February 14, 2026 – Valentine’s Day.
We’d made it through January without another blowup.
The jealousy still simmered, but we’d learned to live with it: quick check-ins after nights out, reassurance texts, extra tenderness when the insecurity flared.
Damien planned something small for Valentine’s—nothing public, of course. He cooked at his house: steak, roasted potatoes, chocolate mousse he made from scratch. Candles on the table. Soft music. The fireplace going.
Mia thought he was working late. I told my parents I was having a girls’ night with “friends from college.”
We ate slowly, knees touching under the table, stealing kisses between bites.
After dinner, he gave me a gift: a delicate silver necklace with a tiny star pendant. “For Starry,” he said quietly. “So you have something
