Pairing: Melissa King × Female Reader (Single Mom of Twin Girls)
Summary: You didn’t download Tinder expecting anything real—especially not as a single mother in your late 40s with three-year-old twins and a life that barely leaves room to breathe.
But then you match with Melissa King.
An ER doctor working relentless shifts at PTMC, Melissa lives in a world of chaos, adrenaline, and exhaustion—yet somehow still makes space for quiet conversations, late-night messages, and the kind of understanding you didn’t realize you were missing.
What starts as a simple “hi” slowly becomes something deeper.
Between bedtime routines and emergency calls, juice boxes and trauma cases, two very different lives begin to intertwine. But balancing love, motherhood, and a career that never slows down isn’t easy—and both of you will have to decide if something real is worth the risk.
You were in the kitchen, rinsing out a cup while your daughters sat at the table behind you, loudly debating something that made absolutely no sense—but for once, your mind wasn’t split between exhaustion and that dull, familiar loneliness.
It was… lighter.
“Mommy, she looked at me!”
“I did not!”
“You did!”
You closed your eyes briefly, shaking your head with a small smile. “Okay, we are not arguing about looking at each other.”
“Yes we are,” one of them said confidently.
Of course.
You turned, leaning back against the counter. “Alright. New rule—everyone can look wherever they want.”
They both paused.
Processing.
“…Okay,” they agreed.
Problem solved.
For now.
---
Your phone buzzed on the counter.
Your heart didn’t jump this time.
But it did warm.
You reached for it, already knowing.
A message.
From—
Melissa King
Melissa: I just woke up and I already want coffee.
You huffed a quiet laugh.
You: That’s your default state, isn’t it?
The reply came quickly.
Melissa: Pretty much.
A beat.
Then—
Melissa: How’s your morning going?
You glanced over at your daughters, who were now somehow sharing a single chair despite having two perfectly good ones.
You: Controlled chaos.
Melissa: Sounds accurate.
You smiled faintly, rinsing your hands and drying them off as you leaned your hip against the counter.
You: We survived breakfast. That’s a win.
Melissa: I’m proud of you.
It was such a simple message.
But it made you pause for a second.
Because… it didn’t feel like a joke.
Not entirely.
It felt like she meant it.
And that—
that still caught you off guard.
---
The conversation slipped into place easily after that.
Like it always seemed to.
You told her about your morning in small pieces—nothing dramatic, just the little things.
She told you about hers—waking up disoriented, trying to remember what day it was, debating whether coffee was worth the effort.
You found yourself smiling more than you realized.
Laughing, too.
Soft, quiet moments in between everything else.
---
“Mommy,” one of your daughters said, tugging on your shirt, “can we go outside?”
You glanced down at her. “Outside?”
“Yes. Please.”
The second one popped up beside her. “Please.”
You hesitated, then nodded. “Okay. Shoes first.”
They cheered like you’d just given them the best news of their lives.
You shook your head, grabbing your phone and slipping it into your pocket before helping them get ready.
---
The air outside was soft.
Not too warm, not too cold.
Just… easy.
Your daughters ran ahead immediately, laughter filling the small space as they chased each other across the grass.
You followed at a slower pace, keeping a careful eye on them while letting yourself breathe for a second.
Your phone buzzed again in your pocket.
You pulled it out.
Melissa: What are you up to now?
You glanced up, watching your daughters spin in circles until they almost fell over.
You snapped a quick picture—sunlight, messy hair, pure chaos—and sent it.
You: This.
There was a pause.
Then—
Melissa: That looks like a good day.
You looked at the screen for a second longer than necessary.
Because it was.
Even before all of this—before her—it was a good day.
Just… busy.
Full.
Now, it felt like something else too.
You: It is.
The typing bubble appeared.
Disappeared.
Came back.
Melissa: I like seeing this part of your life.
Your breath caught slightly.
You looked up again, watching your daughters laugh as one tripped and immediately popped back up like nothing happened.
Then back at your phone.
You: Most people don’t.
It was honest.
Simple.
True.
A pause.
Then—
Melissa: Then they’re missing out.
You swallowed.
Because that—
that mattered.
More than you wanted to admit.
You leaned back slightly, letting the sun hit your face as you typed.
You: It’s a lot.
The reply came slower this time.
More deliberate.
Melissa: I don’t mind “a lot.”
Your chest tightened.
In a good way.
A real way.
You stared at the message, reading it over once… twice.
Because there it was.
Not a grand statement.
Not a promise.
But something solid.
Something that didn’t feel temporary.
---
“Mommy, watch!” one of your daughters called.
You looked up immediately. “I’m watching!”
She jumped, landing a little unevenly but grinning like she’d just stuck the landing perfectly.
“That was amazing,” you told her, completely serious.
She beamed.
You glanced back down at your phone.
At the conversation.
At the space she was slowly, carefully stepping into.
And something clicked.
This didn’t have to be separate.
Your life… and this.
They didn’t have to exist in different boxes.
You didn’t have to hide one from the other.
Not with her.
Not like this.
You typed slowly this time.
Thinking about it.
Choosing it.
You: You could see it in person sometime.
You froze for half a second after sending it.
Your heart immediately started pounding.
Too soon.
Was that too soon?
You shouldn’t have—
Your phone buzzed.
You opened it quickly.
Melissa: I’d like that.
Your breath caught.
A second message followed.
Melissa: Whenever you’re ready.
And just like that—
the pressure disappeared.
No rush.
No expectations.
Just… possibility.
You exhaled slowly, a small smile pulling at your lips as you looked up again.
Your daughters were still running.
Still laughing.
Still yours.
And now—
maybe—
there was space for something else too.
Not replacing anything.
Not taking away from it.
Just… adding.
You slipped your phone back into your pocket, stepping forward as one of your daughters ran straight into your arms.
“Got you,” you laughed, lifting her easily.
The other one followed immediately.
Of course she did.
You held them both as best as you could, their laughter filling the air around you.
It slipped in somewhere between opening your eyes and realizing one of your daughters had, once again, migrated sideways across the bed like she owned it.
“Mommy,” the other one whispered, inches from your face, “I’m hungry.”
You groaned softly, dragging a hand down your face. “Of course you are.”
She smiled like that was the best news she’d heard all day.
You turned your head slightly, squinting toward the nightstand.
Your phone sat there, quiet.
No new messages.
And still—you reached for it.
Just to check.
Nothing.
You told yourself that was normal.
She worked nights. She’d probably just gotten home. Or maybe she was still at the hospital. Or asleep. Or—
“Mommyyyyy.”
Right.
Real life.
You pushed the thoughts aside and sat up slowly, carefully untangling yourself from small limbs and blankets.
“Okay, okay. Breakfast,” you muttered.
---
The morning moved fast.
Too fast.
Cereal spilled.
Milk got everywhere.
Someone cried because the spoon was “wrong,” even though it was identical to the one they used yesterday.
You handled it all on autopilot, moving through the motions like you always did.
But there was a thread of distraction running underneath it.
A quiet awareness.
Of your phone sitting just out of reach.
Of the fact that you were waiting.
You tried not to be.
You really did.
---
By the time you dropped your daughters off—bags packed, kisses given, reassurances whispered—you felt that familiar shift.
The one that came when the noise stopped.
When it was just… you.
You sat in your car for a second longer than necessary, hands resting on the steering wheel.
Then—
your phone buzzed.
Your heart jumped before you could stop it.
You grabbed it, unlocking the screen quickly.
A message.
From—
Melissa King
Melissa: Sorry. Late night turned into a longer morning.
You let out a breath, tension you didn’t realize you were holding easing almost instantly.
You: You don’t have to apologize.
The reply came a little slower this time.
Melissa: I know.
A pause.
Then—
Melissa: Still feel like I should.
You smiled faintly, leaning back against your seat.
You: How bad was it?
There was a longer pause.
You almost thought she wouldn’t answer.
Then—
Melissa: Busy. No one died. That’s usually how I measure “good.”
Your chest tightened slightly at that.
Because that was her normal.
Her baseline.
You swallowed.
You: I’m glad it was a “good” night then.
Melissa: Me too.
---
You sat there for a moment, the quiet of your car wrapping around you.
Then—
Melissa: What about you? Survive the morning?
You huffed a small laugh.
You: Barely. There was a spoon-related meltdown.
Melissa: That sounds serious.
You: It was. Very high stakes.
Melissa: I’ll keep you in my thoughts during this difficult time.
You laughed—actually laughed—shaking your head.
The tension from earlier melted away just like that.
God.
She was easy to talk to.
Too easy.
---
Melissa: Are you working today?
You hesitated.
You: Later. I have a few hours to myself first.
There was a beat.
Then—
Melissa: That’s rare, right?
You blinked slightly.
You: Yeah. It is.
Another pause.
This one felt… different.
Like something was building toward it.
Melissa: Can I ask you something kind of selfish?
Your heart skipped.
You: Depends.
You tried to keep it light.
Your fingers didn’t feel light.
Melissa: Would you want to talk? Like… actually talk.
You froze.
Not in a bad way.
Just—
still.
Because that was different.
Messaging was one thing.
Safe.
Contained.
But this?
A call?
That crossed a line.
A small one.
But a real one.
Your grip on your phone tightened slightly.
Your mind started racing ahead—what would you say, what if it was awkward, what if—
You stopped yourself.
Breathed.
Because this wasn’t pressure.
She asked.
She didn’t assume.
Didn’t push.
You looked out through the windshield, sunlight hitting the dashboard in soft lines.
Then back at your phone.
You: A phone call?
The reply came quickly this time.
Melissa: Yeah. If that’s okay.
A beat.
Melissa: If not, that’s okay too.
There it was.
An out.
An easy one.
You could take it.
Stay where it was comfortable.
Safe.
But—
you thought about the last few days.
About how natural it all felt.
About how you were already looking forward to hearing from her.
And maybe—
this was just the next step.
Not a big one.
Just… the next one.
You exhaled slowly.
You: Okay.
Your heart immediately started pounding.
Too late now.
The typing bubble popped up almost instantly.
Melissa: Yeah?
You smiled faintly.
You: Yeah.
There was a pause.
Then—
Melissa: I can call you when I get home. After I sleep for a bit.
You nodded to yourself.
You: That works.
A beat.
Then—
Melissa: Okay.
You stared at the screen for a second longer than necessary.
Because suddenly—
this felt real in a way it hadn’t before.
You were going to hear her voice.
Not just read her words.
Not just imagine the tone.
It was a different kind of closeness.
And it made your stomach flip in a way you weren’t entirely prepared for.
Melissa: I’ll text you first.
You: Okay.
Another pause.
Neither of you ending it right away.
Like you were both aware something had shifted.
Melissa: Get some time to yourself today.
You: I’ll try.
Melissa: Talk later.
You smiled softly.
You: Later.
---
The screen went dark.
But you didn’t move right away.
You just sat there, phone still in your hand, heart still beating a little too fast.
Because this—
this wasn’t just messages anymore.
This was a voice.
A conversation.
Something you couldn’t edit or overthink before sending.
By the time afternoon rolled around, you were running on fumes.
Not the dramatic kind.
The quiet kind.
The kind that came from answering the same question twelve times, mediating toddler arguments that made absolutely no sense, and cleaning up spills that seemed to appear out of nowhere.
“Mommy,” one of your daughters said, standing in front of you with her hands on her hips, “she took my crayon.”
“I did not!” the other argued immediately, clutching the very obvious crayon in question.
You closed your eyes for a second.
Just one.
“Okay,” you said, opening them again and holding your hand out. “Crayon.”
There was hesitation.
Then a slow, reluctant surrender.
“Thank you,” you said, passing it back to the rightful owner. “And what do we say?”
“Sorry,” came the mumbled response.
“Good job.”
Peace lasted approximately thirty seconds.
You didn’t even question it anymore.
---
Nap time was… a negotiation.
A long one.
But eventually—eventually—you got them down.
The apartment fell into that rare, golden silence.
You stood in the middle of the living room for a second, just… taking it in.
No cartoons.
No tiny footsteps.
No voices calling your name.
Just quiet.
You exhaled slowly and reached for your phone.
No new messages.
You tried not to feel that small flicker of disappointment.
She said she’d be sleeping.
That made sense.
It was fine.
Totally fine.
You set your phone down on the counter and moved toward the sink, rinsing out cups, wiping down surfaces—keeping yourself busy in that automatic, muscle-memory way.
But your mind kept drifting.
Back to the messages.
To her.
To the way it all felt… easy.
And that was the part that made you nervous.
Because easy didn’t usually last.
---
Your phone buzzed.
You froze.
Then turned slowly, like it might disappear if you moved too fast.
Another message.
Your heart picked up as you grabbed it.
From—
Melissa King
Melissa: Hey. I survived my nap.
You let out a small breath, smiling despite yourself.
You: Congratulations. That’s impressive.
The typing bubble popped up almost instantly.
Melissa: It was touch and go for a minute there.
You laughed quietly, leaning back against the counter.
You: I believe it.
There was a pause.
Then—
Melissa: How’s your day going? Still surviving?
You glanced down the hallway toward your daughters’ room, where blessed silence still reigned.
You: They’re napping. So currently? Yes.
Melissa: That sounds like a win.
You: It is. I don’t trust it, though.
Melissa: You shouldn’t.
You smiled again.
God, this was easy.
Too easy.
You pushed that thought away.
---
The conversation drifted naturally, like it had earlier—small pieces of your lives shared back and forth.
She told you about her shift in bits and pieces—not details, not anything heavy, just enough for you to understand the pace of her world.
Busy.
Unpredictable.
Constant.
You found yourself asking questions without even thinking about it.
And she answered them.
All of them.
No deflection.
No distance.
Just… honesty.
At some point, you ended up sitting back on the couch, one leg tucked under you, completely pulled into the conversation.
Until—
Melissa: Can I ask you something?
You paused.
Your thumb hovered over the screen.
You: Yeah. Of course.
The typing bubble lingered longer this time.
Like she was choosing her words carefully.
Melissa: Why Tinder?
You blinked.
Of all the questions you expected…
That wasn’t one of them.
You leaned your head back against the couch, staring at the ceiling for a moment.
Because the easy answer?
Would’ve been I don’t know.
But that wouldn’t be true.
Not really.
Your gaze dropped back to your phone.
You could brush it off.
Make a joke.
Change the subject.
That would be safer.
But something about her—about the way she asked—made you want to answer honestly.
So you did.
You: I think I just… got tired of being alone.
You stared at the message for a second before sending it.
Then—
you hit send before you could second-guess yourself.
Your heart started pounding almost immediately.
Too honest.
That was too honest.
You shouldn’t have—
Your phone buzzed.
You braced yourself as you opened it.
Melissa: Yeah.
That was it.
Just one word.
But it didn’t feel dismissive.
It felt… understanding.
You exhaled slowly.
Another message came through.
Melissa: I get that.
Your shoulders dropped slightly, tension easing.
You typed back, a little more cautiously this time.
You: What about you?
A pause.
Then—
Melissa: Same reason.
You blinked.
Something about that settled deep in your chest.
Because suddenly, this didn’t feel one-sided.
Didn’t feel like you were the only one stepping into something uncertain.
She was right there too.
---
A small sound came from down the hall.
You glanced up instinctively.
Right on cue.
“Mommyyyy!”
You smiled, shaking your head.
You: Nap time is over. Chaos resumes.
Melissa: Good luck.
You hesitated.
Then—
You: Talk later?
A few seconds passed.
Then—
Melissa: Yeah. Later.
You smiled softly, setting your phone down as you stood up.
“Coming!” you called, heading toward the hallway.
Your daughters were already climbing out of bed, hair messy, faces still sleepy.
“Hi, babies,” you said, crouching down as they ran into your arms.
The moment wrapped around you instantly—warm, loud, real.
Grounding.
And as you held them, listening to their overlapping stories about dreams that didn’t quite make sense—
You realized something.
This—your life—wasn’t something you had to work around.
Or hide.
Or apologize for.
And maybe—
just maybe—
it was something someone else could step into, too.
Not all at once.
Not perfectly.
But slowly.
Gently.
Like this.
You pressed a kiss to each of their heads, smiling.
Currently writing every chapter mostly 20 and started next week slowly releasing one chapter every day or every other day or twice a day still thinking of posting schedule
Here's chapter 1 and chapter 2 and the masterlist for description
But it sat there on the couch beside you like it knew—screen dark, silent, holding entirely too much power over your mood for something so small.
“Mommy, watch this!”
You turned just in time to see one of your daughters dramatically jump off the bottom stair, arms flailing like she’d just performed an Olympic-level stunt.
You gasped, playing along. “Oh my goodness! Are you okay?!”
“I’m okay,” she said proudly, already climbing back up to do it again.
Of course she was.
Three-year-olds were apparently indestructible.
“Alright, no more jumping,” you added, softer this time. “Feet stay on the floor.”
“Yes, Mommy,” they both chorused—already not listening.
Your gaze flicked back to your phone.
Still nothing.
You told yourself it didn’t matter.
People had lives. Jobs. Responsibilities.
She was a doctor, for God’s sake.
That thought lingered.
Emergency medicine.
Long shifts. Chaos. No breaks.
It made sense she hadn’t replied yet.
Still…
Your stomach twisted anyway.
“Mommy,” the other twin said, crawling into your lap again. “You sad?”
You blinked, caught off guard. “What? No, baby. I’m not sad.”
She studied you in that unnervingly perceptive way kids had. “You sure?”
“I’m sure,” you said, brushing her hair back gently. “Just tired.”
That, at least, wasn’t a lie.
---
Dinner came and went in its usual blur—negotiating bites, wiping spills, reminding them that crayons were not for the table.
Bath time followed.
Then pajamas.
Then stories.
Then water.
Then another story because apparently one was never enough.
By the time you finally got them into bed—again—you felt like collapsing right there on the floor.
Instead, you made your way back to the living room, sinking onto the couch with a long exhale.
Your phone lit up.
Your heart jumped.
You grabbed it so fast you almost dropped it.
A notification.
From Tinder.
Your pulse picked up as you unlocked the screen.
A message.
From—
Melissa King
You stared at it for a second before opening it, your breath catching slightly.
Melissa: Hey 🙂 Sorry—long shift. Just saw this. Hi.
You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.
She answered.
She actually answered.
And somehow, that felt bigger than it should’ve.
You read the message again.
Long shift.
Of course.
You leaned back into the couch, staring at the screen, your mind suddenly blank.
What were you supposed to say now?
You’d gotten this far on impulse.
Now it felt… real.
“Okay,” you muttered under your breath. “You can do this.”
You typed.
Deleted.
Typed again.
Deleted again.
“Seriously?” you whispered to yourself.
You were a grown woman.
You handled toddlers, bills, work, life—
and yet one message had you completely spiraling.
Your phone buzzed again.
You froze.
Another message.
From her.
Melissa: How’s your night going?
You blinked.
A second message.
She didn’t just reply—she kept the conversation going.
Something in your chest eased.
Maybe this didn’t have to be so complicated.
Maybe it could just be… talking.
You swallowed, then started typing again.
You: It’s been busy lol. Just got my twins to bed.
You hesitated for half a second.
Then hit send.
There it was.
No hiding it. No easing into it later.
Just the truth.
You watched the screen like it might disappear.
The little typing bubble appeared almost immediately.
Your heart jumped again.
Melissa: Twins?
You huffed a quiet laugh.
You: Yeah. 3 years old. They’re a handful.
The typing bubble came back.
Melissa: I can imagine. I barely survive a shift in the ER—I don’t know how you do that every day.
You blinked at the screen.
Then read it again.
Because… that wasn’t judgment.
It wasn’t hesitation.
It wasn’t the usual awkward silence that came after mentioning your kids.
It was… respect.
Understanding.
You felt something warm settle in your chest.
You: Honestly? Some days I don’t 😂
A pause.
Then—
Melissa: That’s fair.
You smiled.
Actually smiled.
Your shoulders relaxed without you realizing it, the tension from earlier slowly slipping away.
For a while, the conversation stayed easy.
Simple.
You learned she worked nights more often than not. That she ran on caffeine and stubbornness. That she had a dry sense of humor that caught you off guard in the best way.
And she asked about you.
Not in a polite, surface-level way.
In a way that felt like she actually wanted to know.
Time slipped by without you noticing.
Until—
“Mommy?”
You turned, startled, as one of your daughters stood in the hallway again, rubbing her eyes.
“I can’t sleep.”
You softened immediately, setting your phone down.
“Hey, it’s okay,” you said, standing and walking over. “Come on.”
She wrapped her arms around your leg, clinging.
You picked her up, settling her against your hip.
“Stay with me?” she mumbled.
“Always,” you murmured.
You carried her back to the couch, sitting down carefully as she curled into you, already drifting off again.
Your phone buzzed softly beside you.
You glanced at it.
Another message from Melissa.
You hesitated this time.
Not because you didn’t want to answer.
But because… this mattered now.
More than it had an hour ago.
You picked up your phone, careful not to wake your daughter, and opened the message.
Melissa: I’d like to keep talking, if that’s okay.
Your breath caught slightly.
Simple words.
But they landed heavy.
Intentional.
Real.
You looked down at your daughter sleeping against you.
Your phone buzzed somewhere beneath a pile of unfolded laundry, the sharp vibration cutting through the quiet hum of your apartment.
“Mommy!”
Two small voices followed immediately after, accompanied by the sound of tiny feet thundering across the living room. You barely had time to glance up before your twin girls launched themselves at you, giggling, sticky hands grabbing at your arms.
“Easy, easy—hey!” you laughed, catching one before she toppled over. “What did I say about running in the house?”
They ignored you completely, as usual.
Typical.
Being a single mom to three-year-old twins meant your life was… full. Loud. Messy. Beautiful, but exhausting in a way no one really prepared you for. By the time you got them fed, bathed, and halfway settled, you were lucky if you had the energy to breathe—let alone think about dating.
Which made the dating app on your phone feel almost ridiculous.
You hadn’t even meant to download Tinder.
It had been one of those late-night decisions—wine in hand, the girls finally asleep, loneliness creeping in around the edges. You told yourself it was harmless. Just curiosity. Just something to remind yourself you still existed outside of being “Mom.”
You definitely didn’t expect anything to come from it.
“Mommy, juice!” one of the girls demanded.
“Juice is in the fridge, baby. Use your words—please,” you corrected gently, standing and brushing off your jeans.
“Pleeeease,” they echoed in unison.
You smiled despite yourself and headed toward the kitchen, grabbing two sippy cups and pouring apple juice like it was part of some sacred ritual. Because, honestly, it kind of was.
By the time you handed them over, your phone buzzed again.
You frowned slightly.
That was new.
Most of your matches—well, the very few you had—either fizzled out after one awkward message or never responded at all. Not that you blamed them. Your profile was pretty upfront.
Late 40s. Single mom. Twin toddlers. No time for games.
Not exactly the most enticing pitch.
Still, curiosity tugged at you.
You wiped your hands on a dish towel and went back to the couch, digging your phone out from under a rogue sock and a tiny stuffed animal.
Another notification.
Your heart did something strange—like it skipped, then rushed to catch up.
You unlocked your phone.
It’s a match!
You blinked.
“…What?”
For a second, you thought maybe Tinder was glitching. Or maybe you’d accidentally swiped right on someone earlier without realizing it.
That had to be it.
There was no way—
You tapped the notification.
And then you saw her.
Melissa King
Her profile picture was simple—no filters, no over-the-top posing. Just a soft smile, dark hair pulled back, eyes that somehow felt warm even through a screen. There was something calm about her. Grounded.
Real.
Your stomach flipped.
You scrolled.
Melissa, 34
Doctor at PTMC
Coffee enthusiast. Early mornings. Looking for something real.
You actually laughed under your breath, a mix of disbelief and nerves.
“Okay… yeah, this is definitely a mistake.”
Because why would someone like her swipe right on someone like you?
You glanced down at your own profile picture in the corner—a candid shot one of your friends insisted on taking. You looked… tired. Soft around the edges. Older than you felt some days.
And then there was the rest of it.
The kids.
The chaos.
The baggage.
“Mommy?” one of the twins called, tugging on your sleeve. “Why you making that face?”
You blinked, snapping out of it. “What face?”
“That face,” she said, dramatically scrunching her own features in an exaggerated imitation.
You laughed softly. “I don’t make that face.”
“Yes you do,” the other chimed in, completely unhelpful.
You shook your head, but your grip on your phone tightened just a little.
Because this… this felt different.
Not like the half-hearted matches before. Not like the empty conversations that never went anywhere.
This felt… intentional.
Your thumb hovered over the screen.
You could just leave it.
Ignore it. Let it fade into nothing like all the others.
That would be easier.
Safer.
But then you looked at her profile again.
At that small, genuine smile.
At the words looking for something real.
Your heart thudded.
“…Okay,” you murmured to yourself.
Before you could overthink it—before doubt could creep in and convince you otherwise—you tapped the message box.
And typed:
Hi.
You stared at it for a second, debating.
Then, with a shaky breath, you hit send.
The message whooshed away, far too fast to take back.
Your stomach flipped again.
“What did I just do?” you whispered.
But even as the nerves set in, something else settled quietly beneath them.
