Dawn breaks over the cemetery in shades of pink and gold. The colours remind me of Riley's paintings - how she always finds beauty in the spaces between light and dark. Early morning mist clings to the grass, making everything look softer somehow. Less real.

Riley stands before her parents' headstone, hands wrapped around a cup of hot chocolate that's long gone cold. She's wearing one of my old hoodies over her painting clothes, sleeves pulled down over her hands.

She hasn't moved in twenty minutes.

From where I stand, I can see the tension in her shoulders, the way she's holding herself together through sheer force of will.

The morning air carries the scent of autumn leaves and fresh-cut grass, mixed with the lingering sweetness of the flowers someone left recently - probably Lucy, who sneaks here sometimes to tell her parents about her science projects.

My chest aches watching Riley. She looks small against the rising sun, like she's carrying the weight of too many unspoken words. I stay slightly behind her, close enough to catch her if she falls but far enough to give her space.

We've learned that over months of therapy - when to hold on, when to let go, when to simply be present.

"I used to come here every morning," she says finally. Her voice sounds raw, like these are the first words she's spoken in years. "After... after everything. I would sit here for hours, telling them about Lucy, about school, about all the things they were missing."

I stay quiet, letting her talk. Sometimes silence says more than words ever could.

"Then one day I just... stopped." Her fingers tighten around the cup. "Like if I didn't come here, didn't talk to them, maybe it wouldn't be real." Her voice cracks on the last word. "Maybe they'd just be at work or the store or..."

She trails off, tears falling silently down her cheeks.

"Tell them about college," I suggest softly.

She looks at me, surprised. Something shifts in her expression - like she's remembering she's not alone anymore. Then turns back to the headstone.

"I got into the art therapy program," she says, voice shaking. "Full scholarship. I'm... I'm going to help people. Like I couldn't help you."

Her fingers trace the dates on the stone, lingering on that terrible day. The day that changed everything.

"And I met someone," she continues, stronger now. "Someone who showed me that it's okay to need help sometimes. That it's okay to not be okay."

I move closer, resting my hand on her shoulder. Through the thick fabric of the hoodie, I can feel her trembling.

"He saved my life," she says, and my heart stops at the raw honesty in her voice. "The way I couldn't save yours. The way I almost... almost followed you, that night on the bridge."

My heart clenches at the memory. Of realizing how close I came to never meeting her at all.

"But I'm still here." Her voice grows stronger, like she's finally letting herself believe it. "I'm still here, and I'm trying. To live. To heal. To be someone you'd be proud of."

"They would be," I say quietly. "They are."

She turns into me then, finally letting the sobs come. They tear out of her like they've been waiting years to escape. I hold her while she breaks, while she lets herself feel everything she's been running from.

Her tears soak through my shirt, but I don't care. I just hold her tighter, being the anchor she's been for me so many times.

When she quiets, I lead her to the car where I've packed everything for today. Blankets, thermoses of real hot chocolate—not the cold one she never drank—the photo album we've been working on for weeks.

"Ready for part two?" I ask as she wipes her eyes. The morning sun catches on her damp cheeks, making her look almost ethereal.

She manages a small nod, squeezing my hand before letting go.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

The star room is transformed when we arrive. Lucy's been up since dawn - her excitement too big to contain. Fairy lights weave between painted constellations, turning the ceiling into a living galaxy. Pillows and blankets cover every surface, creating the kind of nest Riley makes when she needs to feel safe.

Riley's favourite snacks sit in the centre. There's the chocolate covered pretzels she stress-eats during bad days, the sour candy she shares with Lucy during movie nights, even those weird strawberry things only she seems to like.

"Happy birthday, Riley!" Lucy launches herself at her sister with her usual boundless enthusiasm. "Do you like it? Uncle James helped with the lights but I did everything else and—"

She stops as Riley hugs her tight, like she's trying to merge their broken pieces back together.

"It's perfect, Lu." Riley's voice is hoarse but sincere. The tears from earlier are still there, but now they're mixed with something that looks like joy. "Absolutely perfect."

We spend a few hours looking through photos. Not just old ones of her parents, but new ones too. Each page tells a story of healing, of finding light in dark places. The team celebrating after games, Riley perched on my shoulders with her camera. Her and Lucy painting constellations at 3 AM when neither could sleep. Me and Riley at the quarry, at Lou's Diner, on the football field.

Each memory carefully chosen to show her how far she's come. How much she's loved. How many reasons she has to stay.

"Remember this?" Lucy points to a picture of Riley mid-cartwheel in the bleachers, her hair a wild halo around her face. "When you were trying to cheer Ethan up?"

Riley actually laughs, the sound lighter than it's been all day. "I nearly broke my neck."

"Worth it though," I say, remembering that day. How the darkness had been pressing in, how everything had felt heavy until she appeared. "That was the first time I really laughed in months."

She looks at me, something soft in her expression. "Yeah. Worth it."

The day passes in a blur of movies and memories. Lucy insists on watching all of Riley's favorites, even the terrible sci-fi ones where the stars are scientifically inaccurate.

Uncle James joins us for pizza, bringing a small cake that Lucy decorated with edible glitter. It's lopsided and the frosting is uneven, but the stars she drew in silver icing are perfect. Just like the real Quinn sisters - not perfect, but exactly right.

"Mom would have loved this," Riley says as we clean up. Her voice catches, but doesn't break. Progress. "The mess, the noise, all of it."

"Yeah?"

She nods, running her finger through some stray frosting. "They always made my birthdays crazy. Special." She takes a shaky breath, but her smile stays. "I think... I think maybe it's okay to make them special again."

I kiss her forehead. "That's the plan."

The room feels different now, warmer somehow. Like the ghost of her parents' love lingers in the laughter, in the mess, in the way Lucy keeps sneaking extra pieces of cake when she thinks we're not looking.

It's not the same as having them here. Nothing ever will be. But maybe it's enough to carry their joy forward, to honor their memory by living fully, by loving fiercely.

By choosing to stay.

As sunset approaches, we head to the bridge. The lanterns are already there, waiting to be lit. Each one represents something different - a memory, a hope, a promise. The paper is delicate in the evening breeze, like they might float away before we even light them.

Riley freezes when she sees them. Her hand tightens in mine, pulse racing against my palm. This bridge holds too many memories - both the night she saved me and the night she almost jumped herself.

"We don't have to," I say quickly, already preparing to pack everything up. "We can—"

"No." She squares her shoulders, chin lifting in that defiant way I've come to love. "I want to. I need to."

We each take a lantern. Lucy goes first, her enthusiasm cutting through the tension. She releases hers with a wish for her hamster to live forever, making Riley laugh through her tears. The lantern catches an updraft, spinning like a dancer against the darkening sky.

Uncle James sends his up next, a quiet tribute to his brother and sister-in-law. To the family he's lost and the nieces he's protecting.

Riley's hands shake as she lights hers. The flame flickers, catching the tears on her cheeks.

"For Mom and Dad," she whispers, voice barely audible over the wind. "For forgiving myself. For..." Her voice catches, steadies. "For choosing to stay."

The lantern rises. I watch her face as she watches it climb, seeing the moment something shifts in her expression. Like she's finally letting go of something she's been carrying too long.

My heart swells as I light mine. The paper warms under my fingers, glowing like a star about to take flight.

"For ice cream sandwiches and star facts," I say, making her smile. "For the girl who saved my life by refusing to leave me alone."

Our lanterns dance together in the air.

"Look." Lucy points upward, her voice filled with wonder. "The first star."

Riley smiles through her tears, and for a moment she looks exactly like her sister. That same pure joy. "Did you know that some cultures believe the first star you see at night is actually a loved one watching over you?"

"Is that true?" Lucy asks, eyes wide with hope.

"Maybe." Riley takes my hand, her fingers warm despite the evening chill. "I like to think so."

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

We stay until the stars come out fully, until the lanterns are just distant points of light among the real ones. The bridge feels different now - less like a place of endings and more like a beginning. Like we're rewriting its story with each breath, each moment, each choice to stay.

"One more stop," I say as we drop Lucy and Uncle James at home.

"The quarry?" Riley asks, but I shake my head, driving toward Lou's Diner.

"Ice cream and milkshakes," she adds.

I park in our usual spot, the one where we've spent countless nights talking about stars and futures and all the ways love saves us. "No Neapolitan in sight."

She laughs, the sound lighter than I've heard all day. Like she's finally letting herself feel joy without guilt. "You know, I think I was wrong about Neapolitan."

"Oh?"

"Yeah." She turns to face me, and in the glow of the diner lights, she looks like every dream I never let myself have. "Sometimes things that seem like they shouldn't work together... they end up being exactly what you need."

I cup her face, wiping away the last traces of tears with my thumb. Her skin is warm under my touch, alive with all the possibilities we never thought we'd have. "Like a star quarterback and a girl with a camera?"

"Like a boy on a bridge and a girl with ice cream." She leans into my touch. "Thank you. For today. For everything."

"Thank you for staying." I rest my forehead against hers, breathing in the familiar scent of paint and possibility. "For letting me help. For being brave enough to feel everything instead of running."

She kisses me then, soft and sweet and tasting of birthday cake. Of promises kept and bridges crossed. Of all the ways love teaches us to be brave.

"Happy birthday, Riley Quinn."

She smiles—really smiles, the kind that reaches her eyes and chases away shadows. The kind that makes me believe in impossible things, like stars that save each other and hearts that heal.

"Happy new beginning, Ethan Carter."

We go inside, claiming our usual booth by the window. The diner is quiet at this hour, just a few night shift workers and other insomniacs seeking refuge.

The waitress doesn't even need our order anymore. She brings us too many milkshakes, each one a different flavor because Riley still can't decide which she likes best. Says she's making up for lost time, for all the flavors she might have missed.

We talk about stars until dawn, her voice growing softer but never stopping. About grief and healing and all the ways love saves us. About how her parents used to take her stargazing.

"They'd love you, you know," she says as the sky begins to lighten. "My parents. They'd love how you make me laugh, how you understand about the stars."

"Yeah?"

She nods, playing with her straw. "They always said love should make you more yourself, not less. That it should give you roots and wings at the same time."

"Is that what we do?" I take her hand across the table, tracing the faint scars that tell her story. "Give each other roots and wings?"

"I think so." She looks outside, then back at me. "You give me somewhere safe to land, but you never try to clip my wings. Never try to fix me or change me. Just... love me through the broken parts until they start to heal."

The sun breaks over the horizon, painting everything in new light. Like the universe is saying yes, this. This is what healing looks like. This is what love does.

About how sometimes the hardest days become the most important ones. About how sometimes the deepest pain leads to the greatest healing. About how sometimes two broken people can make each other whole again.

Not perfect. But whole. And that's even better.

Riley squeezes my hand. "Ready to go home?"

Home.

"Yeah." I stand, pulling her up with me. "Let's go home."