The letters are spread across my desk like fallen leaves. Harvard. Yale. Princeton. State. All the schools a Carter is supposed to want.

And one more. Smaller. Local. With an excellent psychology program and a football team that doesn't make national headlines.

Just fifteen minutes from the art therapy program Riley's applying to.

My fingers trace over Highland University's emblem. Two months ago, I wouldn't have even considered it. Would have automatically reached for Harvard's crimson letter because that's what was expected. What was planned since before I could walk.

Funny how nearly jumping off a bridge changes your perspective on things.

A text lights up my phone - Riley sending me a photo of her own letter to Highland's art therapy program. She's got paint smudges on the corners already, probably from where she was holding it with charcoal-stained fingers. Below it, she's written:

"No pressure. Choose your own stars."

That's the thing about Riley - she never pushes, never demands. Just offers possibilities and lets me find my way to them.

"You can't be serious." Dad stares at the letter in my hand—my commitment to Highland University. "This is a joke, right?"

"No." My voice is steady, even though my heart is racing. "I'm going to Highland."

The look on his face makes me wish I'd asked Riley to be here for this. She has a way of diffusing tension with random star facts and impossible theories about ice cream flavors. But this is something I need to do alone.

"But Harvard—"

"Doesn't have what I want."

He runs a hand through his hair—a gesture I inherited, along with his green eyes and his tendency to carry the weight of expectations. The morning light catches on his wedding ring as he moves, and I think about all the choices that led us here. All the times he chose the path of perfect over the path of happiness.

I won't make the same mistakes.

"This is about that girl."

"Her name is Riley." I meet his gaze. "And yes, she's part of it. But not all of it."

"Ethan—"

"I want to study psychology." The words come easier now, after weeks of therapy and late-night conversations with Riley. "I want to help people who are drowning the way I was. The way I still am sometimes."

My father's face does something complicated - part pain, part pride, part something I can't name.

"You can do that at Harvard."

"But I don't want to." I pick up the Highland letter. The paper feels different from Harvard's thick cardstock. More real somehow. "I want to do it here. Where I can still play football without it consuming my life. Where I can build something that's mine, not just another piece of the Carter legacy."

"And Riley?"

"Is choosing her own path too." I think of her acceptance letter to the art therapy program, how her hands shook when she opened it. How Lucy danced around the kitchen when she heard, while her Uncle James pretended not to cry. "We're not choosing schools for each other. We're choosing ourselves and finding a way to do it together."

Dad sinks into my desk chair, looking suddenly old. "I don't understand."

"I know." I sit on my bed, facing him. The distance between us feels like more than just the few feet of carpet. "But I need you to try. I need you to understand that I can't keep living up to impossible standards. I can't keep trying to be perfect."

The trophies on my shelf catch the morning light, casting shadows that look like prison bars across my wall. Each one represents a moment when perfect wasn't quite perfect enough.

"I never wanted—"

"Yes, you did." The words don't hold anger anymore, just truth. "You wanted me to be perfect because that's what was expected of you. But I'm not you, Dad. And I can't keep pretending to be."

I think about all the mornings I spent throwing up before practice. All the nights studying until my vision blurred. All the times I smiled and nodded and swallowed down the screams building in my throat.

Silence stretches between us, filled with years of expectations and disappointments and things we never said.

"Tell me about Highland," he says finally.

The request catches me off guard. It's the first time he's ever asked what I want instead of telling me what I should want.

So I do. I tell him about their counseling program, about their focus on mental health and athlete support. About how their football team plays for love of the game, not just glory.

I tell him about the apartment Riley and I found nearby, small but with huge windows for her photography. About how Lucy's school is just a few blocks away. About the coffee shop on the corner where Riley already knows she wants to study, and the park where we can take Lucy for her science projects.

With each detail, I see something in his expression shift. Like he's finally seeing the life I want to build, not just the one he planned for me.

"You've really thought this through," he says when I finish.

"I had to." I meet his eyes. "Because I knew you'd fight me on it."

Something flickers across his face—pain or recognition or maybe both. He picks up the Harvard letter again, but this time he looks at it differently. Like maybe he's seeing his own choices reflected back at him.

"I'm trying," he says quietly. "To understand. To... to let you be who you are instead of who I think you should be."

"I know." I smile slightly. "Riley says that's progress."

"She's usually right about these things." He looks down at the letter, then back at me. "Are you sure about this?"

"Yes."

The certainty in my voice surprises us both. Two months ago, I couldn't even decide what to eat for breakfast without wondering if it was the "right" choice. Now I'm choosing my entire future, and for once, the path feels clear.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

Before I tell Riley how the talk went, I gather the team after practice. They deserve to know - these guys who've become more than teammates. Who supported me through therapy, through falling apart, through putting myself back together.

"So you're really not going to Harvard?" Mike asks, toweling off his hair.

"No." I brace myself for disappointment, for judgment.

Instead, Trevor throws his water bottle at me. "Thank god. Now I might actually get to play quarterback next year."

The tension breaks. Jackson starts planning road trips to Highland's games. Mike googles their football schedule, already talking about coordinating visits. Coach Reynolds appears in the doorway, a knowing look on his face.

"Good choice, Carter," is all he says. But coming from him, it means everything.

Later, I find Riley at hers in the star room. She's adding new constellations—not real ones this time, but patterns of her own making. Lucy's sitting cross-legged on the floor, carefully recording each new star pattern in her notebook.

"How'd it go?" Riley asks without turning around. Her oversized sweater has paint stains on the sleeves, and there's charcoal smudged behind her ear.

"Better than expected." I wrap my arms around her waist, resting my chin on her shoulder. Lucy makes exaggerated gagging noises, but she's smiling. "He's trying."

"Good." She leans back against me. "Because I have something to show you."

She points to the constellation she's painting—a bridge spanning the curve of the ceiling, stars scattered across it like footprints.

"What is it?"

"Us." She traces the pattern with her finger. "Where we started. Where we're going. All the moments in between."

Lucy bounces up, pointing to a cluster of stars near the bridge. "And that's me! Riley says I'm the Little Dipper because I'm small but important."

My heart swells watching them - these Quinn sisters who saved me in different ways. Lucy with her joy and Riley with her broken edges that somehow fit perfectly with mine.

"Speaking of moments..."

"Hmm?"

"Your birthday's in a week."

She tenses slightly, but doesn't pull away. Progress.

"I know."

Lucy goes very still, watching her sister with careful eyes. This will be Riley's first birthday without hiding, without pretending everything's okay.

"I was thinking..." I turn Riley to face me. "Maybe it's time for new traditions."

"What kind of traditions?"

"Well, first, no restaurants." I brush paint from her cheek. "Instead, we get Lucy and fill the star room with blankets. Order too much pizza. Watch terrible movies."

A small smile tugs at her lips. "What else?"

"We go to the bridge." I feel her tense again. "But not to mourn. To remember. To celebrate being alive."

"How?"

"By releasing lanterns. One for each thing we're grateful for. One for each reason to stay."

"I'd like that," she whispers to me.

"Yeah?"

She nods, then reaches up to touch my face. "You know what else I'd like?"

"What?"

"To paint a new constellation." She turns back to the ceiling. "Right here, next to the bridge. Something about choosing your own path."

"Even if it's not the one everyone expected?"

"Especially then." She picks up her brush. "Want to help?"

We spend the next hour adding stars to her ceiling, Lucy directing us with the seriousness of a tiny art critic. Some stars for the choices we're making. Some for the patterns we're breaking. Some just because we can.

The paint drips sometimes, making the stars look like they're crying. But maybe that's okay too. Maybe some stars need to cry before they can shine again.

"They're not perfect," I say, studying our work.

"No." She smiles, really smiles, and it's beautiful. "They're better than that. They're ours."

And maybe that's what breaking patterns looks like. Not grand gestures or perfect moments, but small choices. Choosing ourselves. Choosing each other. Choosing to live, even when it's messy and imperfect and scary.

Choosing to create our own constellations instead of following the ones others mapped out for us.

"I love you," I tell her, because I can. Because we're both alive to hear it.

She rises on her toes to kiss me. "I love you too. Even when you get paint in my hair."

"I did not—" I look up. "Okay, maybe I did."

Lucy makes a gagging sound. "You guys are gross. But like, cute gross."

Riley laughs, and so do I.

Somewhere in the room, I hear my phone buzzing - probably my father calling to talk more about Highland. But for now, I'm content here, surrounded by stars and sisters and the kind of love that saves lives.