were testing the waters, unsure of how much they could risk. But then, as their lips met fully, the hesitation melted away, and something deeper, more desperate, surged between them—a longing for something they couldn’t quite name but both knew they needed. It was a kiss that spoke of loss, of hope, and of the delicate threads that still connected them, despite everything that had passed.

In that moment, the world outside of the living room seemed to disappear. It was just the two of them, lost in the kiss, in the emotion that wrapped around them both, binding them in a way words never could.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

2008

Three years had passed since that life-changing kiss, and somehow, their love had only deepened and matured, evolving far beyond the fleeting, sweet highs of their high school days. Spencer couldn’t help but marvel at how their connection had grown into something profound, a bond forged by time, trials, and an unwavering devotion to one another.

As the late afternoon sun dipped lower, painting the sky in hues of soft orange and pink, Spencer guided (Y/N) carefully along the overgrown trail leading to the abandoned house they had stumbled upon eight years ago. Back then, it had been their secret haven—a sanctuary where young love blossomed and the weight of the world couldn’t touch them. Now, it was about to hold an even more cherished memory.

(Y/N) clutched Spencer's arm, her steps tentative as she let him lead her while the blindfold obscured her vision. Her excitement was palpable, the corners of her mouth curving into a radiant smile despite her slight protests.

“Spence?” she asked, her voice bubbling with curiosity. “Where are we going? You’re being so mysterious.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and rich, and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Patience, Gorgeous. No peeking, I mean it,” he teased, his tone playful but gentle.

(Y/N) huffed a dramatic sigh, trying—and failing—to suppress her grin. “Fine. But you know I hate surprises.”

“And yet you’ll love this one,” he replied with quiet confidence, his free hand sliding to the small of her back to guide her over a patch of uneven ground. Finally, they arrived at the perfect spot, the very place they had once etched their initials into the weathered wood of the porch railing.

Spencer positioned her carefully, his heart pounding in anticipation. He couldn’t believe the moment had finally come. As he stepped back, his knees met the soft, wild grass, and he knelt, pulling a small velvet box from his pocket. The weight of the ring inside seemed to carry every unspoken promise he’d ever made to her, every dream they’d shared. Attached to the box by a slim, delicate chain was a small keychain, and hanging from it was an old-fashioned key, one that glinted faintly in the golden light.

He adjusted the blindfold slightly to ensure it stayed secure before speaking, his voice tender.

“Okay,” he whispered, his tone brimming with emotion. “You can take it off now.”

(Y/N)’s fingers moved to the blindfold, her motions careful, as if savoring the suspense. When she finally pulled the fabric away, her hazel eyes met the sight before her. The familiar, broken-down house loomed behind Spencer, but it was framed by the ethereal glow of the setting sun. And there he was, kneeling on one knee, his kind brown eyes gazing up at her with a mixture of love, hope, and nerves.

For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. The velvet box in his hand creaked open, revealing the delicate, sparkling ring nestled inside. Her gaze shifted to the key dangling from the attached chain, realization dawning.

“(Y/N),” Spencer began, his voice steady yet filled with raw emotion. “From the moment we met, you’ve been my everything—my anchor, my inspiration, my best friend. I can’t imagine a future without you in it. This house holds so many beautiful memories of us, and now it’s ours. I want to build even more memories here—with you, as my wife. Will you marry me?”

Tears brimmed in (Y/N)’s eyes, spilling over as she dropped to her knees in front of him, her arms wrapping tightly around his neck. “Yes,” she breathed, her voice trembling with joy. “Yes, a million times yes!”

Spencer laughed softly, relief and happiness flooding him as he slipped the ring onto her finger, the perfect fit. Then he unhooked the keychain from the box and pressed it gently into her hand.

“It’s the key to the house,” he said, his voice filled with quiet excitement. “It’s ours now.”

(Y/N) stared at it, overwhelmed by the gesture, and then at the house behind him. “It’s ours finally,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

1998, September

As they lay together on the worn, makeshift mattress, the faint glow of moonlight streamed through the broken windows, casting a silvery hue over the room. (Y/N) shifted closer, her head resting against Spencer’s chest, her fingers lazily tracing the seams of his shirt. The world outside faded into the background, leaving only the quiet hum of their breathing and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her ear.

“But in all seriousness,” (Y/N) began softly, her voice barely louder than a whisper, “what would you name your daughter?”

Spencer stilled for a moment, caught off guard by the question. Then a soft, thoughtful smile tugged at his lips as he absentmindedly ran his fingers through her hair. “Harper,” he answered, his voice gentle. “After Nelle Harper Lee, the author of To Kill a Mockingbird.”

(Y/N) tilted her head up slightly, her hazel eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Harper,” she repeated, the name rolling off her tongue like a melody. “That’s... really beautiful. Strong, but sweet. Like it’s meant to belong to someone with a kind heart.”

Spencer chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. “I’ve always admired the way the book captures innocence and courage. It feels... timeless. And if we ever had a daughter, I’d want her to have a name that means something.”

(Y/N) smiled, her gaze lingering on him for a moment longer before resting her head back on his chest. “You’re always so thoughtful,” she murmured. “It’s one of the things I love most about you.”

Spencer flushed faintly at her words, a shy grin breaking through. “What about you?” he asked, eager to shift the focus. “What names have you been thinking of?”

(Y/N) hesitated for a moment, biting her lip as a soft blush dusted her cheeks. “Magdeline,” she admitted, her voice tinged with uncertainty. “I’ve always thought it was beautiful. It’s classic, but it feels... special. Kind of elegant.”

Spencer’s smile grew wider as he turned to look at her, his brown eyes warm and full of affection. “Magdeline,” he repeated, as if savoring the sound. “It’s stunning. It sounds like a name for someone destined to do something extraordinary.”

(Y/N) let out a soft laugh, her cheeks burning as she hid her face against his chest. “You always know how to make everything sound perfect.”

He laughed too, the sound vibrating against her. “It’s not hard when you’re the one I’m talking to,” he teased gently, his fingers brushing against her cheek, coaxing her to look at him.

Her heart fluttered, and for a moment, they were caught in each other’s gaze, the air between them charged with unspoken words. Slowly, Spencer leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a tender kiss that was as sweet and hesitant as their first.

When they pulled away, (Y/N) rested her forehead against his, her cheeks still flushed. “Maybe we’re thinking a bit too far ahead,” she whispered, a soft giggle escaping her lips.

“Maybe,” Spencer admitted, his voice laced with quiet amusement. “But it’s nice to think about, isn’t it? Imagining a little Harper or Magdeline running around, smarter than the both of us combined.”

(Y/N) grinned, her fingers lacing with his as she nodded. “Yeah,” she said, her voice filled with a warmth only he could bring out. “It’s really nice.”

And in that moment, amidst the broken-down walls and the chaos of their teenage lives, the future felt less like an abstract dream and more like a tangible promise—a love story that was only just beginning.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

2015

The house stood in front of them, a testament to the years of work they had poured into it. Once broken down, abandoned, and forgotten, the structure now stood proudly as a symbol of all they had built together. The sun dipped low, painting the sky in hues of pink and orange, casting a warm glow on the new windows, freshly painted walls, and repaired roof. It wasn’t perfect yet—not by a long shot—but it was theirs. And it felt like home.

(Y/N) wiped a hand across her forehead, the sweat of hard work glistening on her brow. Her overalls were covered in streaks of paint, and her sneakers, which had once been white, were now stained with dust and dirt. The room she stood in—the living room—had come a long way since they first stepped foot in this place. The broken windows had been replaced, and the cracked floorboards had been carefully sanded down, then repainted. The mismatched furniture they had collected from thrift stores and flea markets now made the room feel cozy, lived-in. It wasn’t fancy, but it was perfect.

(Y/N) turned to look at Spencer, her gaze softening as she watched him carefully adjusting the placement of a new windowsill. The warmth of the afternoon sun caught in his hair, casting a golden glow over his features. His face was covered in a light dusting of sawdust, but his eyes—those deep brown eyes that always held that mixture of curiosity and affection—shone brighter than any material thing could. The man she had fallen in love with all those years ago was standing right in front of her, and she couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride. Together, they had done all of this. They had created something beautiful out of what was once broken.

“Think we’re finally done with this room?” Spencer’s voice broke through his wife’s thoughts, his usual playfulness coloring the question.

(Y/N) smiled, crossing the room toward him. “Almost,” she replied, wiping her hands on the faded towel that hung from her belt loop. “We still need to finish the kitchen, and don’t even get me started on the backyard.” She shook her head, laughing softly.

Spencer grinned, wiping his hands on his jeans. “We’ve got time,” he said, his voice warm with satisfaction. “I’m just happy we’re finally here. I’ve never felt more... at home, you know?”

(Y/N)’s smile deepened, her heart fluttering at the simplicity of his words. This was more than just a house—it was their life, their future. They had rebuilt this place together,wooden panel by panel, just like they had rebuilt their relationship over the years.

“You’re right,” she murmured. “It feels right. It’s like it was meant to be ours.”

Spencer met her halfway across the room, his arms slipping around her waist. He kissed the top of her head, his voice a quiet murmur in the calm of the room. “I think we did a good job.”

(Y/N) nestled into her husband’s chest, allowing herself to just be for a moment. They’d worked so hard to get here, and sometimes it still felt surreal. There were days when they’d wanted to give up, to walk away from the stress, the setbacks, the exhaustion. But now, looking around at the space they had turned into their own, (Y/N) couldn’t help but think that the struggle had been worth it.

Just then, the sound of tiny footsteps echoed in the hallway. The unmistakable sound of their daughter’s voice reached them before she appeared in the doorway.

“Mama! Dada!” Magdeline’s voice, high and full of excitement, made (Y/N)’s heart swell.

Spencer’s face immediately lit up with a smile as he looked toward the door. “Hey, kiddo,” he called out, his arms opening wide in invitation. “What’s up?”

Magdeline came bounding into the room, her chubby little legs carrying her with more energy than one would think possible for a three-year-old. She had her mother’s curls and her father’s eyes, and at that moment, she was wearing an adorable apron—too big for her tiny frame—that (Y/N) had gotten her for Christmas. Her hands, however, were covered in chocolate.

“I made cookies!” Magdeline said, a proud grin on her face as she held her hands up, showing them off as if they were some sort of treasure.

(Y/N) burst into laughter, her heart melting at the sight of her daughter. “Oh, did you now?” she asked, standing up from Spencer’s embrace and crossing over to her. “Where are they?”

Magdeline pointed excitedly toward the kitchen, her grin never fading. “Over there!”

Spencer scooped her up into his arms, kissing her cheek. “Well, you know what they say—cookie bakers are the best workers,” he teased, his voice light and affectionate.

(Y/N) laughed, her eyes sparkling with affection as she walked into the kitchen, Spencer and Magdeline trailing behind her. The kitchen had come together in the last few weeks, with new cabinets, countertops, and even a small breakfast nook where they could sit and eat together. It wasn’t large, but it had everything they needed.

Magdeline led them to the counter, where a plate of homemade cookies sat. The cookies were a little lopsided and covered in an uneven amount of frosting, but they were beautiful in their imperfection.

“These are amazing, sweetie,” (Y/N) said, her voice full of pride as she took a bite of one. The chocolate was rich and sweet, just the way they both liked it.

“Thank you, Mama!” Magdeline said brightly, her hands flapping excitedly as she bounced on Spencer’s hip. “Dada, have one too!”

Spencer gave her an exaggerated look of mock horror, making her giggle. “Are you sure they’re not going to make me turn into a cookie?” he asked, pretending to hesitate before taking a bite.

Magdeline’s giggle filled the room, and for a moment, the three of them were caught in that perfect bubble of happiness—the kind that only comes from simple, quiet moments.

After they had finished the cookies, the three of them worked together on the house, as they had done every weekend for the last year. Spencer worked on the trim in the living room while (Y/N) painted the kitchen cabinets. Magdeline, always wanting to help, had her own “tools”—small plastic hammers and paintbrushes that she used with exaggerated care.

It was far from glamorous. The work was tiring, the room often too hot or too cold, and there were still so many things to finish. Yet every time they stepped back to admire their progress, it felt like the house was slowly becoming something that could hold them all—their love, their future, and the memories they would create.

Spencer set down the last of the trim and came to join (Y/N) in the kitchen. He put his arm around her as they looked at their progress.

“I think we’re almost there,” he said softly, kissing her temple.

(Y/N) smiled, leaning into him. “Yeah, almost. But it’ll be worth it.”

Spencer sighed contentedly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “It already is. Look at us. We’ve built something beautiful. And I couldn’t have done it without you.”

(Y/N) turned to face him, her eyes soft. “And I couldn’t have done it without you.”

They stood there for a moment, holding each other, watching as the light outside began to fade and the first stars appeared in the sky. The house was theirs. They had transformed it from the broken, abandoned shell it had once been into a place that was full of life.

“Do you ever think about how far we’ve come?” (Y/N) asked, her voice almost a whisper.

Spencer smiled. “All the time.”

“I’m glad we’re doing this together,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “This house... this life... it’s everything I’ve ever wanted.”

Spencer kissed her gently, his lips lingering as he held her close. “It’s everything I’ve ever wanted too.”

Just then, Magdeline came running into the room, her little feet slapping against the floor as she grinned widely. “Look, Mama, Dada! I finished!”

(Y/N) laughed and turned to Spencer. “She’s our little renovator.”

Spencer grinned. “She’s already better than we are at this.”

(Y/N)’s heart swelled with pride as she scooped her daughter into her arms, kissing her cheek. “I think she might just be the best of all of us.”

As they stood there in the warmth of their kitchen, their little family together, it was clear that this house had become something more than just a structure. It was a testament to their love, their resilience, and the future they were building together.

Magdeline Lee (Y/L/N)-Reid, with her infectious laugh and her boundless energy, was a living symbol of everything they had fought for. She was the light that filled the rooms, the hope that had carried them through all the hard days, and now, she was growing up in a home filled with love—a home that was their very own.

And as they turned out the lights for the night, ready to rest before the work began again in the morning, they knew that this house was just the beginning. There was so much more ahead of them. And they would face it all together.

After all, they had built it from the ground up.

And it was perfect.

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