Us, In Another Ending

The car slowed at the grand stone gate.

Mildred adjusted the gold clasp on her handbag, though her fingers had gone cold. The driver rolled down his window, and from the other side, a man in uniform stepped forward and gave a polite nod.

"Welcome to the Ledger residence."

Her breath caught in her throat.

Ledger.

The name hit harder than she was ready for.

She didn't speak. Just stared as the iron gate creaked open, slow and certain-like fate itself.

Ledger.

It couldn't be.

Not him. Not here. Not now.

Still, her hand gripped her bag too tightly, knuckles pale. Her lips didn't move, but her mind was screaming.

Just a name, she tried to reason.

Just a coincidence.

But her gut knew better.

As they pulled up the curved drive, the house came into view-majestic, glowing with warm lights, soft laughter spilling through the windows. A beautiful home. A safe one.

But everything inside Mildred screamed: Danger.

She stepped out of the car.

The door opened.

And there he was.

Henry.

Older. Softer around the edges. But unmistakably him.

Time hadn't changed the way his presence clutched her ribs.

And from the way his eyes widened, just for a second..she knew he remembered, too.

They locked eyes.

And in that split second, decades collapsed. Everything she had buried, the fear, the fury, the guilt-came roaring back like a wave she couldn't outrun.

She didn't speak.

Neither did he.

Luke's hand touched her back gently. Crizzle stepped forward, cheerful, unaware.

"This is my dad, Henry," Mikey said, gesturing casually.

Henry said nothing.

Mildred didn't breathe.

Ophelia, elegant and composed, greeted them with a warmth that almost masked the ice that had just gripped the room. Almost.

For those who were watching closely, something had cracked beneath the surface.

Dinner was elegant.

A spread that belonged in a magazine. Laughter, wine, clinking silverware. Perfect on the outside.

But Mildred couldn't taste a thing.

Henry sat just across from her. He barely glanced her way.

But she could feel it...the silent current running beneath the table, sharp and cold.

Crizzle, halfway through a sip of wine, paused. Something was off. She felt it in the way her mother's smile didn't quite reach her eyes. But she didn't press.

Mikey, meanwhile, kept checking the time.

He wasn't nervous about the food or the guests.

He had a secret of his own.

And he couldn't hold it in anymore.

Mikey pressed forward, his throat tightening. He stood slowly, his chair scraping lightly behind him. His palms were sweaty.

"I... uh..." he cleared his throat. "Sorry, I didn't plan this. I mean, maybe I should've, but..."

He glanced nervously at his parents, then at Crizzle's.

His voice trembled.

"I love your daughter," he said, eyes flicking to Crizzle, then down to his shoes. "I-I've loved her for a while now. And I know... we're still young, and figuring things out, but I want to do this right. I want to... I want to be with her. Properly. With respect. With everything she deserves."

A few sharp intakes of breath.

Crizzle's fork dropped against her plate with a faint clink.

She didn't blink.

Mildred sat frozen, like ice sculpted in shock.

Henry's wine glass hung in the air.

Then...

"No. You can't!" they both shouted. Together.

Chairs scraped. The room stilled.

The music in the background played on, oddly cheerful. Mocking.

Crizzle turned sharply to her mom.

Mikey blinked. "W-What?"

Silence fell like a guillotine.

Then, from the end of the table, Mildred whispered it..

Not with cruelty. Not even with anger.

Just heartbreak.

"Because you are...."

Rosewood University – First Week of Class

Mikey Ledger wasn't late, but he might as well have been.

The campus buzzed like a kicked beehive suitcases dragged across cobblestones, students calling out to friends, and some freshman already locked in a battle with a jammed vending machine. The sun threw golden streaks over the redbrick buildings, and Mikey stood still in the chaos, sketchpad under one arm and absolutely no idea where to go next.

He spun his phone around in his palm, pretending he wasn't stalling. Google Maps had failed him for the third time. First day of college, and he already looked like a background character in someone else's story.

Then, a voice loud, amused, and a little bossy cut through the noise.

"Are you lost, or is this part of your brooding artist aesthetic?"

Mikey turned, eyebrows raised.

A girl stood a few feet away, balancing a steaming coffee, a huge canvas board, and a tote that was bleeding art supplies. Her hoodie had paint stains in at least five different colors. Her ponytail was loose, messy, and perfect.

She tilted her head. "Don't worry, I specialize in rescuing first-years who think they're too cool to ask for directions."

"I wasn't lost," Mikey replied, then immediately tripped over a crack in the pavement.

She blinked. "Right. Not lost at all."

He caught his balance, heat crawling up his neck. "Okay, maybe a little."

She shifted her grip on the canvas and offered him a smirk. "Follow me, Mystery Boy."

He didn't even hesitate.

"I'm Crizzle," she said as they walked toward the Fine Arts building.

"Mikey."

She nodded like she approved. "Nice. Mikey-the-mysterious. Sounds like someone who broods in the library and drinks black coffee even if he hates it."

"I do hate it."

"Knew it."

They slipped into the last two seats in the orientation hall, just as the dean started his welcome speech. Mikey tried to focus, but Crizzle kept whispering her own sarcastic version of the announcement.

"Five bucks says he practiced this speech in front of a mirror last night."

Mikey bit back a laugh. "More like ten. With dramatic hand gestures."

She snorted, earning a glare from a student in front of them.

By the end of the orientation, Mikey hadn't retained a single rule, but he knew Crizzle's favorite band, the name of her cat (Pickles), and her opinion on cafeteria food (do not trust the lasagna).

When they finally stepped outside, the sun had shifted, casting long shadows across the campus lawn.

"You hungry?" Crizzle asked. "There's a place near the dorms that sells decent fries. Kinda greasy. Kinda addictive."

Mikey nodded. "Lead the way, Rescuer of the Lost."

They sat by a window in a small, crowded diner just off campus, sharing a plate of over-salted fries. Crizzle talked fast jumping from art to music to her high school arch-nemesis who once ruined her mural with a spilled milkshake. Mikey just listened, half-staring, half-smiling, trying not to show how drawn in he was.

"So, what are you running from?" she asked, licking ketchup off her thumb. "Everyone in art school's running from something."

Mikey blinked. "Damn. Straight to the trauma?"

"Obviously."

He leaned back, tossing a fry into his mouth. "My dad wanted me in business school. Said art's a waste unless it's printed on money."

"And here you are."

"Yeah," he said, eyes dropping to his sketchpad. "Here I am."

Crizzle leaned forward, eyes serious for the first time. "Well, screw business school. You've got artist hands."

Mikey raised a brow. "Artist hands?"

"Yeah," she said, grabbing his hand and flipping it palm up. "See? These are the hands of someone who doesn't just want to draw-he needs to."

Her touch was light, but her words landed hard.

He didn't pull away.

She finally let go, then downed the rest of her soda. "Anyway. That's enough emotional depth for one day."

"Agreed," Mikey said, trying not to look flustered. "Let's go judge people's dorm decorations."

"You had me at judge."

Back at Fletcher Hall, they paused outside the elevator.

"Room 304," Crizzle said.

Mikey grinned. "302."

She stared at him. "You're kidding."

"Nope."

A pause. Then, "Okay, so, if you turn out to be secretly annoying, I'm moving."

"You'll miss me too much."

She rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered. "See you around, Mystery Boy."

And just like that, she was gone.

Mikey stood there for a beat longer, hand still holding the elevator button, heart doing a little tumble in his chest.

He didn't believe in fate. Not really.

But meeting her? It didn't feel random.