August brings my twenty-second birthday.
"What do you want to do?" Marcus asks over breakfast. "Big party? Intimate dinner? Weekend away?"
"Honestly? Just us. Maybe the lake house. Nothing complicated."
"Nothing complicated sounds perfect."
We drive out Friday evening, bags packed for the weekend. The lake house has become our sanctuary—the place where we figure things out, where we're most ourselves.
"Two years since you bought this place for me," I observe as we pull up.
"Technically I put it in your name. There's a difference."
"You gave me a house. That's still a big deal."
"You deserved a place that was entirely yours. No strings, no obligations. Just yours."
We unpack and settle in. Marcus makes dinner while I sit on the porch watching the sunset paint the lake in impossible
