The Boy Who Knew Me First

Season 1

Episode 7

by Joxy

The Boy Who Knew Me First - Season 1, Episode 7: Spring Training

Chapter 1: CHAPTER 1: THE HEARING

Monday, February 17th - Winnipeg Law Courts Complex

The courthouse steps were concrete and salt-stained, winter refusing to release its grip on Winnipeg even as mid-February pushed toward March. Sophia stood between her parents, watching her breath cloud in the minus-fifteen air, and tried to remember how to be brave.

Eight weeks. Fifty-six days since she'd last seen Ethan in person, since that awful night at the hotel when everything shattered. Fifty-six days of silence enforced by legal documents, of her phone feeling like a dead thing in her pocket, of sleeping with his Concordia Hockey hoodie because it still smelled like him. Fifty-six days of wondering if fighting was pointless, if Robert Price's money and lawyers and control would simply win because that's how the world worked.

But her father—quiet, careful Professor Michael Chen who taught contract law at the University of Manitoba and had never represented anyone in court before—squeezed her shoulder and said, "Ready?"

And because she had to be, Sophia nodded.

The courthouse loomed above them, all brown brick and narrow windows, justice contained in something that looked more like a prison than hope. Media vans lined the street—someone had leaked the hearing, probably Robert's team, making it public to shame them—and Sophia felt the weight of cameras even though none were pointed their way yet. This was what Robert wanted: exposure, humiliation, control.

"Ignore them," her mother said, Grace Chen in her best suit, her hand finding Sophia's. "We walk in together. We walk out together."

Three figures emerged from a black town car at the curb: expensive suits, leather briefcases, the kind of polished that came from charging four hundred dollars an hour. Robert Price's lawyers. Sophia had researched them after Michael showed her the court filings. Gerald Whitmore, senior partner at Whitmore & Associates, who specialized in family law and had a reputation for destroying opposing counsel. His two associates flanked him like bodyguards.

They didn't look at Sophia's family. They walked past like wind, trailing expensive cologne and certainty.

"He's not here," Sophia said, scanning the steps. "Robert."

"He doesn't need to be," Michael said. "He sent his weapons."

Her father carried a single briefcase, worn leather that he'd had since graduate school. Against Whitmore's team, he looked like someone who'd brought a stick to a gunfight. But when Sophia had asked him why he was doing this—taking a case he had no experience with, going pro bono against one of the most expensive firms in Winnipeg—he'd said: "Because someone needs to, and because you showed me what courage looks like. Now let me show you what the law can do when it's on your side."

They climbed the steps. Sophia's legs felt distant, her body moving on automation while her mind raced ahead to the courtroom, to what she'd have to say, to Ethan testifying via video from Massachusetts. To the judge who would decide if love was allowed or forbidden.

The security line moved slowly. Metal detector, bag check, the mundane machinery of justice grinding forward. A reporter approached—"Miss Chen, do you have any comment about—"—but Michael stepped between them smoothly.

"My client has no statement. Please respect the process."

My client. Her dad was her lawyer. The strangeness of it struck her again.

They rode the elevator to the fourth floor in silence. The hallway smelled like floor polish and anxiety. Courtroom 4C waited at the end, door closed, a bench outside where a teenage boy sat scrolling his phone, clearly here for something else entirely. He looked up as they passed, did a double-take like maybe he recognized Sophia from Instagram, then went back to his screen.

Famous for all the wrong reasons now.

Michael checked his watch. "We're early. Good. Judge Morrison doesn't like tardiness."

"What's she like?" Sophia asked. "The judge?"

"Fair. Smart. Doesn't suffer manipulation." Michael met her eyes. "Which works in our favor. Just tell the truth. That's all you need to do."

The truth. Sophia had spent eight weeks thinking about truth, about what it meant when two people loved each other but the world said they shouldn't, when every choice was complicated by age and history and parents who couldn't see past their own fears. The truth was that she loved Ethan Price, had loved him since they were nine years old skating at the same rink, had found him again and decided that some things were worth fighting for even when fighting meant pain. The truth was that she'd chosen MIT before she'd chosen him, that her academic excellence had nothing to do with his influence and everything to do with who she'd always been. The truth was that Robert Price had filed this restraining order not to protect his son but to control him, and that control dressed up as love was still just control.

But could she say all that to a judge?

The courtroom door opened. Gerald Whitmore emerged, phone to his ear, speaking in low tones. He ended the call and glanced at them—a flick of assessment, nothing more—then walked past to the water fountain.

Michael lowered his voice. "He'll try to make you seem manipulative. Older, experienced, seducing an innocent boy. He'll use the hotel against you, the Instagram post, anything he can twist. Don't let him bait you. Answer the questions directly, stay calm, remember you're not on trial."

"But I am," Sophia said. "That's exactly what this is."

Her mother's hand tightened on her shoulder. "You're not the one who should be."

The bailiff appeared in the doorway—a woman in uniform, clipboard in hand. "Chen versus Price? We're ready for you."

This was it. The moment that would determine if the next months were supervision and structure or complete silence until Ethan turned eighteen in July. The moment that would prove if the system could see past money and manipulation to what was real.

Sophia's phone buzzed in her pocket—one last message before they had to turn them off for court. She checked it quickly.

JORDAN: He's logged into the court feed. Watching everything. You've got this. Be the badass I know you are.

She smiled despite everything. Jordan Chen-Ward, her cousin, Ethan's best friend, the bridge between their separated worlds. Knowing Jordan was with him, that Ethan wasn't alone, helped.

They walked into Courtroom 4C.

The room was smaller than she'd imagined. Television courtrooms were grand, dramatic, built for cameras. This was functional: wood paneling, fluorescent lights, that particular silence that came from serious decisions being made. The judge's bench loomed at the front, empty for now. The witness stand to the left. Gallery seating behind a low barrier, mostly empty except for a court reporter and what looked like a law student with a notebook.

Whitmore and his associates sat at the respondent's table, documents arranged in neat stacks, everything choreographed and precise. Michael led them to the applicant's table—smaller, less polished, but theirs. Sophia sat between her parents, Michael arranging his papers, and felt the weight of what was about to happen settle over her like snow.

"All rise."

They stood. Judge Karen Morrison entered from her chambers, robes flowing, a woman in her fifties with sharp eyes and silver hair pulled back severely. She took her seat, and they sat.

"This is a hearing regarding the restraining order filed on behalf of Ethan David Price, minor, by his father and legal guardian Robert Price," Judge Morrison said, her voice carrying easily in the small space. "We're here to review the conditions of that order and determine if modifications are warranted. Mr. Whitmore, you're representing the respondent?"

Whitmore rose smoothly. "Yes, Your Honor. Gerald Whitmore for Robert Price, acting in his capacity as legal guardian for his son, aged seventeen."

"And for the applicant?"

Michael stood, and Sophia heard the slight tremor in his voice before he controlled it. "Michael Chen, Your Honor. I'm representing my daughter, Sophia Chen, and by extension the interests of Ethan Price in this matter."

Judge Morrison's eyebrow rose slightly. "You're representing your own daughter, Professor Chen?"

"I am. Pro bono, and with full disclosure of the relationship. Miss Chen is financially unable to afford representation, and I believe my expertise in contract and family law qualifies me despite the personal connection."

"I'll allow it, but I expect professional conduct." Her gaze swept them both. "Gentlemen, I've reviewed the filings from both sides. Mr. Whitmore, your client filed this restraining order on December 23rd citing concerns about an inappropriate relationship between his minor son and Miss Chen. The order currently prohibits any contact between the two parties. Today we're reviewing that order to determine if it should stand, be modified, or be dissolved. Present your case."

Whitmore rose again, and Sophia watched him transform into the lawyer Robert's money had bought: confident, authoritative, righteous.

"Your Honor, this case concerns the safety and wellbeing of a seventeen-year-old boy who has been manipulated by someone who should have known better. Miss Chen is eighteen, legally an adult, and has engaged in a relationship with my client's son that began when he was sixteen. She has influenced his academic choices, his social life, his relationship with his family. On December 21st, the two were discovered in a hotel room together—a clear escalation that prompted Mr. Price to take legal action to protect his son."

Sophia's jaw tightened. Manipulated. Influenced. As if Ethan had no agency, no thoughts of his own.

"Mr. Price has attempted multiple times to address this situation privately," Whitmore continued. "He's spoken with his son, with Miss Chen, with her parents. But the relationship continued, becoming increasingly concerning. The hotel incident was the final straw. Mr. Price seeks to maintain the restraining order until his son turns eighteen and can make adult decisions without being unduly influenced by someone who has demonstrated poor judgment."

He sat down, and the words hung in the air. Poor judgment. That's what love was to them.

Judge Morrison turned. "Professor Chen?"

Michael stood, and this time his voice was steady. "Your Honor, this isn't about protection. It's about control. My daughter and Ethan Price have known each other since childhood. They trained at the same hockey rink when they were nine years old, before Ethan's family moved to Massachusetts. They reconnected two years ago when we moved to the same city. Their relationship developed naturally, between two young people of similar age who share intellectual interests and mutual respect."

He opened his briefcase, pulling out documents. "I've submitted Miss Chen's academic records, Your Honor. She's ranked first in her class. She was accepted early action to MIT—before this relationship intensified—based on her own merit. She's a competitive badminton player, a science fair finalist, a young woman with clear goals and strong character. The suggestion that she's some kind of manipulator is not only false, it's insulting to both her and Ethan."

Judge Morrison glanced at the documents. "The hotel incident, Professor Chen. How do you address that?"

"Two teenagers who cared about each other wanted to spend time together away from parental oversight. Poor judgment? Perhaps. Illegal? No. They're both minors, only fifteen months apart in age. There was no coercion, no manipulation. Just two young people making a mistake that any teenagers might make."

"They lied to their parents about their whereabouts," Whitmore interjected. "That demonstrates deception—"

"Teenagers lie to their parents," Michael said flatly. "That's not a legal issue, it's a parenting one. And when Mr. Price discovered the situation, his response was not to talk with his son or address the issue within the family. It was to file a restraining order designed to isolate and control."

Judge Morrison held up a hand. "I'm more interested in hearing from the parties themselves than from counsel. Mr. Whitmore, I understand Ethan Price is unable to attend in person?"

"He's completing his junior year at a boarding school in Massachusetts, Your Honor. However, he's available via video conference if the court wishes to hear from him."

"I do." Judge Morrison nodded to the bailiff. "Let's set up the video call."

Sophia's heart hammered. She was going to see him. After eight weeks of nothing, she was about to see his face on a screen in a courtroom while a judge decided their fate.

The bailiff wheeled in a large monitor, fumbling with cables and connections. It took three minutes that felt like hours, technical difficulties in the middle of everything. Then the screen flickered to life, and there he was.

Ethan.

He looked different. Thinner, his face harder somehow, the softness she remembered from Christmas gone. His hair was shorter, more controlled. He wore a button-down shirt and tie, clearly dressed for court, and sat in what looked like a conference room at his school. But his eyes—God, his eyes were the same. Dark and intense and locked on the camera like he could see through it to her.

She couldn't wave, couldn't smile, couldn't do anything but sit frozen while her heart broke and healed simultaneously.

"Mr. Price," Judge Morrison said. "Thank you for joining us. I understand you've been separated from Miss Chen for approximately eight weeks under the terms of your father's restraining order. How has that been for you?"

Ethan's jaw tightened. "Difficult, Your Honor."

"Your father filed this order out of concern for your wellbeing. Do you believe that concern is justified?"

"No." The word was firm, clear. "My father doesn't like that I'm making choices he disagrees with. The restraining order isn't about protecting me. It's about controlling who I spend time with and what I care about."

Whitmore shifted forward. "Your Honor, if I may—"

"You may not. I'm speaking with the young man." Judge Morrison's attention didn't waver from the screen. "Mr. Price, you're seventeen years old, is that correct?"

"Yes, Your Honor."

"In a few months you'll be eighteen and legally able to make your own decisions. Your father's concern seems to be that Miss Chen has undue influence over you. What's your response to that?"

Ethan was quiet for a moment, and Sophia watched him gather his thoughts the way he did before answering hard questions. Careful, methodical, honest.

"Sophia didn't influence me, Your Honor. She inspired me. There's a difference."

The courtroom went very still.

"I've been playing hockey since I was five years old," Ethan continued. "It's what my father wanted, what he trained me for, what our whole life has been built around. I'm good at it. I might even get college scholarships for it. But I've never been sure it's what I want."

He leaned forward slightly, and Sophia could see the passion in his face, the thing that had drawn her to him from the beginning: his hunger to be more than what people expected.

"Sophia reminded me that I'm good at other things too. Science. Math. Problem-solving. When I'm with her, I remember that I used to love learning, that there's more to life than hockey and my father's expectations. She didn't manipulate me into choosing MIT. She showed me it was possible to want something different."

Judge Morrison made a note. "And the hotel incident on December 21st? That's what prompted this order. Can you explain what happened?"

Sophia watched him take a breath, saw the teenager warring with the person trying to be adult enough for court.

"We wanted to spend time together. Alone. My father had made it clear he didn't approve of Sophia, and her parents were trying to set boundaries that felt impossible. We made a bad decision. We lied about where we'd be, we got a hotel room, we thought we could have a few hours without everyone watching us." He paused. "We didn't do anything illegal. We just wanted to be together without the world having an opinion about it."

"Do you regret that decision?"

"I regret lying to our parents. I regret that it gave my father ammunition to do this." Ethan's voice hardened. "I don't regret wanting to spend time with someone I care about."

"You care about Miss Chen?"

"I love her."

Three words, said clearly and without hesitation. Sophia felt tears prick her eyes and blinked them back hard. Not here. Not in front of the judge and the lawyers and her parents and the court reporter transcribing everything.

"Your Honor," Whitmore said, standing now. "This is exactly the kind of emotional manipulation—"

"I don't see manipulation, Mr. Whitmore. I see two young people who have strong feelings for each other." Judge Morrison turned back to the screen. "Mr. Price, do you feel that Miss Chen has pressured you in any way? Made you feel obligated to her?"

"No. Sophia's the least manipulative person I know. She's always telling me to make my own choices, to figure out what I want. If anything, she pushes me to think independently." He smiled slightly, sadly. "That's probably why my father doesn't like her. She makes it harder for him to tell me what to do."

"And if this restraining order is modified to allow supervised contact, will you be able to respect those boundaries?"

"Yes, Your Honor. I just want to be able to talk to her. See her. Not be cut off completely for choosing to care about someone."

Judge Morrison nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Price. Please stay on the line. I'd like to hear from Miss Chen now."

The camera angle didn't shift, but Sophia knew Ethan could see the courtroom, could see her at the table between her parents. Their eyes met through the screen—across fifteen hundred miles and eight weeks of silence—and something passed between them that needed no words.

We're still here. We're still us.

"Miss Chen, please take the stand."

Sophia stood on legs that felt borrowed. Her mother squeezed her hand once—you've got this—and then she was walking to the witness stand, sitting in the chair where people swore to tell the truth, facing a judge who would decide if love was allowed.

The court reporter reminded her she was still under oath from the initial filing. Sophia nodded.

Judge Morrison studied her for a long moment. "Miss Chen, you're eighteen years old?"

"Yes, Your Honor. I turned eighteen in September."

"And you're currently a senior in high school?"

"Yes. I'm graduating in June."

"I've reviewed your academic record. It's impressive. MIT early action acceptance, ranked first in your class, competitive badminton player. You seem like a young woman with clear goals and strong discipline. How does your relationship with Ethan Price fit into that picture?"

Sophia chose her words carefully. "Ethan and I have similar goals. We both want to study STEM fields, we both care about academic excellence, we both push each other to be better. Being with him doesn't distract me from my goals. It motivates me to achieve them."

"But you lied to your parents to spend time with him. You made choices that showed poor judgment, as your own father admitted. Doesn't that suggest the relationship is problematic?"

"It suggests we're teenagers who made a mistake," Sophia said. "Not that we're bad for each other."

"Mr. Price's father believes you have undue influence over his son. That you've manipulated him away from hockey, away from his family. How do you respond to that?"

This was the moment. The question she'd been dreading and preparing for in equal measure. Sophia met the judge's eyes and told the truth.

"I didn't manipulate Ethan into anything. I've never asked him to choose between hockey and academics. I've never said a bad word about his father. What I did do is show him that he's allowed to want more than one thing, that being good at hockey doesn't mean he has to sacrifice every other interest." She paused. "Ethan is brilliant. He's curious and thoughtful and capable of so much more than anyone gives him credit for. His father sees him as a hockey player, as someone to mold into what he wants. I see him as a person who gets to decide for himself."

"And what is it you want from this hearing, Miss Chen?"

The question hung in the air. What did she want? She wanted the last eight weeks erased, the pain and silence and separation undone. She wanted Robert Price to stop trying to control his son. She wanted to hold Ethan's hand and walk through The Forks and talk about college and futures without lawyers and restraining orders and judges deciding if they were allowed to exist in each other's lives.

But what she said was: "I want permission to talk to him. To email, to call, to see him when he visits Winnipeg. Supervised if that's what's required. I just don't want to be cut off completely for caring about someone."

Judge Morrison made more notes, her face unreadable. "Thank you, Miss Chen. You may step down."

Sophia returned to her seat, her legs shaking now that the adrenaline was fading. Her father gave her a small nod—well done—but she couldn't tell if it had been enough.

"I'd like to hear from the parents," Judge Morrison said. "Mr. Chen, Mrs. Chen, you've been somewhat caught in the middle of this situation. What's your position on the relationship between your daughter and Mr. Price?"

Michael and Grace exchanged a look, some silent communication passing between them. Her mother spoke first.

"We were concerned initially," Grace said. "The age difference, the intensity, the way it seemed to accelerate quickly. We set boundaries that Sophia violated when she went to that hotel. We were angry and scared."

"But?" Judge Morrison prompted.

"But over the past eight weeks, we've watched our daughter handle this with maturity we didn't expect. She hasn't fallen apart. She hasn't let her grades slip or her athletic performance suffer. She's maintained her friendships, her responsibilities, her goals. And when we really looked at the relationship without our fear clouding it, we saw that Ethan treats her with respect. He supports her ambitions. He makes her happy." Grace's voice strengthened. "Robert Price may not approve of our daughter, but that doesn't mean there's anything wrong with her or with how she and Ethan feel about each other."

"Professor Chen?"

Michael leaned forward. "Your Honor, I'm a law professor. I teach about contracts and family law and the systems meant to protect people. When Robert Price filed this restraining order, I was furious. Not because of the relationship—because of the misuse of the legal system. This order isn't about protection. It's about a parent weaponizing the courts to control his child. That's not what restraining orders are for."

"Strong words," Judge Morrison said.

"Strong feelings. I've spent eight weeks watching my daughter hurt because a grown man decided to punish her for his son's choices. I've represented her pro bono because someone needs to stand up to that. If the court allows this order to stand as written, it sends a message that parents can isolate their children from anyone they disapprove of, regardless of the merit of that disapproval."

Whitmore stood. "Your Honor, Mr. Price is exercising his legal rights as a parent—"

"I'm aware of parental rights, Mr. Whitmore." Judge Morrison's tone was cool. "I'm also aware that seventeen-year-olds are not property, and that restraining orders are not parenting tools. Sit down."

Whitmore sat, his professional mask slipping for just a moment to show irritation.

Judge Morrison reviewed her notes, the silence stretching. Sophia's heart hammered. On the screen, Ethan sat frozen, waiting. In the gallery, the law student scribbled frantically, probably getting material for some paper on family law and judicial discretion.

Finally, the judge spoke.

"I've heard enough to make a determination. First, let me be clear about what this case is and is not about. This is not about whether two teenagers should be dating. That's a parenting issue, not a legal one. This is about whether a restraining order—a legal tool designed to protect people from harm—is being used appropriately."

She turned to Whitmore. "Mr. Whitmore, I understand your client's concerns. As a father, he's entitled to have opinions about his son's relationships. As a parent, he can set rules and boundaries. But a restraining order requires demonstrating harm or threat of harm. Your filings allege manipulation and inappropriate influence, but the evidence doesn't support that. Both parties are minors only fifteen months apart. Both are academically excellent. Both have goals and plans that don't depend on each other. The hotel incident shows poor judgment, not predatory behavior."

Sophia barely breathed.

"Miss Chen, your academic record speaks for itself. You were accepted to MIT before this relationship intensified, which undermines the claim that Mr. Price has influenced your choices. The reverse claim—that you've manipulated him—similarly falls flat. Mr. Price's own testimony makes clear he's making independent decisions."

Judge Morrison closed the file in front of her. "Therefore, I'm modifying the restraining order as follows: Contact between Sophia Chen and Ethan Price is permitted under these conditions. One, email communication is allowed, with the understanding that Mr. Chen and Mr. Price senior have the right to review such communication. Two, phone calls are permitted on a weekly basis, supervised by parents or designated guardians. Three, in-person contact is permitted when Mr. Price is in Winnipeg, supervised by appropriate adults. Four, all parties will document contact and maintain appropriate boundaries. Five, this arrangement will be reviewed in sixty days to assess compliance."

She looked at the screen. "Mr. Price, you have a spring break coming up in March, I believe?"

"Yes, Your Honor. March 25th through 29th."

"If you wish to visit Winnipeg during that time, you may do so. You'll stay with the Chen family or other appropriate accommodations, not in hotels alone with Miss Chen. Supervised activities are permitted. Do you understand these conditions?"

"Yes, Your Honor."

"Miss Chen, do you understand and agree to these conditions?"

"Yes, Your Honor." Sophia's voice cracked slightly, relief flooding through her so fast it was almost painful.

"Mr. Whitmore, your client has the right to appeal this decision, but I'm putting you on notice: if Mr. Price attempts to use the legal system to further control his son rather than addressing this as a family matter, I will not look favorably on future filings. Parents have rights, but so do their children. Dismissed."

The gavel came down.

For a moment, nobody moved. Then Whitmore was gathering his papers with sharp, angry movements, the law student was closing his notebook, the bailiff was shutting down the video equipment. On the screen, Ethan's image froze for a second before the connection cut out.

And Sophia was standing, her parents beside her, Michael's hand on her shoulder, her mother hugging her hard, the reality crashing over her in waves:

They'd won.

Not everything. Not complete freedom. But something. Permission. Structure. A path forward.

"Come on," Michael said quietly. "Let's go before the media catches us."

They gathered their things quickly and headed for the side exit, avoiding the main doors where cameras waited. The hallway was empty except for a janitor buffing the floors. They took the stairs instead of the elevator, flight after flight, emergency exit signs glowing green in the dimness.

Outside, the cold hit like a wall, but Sophia barely felt it. Her phone—she'd turned it off for court—buzzed to life with notifications. Messages flooding in.

JORDAN: She modified it! You can talk!

MAYA: Checking news sites. Did you win?

And one from an unknown number that could only be him:

Outside. Call me when you can.

Her hands shook as she looked at her parents. "Can I—"

"Yes," her mother said immediately. "Call him."

Sophia's fingers fumbled on the screen, finding the number, pressing call. It rang once.

"Sophia."

His voice. His actual voice after fifty-six days of silence, of phantom texts she couldn't send, of things she'd saved up to tell him that piled up like snow until she thought she'd suffocate under the weight of everything she couldn't say.

She tried to answer and couldn't. Her throat closed completely, eight weeks of holding it together dissolving all at once. She heard herself make a sound—half sob, half laugh—utterly undignified and completely real.

"Sophia? Are you there?"

"I can't—" She pressed her hand over her mouth, fighting for control and losing. "I can't talk. I'm trying. I just—"

"Breathe. Just breathe. I'm here."

And somehow that made it worse, the kindness in his voice after so much silence. She bent forward, phone pressed to her ear, crying so hard her mother's hand found her shoulder, steadying.

"I'm okay," she managed finally, voice wrecked. "I'm so okay. Are you?"

"I heard everything. Watched the whole thing. You were incredible. When you said that thing about me being allowed to want more than one thing—" He broke off, and she could hear that he was crying too. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry my father put you through this."

"It's not your fault."

"It's his, but it hurts you. That makes it mine too."

Her parents had walked a few steps away, giving her space but still within supervision parameters. Michael was on his own phone, probably updating Jordan. Grace watched the parking lot, sentinel against media intrusion.

"Spring break," Sophia said. "March 25th. Thirty-six days."

"I'll be there. I'm buying the ticket tonight."

"You'll stay here. My parents said yes. Supervised, but together."

"Together." He laughed, the sound ragged. "I didn't think I'd hear your voice today. I thought the judge would deny everything and we'd be back to silence."

"She saw through it. Your testimony—Ethan, when you said you loved me—"

"I meant it. I'll say it every day if you need to hear it."

"I need to hear it."

"I love you, Sophia Chen. I love you, and thirty-six days from now I'm going to say it to your face."

She was crying now, couldn't help it. Relief and exhaustion and hope tangling together until she couldn't separate them. "I love you too."

"I have to go. My dean is waiting to debrief me about missing class for court. But I'll email you tonight. For real, legally, no hiding."

"Tonight."

"Thirty-six days."

"Thirty-six days."

He hung up, and Sophia stood in the parking lot of the Winnipeg Law Courts Complex, phone pressed to her chest, crying in the February cold while her parents watched and waited.

They'd won. Not perfectly, not completely, but enough.

Enough to build on.

Enough to hope.

Her father approached, gentle. "Ready to go home?"

Home. Where she could email Ethan without deleting the history afterward. Where they could have supervised calls in the basement. Where in thirty-six days he'd walk through the door and stay for five whole days.

"Yeah," Sophia said. "I'm ready."

They walked to the car together, and overhead, the grey February sky seemed just a little less heavy than it had that morning. Spring was coming. Slowly, grudgingly, through winter's grip.

But it was coming.

And so was he.

Chapter 2: CHAPTER 2: WITHIN THE LINES

Late February - Week 21

The supervised calls happened in the basement.

Sophia sat on the old couch that her parents had relegated to the rec room years ago, phone on speaker on the coffee table, and tried to have an intimate conversation while knowing her mother sat at the top of the stairs pretending to fold laundry. The first Wednesday after the hearing felt surreal: dialing his number legally, hearing him answer, talking without the constant terror of getting caught.

"Hey," Ethan said, his voice crackling through the speaker, exhaustion evident even through the connection. It was eight PM Winnipeg time, nine in Massachusetts, and he'd had hockey practice after classes.

"Hey yourself." Sophia pulled her knees up, wrapped in his Concordia hoodie that she could finally admit to having kept. "How was practice?"

"Coach worked us into the ground. Playoffs start next week—we're playing Exeter in the first round." He paused. "Your parents are listening, aren't they?"

"My mom's upstairs."

"Hi, Mrs. Chen."

From the stairs, Grace's voice drifted down: "Hello, Ethan."

He laughed, and Sophia heard the strangeness in it—trying to be casual while under surveillance. "This is going to take some getting used to."

"Better than nothing."

"Way better than nothing." Something rustled on his end, probably him shifting on his bed. She tried to picture it: the prep school dorm room she'd never seen, the life he lived that didn't include her. "I got the science fair packet from Mrs. Reimer today. She said we're still partners even though I'm remote?"

"Yeah. I told her we'd make it work. We can video conference for the research and present together at the state finals." Sophia opened her laptop, pulling up their shared document. "I've been working on the entropy calculations. Want to hear?"

"Always."

So she walked him through the math, the elegant dance of thermodynamics and information theory, systems tending toward disorder without external energy input. Her mother's footsteps retreated up the stairs—laundry done, supervision maintained at a distance—and for twenty minutes they were just two nerds getting excited about science.

"That's brilliant," Ethan said when she finished explaining her approach to measuring information loss. "You basically proved that entropy and data compression use the same mathematical framework."

"We proved it. This was your idea initially."

"You made it work." She could hear the smile in his voice. "See? We're better together. Even fifteen hundred miles apart."

"Speaking of together—spring break. I've been thinking about what we should do."

"Sophia, as long as I'm in the same city as you, I don't care what we do."

"I care. It's five days. I want them to matter." She'd been making lists, planning the way she planned everything. "Science fair is the 26th, so that's day two. My badminton tournament is the 27th. But we should go skating, walk The Forks, see the city, actually be together in the world."

"All supervised."

"All supervised," she agreed. "But visible. Legal. No hiding."

"No hiding," he repeated. "That'll be weird."

"Good weird."

"The best weird."

A beat of silence, comfortable now. Learning to talk like this again after eight weeks of nothing, navigating supervision and distance and the strange new structure of their relationship.

"I'm struggling with thermodynamics homework," Ethan said, and Sophia's mouth quirked.

"Are you?"

"Yeah. Especially the chapter on closed systems and energy transfer. I just can't seem to understand how..." He paused. "How external forces affect internal states."

Oh. Code. He was speaking in code.

"Well," Sophia said carefully, aware of potential listening, "closed systems can't exchange energy with their environment. But when you open the system—allow interaction—energy flows in. It changes everything."

"So the isolation was making the system decay?"

"Entropy increases in closed systems. Without energy input, everything falls apart."

"But if you open it again?"

"Then you can reverse some of the decay. Not all—you can't undo time—but you can introduce order again. Structure. Growth."

"I miss you," he said, dropping the metaphor. "That's what I'm trying to say. These eight weeks were decay. Talking to you is energy input."

From upstairs, her mother's footsteps creaked across the kitchen. Still there, still listening, but the message had been sent and received.

"Thirty-three days," Sophia said. "Until you're here."

"Thirty-three days. I can do thirty-three days."

"Me too."

They talked for another twenty minutes—homework, college mail starting to arrive, Jordan's hockey team making playoffs—before Ethan had to go study for a history test. When they hung up, Sophia sat in the basement quiet, phone dark on the table, and felt something she hadn't in months.

Peace. Not happiness yet, not certainty. But peace.

Her mother appeared at the bottom of the stairs with tea. "You two are ridiculous with the science metaphors."

"You heard that?"

"Sophia, I teach middle school. You think I don't know code when I hear it?" Grace set the tea on the coffee table, sat on the couch beside her daughter. "But also? That was very sweet."

"Mom—"

"I'm serious. I know this is strange, having us supervise. But hearing you two talk about science, about school, about normal things? It helps. You're not some dramatic forbidden romance. You're two smart kids who care about each other and happen to be good at physics."

Sophia picked up the tea—jasmine, her favorite. "You really don't mind? Him visiting for spring break?"

"I mind that it took a restraining order and a court hearing to get here. I don't mind you having a boyfriend who treats you well." Grace tucked her feet under her, settling in. "Your father and I talked. We handled the hotel thing badly. We were scared, and we reacted out of fear instead of trust. That's on us."

"I lied to you. That's on me."

"You did. And we addressed that. But Robert Price turned a parenting issue into a legal battle, and that's on him." Grace's voice hardened. "What kind of father does that to his own son?"

The question Sophia had been asking herself for eight weeks. What kind of father indeed.

Early March - Week 22

The emails started cautiously. Both of them aware that parents could read everything, that supervision meant privacy was conditional. But slowly, as days became weeks, they found their rhythm.

From: ethan.price@concordiaprep.edu To: sophia.chen@winnipegmail.ca Subject: entropy research notes

Sophia—

Attached are my calculations for the information loss rates in the compression algorithm. I think I found an error in equation 7—should be log base 2, not natural log. Let me know if you see it differently.

Also, I've been thinking about what you said on our call about closed systems. You were right. Complete isolation causes decay. These past few months proved that. Being able to talk to you again—even with parameters—feels like the system opening up. Like order emerging from chaos.

Spring break tickets are booked. March 25th, 10:15 AM arrival. I land on a Tuesday morning and don't leave until Sunday dawn. Five days feels like forever and also not long enough.

Twenty-eight days.

—E

P.S. You were right about the equation. I'll fix it tonight.

From: sophia.chen@winnipegmail.ca To: ethan.price@concordiaprep.edu Subject: RE: entropy research notes

Ethan—

Equation was definitely log base 2. I'm sending my corrections in green. This is going to be a really strong project. Mrs. Reimer thinks we might place at state, which would be scholarship money for college.

Speaking of college: MIT and Caltech both sent acceptance packets this week. Heavy envelopes, thick with information. I opened MIT's first and just stared at it for ten minutes. Getting in early action was one thing. Having the actual acceptance letter in my hands is different. Real.

Did you get yours?

Twenty-eight days. I've been training extra hard at badminton. Maya says I'm playing angry, which apparently means I'm playing well. Regionals are the week before you arrive. If I place top three, I qualify for provincials in April.

Everything is happening at once. It feels like time compressed into these few weeks.

—S

P.S. The system is definitely opening. I can feel it.

From: ethan.price@concordiaprep.edu To: sophia.chen@winnipegmail.ca Subject: MIT

Got my acceptance this morning.

My dad called it "settling." Settling. As if MIT is some kind of backup plan instead of one of the best schools in the world. He wanted me to defer, keep training, go straight into NHL drafts.

I said no.

First time I've really said no to him about hockey. He hung up. Haven't heard from him since.

But I'm holding this acceptance letter, and all I can think is: you did this first. You chose MIT in November when we'd barely started figuring out what we were. You weren't influenced by me. You just knew what you wanted. And somehow that gave me permission to want it too.

Spring break. We need to talk about college stuff in person. About what happens next. About MIT and housing and if we're really doing this together.

Twenty-seven days.

—E

Early March - Week 22 (Wednesday Evening)

The third week was when Sophia broke.

They were on their Wednesday call—her in the basement, him in his dorm, her mother upstairs doing that thing where she gave space but everyone knew she was listening—and Ethan was telling her about hockey practice, about calculus, about nothing important because everything important couldn't be said.

And Sophia heard herself interrupt: "I hate this."

Silence. Then: "What?"

"This. Performing for supervision. Coding feelings into science metaphors. Pretending we're okay with phone calls when I want—" She stopped, aware of listening ears, aware of the court order they couldn't violate.

"What do you want?"

"To be in the same room as you. To have a conversation without an audience. To not feel like we're putting on a show just to be allowed to exist in each other's lives." Her voice cracked. "I'm grateful. I know it's better than nothing. But I'm also so tired of nothing being enough."

From upstairs, her mother's footsteps retreated—giving them this moment.

"Twenty-one days," Ethan said quietly. "Three weeks. Then I'm there and we can just be together. Supervised, but together. Real, not screens."

"I know. I'm sorry. I'm just—"

"Frustrated. Scared. Exhausted. Me too, Sophia. Me too." He paused. "You think I don't want to reach through this phone and just hold you? You think I'm okay with Wednesday evening calls and emails that have to be appropriate for parent reading? I'm not. But it's what we have. And twenty-one more days of this is survivable because the alternative is no contact at all."

She pressed her hand over her mouth, fighting tears. He was right. Complaining about supervision when they'd had eight weeks of complete silence was ungrateful. But God, she was tired.

"I miss you," she managed finally.

"I miss you so much I've stopped noticing it. It's just background noise now. Like breathing underwater and forgetting what air tastes like."

"That's depressing."

"That's honest." His voice softened. "But in twenty-one days, we get five days of air. And that's going to have to be enough to last us until summer. So let's make it count."

She nodded even though he couldn't see. "Okay. Twenty-one days."

"We can do twenty-one days."

"We've already done worse."

"Exactly."

After they hung up, Sophia sat in the basement and let herself cry—not the pretty kind, the ugly kind where her face got splotchy and her nose ran and she felt twelve years old and overwhelmed. Her mother appeared with tissues and tea and sat beside her without speaking, just being present while Sophia fell apart.

"It's hard," Grace said finally. "Loving someone and not being able to just be with them. It's one of the hardest things."

"I feel ungrateful. We won in court. We have permission. I should be happy."

"You can be grateful and frustrated simultaneously. Feelings aren't either-or." Her mother tucked hair behind Sophia's ear. "You're seventeen. You should be able to text your boyfriend whenever you want, video call at midnight, see him on weekends. Instead you get supervised Wednesday calls and emails we can read. That's hard. You're allowed to hate it sometimes."

"But it's better than nothing."

"It's better than nothing," Grace agreed. "But it's still not enough. And that's okay to feel."

Sophia leaned into her mother's shoulder and felt something release. Permission to not be okay with this. Permission to be tired.

"Three more weeks," she whispered.

"Three more weeks," her mother confirmed. "You can do three more weeks. You've already proven you can do anything."

Mid-March - Week 23

Sophia watched the livestream on her phone during lunch period, earbuds in, trying to split her attention between Ethan's prep school hockey game and Maya talking about badminton strategy across the cafeteria table.

"You're not listening," Maya said.

"I am. Crosscourt drops to his backhand, overhead clear when he expects smash."

"While watching hockey."

"I'm excellent at multitasking." On the screen, Concordia Prep was down 3-2 with five minutes left in the third period. Ethan had scored both their goals, but the defense was collapsing. Regional finals, everything on the line, and they were losing.

Jordan slid into the seat beside her, lunch tray balanced precariously. "How's it looking?"

"Not good." Sophia turned the phone so he could see. On screen, Ethan fought for the puck in the corner, got slammed into the boards, came up with possession and sent a pass across ice that his teammate missed completely.

"They're playing sloppy," Jordan said. "Exeter's defense is too strong."

Maya leaned over to look. "Is that Ethan? Number 19?"

"Yeah."

"He looks miserable."

He did. Even through the small screen, even with the grainy livestream quality, Sophia could see it in his body language. Not just losing—something else. Something defeated that had nothing to do with the score.

The game ended 4-2. Concordia eliminated from playoffs. Ethan skated to the bench and didn't look up.

"He'll be devastated," Jordan said quietly.

But when Sophia called him that night—supervised call, Wednesday routine—he didn't sound devastated.

He sounded relieved.

"I know I should care," Ethan said, and she could hear him pacing, that restless energy he got when processing difficult things. "The team needed me, Coach was counting on me, it was regionals. I should be destroyed right now."

"But you're not."

"I'm not." He stopped moving. "Is that terrible? My team lost, season's over, and I feel like someone lifted weight off my shoulders."

Sophia glanced at the stairs. Her mother was up there, listening as required, but she'd given Sophia slightly more space lately. Trust earned slowly.

"What does that mean?" Sophia asked. "About hockey?"

"I don't know yet. Maybe that I've been playing for the wrong reasons. Maybe that I'm tired of my dad living through me. Maybe that losing was permission to admit I'm not sure I want this to be my whole life."

"What do you want it to be?"

"I don't know. But I want to figure it out. On my own terms." His voice steadied. "Twenty-three days until spring break. I've been counting down since the hearing. Now I'm counting down to telling you something I've been working on."

"Telling me what?"

"In person. Face to face. It's too important for phone calls."

Sophia's curiosity sparked—what could be too important for supervised calls but okay for supervised visits?—but she let it go. "Okay. Twenty-three days."

"Are you nervous? About me visiting?"

"Terrified."

"Why?"

"Because what if eight weeks changed things? What if we're different now?"

"Then we figure out who we are now," Ethan said simply. "Together."

From upstairs, Grace cleared her throat—time limit approaching.

"I have to go," Sophia said. "History essay due tomorrow."

"I have calculus. But Sophia?"

"Yeah?"

"We're not different. We're just further along. That's not the same thing."

After they hung up, Sophia sat with those words. Further along. Not apart, not different. Just moving forward through time and separation toward whatever came next.

Late March - Week 24

The college mail avalanche arrived all at once: Stanford, Caltech, MIT, even a few others they'd applied to as backups. Thick envelopes for both of them. Acceptances everywhere.

Sophia spread them across her bed and took a picture, sent it to Ethan with the caption: decisions decisions.

He sent back a photo of his own collection: identical schools, identical acceptances, parallel lives converging.

From: ethan.price@concordiaprep.edu To: sophia.chen@winnipegmail.ca Subject: May 1st

So we have to decide by May 1st. That's six weeks after spring break. Forty-one days from today.

I keep looking at these letters and thinking: what if we choose wrong? What if we pick MIT and hate it? What if we pick different schools and being apart destroys everything we're trying to build?

My dad wants me to defer everywhere and train. Get drafted, play a few years, then go to college if I still want to. He's been leaving voicemails about "keeping options open" and "not limiting myself" which really means "do what I want."

I'm not going to.

But I need to talk to you about this in person. About what we want, what we're willing to risk, what happens if we choose wrong.

Eighteen days until I see you.

—E

From: sophia.chen@winnipegmail.ca To: ethan.price@concordiaprep.edu Subject: RE: May 1st

I've been thinking about this constantly. MIT was my dream before you were part of my present. But now? The idea of going there without you feels incomplete. And the idea of choosing it just because you might be there feels like betraying the version of me who wanted it first.

How do we make decisions when everything is tangled together?

Maya says I'm overthinking. Jordan says we have time. My parents say we should visit campuses and see how we feel. But none of them understand what it's like to have your futures be both independent and connected.

We'll figure it out. We have to.

Seventeen days. Science fair state finals are day two of your visit. We present at 2 PM. Are you nervous?

—S

From: ethan.price@concordiaprep.edu To: sophia.chen@winnipegmail.ca Subject: not nervous

I'm not nervous about science fair. Our research is solid, our presentation is polished, and we work well together. Judges will see that.

I'm nervous about everything else. About seeing you in person after all this time. About whether the supervised thing will be awkward. About telling you what I need to tell you and whether it changes everything.

But also? I'm excited. I've been gray-scale for months, Sophia. Functional but flat. Talking to you weekly, emailing, working on the project—it's helped. But it's not the same as being in the same room, breathing the same air, existing in the same space.

Sixteen days.

—E

P.S. I told my dad I'm visiting Winnipeg for spring break. He said if I go, don't bother coming back. I'm going anyway.

March 24th - Eve of Spring Break

Sophia couldn't sleep. Tomorrow—no, today now, it was past midnight—Ethan would land in Winnipeg at 10:15 AM. Six hours from now he'd be wheels-up in Boston. Eight hours from now she'd be at the airport with her parents, waiting at arrivals, seeing him in person for the first time since December.

Seventy days since Christmas. Ninety-three days since the hotel disaster. A lifetime compressed into winter.

She rolled over, checked her phone for the hundredth time. Messages from Jordan (bring breath mints lol), from Maya (don't do anything I wouldn't do, which gives you lots of room), from her mother (get some sleep sweetheart).

And one from Ethan, sent an hour ago when it was 1 AM his time:

Can't sleep. Too much in my head. Too much to tell you. Too much that's been building. Tomorrow changes everything. I hope you're ready.

Sophia typed back: I'm ready. Are you?

The response came immediately, like he'd been waiting: Getting there. See you in 8 hours.

Eight hours. Then five days. Then back to separation and phone calls and supervised structure until school ended and they turned eighteen and the world stopped having opinions about who they loved.

Unless something changed. Unless whatever he needed to tell her—whatever had been building—shifted the landscape completely.

Sophia pulled his Concordia hoodie tighter around her and finally fell asleep ninety minutes before dawn, dreaming of airports and spring and order emerging from entropy.

Tomorrow.

After all this time.

Tomorrow.

Chapter 3: CHAPTER 3: ACCEPTANCE

March 15th - The MIT Letter

The envelope was thick. Everyone said that meant yes—thin meant rejection, thick meant acceptance—but Sophia stared at the MIT seal for a full minute before opening it because what if everyone was wrong? What if this was a particularly detailed rejection? What if she'd somehow misread the early action acceptance and this was them saying actually, never mind, you're not good enough after all?

Her hands shook as she slid her finger under the flap.

Dear Sophia Chen,

Congratulations! It is with great pleasure that we offer you admission to the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Class of 2028...

The words blurred. She read them again. Then again. Then she was screaming, couldn't help it, pure joy erupting from somewhere deep and primal and years in the making.

Her mother crashed into her room. "What? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong!" Sophia thrust the letter at her. "I got in! MIT! I actually got in!"

Grace read the letter, and her face transformed from panic to pride so fast it was almost funny. "Oh sweetheart. Of course you got in. Of course you did."

"I need to call—" Sophia stopped. She'd been about to say "Ethan" automatically, but calling him meant supervised, meant her parents listening, meant waiting until the Wednesday evening slot. But then—wait. "Can I email him? Right now?"

"Yes. Go. Email your boyfriend. Tell him." Grace hugged her hard. "We're so proud of you. You know that, right? Everything else aside—the restraining order, the court stuff, all of it—you did this. Your work, your brain, your excellence. Nobody gave you this."

Sophia nodded, throat tight, and grabbed her laptop.

From: sophia.chen@winnipegmail.ca To: ethan.price@concordiaprep.edu Subject: I GOT IN

ETHAN.

MIT.

FULL ACCEPTANCE.

CLASS OF 2028.

I'M SCREAMING.

Did you hear back yet???

—S (who is apparently going to MIT!!!)

She hit send and then couldn't sit still. She paced her room, checked email obsessively, refreshed the page, checked her phone, came back to her laptop—

And there it was. Six minutes later but feeling like six hours. Subject line: Checking mail right now

She opened it with shaking hands:

From: ethan.price@concordiaprep.edu To: sophia.chen@winnipegmail.ca Subject: RE: I GOT IN

Checking mail right now.

Hold on.

Sophia stared at those two words, heart hammering. He was opening his letter. Right now. Finding out if they'd both—if this was real—if they could actually—

Her inbox refreshed.

From: ethan.price@concordiaprep.edu To: sophia.chen@winnipegmail.ca Subject: WE GOT IN

SOPHIA.

I'M IN.

CLASS OF 2028.

BOTH OF US.

WE'RE GOING TO MIT.

Call me RIGHT NOW. I don't care about supervision. This is emergency levels of good news.

—E (who is also apparently going to MIT!!!)

She was already running downstairs, phone in one hand, his email still open on her laptop behind her. Her parents were hovering in the kitchen, her father having materialized from his home office.

"He got in," Sophia said, and her voice came out high and breathless. "Ethan got into MIT too. We both got in. Can he call? Right now?"

Michael and Grace exchanged one of their wordless parent looks. Her mother's eyes were wet.

"Call him," her father said. "Go. We'll give you space."

Sophia was already dialing, bolting back upstairs, door left open as required but her parents staying downstairs. He answered before it fully rang.

"WE DID IT!" They said it simultaneously, talking over each other, and then they were both laughing—that kind of relief-laughter that comes after months of pressure, the sound of two people who'd been told they were bad for each other getting dual acceptance to one of the best schools in the world.

"I can't believe—"

"Both of us—"

"Same school—"

"Together—"

Sophia collapsed on her bed, MIT letter still clutched in her hand, and felt something release in her chest. Joy. Pure, uncomplicated joy she hadn't let herself feel fully in months because everything had been so hard, so controlled, so supervised.

"Sophia?" Ethan's voice gentled. "You okay?"

"I'm so okay." She pressed her hand over her mouth, fighting happy tears and losing. "I'm just—you got in. We both got in. And nobody can say—"

"Nobody can say anything," he finished. "You applied early action. November. Before we were really us. Before my dad lost his mind. You chose MIT because it was your dream school, not because of me."

"And you got in on your own merit. Not because I influenced you or distracted you or made you worse." Her voice cracked. "We did this separately. We earned this."

"And now we get to do it together." He was quiet for a moment, and she heard him breathing, heard the emotion he was holding back. "They said we were bad for each other. Distraction and poor decisions and choosing each other over everything important. But we both got into MIT, Sophia. We're both going to one of the best schools in the world. Because being together doesn't make us less. It makes us—"

"Better," she whispered. "It makes us better."

"Yeah. It does."

They were quiet for a moment, just breathing across the connection, the weight of vindication settling over both of them. Her parents had been afraid she'd sacrifice her future for him. His father had said she was destroying his potential. And they'd both just proven everyone wrong.

"I'm crying," Sophia admitted. "Happy crying. Is that ridiculous?"

"I'm crying too. Also happy. Also ridiculous." He laughed, wet and genuine. "We're really doing this. College. Massachusetts. Together."

"If that's what you want."

"It's what I want. You're what I want. Every time, I'm choosing you."

Sophia's throat tightened. "Eleven days until you're here."

"Eleven days until I can say this to your face."

They talked for an hour—about MIT, about course catalogs already being planned, about living situations and whether they'd be in the same dorm or if that was even allowed or advisable. About how to tell people, what to tell Robert, whether this made spring break more urgent or more precious.

When they hung up, Sophia found her parents in the kitchen making celebratory dinner even though it was only four PM. Her father was attempting to cook something complicated, her mother supervising with barely concealed amusement.

"MIT," Michael said, looking up from whatever recipe he was butchering. "My daughter is going to MIT."

"We're going to need a bigger celebration than this," Grace said. "Sophia, call Jordan and Maya. Tell them dinner here, six PM, we're celebrating."

"Ethan got in too," Sophia said. "We both did."

"Of course he did." Michael returned to his cooking. "You don't fall in love with stupid people. Even when they make you worry yourself sick, they're usually brilliant."

Grace swatted him with a dish towel. "What your father means is: we're happy for both of you. And we're sorry."

Sophia blinked. "Sorry for what?"

"For not trusting you sooner. For letting fear make decisions instead of faith." Grace set down the towel, serious now. "You chose MIT in November. You've been working toward this for years. The relationship with Ethan didn't distract you or derail you. If anything, it's made you more focused."

"We handled everything wrong," Michael added, and his voice roughened. "The hotel thing—we should have talked with you, set real boundaries, trusted you to learn from mistakes. Instead we got scared, and that fear let Robert weaponize the legal system. We're sorry it took a court hearing for us to remember who you are."

Sophia felt something crack open in her chest. She'd been strong for months—through restraining orders and court hearings and separation—because breaking down felt like proving Robert right, like demonstrating she couldn't handle this.

But her parents apologizing, admitting they were wrong, trusting her—that broke something loose.

"I'm so angry," she said, and her voice shook. "I'm grateful, and I love you, and I'm also so angry that it took a court hearing for you to trust me. That I had to prove myself legally before you believed I could make good decisions."

Her mother's eyes filled. "I know. You have every right to be angry."

"But I also get it," Sophia continued, words spilling out now. "You were scared. I scared you with the hotel thing. And Robert weaponizing that fear—that's on him, not you. I just wish—" Her throat closed. "I wish we could have gotten here without the lawyers and the judges and all the time we lost being afraid of each other."

"We can't get that time back," Michael said quietly. "But we can do better going forward. That's what we're promising. We were trying to control you," he admitted. "Same thing Robert does to Ethan. Different methods, same impulse. We see that now."

"And watching you handle these past three months with such maturity," Grace added, reaching across to take Sophia's hand, "going to court, respecting the supervision structure, maintaining your grades and training—you showed us we were wrong. So we're apologizing. Truly."

"And we're celebrating," Michael said firmly. "MIT! My brilliant daughter, accepted to one of the best schools in the world, where she will study things I don't understand and probably change the future. That deserves more than my mediocre cooking."

"It deserves takeout," Grace said. "I'll order Thai. You clean up the kitchen disaster you've created."

Sophia laughed, couldn't help it. Her parents bickering in the kitchen, MIT acceptance letter on the counter, Ethan's matching letter fifteen hundred miles away. Everything broken and fixing and growing toward something new.

"Ten days," she said. "Until he's here."

"Ten days," her mother agreed. "And then we'll celebrate together. All of us."

March 18th - Science Fair Regional Finals (Virtual)

The video call with Mrs. Reimer and the three judges felt surreal. Sophia sat at her desk, laptop angled carefully, wearing the nice shirt she reserved for presentations. On the split screen, Ethan appeared in what looked like his dorm common room, equally formal. Between them, their presentation slides waited to be shared.

"Whenever you're ready," Mrs. Reimer said. She sat in her classroom, playing host to this strange virtual science fair necessitated by geography and restraining orders and teenage determination.

Sophia took a breath. "Good afternoon. We're Sophia Chen and Ethan Price, and we're here to present our research on entropy and information theory."

For the next twenty minutes, they tag-teamed the presentation like they'd practiced a dozen times over video calls. Sophia handled the theoretical mathematics, Ethan explained the practical applications, and together they walked three skeptical judges through research that proved compression algorithms and thermodynamic systems used identical mathematical frameworks.

"Impressive," Judge #2 said, a woman in her sixties with sharp eyes. "And you two did this entire project long-distance?"

"Yes, ma'am," Ethan said. "I'm finishing junior year at a prep school in Massachusetts. Sophia's here in Winnipeg. We collaborated via video conference and shared documents."

"Why?" Judge #1 asked—younger, male, clearly curious about the story. "Why not choose a local partner?"

Sophia and Ethan exchanged a look across the screens, some silent communication passing between them about how much to say.

"We work well together," Sophia said finally. "We've known each other since we were kids. When we realized we'd both be doing science fair projects, collaboration made sense even though it would be harder than working with someone local."

"The constraint actually helped," Ethan added. "It forced us to be more organized, more precise in our communication. Every meeting had to count. Every calculation had to be checked more carefully because we couldn't just turn to each other and verify in person."

"Constraint breeds creativity," Sophia said, and met his eyes through the camera. "Sometimes the limitations make the work better."

Judge #3, an older man with a University of Manitoba lanyard, leaned forward. "The mathematics here is graduate level. Where did you learn this?"

"Independently," Sophia said. "I've been studying advanced mathematics since freshman year. MIT OpenCourseWare, textbooks, online lectures. Ethan's been doing the same with physics and thermodynamics."

"And you're both juniors?"

"Yes, sir."

"Planning to study STEM in college?"

"We've both been accepted to MIT," Ethan said, and Sophia heard the quiet pride in his voice. "Class of 2028."

The judges exchanged looks. Mrs. Reimer was smiling in the background.

They asked fifteen more minutes of questions—about methodology, about verification, about applications and future research directions. Sophia and Ethan answered everything smoothly, their preparation paying off, the partnership visible even through screens and distance.

"Thank you," Judge #1 said finally. "We'll deliberate and announce winners in an hour. Excellent work, both of you."

The call ended. Sophia slumped in her chair, adrenaline fading.

Her phone rang immediately: Ethan.

"I think we got it," he said.

"The way they were looking at us?"

"We definitely got it."

"Don't jinx it."

"I'm not jinxing. I'm confident. There's a difference." He paused. "Eight days."

"Eight days." Sophia spun her chair, looking at the MIT acceptance letter she'd pinned to her bulletin board. "When you're here, we present at state finals together. In person. No screens."

"In person," he agreed. "Sophia?"

"Yeah?"

"This project—working on it with you, building something that proved we're good together even when we're apart—it's been the best part of these months. Better than the phone calls or emails, even. Making something. Creating something that wouldn't exist without both of us."

"That's what partnership is," Sophia said. "Making something bigger than either person alone."

"Yeah." His voice softened. "That's exactly what it is."

An hour later, the email came: First Place. They'd won regionals. Next stop: state finals on March 26th. Together. In person. Presenting as partners the way they were always meant to.

March 20th - The Hockey Game

Sophia watched the prep school championship game from her phone during study hall, Maya running interference with the teacher who didn't technically allow phones during quiet work time. Concordia Prep versus Exeter Academy, regional finals, everything on the line.

Ethan scored in the first period—a beautiful wrister from the slot that beat the goalie clean—and Sophia saw him skate to the bench without celebrating. The team was down 2-1 despite his goal. Something was off in his body language.

By the third period, they'd fallen to 3-2. Ethan assisted on their second goal but missed two open nets himself. The defense was collapsing, the team outmatched, the dream of playoffs dying in real-time.

Final score: 4-2. Season over.

Sophia watched Ethan skate to the bench and pull off his helmet, and even through the grainy livestream she could see something in his face that wasn't devastation.

It was relief.

That night's call—their Wednesday routine—he confirmed what she'd seen in his face on that grainy livestream.

"I should be destroyed," Ethan said, and she could hear him moving around his room, that restless pacing energy he got. "Season over, championship gone, last chance at a prep school title finished. I should care more than this."

"But you don't."

"I don't." He stopped moving, and the silence stretched. "Is that terrible? My team needed me. I played okay but not great. We lost. And instead of being devastated, I feel like—"

"Like what?"

"Like someone unlocked a cage I didn't know I was in." His voice dropped, raw and uncertain. "I watched the clock run out and felt relief, Sophia. Not disappointment. Relief."

Sophia glanced at the basement stairs. Her mother was up there, probably listening, but giving more space these days. Trust earned through weeks of respecting boundaries.

"Tell me what you're thinking," she said quietly.

"I'm thinking I've been playing hockey for him my whole life. Since I was six. Skating drills and practices and games and tournaments—all of it his dream, his plan, his vision of who I should be." Ethan's breathing sounded uneven. "And I was good at it, so I kept doing it. Easier to be good at the thing he valued than to figure out what I actually wanted."

"And now?"

"Now I don't know if I even like it anymore." The admission came out broken. "How messed up is that? Seventeen years of hockey, and I can't tell if I love it or if I just love that it made him proud. Can't tell if losing bothers me or if I'm just performing the emotion I'm supposed to feel."

Sophia's chest ached for him. "What do you like? When you're not performing for anyone?"

Silence. Long enough that she thought he might not answer.

Then: "Science. Math. Building things. Figuring out how systems work and finding the elegant solution." His voice steadied. "Talking to you about thermodynamics at two in the morning. Working on our project. Reading about quantum mechanics just because it's interesting, not because it's on a test."

"You."

"What?"

"I like you," he said simply. "The version of me that exists when I'm with you. The one who's curious instead of competitive. Who wants to understand things instead of win things. Who gets to choose what matters instead of having it chosen for me."

Sophia felt tears prick her eyes. "That's who you actually are."

"Maybe. Or maybe that's who I want to be, and I don't know if there's a difference." He was pacing again, she could hear it. "But I know I can't keep playing hockey just because my dad needs me to. Can't keep following a path I never chose just because changing direction feels like failure."

"You're seventeen. You're allowed to change direction."

"In four months I'm eighteen. Legal adult. Free to make my own decisions without his permission." Something shifted in his tone, became more determined. "I've been thinking about that a lot. About what happens when I'm legally free from his control. About what I can do now to prepare for that freedom."

"Like what?"

"I'll tell you when I'm there. Seven days, Sophia. Seven days and I can say everything in person. Show you what I've been working on."

She wanted to push, wanted to know what he was planning, but she'd learned patience these months. Seven days. She could wait seven days.

"Hey," Ethan said, softer now. "How's badminton training?"

"Brutal. Maya's been running me into the ground. Regionals are next week, two days before you arrive. If I place top three, I qualify for provincials."

"You'll place."

"You don't know that."

"I know you. When you want something, you get it. You wanted MIT—you got it. You want provincials—you'll get there too."

Sophia smiled despite herself. "I want you here."

"That you'll definitely get. Seven days. Then five whole days together."

"Supervised."

"Still together." He paused. "I have a quiz tomorrow. AP Calc. Should probably study."

"I have badminton practice at six AM. Should probably sleep."

"Seven days."

"Seven days."

After they hung up, Sophia sat in the basement quiet and thought about relief. About Ethan feeling free from hockey the way she'd felt free from her parents' fear after the hearing. About how sometimes losing was winning when it meant the right doors closing so better ones could open.

March 23rd - The Conversation

Her parents asked her to sit down after dinner, which was never a good sign. But instead of looking serious or concerned, they looked...thoughtful.

"We want to talk about spring break," Michael said. "About Ethan visiting."

Sophia's guard went up immediately. "The judge approved it. The conditions are clear—"

"We're not changing anything," Grace interrupted. "We're apologizing."

"Again?"

"Again. Properly this time." Her mother sat across from her at the dining table, hands folded. "We've spent these past few weeks watching you handle separation and structure with such maturity. Respecting the supervision, maintaining your grades, excelling at badminton, winning science fair. You've proven everything we were afraid you couldn't do."

"Which means our fear was about us, not you," Michael added. "We were scared of you getting hurt, of making mistakes we couldn't protect you from, of losing control. So we reacted with rules and restrictions instead of trust."

"You lied about the hotel," Grace said. "That's on you. But everything that followed—the way Robert weaponized that mistake, the restraining order, the court battle—that showed us what real lack of trust looks like. What happens when a parent decides control matters more than relationship."

Michael leaned forward. "Robert Price is destroying his relationship with his son because he can't let go. We don't want to be that. We don't want to lose you because we're too afraid to trust you."

Sophia blinked against sudden tears. "Where's this coming from?"

"From watching you," Grace said simply. "From seeing how you and Ethan handle adversity. From realizing that our job isn't to prevent you from making mistakes. It's to help you learn from them."

"So spring break," Michael said. "The supervision requirement stands—that's court-ordered, we can't change it. But we're going to give you space. Real space. We'll be available, we'll be around, but we're not going to hover. You two have earned privacy within the parameters."

"And after spring break," Grace added, "when you go back to phone calls and emails, we're going to step back even more. You've proven you can be responsible. We need to prove we can trust."

Sophia wiped her eyes, not quite crying but close. "I don't know what to say."

"Say you'll keep being honest with us," Michael said. "That's all we need. Honesty and respect, and we'll give you the same."

"I can do that."

"We know you can. You've been doing it." Grace stood, came around the table to hug her. "Ethan's a good kid going through hell with his father. When he's here, we want him to feel safe. Supported. Part of the family. Can you help us do that?"

"Yeah," Sophia said, voice muffled in her mother's shoulder. "I can."

That night, she emailed Ethan even though they'd talked earlier:

From: sophia.chen@winnipegmail.ca To: ethan.price@concordiaprep.edu Subject: four days

My parents just told me they're backing off on supervision. Still court-required, but with more trust. They want you to feel welcome here. Safe.

I know your dad said not to come home if you come here. I know that's hard. But you have a place here with us. For spring break, but also—if you need it—for more than that.

Four days. Then I get to see your face.

—S

His response came an hour later:

From: ethan.price@concordiaprep.edu To: sophia.chen@winnipegmail.ca Subject: RE: four days

Tell your parents thank you. It means more than they know.

I have something to tell you when I'm there. Something I've been working on. It's big, Sophia. It changes everything.

But I think it changes everything in the right way.

Four days. Then you'll understand.

—E

March 24th - Eve

Sophia couldn't sleep. She'd tried—warm milk, reading, meditation breathing exercises Maya had taught her—but midnight became one AM became two AM and she was still wide awake, staring at her ceiling, thinking about tomorrow.

Tomorrow Ethan would land in Winnipeg. After seventy days of separation, after court hearings and supervised calls and emails in code, after maintaining relationship through structure and patience and sheer stubborn hope—tomorrow they'd be in the same city again.

Five days together. Science fair state finals on day two. Her badminton tournament on day three. Skating and The Forks and walking around the city they both knew but had never explored together. Five days of supervised freedom, of being visible and legal and together in the world.

And whatever he needed to tell her. Something big. Something that changed everything.

Her phone screen glowed: 2:17 AM.

A text arrived: Can't sleep.

She smiled and typed back: Me neither.

His response: Tomorrow.

Tomorrow, she agreed.

Too much to say. Too much built up. Three months of separation compressed into five days.

I know, she sent. We'll figure it out.

Together?

Together.

Her phone rang—actually rang at 2:17 AM—and Sophia answered in the dark, heart already racing because middle-of-the-night calls meant something was wrong or something was so right it couldn't wait.

"Hey," Ethan said, voice rough with exhaustion and something else.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm breaking the rules." He said it quietly, deliberately. "We're supposed to do scheduled supervised calls. This is neither scheduled nor supervised. Your parents are asleep. Mine think I'm asleep. And I don't care anymore, Sophia. I needed to hear your voice without performance, without audience. Just you."

Her throat tightened. The vulnerability in his voice—raw and unguarded in a way supervised calls never allowed.

"I'm glad you called."

"I'm scared," he admitted. "That tomorrow—today now, I guess—when I get there, it won't be what I've been imagining for seventy days. That we've built this up too much in our heads and reality will be awkward or disappointing or prove that distance was actually easier than proximity."

"Nothing about you disappoints me."

"You don't know what I'm going to tell you. This thing I've been working on—it's big, Sophia. It changes everything. And I don't know if you'll think I'm brave or insane or if you'll look at me differently after."

"Probably both. I usually think both things about you simultaneously." She rolled onto her side, phone pressed to her ear, pulling his hoodie tighter around her shoulders. "Brave and a little bit insane. That's kind of your brand."

He laughed, and some of the tension left his voice. "I've missed this. Just talking to you without worrying about who's listening or what we're allowed to say. Without performing for parents or lawyers or judges."

"Me too." Sophia closed her eyes, imagining him in his dorm room fifteen hundred miles away, lying in the dark the same way she was. "What time is your flight?"

"Six AM. I should sleep."

"You should definitely sleep."

"But I want to stay on the phone with you until dawn and just exist in this space where we're breaking rules and it feels like freedom instead of rebellion."

"That sounds perfect," Sophia admitted. "But also you'll be completely miserable on a six AM flight if you don't sleep. And I want you coherent when you get here, not a zombie who slept through his alarm."

"Worth it, though. Losing sleep to talk to you without supervision."

"Not worth it. Sleep. Tomorrow—today—you'll be here, and we'll have five whole days of existing in the same space. Breaking rules in person."

"Supervised."

"Still real. Still us. Still better than phone calls."

"Still real," he agreed, and she heard him shifting, settling. "Okay. Sleeping. But Sophia?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you for answering. For always answering when I call, even when I'm breaking rules or falling apart or being irrational at two in the morning."

"Always." She meant it. "That's what this is. We answer when the other calls. No matter what."

"No matter what," he echoed. "Okay. Six hours. Then wheels up. Then I'm there."

"Then you're here."

"See you soon."

"So soon."

They hung up, and Sophia lay in the dark with her phone against her chest, his voice still echoing in her ear. The intimacy of that call—unsupervised, unguarded, just them in the middle of the night being honest about fear and hope—felt more precious than any supervised Wednesday conversation.

Tomorrow he'd be here. Real and solid and present.

After seventy days.

After everything.

Tomorrow.

She fell asleep with his hoodie wrapped around her and woke four hours later to her alarm, feeling both exhausted and more awake than she'd been in months.

Today.

Finally, impossibly, today.

Chapter 4: CHAPTER 4: SPRING BREAK

March 25th - Day One: Arrival

The airport was bright and sterile and full of people who weren't him. Sophia stood between her parents at arrivals, gate 3, watching the board that said his flight had landed ten minutes ago. Passengers were disembarking. He was somewhere in that crowd, getting closer with every second.

She'd changed clothes three times that morning. Eventually her mother had said, "Sophia, you look beautiful in anything, and he's not going to care what you're wearing," which was probably true but didn't stop her from checking her reflection in every window they passed.

Seventy days. Ten weeks. An entire winter of separation compressed into minutes now as travelers emerged from the security area, dragging luggage, checking phones, moving around them like water around stones.

Then there he was.

Ethan Price walking through the arrivals gate, backpack over one shoulder, looking thinner and harder than she remembered but unmistakably him. His eyes scanned the crowd and found her, and the world narrowed to just that—eye contact across twenty feet of airport terminal after seventy days of nothing.

He walked faster. So did she. Her parents stayed back, giving them this moment, and then they were standing in front of each other, close enough to touch but not quite touching yet because this was supervised and public and they'd both learned caution.

"Hi," Ethan said.

"Hi yourself."

"You cut your hair."

Sophia touched the shorter ends—she'd trimmed it three inches in February, something to change when everything else felt frozen. "You noticed."

"I notice everything about you." His hand twitched like he wanted to reach for her but wasn't sure if he could. "Can I—"

"Yes."

He closed the distance and wrapped his arms around her, and Sophia stopped breathing.

Seventy days. Ten weeks. An entire winter of screens and supervision and voices without bodies, and now he was solid and real and HERE. She felt her knees buckle and didn't care, felt him catch her weight and hold her up, felt everything she'd been holding together for months come apart all at once.

"You're real," she said against his shoulder, or tried to say, but it came out broken. "You're really here."

"I'm here. I'm here." He was shaking too, she realized. Both of them falling apart in an airport arrivals area while her parents watched and strangers flowed around them and nothing mattered except his arms and his solidity and the impossible fact of his presence.

She pulled back just enough to see his face—thinner, yes, harder around the edges, but his eyes were the same, dark and intense and looking at her like she was the only thing that existed.

"Hi," she managed again, laughing through tears.

"Hi yourself." His thumb traced her cheekbone, wiping away tears she hadn't realized she was crying. "You cut your hair."

"That's what you notice?"

"I notice everything about you. Always." His forehead touched hers, breathing the same air, and whispered: "Seventy days was too long."

"Way too long."

"I'm not leaving again. I mean, I have to in five days, but then—after emancipation, after eighteen, after—I'm not doing this again. This separation thing."

"Good. Because I can't either."

They kissed there in the airport, supervised by her parents twenty feet away, legal and public and real and tasting like salt from tears they were both crying now, relief and joy and homecoming tangled together until she couldn't separate them.

When they finally pulled apart, her mother was dabbing at her own eyes, and her father was determinedly looking at something else, giving them this moment.

"Come on," Ethan said, voice still rough. "Five days. Let's not waste them."

Her parents approached now, her mother's eyes still wet, her father clearing his throat. Michael extended a hand. "Ethan. Good to see you."

"Professor Chen. Thank you for having me."

"It's just Michael this week. You're a guest, not a student." He gestured toward the parking area. "Let's get your bag and head home. I'm sure you're exhausted."

The drive back was strange—Sophia and Ethan in the back seat holding hands, her parents in front maintaining supervision but giving space. Spring had arrived in Winnipeg while winter held Massachusetts, everything here just slightly warmer, greener, alive in a way that felt like waking up.

"How was the flight?" Grace asked.

"Good. Long. I've been up since four AM." Ethan squeezed Sophia's hand. "Worth it."

"We thought you might want to rest this afternoon," Michael said. "Get adjusted. But if you're up for it, Sophia wanted to show you The Forks."

"I'm up for it." Ethan looked at Sophia. "I didn't come here to sleep."

The Forks was crowded with people celebrating spring—tourists and locals, families and couples, everyone drawn to the river confluence where the Assiniboine met the Red. Sophia and Ethan walked the paths while her parents trailed twenty feet behind, visible but distant, chaperoning without smothering.

"This is weird," Ethan said, not letting go of her hand. "Good weird. But weird."

"Being supervised?"

"Being together. Legally. In public. No hiding, no sneaking, just existing in the world like normal people."

"We've never been normal people."

"True." He steered them toward the market building. "Food? I'm starving."

They got coffee and pastries, sat at a table by the window, her parents at the next table over with newspapers they were clearly not reading. The supervision was obvious but not oppressive. A compromise everyone had agreed to.

"So," Sophia said. "You said you had something to tell me. Something big."

Ethan took a breath. "Not yet. Tonight. When we have more than public space. But I want to talk about college first."

"MIT?"

"MIT. Are we really doing this? Going together?"

Sophia wrapped her hands around her coffee cup. "I want to. But I need to know you're choosing it for you, not just for me. Because if you're following me to MIT when you'd rather be somewhere else—"

"I'm not." He leaned forward. "Sophia, I applied to MIT because it's the best STEM school in the country. Because their engineering program is exactly what I want. Because it's where I'd choose even if you weren't going. You being there too? That's not why I'm going. It's why I'm excited about going. There's a difference."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure. Are you? Because if you're worried that people will think you chose it for me—"

"I chose it in November. Before we were really us. I have the early action acceptance to prove it." She smiled. "We keep coming back to this. Worrying that we're influencing each other badly. But maybe we need to trust that we're both smart enough to make our own choices."

"Even when those choices happen to align?"

"Especially then."

They sat with that for a moment, watching spring crowd the market, feeling the weight of decision lifting. MIT. Together. Not because of each other but alongside each other. Partnership, not dependence.

"Four more days," Ethan said. "Then I have to go back. Finish junior year, survive my dad's rage about me being here, graduate. Then summer, then college."

"Four months until you're eighteen."

"July 16th. Freedom." His expression shifted. "That's part of what I need to tell you tonight. About freedom. About what I've been working on."

Sophia wanted to push but didn't. Tonight. She could wait until tonight.

They walked back to her house as afternoon slipped into evening, her parents giving them the backseat privacy on the drive home. Tomorrow was science fair. Tonight was just existing in the same space, remembering how to be together after so much apart.

March 26th - Day Two: Science Fair

The convention center was crowded with teenagers and trifold boards, the air electric with competition and nerves. Sophia and Ethan checked in at the registration desk, got their table assignment, set up their display. After months of video conferences and separate work, they were finally presenting as a team.

"You ready?" Ethan asked, adjusting their poster board one more time.

"We've practiced this a hundred times."

"Virtually. This is different."

"Better." Sophia aligned their research papers. "Stop fidgeting. We're good."

The judges came through in waves: groups of three, clipboards and critical eyes, asking questions designed to trip up unprepared students. But Sophia and Ethan had prepared. They tag-teamed answers, finished each other's thoughts, demonstrated the kind of intellectual partnership that couldn't be faked.

"Impressive collaboration," one judge noted. "Especially given you're working from different cities?"

"We make it work," Sophia said.

"Distance forces precision," Ethan added. "Every meeting has to count. Every calculation has to be verified independently. It's actually made us better researchers."

The judge made a note. "And you're both planning to study at MIT?"

"Yes, ma'am. Starting this fall."

"Well. They're getting two excellent students. Good luck."

By three PM, they'd presented to five judge groups, answered questions from other competitors interested in their methodology, and watched their parents network with other science fair parents in that way adults did. Michael and Grace had given them space all day, supervising from a distance, letting them be partners first.

"I think we did okay," Sophia said as crowds thinned.

"We did great." Ethan was reading the schedule. "Awards ceremony is at five. Want to walk around? Look at other projects?"

They wandered the convention center, critiquing research, impressed by some presentations and skeptical of others. At one point Ethan stopped in front of a physics project on quantum entanglement.

"You know what's weird?" he said.

"Quantum mechanics in general?"

"That." He gestured at the project. "Entanglement. Two particles connected across any distance. You measure one, the other changes instantaneously. No matter how far apart they are."

"Spooky action at a distance. Einstein hated it."

"Yeah, but it's real." Ethan looked at her. "That's kind of what we've been doing. Separated by distance but still connected. Changes in one affecting the other. Maybe that's what partnership is. Entanglement."

"That's both very romantic and extremely nerdy."

"I contain multitudes."

The awards ceremony at five PM felt anticlimactic only because they'd already won the important thing: presenting together, proving partnership, existing as collaborators in public. But when they announced first place—Sophia Chen and Ethan Price, entropy and information theory—the vindication was sweet.

They walked to the stage together, accepted the trophy and scholarship check together, smiled for the photographer together. Her parents stood in the audience with Jordan (who'd driven in for the day) and Maya (who'd skipped badminton practice to watch). A community. A family. Support that had been built piece by piece through winter's hardest months.

"We did it," Sophia said as they walked off stage.

"You doubted?"

"Sometimes. Yeah."

"I didn't. Not once." Ethan held the trophy, gold-painted plastic that meant everything. "Because we're better together. Distance doesn't change that."

Celebration dinner at her house—Thai food spread across the dining table, everyone talking over each other, recounting the day. Jordan teased them about being "nerd champions," Maya made them explain the entropy thing three times, her parents glowed with pride. And Ethan fit into it all seamlessly, part of the constellation that had formed around Sophia without her quite realizing it.

But as dinner wound down and people left—Jordan back to his dorm, Maya to evening practice—and her parents retreated to give them privacy, Sophia felt anticipation building. Tonight. He'd said tonight he'd tell her.

They sat in the living room, supervision maintained by her parents being upstairs with the bedroom door open. The house felt quiet in that weighted way, like everything was holding its breath.

Ethan pulled a folder from his backpack, and his hands were shaking.

"Remember I said I had something to tell you?"

Sophia's heart kicked up. "Yeah."

"It's big. And I don't know if you'll think I'm brave or insane." He held the folder like it might explode, couldn't seem to decide whether to hand it to her. "I've been working on this since the restraining order hearing. Your dad's been helping me. And I need you to understand—I'm not doing this just for us. I'm doing this for me. Because I have to."

"Ethan, you're scaring me."

"Good. I'm terrified." He finally handed her the envelope. "Read it."

She opened it with shaking hands. Legal documents, official seals, language that took a moment to process. Then the heading came into focus:

PETITION FOR EMANCIPATION - ETHAN DAVID PRICE

The world tilted.

"You're—" She looked up at him. "You filed to legally emancipate from your father?"

"February 20th. The day after the hearing." He was pacing now, that caged energy he got when processing huge things. "If the judge grants it, I become a legal adult at seventeen. Free to make my own decisions about school, living arrangements, finances. Everything. My dad loses all legal authority over me."

"Can he—does he know?"

"He will when he's served the papers. Probably next week." Ethan met her eyes. "Sophia, I'm not doing this just for us. I'm doing it for me. Because I'm tired of living under his control, tired of every choice being filtered through his approval, tired of hockey and expectations and being who he wants instead of who I am."

Sophia's hands shook as she read through the documents. Financial plan. Academic record. Character references. Michael Chen listed as legal advisor. He'd been building this case for months.

"My dad's been helping you," she said, finding his name.

"Since January. I asked him not to tell you because I wasn't sure it would work. Didn't want to get your hopes up." Ethan stopped pacing, sat beside her on the floor. "The hearing is April 15th. If the judge grants emancipation, I'm legally free. I can finish school where I want, choose college without his interference, make decisions about my own life."

"And if she denies it?"

"Then I wait. July 16th. Seventy days. But Sophia, if I win—when I win—I'm free. Legally free to choose where I live, what I do, who I'm with. No more restraining orders or supervision requirements because there's no parent to enforce them. Just us, making our own choices."

She wanted to believe it. Wanted to feel the hope radiating from him. "Your dad won't let you go without a fight."

"I know. That's why I have to be ready for anything." He took her hands. "But I need you to understand—I'm doing this whether you approve or not. I can't live under his control anymore. Can't keep letting him weaponize courts and isolation and money to dictate my life. I need to fight back. I need to prove I'm my own person."

She set down the papers and took his face in her hands. "I think you're brave."

"Yeah?"

"The bravest person I know. You're not running away from your dad or toward me. You're running toward yourself. That's everything."

He kissed her then—desperate and relieved and full of fear—and she felt the weight of what he was about to do settle over both of them.

This wasn't just about their relationship. This was about a seventeen-year-old boy declaring independence from a billionaire father who'd spent his whole life controlling him. This was warfare.

"What happens if you lose?" she asked when they broke apart.

"Then I wait. July 16th. Seventy days. But Sophia, if I win—" His voice broke with hope. "If I win, I'm free. We're free. No more Robert controlling everything. Just us."

Sophia felt tears sting her eyes—joy and fear tangled together. "When's the hearing?"

"April 15th. Three weeks."

"I want to be there."

"You can't. It's in Massachusetts."

"Then I'll watch via video conference. I'm not letting you do this alone."

Ethan pulled her close, and she felt him shaking—not crying, just trembling with the enormity of it. "Thank you. For not thinking I'm crazy."

"You're not crazy. You're fighting for yourself. That's the sanest thing you could do."

They sat like that, holding each other, feeling the future shift into new possibilities. Emancipation. Freedom. Partnership built on choice.

Ethan's phone rang.

He glanced at the screen and his entire body went rigid. "It's him."

"Don't answer."

"He's called six times today. If I don't—" He answered, voice flat. "What?"

Sophia couldn't hear Robert's words, but she could hear his tone—sharp, angry, controlled fury.

Ethan's face drained of color.

"How did you—" He stopped. Listened. His hand found Sophia's and gripped so hard it hurt. "You can't do that."

More talking from Robert's end.

"That's not legal."

More.

"I'll fight you."

Then Robert said something that made Ethan close his eyes.

"Monday," he said flatly. "Fine. I'll be there."

He hung up. Sat frozen. Then looked at Sophia with devastated eyes.

"He moved the hearing. April 1st. Three days from now. And he's filed an emergency petition for psychiatric evaluation. Claims I'm not mentally competent to request emancipation."

The hope that had filled the room thirty seconds ago shattered like glass.

"We wait for the hearing," Sophia corrected. "Together."

"Together."

March 27th - Day Three: Badminton Tournament

The University of Manitoba athletics center was humid and bright, the thwack of shuttlecocks echoing off walls as Sophia warmed up. Her division played at ten AM, and Ethan sat in the bleachers with her parents, finally getting to watch her compete after months of hearing about it.

Maya appeared at her elbow. "He's here."

"I know."

"You nervous?"

"About badminton or about him watching?"

"Both."

Sophia rolled her shoulders, racket familiar in her hand. "I'm channeling everything. That's what you taught me. Separation, frustration, fear—all of it goes into the game."

"Then go destroy them."

She did.

First match in eighteen minutes: 21-12, 21-9. Her opponent barely touched the shuttle.

Second match took longer—a girl from Brandon who had excellent footwork—but Sophia won 21-17, 21-19.

Finals against a senior from a club in Steinbach, the reigning provincial champion. This was the one that mattered. Win here, and Sophia qualified for provincials. Lose, and her season ended.

Between games, Ethan appeared at the court edge where coaches and family could talk to players.

"You're incredible," he said.

"She's good. Really good."

"So are you. You're faster than her. Use that."

Sophia met his eyes. "Been watching badminton in your spare time?"

"Been watching you. There's a difference." He smiled. "Go win this."

The third game was war. Sophia used every trick Maya had taught her: crosscourt drops, overhead clears, net shots that died before her opponent could react. She was faster, younger, hungrier. She channeled three months of separation and legal battles and fighting for love into every shot.

Final score: 21-19.

Provincial qualification: secured.

Ethan was at the court edge immediately, and Sophia dropped her racket and hugged him, sweaty and exhausted and victorious.

"You did it," he said.

"I did it."

"When are provincials?"

"April 20th." She pulled back. "Five days after your hearing."

"Then we'll both have things to celebrate."

Her parents approached with water and congratulations, Maya grinning like she'd won herself, other players and coaches milling around. Sophia stood in the middle of it all with Ethan's hand in hers and felt the pieces of her life clicking together: academics, athletics, relationship, family. Not competing. Complementing.

"Ice cream to celebrate?" Michael suggested.

"Please," Sophia said.

They went to the place on Osborne, sat outside despite the chill because spring was spring and you didn't waste it. Sophia got her favorite mango swirl, Ethan got chocolate, they shared bites and talked about the tournament and the emancipation hearing and college housing deposits due in May.

"Two more days," Grace said gently. "Then back to long-distance."

"Until summer," Ethan said. "Then I'm free. One way or another."

"You'll stay with us," Michael said, and it wasn't a question. "After emancipation. You need a place, you have one."

Ethan's eyes got bright. "Thank you."

"Family takes care of family. That's how this works."

They finished ice cream and walked the neighborhood, her parents drifting ahead to give them space. The sun was stronger now, winter truly breaking, everything thawing into possibility.

"Tomorrow's our second-to-last day," Sophia said.

"Don't remind me."

"What do you want to do?"

"I don't care. Be with you. That's all I need."

They decided on skating—public skating at the community rink where Jordan sometimes played pickup hockey. Sophia hadn't been on ice in months, not since before Christmas, and being there with Ethan felt like returning to the beginning. They'd met skating. They'd both been five-year-old hockey kids who loved the ice more than the game. Coming back to it now, older and complicated and fighting for futures, felt right.

Ethan skated circles around her, showing off, and she laughed and tried to catch him. Her parents sat in the stands with coffee, watching their daughter be seventeen, happy, in love, supervised but free enough.

"I'm going to miss this," Ethan said, skating backward so he could face her.

"We'll do it again. Summer. When you're emancipated and free."

"When we're both free."

"We're already free." Sophia caught his hands, and they glided together, the rink mostly empty on a Thursday afternoon. "The court said we could be together. We're not hiding. This is freedom."

"You're right." He spun her gently, and she laughed. "This is what it's supposed to feel like."

They skated until the Zamboni came out, then changed back to shoes and drove home as afternoon became evening. Tomorrow was their last full day. The day after, Ethan's flight left at six AM. The countdown had started the moment he'd arrived, and now it was almost over.

But tonight they had family dinner, they had conversation and laughter and the comfort of being in the same room. They had her parents trusting them with unsupervised time in the living room, door open but private. They had each other, and for now, that was enough.

March 28th - Day Four: The City

They spent their second-to-last day exploring Winnipeg like tourists: Assiniboine Park, the legislature, Osborne Village shops, Leo Mol Sculpture Garden. Her parents gave them more space today, trailing farther behind, trusting the boundaries that had been carefully built over months.

"I like your city," Ethan said as they walked through the park, the zoo visible in the distance, ducks on the pond testing the water.

"It's your city too now. If you want it to be."

"I want it to be." He squeezed her hand. "After emancipation, after I'm free—I'm thinking about spending the summer here. Get a job, hang out, exist somewhere other than Massachusetts and my dad's control."

"You could stay with us. My parents already offered."

"I know. I might take them up on it." He stopped walking, turned to face her. "Sophia, when I filed for emancipation, it wasn't just about being with you. It was about becoming who I'm supposed to be. But you're part of that future. The biggest part. I need you to know that."

"I know."

"Do you? Because sometimes I worry you think you're a complication in my life instead of the best part of it."

Sophia touched his face, this boy who'd grown from childhood friend to first love to partner in ways she was still understanding. "You're the best part of mine too. And I don't think we're complications for each other. I think we're amplifications. Making each other more of who we're supposed to be."

"Amplifications." He smiled. "I like that better than entanglement."

"Both work."

They kissed there in the park, supervised from fifty feet away, legal and public and real. Then they kept walking, talking about MIT classes they wanted to take, about whether they'd be in the same dorm or if that was too much too fast, about summer jobs and plans and the space between now and September.

Dinner that night was special—Grace had cooked Sophia's favorite, Michael had gotten fancy dessert, Jordan came over with Maya, and they all crowded around the table like this was normal. Like Ethan had always been part of this group, this family, this constellation of people choosing to care about each other.

"To science fair champions," Jordan said, raising his glass of soda.

"To provincial qualifiers," Maya added.

"To MIT," Michael said.

"To fighting for what matters," Grace finished, looking at Ethan.

They toasted, and Sophia felt the weight of tomorrow—his last day, his six AM flight, the return to distance—pressing against the edges of tonight's joy.

But tonight they had this. Tomorrow could wait.

March 29th - Day Five: The Revelation

His flight was at six AM on Sunday, which meant leaving the house by four-thirty, which meant their last night together was Saturday evening. They sat in her room, door open as required, his packed bag by the door, and time felt elastic and cruel.

"I don't want to go back," Ethan said.

"You have to. Finish school. Graduate. Then you're free."

"Seventy more days until I turn eighteen. Less if emancipation goes through." He pulled an envelope from his jacket pocket. "Before I go, I need to give you this."

Sophia took the envelope. Legal papers again, but different from the emancipation ones. Dated February 20th—the same day he'd filed for emancipation.

"What is this?"

"Open it."

She did. Read the heading. Read it again. Looked up at him in shock.

"You filed for emancipation two months ago."

"I had to. Sophia, I couldn't wait anymore. Couldn't keep living under his control, couldn't keep letting him dictate everything." Ethan's hands shook slightly. "The hearing was supposed to be April 15th. I've been building the case, working with your dad, preparing everything."

"But—"

"But my dad found out. Don't ask me how. He has people, resources. And he called me two hours ago." Ethan's voice hardened. "He moved the hearing up. It's Monday, March 31st. Nine AM. Massachusetts family court. Two days from now."

Sophia's heart stopped. "Two days?"

"He's trying to destabilize me. Catch me unprepared, make me panic, force me to withdraw the petition. But I won't." Ethan met her eyes. "I've been preparing for months. Your dad's been coaching me on what to expect. I have financial plans, academic records, character witnesses. I'm ready."

"But two days—"

"I know. My flight tomorrow, straight to prep school, then to court Monday morning. No time to second-guess, no time to be scared. Just go and win."

Sophia's mind raced. "I want to be there."

"You can't. It's in Massachusetts, and you have school Monday."

"Then I'll watch via video like you did for the restraining order hearing."

"Sophia—"

"Don't 'Sophia' me. You supported me through court, I'm supporting you. That's what partners do." She grabbed his hands. "What happens if you win?"

"I'm legally emancipated. Free to make my own choices. Your parents said I can stay here this summer, work, prepare for MIT. Freedom." His voice shook. "Real freedom. Not waiting until eighteen, not living under his control for three more months. Now."

"And if you lose?"

"Then I wait. July 16th. Seventy days. But I won't lose. I can't." He pulled her closer. "This is it, Sophia. The fight that changes everything. Win this, and we're free. Both of us."

They sat with that, the magnitude of Monday morning settling over them. Two days. Forty-eight hours until a judge decided if a seventeen-year-old boy could declare independence from his father's control.

From downstairs, her mother called up: "It's getting late. Ethan, you should probably get some rest. Four-thirty comes early."

They stood. His bag by the door. Tomorrow at dawn he'd leave, fly back to Massachusetts, walk into court on Monday and fight for himself.

"I'm terrified," Ethan admitted.

"Good. Terror means it matters." Sophia hugged him hard. "You're going to win."

"How do you know?"

"Because you're not asking for something unreasonable. You're asking to be seen as the person you are: smart, capable, ready for independence. Any judge who's paying attention will see that."

"Your dad said the same thing."

"Then believe us."

They went downstairs where her parents were pretending to read but clearly waiting. The goodbye was supervised but gentle—Grace hugging Ethan, Michael shaking his hand and saying something quiet that made Ethan nod seriously.

Then Sophia walked him to the door, the porch light creating a small bubble of privacy while her parents watched from inside.

"Five days wasn't enough," Ethan said.

"It never would have been."

"Call you after the hearing?"

"Immediately after."

"Okay." He kissed her, sweet and desperate and full of promise. "I love you."

"I love you too. Go win your freedom."

"Our freedom."

"Our freedom."

He left, Uber pulling away into the late evening, and Sophia stood on the porch until the taillights disappeared. Inside, her parents waited with tea and comfort, but for a moment she needed to stand in the spring air and feel the weight of what was coming.

Monday. The hearing. Everything changing.

Her phone buzzed: his text from the Uber.

Whatever happens Monday, know that you gave me the courage to fight. Not for you. For me. But you're why I know it's worth it.

She typed back: You've always been worth fighting for. Now go prove it to the judge.

His response: See you on the other side.

Sunday Morning - Goodbye

Four-thirty AM came too early. Sophia stumbled downstairs in pajamas to find Ethan already packed, her father making coffee, the house quiet in that predawn way.

"You didn't have to get up," Ethan said, but he looked relieved that she had.

"Yes I did."

They rode to the airport in silence, Sophia's head on his shoulder, his hand in hers, both of them beyond words. The airport was empty and bright, departures board showing his six AM flight to Boston.

Security line. The point where she couldn't go further.

"This is it," Sophia said.

"For now." Ethan cupped her face. "Monday morning, nine AM. Think of me."

"I will. Every second."

"Win or lose, we're going to be okay."

"We're going to win."

"We're going to win," he agreed.

He kissed her one last time—supervised by her parents twenty feet away, but theirs—and then he was walking through security, showing his ID, disappearing into the airport crowd.

Gone.

Sophia stood at the barrier until she couldn't see him anymore, then turned to her parents. "Take me home?"

"Of course."

In the car, watching Winnipeg wake up around them, she checked her phone. Message from Ethan, sent from security:

On my way to the fight. Thank you for giving me reason to win.

She didn't cry. She'd cried enough these months. Instead she thought about Monday: the hearing, the judge, the moment when everything would change.

And she thought about something else. Something he'd said last night that had been bothering her. About his dad knowing about the emancipation, about moving the hearing up.

How had Robert found out?

The petition was filed. Legal documents. But the hearing wasn't public knowledge until you were served, and Ethan had said Robert wouldn't be served until next week.

So how?

"Dad," Sophia said carefully. "Can Robert Price access court records? About Ethan's emancipation petition?"

Michael glanced at her in the rearview mirror. "Not unless he's specifically looking for them. Or unless someone told him."

"But if he was looking?"

"Then yes. Court filings are public record. If Robert suspected something and searched, he'd find the petition."

"And he could move the hearing up? Just like that?"

"If he has lawyers who request expedited process, and if the judge agrees there's cause, yes. It's unusual but not impossible." Michael's expression darkened. "Why?"

"Because Ethan said Robert moved it up to Monday. The original hearing was April 15th. That's two weeks away. How did Robert know to move it if he wasn't served yet?"

Her parents exchanged a look.

"Maybe Ethan told someone," Grace suggested. "A friend, a teacher—"

"He didn't. He kept it secret. Only me, you two, and Jordan knew." Sophia's mind raced. "Robert has people. Resources. Maybe he had someone watching for filings. Maybe he pays attention to court records."

"Maybe," Michael said, but he didn't sound convinced.

They drove the rest of the way in silence, and Sophia couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. That Robert moving the hearing wasn't just strategy. That Monday morning was going to be more complicated than any of them expected.

But Ethan was prepared. He had to be. He'd been working on this for months.

Monday would prove it.

Monday would change everything.

Sunday Evening - The Call

Sophia's phone rang at eight PM: Ethan, calling from his prep school dorm.

"Hey," she said. "You okay?"

"I'm okay. Tired. Nervous. Can't sleep."

"That's why you called?"

"I called because tomorrow everything changes and I wanted to hear your voice." He paused. "Sophia, if I win—when I win—I'm free. Legally free to choose where I live, what I do, who I'm with. No more restraining orders, no more supervision requirements because there's no parent to require them. Just us, making our own decisions."

"That's what we want."

"I know. But it's huge. It's me basically telling my dad that I'm done being his son in any legal sense. He won't forgive that."

"Do you care?"

Silence. Then: "No. I don't. And that's what scares me. That I've gotten to a place where I don't care if he forgives me. I just want to be free from him."

"That's not scary. That's healthy."

"Maybe." He yawned. "I should sleep. Court's at nine. Your dad said dress professionally, speak clearly, don't get defensive. I have his notes memorized."

"You're going to be brilliant."

"I'm going to try." Another pause. "I love you."

"I love you too. Call me the second it's over."

"The second."

They hung up, and Sophia sat in her room staring at Monday's date on her calendar. March 31st. The hearing. The fight. The moment when a seventeen-year-old boy would stand in front of a judge and ask for freedom.

And somewhere in Massachusetts, Robert Price was planning his counter-attack.

Monday Morning - The Crisis

Sophia was in first period English when her phone buzzed. She wasn't supposed to check it during class, but something made her glance down.

ETHAN: Hearing in 30 minutes. I'm terrified but ready.

She typed back quickly: You've got this. Call me after.

His response: I will. Whatever happens.

The class dragged. Every minute felt like ten, every page of The Great Gatsby they were supposed to be discussing felt meaningless compared to what was happening in Massachusetts right now. At nine AM Winnipeg time—ten AM Eastern—Ethan would walk into court.

At 9:47 AM, her phone buzzed again.

JORDAN: Have you heard from Ethan?

SOPHIA: Not since before the hearing. Why?

JORDAN: Something's wrong. My mom's been on the phone with Robert for 20 minutes. She sounds panicked.

Sophia's stomach dropped. She raised her hand. "Can I use the bathroom?"

In the hallway, she called Ethan. Straight to voicemail.

Called again. Voicemail.

Texted: What's happening? Are you okay?

No response.

She was about to go back to class when her phone rang: Michael.

"Dad? What—"

"I just got a call from the Massachusetts family court. The hearing's been delayed." Her father's voice was tight with anger. "Robert filed a counter-motion this morning. Emergency petition for psychiatric evaluation. He's claiming Ethan's not mentally competent to request emancipation."

Sophia felt the world tilt. "He's what?"

"It's a stall tactic. The judge has to review the motion before proceeding with the emancipation hearing. It could push everything back weeks."

"But Ethan's there. Right now. Ready to testify."

"I know. I'm trying to reach him." Michael paused. "Sophia, this is bad. This is Robert using every weapon he has. The hearing won't happen today. Maybe not this week. And every day it's delayed is another day Ethan's under his control."

"Can he do that? Just claim Ethan's mentally unfit?"

"He can claim anything. Whether it holds up is different. But the process—evaluations, assessments, reviews—that takes time."

Sophia leaned against the hallway lockers, feeling everything they'd built toward crashing down. "What do we do?"

"We wait. We support him. And we let him know he's not alone."

"I need to talk to him."

"I'll call you when I know more."

Her father hung up, and Sophia stood in the empty hallway trying to process. Robert had found out about the emancipation, had moved the hearing up to catch Ethan off-guard, and now was blocking it entirely with claims of mental incompetence.

This wasn't just controlling. This was warfare.

Her phone buzzed: Ethan, finally.

ETHAN: The hearing's canceled. My dad filed emergency motion. Claims I'm not stable enough to make this decision. The judge has to review it before we can proceed.

SOPHIA: I know. My dad called. Are you okay?

ETHAN: No. I'm sitting in the courthouse and everything I've worked for just got destroyed. He won't let me go. He'll never let me go.

SOPHIA: He doesn't have a choice. You turn eighteen in July. That's 108 days. He can delay this hearing but he can't stop time.

ETHAN: 108 days under his control. 108 more days of him winning.

SOPHIA: He's not winning. He's desperate. Desperate people make mistakes.

No response for three minutes. Then:

ETHAN: I have to go. His lawyers want to talk. I'll call you tonight.

SOPHIA: I love you. This isn't over.

ETHAN: It feels over.

SOPHIA: It's not. We're not. Call me tonight.

But he didn't call that night. Or the next day. Or the next.

And when Sophia finally got through to him on Wednesday, his voice was flat and distant and wrong.

"He's moving me," Ethan said. "Withdrawing me from prep school. I'm going home to Massachusetts, living with him, finishing junior year online. He says it's to 'support me through this difficult time.' Really it's to isolate me. Control what I see, who I talk to, what I do."

"He can't—"

"He can. I'm still seventeen. Still legally his son. Still under his authority until I turn eighteen or until emancipation goes through. And he's made sure emancipation won't happen anytime soon."

Sophia felt everything fracturing. "When do you move?"

"This weekend. Saturday."

"Can I call you? Can we—"

"He's monitoring everything. Phone, email, all of it. Says it's for my own good." Ethan laughed, bitter. "I'm back to square one. Worse than square one. At least at prep school I had some distance."

"The judge has to rule on the psychiatric evaluation motion. She'll see it's bullshit."

"Maybe. Eventually. But 'eventually' means weeks, maybe months. And every day that passes is another day I'm trapped."

"July 16th," Sophia said desperately. "That's the hard deadline. He can't stop you from turning eighteen."

"107 days." Ethan's voice cracked. "I don't know if I can do 107 more days."

"You can. We can." Sophia was crying now, couldn't help it. "Ethan, don't let him break you. That's what he wants. He wants you to give up, accept his control, stop fighting. Don't give him that."

"I'm so tired."

"I know. But you're stronger than him. You've always been stronger than him. This is just another battle."

Silence. Then: "I have to go. He's calling me for dinner. Some family meeting about my 'mental health' and 'concerning decisions.' I'll try to call you this weekend before I move. But if I can't—"

"Don't say goodbye."

"If I can't, know that I love you. Know that this isn't over. Know that I'll find a way back."

"You don't have to find a way back. I'll come to you."

"Sophia—"

"I mean it. If he tries to keep you isolated, I'll fight. We'll both fight. Together."

"Together," he repeated, and some of the flatness left his voice. "Okay. Together."

They hung up, and Sophia sat in her room staring at the MIT acceptance letter on her wall, the science fair trophy on her desk, the evidence of partnership that Robert Price was trying to destroy.

107 days until Ethan turned eighteen.

107 days until freedom.

But first, they had to survive.

And Robert Price was just getting started.

END CHAPTER 4

To be continued in Episode 8: "Emancipation"