The Boy Who Knew Me First

Season 1

Episode 9

by Joxy

The Boy Who Knew Me First - Season 1, Episode 9: Championship Weekend

Chapter 1: CHAPTER 1: THE WAIT

6:00 AM - 9:00 AM

CONTENT NOTES: This episode contains depictions of parental emotional abuse, legal proceedings involving minors, family conflict and estrangement, anxiety responses, and references to physical assault. Reader discretion is advised.

Sophia's alarm went off at six AM, the harsh buzz cutting through the pre-dawn quiet of her room, where legal documents covered her usual collage of MIT brochures and badminton tournament photos. She hadn't slept.

May 15th.

Her stomach twisted immediately, the same sick feeling that had been her constant companion for six weeks. But today was different. Today was the day.

She reached over and silenced her phone, staring at the ceiling of her bedroom. Seventeen years old. Senior in high school. Possibly about to be charged with a crime for falling in love.

The absurdity of it should have been funny. Instead, it was terrifying.

A knock on her door, soft. "Sweetie? You awake?"

"Yeah, Mom. I'm up."

Her mother opened the door, already dressed. Michelle Chen looked like she hadn't slept either. The past six weeks had aged both her parents—new lines around her eyes, streaks of gray that seemed to have appeared overnight, an exhaustion that went bone-deep.

"I made breakfast. You need to eat."

"Mom, I can't—"

"Just try? Please? Even just the toast."

Sophia sat up, pulling her knees to her chest. "What if they charge me, Mom?"

Michelle crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling Sophia into a hug that smelled like her mother's lavender shampoo and coffee and home. "Then we fight it. Lisa says they won't. She says it's a bluff."

"But what if she's wrong?"

"Then we fight it," Mom repeated. "And we win. Because what you and Ethan did was not a crime. It was not wrong. And no judge will say it was."

Sophia wanted to believe that. She'd spent six weeks trying to believe it. Six weeks since April 1st, when police showed up at her university badminton practice and arrested her in front of the entire team. Six weeks since Robert Price filed charges claiming she'd manipulated his seventeen-year-old son into abandoning his hockey future for her.

Six weeks since she'd seen Ethan. Touched him. Heard his laugh without a screen between them. Felt his presence in the same room.

No—that wasn't quite true. She'd seen him. At the preliminary hearing. At the legal proceedings. Across courthouse hallways and through glass windows of meeting rooms. But they couldn't touch. Lisa Huang had been adamant: any contact during the legal proceedings could be used against them. No touching. No talking except in official capacities. Nothing that Robert's lawyers could twist into evidence of manipulation or coercion.

So for six weeks, they'd only had text messages. Carefully worded, always aware that Robert was probably monitoring Ethan's phone. Brief words of support that said everything and nothing.

Thinking of you. Stay strong.

I love you. Today's hard but we'll make it.

Not much longer now. May 15th.

May 15th. Today.

She made it to the bathroom before the panic attack hit. Sat on the cold tile floor, head between her knees, trying to remember how to breathe. Six weeks. Forty-two days. One thousand and eight hours of not knowing if she'd see him free or in prison or at all.

The mirror showed a stranger—hollow-eyed, too thin, wearing exhaustion like a second skin.

"Sophia?" Mom's voice through the door. "Honey, I heard you fall."

"I'm okay." She wasn't. But she would be. She had to be.

Sophia hugged her mother tighter. "I'm scared."

"I know, baby. I know. Me too." Michelle pulled back, holding Sophia's face in both hands. "But you are the bravest person I know. You stood up for what was right. You refused to let Robert Price control you. And today, we finish this."

"And if I end up with a criminal record—"

"You won't."

"But if I do, MIT—"

"Will still want you. Lisa already contacted them. They're on our side." Michelle smiled, fierce and protective. "The entire academic community is on our side. Nobody thinks loving someone eleven months younger than you is a crime."

Sophia took a shaky breath. "Okay. Okay, I'll come eat breakfast."

"Good girl." Michelle stood up. "Maya's already here, by the way. She brought reinforcements."

"Reinforcements?"

"You'll see."

Downstairs, Sophia found Maya sitting at the kitchen table with what looked like an entire bakery spread out in front of her. Croissants, muffins, donuts, breakfast sandwiches, and several thermoses of what smelled like very expensive coffee.

The kitchen still smelled like last night's untouched dinner—pasta sauce gone cold, garlic bread wrapped in foil. Six weeks of family dinners eaten in tense silence had left their mark on the room: Dad's legal pad always at his place, Mom's phone face-up for urgent calls, Maya's angry energy radiating from her corner.

"Whoa."

Maya looked up, her expression fierce and determined. Her younger sister had always been protective, but the past six weeks had turned her into a warrior. "You need options. I don't know what you can eat when you're stressed, so I got everything."

Sophia felt tears prick her eyes. "Maya—"

"No crying. Not yet. Save it for when we absolutely destroy them." Maya stood up and pulled Sophia into a hug. "Today's the day we destroy Robert Price's bullshit legal theater. Today's the day you get your boyfriend back. Today's the day everything goes back to normal."

"Or I get charged with a crime."

"Not happening." Maya's voice was absolute certainty. "Lisa says it's a bluff, and Lisa hasn't been wrong yet. Robert's trying to scare you into dropping Ethan. He's banking on you being terrified enough to walk away. But you're not going to do that, are you?"

Sophia looked at the breakfast spread, at her sister's fierce eyes, at her parents hovering anxiously in the kitchen doorway. She thought about Ethan—brilliant, sweet, controlled for seventeen years by a father who saw him as property instead of a person.

"No," Sophia said quietly. "I'm not walking away."

"Damn right you're not." Maya pushed her toward a chair. "Now eat. We've got a legal battle to win."

Sophia managed half a croissant and some coffee. Her father sat next to her, reviewing their strategy for the hundredth time. Thomas Chen was an accountant who also taught law, methodical and careful, and he'd approached Sophia's legal defense the same way he approached complex cases—with exhaustive preparation.

"Criminal charges hearing is at nine AM," Dad said, checking his notes. "Lisa will meet us at the courthouse at eight. The prosecution has until nine AM to proceed or drop charges. If you don't publicly recant your relationship with Ethan by then, they can move forward."

"Which I'm not doing." Sophia's voice was steady.

"Which you're not doing," Dad agreed. "Lisa believes they'll drop it. Technically, the age of consent in Manitoba is 16, with close-in-age exceptions for peers. What Robert is doing is unusual—most prosecutors won't touch cases where both parties are high school students within a year of each other. He's weaponizing a technicality that was designed to protect children from adults, not to control teenage peer relationships. That's why Lisa's confident they'll drop it. Too much bad publicity. The optics of charging a young woman for dating someone eleven months younger are terrible."

"Unless Robert's paying them enough not to care about optics," Maya muttered.

"He's not paying the prosecution," Mom said. "He's paying for media coverage. Those protesters outside the courthouse? Hired. The 'concerned parents' giving interviews about 'protecting children from predatory relationships'? Robert's PR team."

Sophia felt sick again. For six weeks, she'd watched the media coverage. Half the news outlets framed it as "teenage romance" and "overreaching parent." The other half framed it as "age gap relationship" and "questions of coercion." Reading the comments sections had been masochistic—people who didn't know her, didn't know Ethan, making judgments about their relationship, their choices, their lives.

"Don't read the comments," Maya had told her a hundred times.

Sophia had read them anyway.

She groomed him. Age gap relationships are always about power.

The accusation stung not because it was true—they were classmates, born eleven months apart—but because it reduced their entire childhood friendship, their shared interests, their equal partnership to a predatory dynamic that didn't exist.

He's a child. She took advantage.

Ethan was seventeen years and nine months old. They'd grown up together, separated for years, then reunited as equals. There was no taking advantage. There was just love.

If the genders were reversed, everyone would see this as predatory.

Sophia had thought about this. A lot. If Ethan were 18 and she were 17, would Robert have filed charges? Would anyone be calling it grooming? The double standard was real, but so was the fact that neither scenario would be predatory. They were peers. That's what people didn't seem to understand.

This is a teenage boy and his childhood friend. Get over yourselves.

17 and 18 is not grooming, it's high school.

She destroyed his hockey career for a relationship that won't last a year.

That last comment haunted her. Not because she thought Ethan would leave her—she knew he wouldn't—but because of the assumption embedded in it. That hockey was Ethan's "real" future. That MIT was just a girl's influence. That his choices weren't actually his own.

Which was exactly what Robert wanted everyone to believe.

"Soph?" Maya's voice cut through her spiraling thoughts. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Sorry. Just thinking."

"Stop thinking. Eat."

Sophia forced down another bite of croissant. It tasted like cardboard, but Maya was right—she needed strength. Whatever happened today, she needed to be ready.

At seven AM, she went upstairs to get dressed. The question of what to wear to possibly be charged with a crime had haunted her for days. Too casual seemed disrespectful. Too formal seemed like she was trying too hard. In the end, she settled on dark jeans, a simple blue blouse, and the blazer her mother had bought her for university interviews. Professional but still herself.

She stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Seventeen years old. Five-foot-four. Black hair pulled back in a neat ponytail. She looked tired—six weeks of stress and inadequate sleep showed in the shadows under her eyes, the tension in her jaw, the way her collarbones were more prominent than usual.

She looked like someone who'd been fighting a legal battle while trying to finish her senior year of high school.

Because that's exactly what she was.

"You can do this," she told her reflection. "You're not backing down. Not today. Not ever."

Her reflection stared back, scared but determined.

Across Winnipeg, in a hotel room that smelled like cheap coffee and too much Axe body spray, Ethan Price was staring at his own reflection with similar determination and similar fear.

He hadn't slept either.

Jordan Nakamura had smuggled him into the hotel last night—checking in under his own name, sneaking Ethan in through a side entrance, making sure nobody saw them. Robert didn't know Ethan was in Winnipeg yet. He thought Ethan was still in Brandon, still under house arrest, still controllable.

He was going to be very surprised when Ethan showed up at the courthouse.

"Dude, you need to eat something." Jordan tossed him a protein bar from the pile he'd brought last night. "Can't fight legal battles on an empty stomach."

Ethan caught the bar but just stared at it. His stomach was twisted in knots that made eating seem impossible. "I'm not hungry."

"Yeah, well, you're eating anyway." Jordan sat down on the other hotel bed, watching him carefully. "Big day. Charges hearing at nine, emancipation hearing at ten. Either Robert wins and you're stuck under his control for three more months, or you win and you're free."

"And Sophia either gets charged with a crime or she doesn't."

"She won't. Lisa says it's a bluff."

"But what if it's not?" Ethan ran his hands through his hair, anxiety making him restless. "What if they charge her because of me? What if my dad actually destroys her life—"

"Stop." Jordan's voice was firm. "Stop catastrophizing. Lisa Huang is the best defense attorney in Manitoba. Michael Chen wouldn't have recommended her if she wasn't. She says they'll drop charges. They'll drop charges."

Ethan wanted to believe that. He'd spent six weeks in a state of constant guilt and rage—guilt that Sophia was facing criminal charges because of him, rage at his father for filing them in the first place.

April 1st. The day that split his life into before and after.

He'd made his choice—chosen MIT over professional hockey, chosen his own future over his father's plans, chosen Sophia over Robert's control. He'd thought the worst had already happened. Screaming arguments. His father tracking his phone, deleting his texts, monitoring his every move. Moving back to Brandon and being forbidden from seeing Sophia.

Then April 1st happened.

Ethan had been in Brandon, finishing his online classes, when his mother called. Her voice had been strange—strained and careful in a way that immediately set off alarms.

"Ethan, your father filed charges against Sophia."

For a moment, he hadn't understood. "What kind of charges?"

"Criminal charges. For the relationship. The age gap." Caroline's voice had been thick with tears. "He says she manipulated you. That she's an adult in a relationship with a minor. That it's illegal."

The bottom had dropped out of Ethan's world.

"That's insane. She didn't manipulate me. She's only eleven months older—"

"I know. I know, honey. But technically, in Manitoba, it is illegal. She's eighteen and you're seventeen. Your father is using that."

"To do what?" But Ethan had known. Even before his mother answered, he'd known exactly what Robert was doing.

"To force you to break up with her. If she doesn't recant the relationship publicly, he's pushing for prosecution. If she does recant, if she agrees to never see you again, he'll drop it."

Ethan had sat in his Brandon house—the house that wasn't home, had never been home—and felt rage so complete it had made his vision white.

His father was using the law as a weapon. Using Sophia's love for Ethan against her. Threatening her with prison unless she walked away.

And knowing that Ethan, if given the choice between his future with Sophia and her freedom, would choose her freedom every time.

It was manipulation on a scale that took Ethan's breath away.

"I'm getting emancipated," he'd told his mother. "Right now. Today. Call Michael Chen. File the paperwork."

"Ethan—"

"Now, Mom. I'm not letting Dad do this. I'm not letting him control me or hurt Sophia anymore. I'm getting emancipated and then I'm going to testify that she never manipulated me, never coerced me, never did anything except support my choices."

There had been a long silence. Then, quietly, "Okay. I'll call Michael. We'll file the paperwork."

That was six weeks ago.

Six weeks of legal proceedings. Preliminary hearings. Psychological evaluations. Financial assessments. Character witnesses. Building a case for emancipation while simultaneously defending Sophia against criminal charges that should never have been filed.

Six weeks of not being able to see her. Talk to her except through carefully worded texts. Touch her.

Six weeks of his father's smug certainty that Sophia would break, would recant, would walk away to protect herself.

Robert Price didn't understand Sophia Chen at all.

She wasn't walking away. And neither was Ethan.

"You ready for this?" Jordan asked, watching him carefully.

Ethan pulled on the only suit he owned—the same one he'd worn to university interviews, back when his father still thought he could control which schools Ethan applied to. Navy blue, slightly too tight in the shoulders from hockey training, but professional enough.

"Yeah," Ethan said. "I'm ready. Let's go destroy my father's legal manipulation and get me emancipated."

Jordan grinned. "That's the spirit, man. Also, after today? You're free. Legally free. No more Robert controlling your life."

"If we win."

"When we win," Jordan corrected. "Think positive, man. You've got right on your side. And you've got the best lawyer in Winnipeg building your emancipation case. Robert's got money and anger and control issues. Guess which one the judge is going to side with?"

Ethan took a shaky breath. "Okay. Okay, let's do this."

They loaded into Jordan's car at seven-thirty. The drive across Winnipeg felt both endless and too fast. Ethan stared out the window, watching the city wake up—people going to work, to school, to normal Thursday activities. None of them knew that today was the day that determined his entire future.

"You think she's scared?" Ethan asked quietly.

Jordan didn't need to ask who "she" was. "Yeah, man. Probably terrified. You're probably both terrified. But you're both tough as hell, so you'll get through it."

"If they charge her—"

"They won't."

"But if they do, it's my fault. She's facing criminal charges because of me."

"No," Jordan said firmly. "She's facing criminal charges because your father is an abusive asshole who's weaponizing the legal system. That's not your fault. That's his."

Ethan knew Jordan was right. Intellectually, he knew that. Emotionally, the guilt still sat like lead in his stomach.

"I haven't seen her in six weeks," he said quietly. "Haven't touched her. Haven't talked to her except through texts that we both know my father is monitoring."

"Today you will. After the hearings, you're emancipated and the charges are dropped and you can actually be together." Jordan glanced over at him. "Just a few more hours, man. Hold on."

A few more hours. Ethan could do that. He'd survived seventeen years of his father's control. He'd survived six weeks of separation. He could survive a few more hours.

And then he'd be free.

At seven forty-five, both families arrived at the Winnipeg courthouse from different directions.

The scene was chaos.

Protesters lined the courthouse steps with signs: "PROTECT PARENTAL RIGHTS" and "CHILDREN NEED FATHERS" and "STOP AGE GAP ABUSE." Robert's hired PR campaign, obvious and performative. News cameras filming everything. Reporters trying to shove microphones at anyone who looked like they might be involved in the case.

Sophia's family came through the side entrance, trying to avoid the worst of it. But cameras still caught them—Sophia in the middle, flanked by her parents and Maya, all of them looking exhausted and determined.

"Ms. Chen! Do you regret the relationship?"

"Sophia! Will you recant today?"

"Is it true you manipulated Ethan Price into abandoning hockey?"

Michelle Chen put herself between the cameras and her daughter. "No comment. Please respect our privacy."

They pushed through to the courthouse doors, security letting them through after ID checks. Inside, the courthouse was marginally quieter—still busy with morning proceedings, but at least the media couldn't follow them past security.

"I hate this," Sophia muttered. "I hate all of this."

"Just a few more hours," Dad said, echoing Jordan's words to Ethan across the city. "Stay strong."

Across the courthouse lobby, Ethan and Jordan were running the same gauntlet. The protesters were louder for Ethan—"UNGRATEFUL SON" and "HOCKEY OVER HORMONES" and, bizarrely, "THINK OF YOUR FATHER."

"Your dad hired people to protest against you," Jordan muttered as they pushed through. "That's a new level of messed up, man."

"That's Robert Price for you. Go big on the manipulation or go home."

They made it through security. Inside the courthouse, Jordan stopped. "Dude. Look."

Ethan followed his gaze across the lobby.

Sophia.

Six weeks. Forty-two days. One thousand and eight hours since he'd seen her in person.

She looked tired. Thinner than she'd been in March. The stress of legal proceedings showing in every line of her body. But she was here. Standing with her family. Refusing to back down.

She looked up at the same moment, their eyes meeting across the crowded courthouse lobby.

Everything else fell away. The noise, the people, the fear, the stress—all of it narrowed to that single point of connection. Her dark eyes meeting his. All the words they couldn't say. All the touches they couldn't share. All the fear and love and determination packed into a single look.

The twenty feet between them might as well have been twenty miles.

I'm here. His eyes said it. I see you. I'm not backing down.

She nodded once. Me too. Me neither.

Then Lisa Huang appeared at Sophia's elbow, speaking quietly, and Sophia's gaze broke away. Lisa was pointing toward a conference room, gesturing for the Chen family to follow her.

Michael Chen appeared at Ethan's elbow. "Come on. We need to prep for your emancipation hearing."

"I saw her." Ethan's voice came out rough.

"I know. After the charges hearing, you'll be able to talk to her properly. Just a little longer."

A little longer. Ethan could do that.

He followed Michael to a different conference room, Jordan trailing behind them. The room was small, sterile, with a table and uncomfortable chairs and windows that looked out over the courthouse steps where protesters were still chanting.

Michael set down his briefcase, pulling out files. "Okay. Criminal charges hearing is first, nine AM. That's Sophia's proceeding, not yours, but you're here as a potential witness. The courtroom is smaller—Family Court, not Criminal Court. Different building, different judge. Judge Thompson will handle the criminal charges at 9 AM. Then at ten AM, we have your emancipation hearing with Judge Morrison. She's experienced with family law, generally fair, but tough. She's not going to grant emancipation just because you want it. You need to prove you're financially independent, emotionally mature, and that emancipation is in your best interest."

Ethan nodded. They'd been over this a hundred times. "I have the MIT scholarship. Full ride. I have summer job offers. I can support myself."

"That's the financial argument, yes. But there's also the emotional argument. Your father's legal team is going to paint this as teenage rebellion over a girl. They're going to say you're throwing away a hockey career for infatuation. They're going to argue that you're not mature enough to make this decision."

"I'm not throwing away hockey. MIT has a club team. I can still play."

"I know that. You know that. But Robert's narrative is that professional hockey—NHL dreams—was your path, and Sophia convinced you to give it up. We need to counter that narrative with the truth: you're making your own choices about your own future, and Robert has been controlling those choices for seventeen years."

"Which he has been." Ethan's voice was flat. "He decided I'd play professional hockey when I was four years old. I never got a choice in any of it. And when I finally tried to choose differently, he weaponized the law against the girl I love."

"Exactly. That's what you need to convey to Judge Morrison. Not anger—she won't respond well to anger. But clear, calm testimony about a pattern of control and the need for independence."

Jordan, sitting in the corner, spoke up. "What if Robert brings up the fact that Ethan and Sophia started dating when he was still seventeen?"

Michael sighed. "He will absolutely bring that up. That's his entire argument for the criminal charges. But Ethan's testimony will counter it—you two were childhood friends who reconnected. There was no manipulation. You made independent choices about MIT before the relationship even became romantic."

"That's true," Ethan confirmed. "I applied to MIT in December. Sophia and I didn't start officially dating until January. The choices were mine."

"Good. Stick to that timeline. Emphasize your own agency. And remember—the emancipation hearing isn't about whether your relationship with Sophia is appropriate. It's about whether you're mature enough to be legally independent from Robert. Stay focused on that."

They spent the next hour reviewing testimony, going over potential questions, preparing for every angle Robert's lawyers might take. Michael was thorough, methodical, exactly the kind of lawyer Ethan needed for this.

At eight forty-five, there was a knock on the conference room door.

Lisa Huang stuck her head in. "Charges hearing starts in fifteen minutes. Thought you might want to be there."

Michael looked at Ethan. "You don't have to be. It's Sophia's proceeding."

"I'm going," Ethan said immediately. "If they charge her, I need to be there."

"Alright. But sit separately. Perception matters."

They filed into the small courtroom—formal, with wood paneling and harsh fluorescent lights. Sophia was already seated at the defense table with Lisa. Her parents and Maya were behind her.

Ethan took a seat in the back public gallery, Jordan next to him. Across the courtroom, Robert sat at the prosecution side with his lawyers and PR person.

Robert looked smug. Confident. Like a man who thought he'd already won.

Ethan felt rage simmer.

The judge entered—Judge Thompson, stern and gray-haired. Everyone stood, then sat.

"This is the matter of Province of Manitoba versus Sophia Chen," Judge Thompson said. "Ms. Chen faces potential charges under Section 151—sexual contact with a minor. How does the prosecution wish to proceed?"

Robert's lead lawyer stood. Tall, expensive, exactly the kind of lawyer Robert would hire.

"Your Honor, the prosecution requires a statement from Ms. Chen before we proceed."

Judge Thompson looked at Sophia. "Ms. Chen, you've been informed that if you publicly recant your relationship with Ethan Price and agree to no further contact, the prosecution will withdraw these charges. Is that correct?"

Lisa stood. "That is correct, Your Honor. However, Ms. Chen declines to recant. The relationship was legal, consensual, and non-coercive. She will not be pressured into false testimony."

A murmur went through the courtroom.

Judge Thompson looked at the prosecution. "The deadline for Ms. Chen to recant is nine AM. It is currently eight fifty-seven. Does Ms. Chen wish to change her statement?"

Every eye turned to Sophia.

She stood slowly, deliberately. Her voice was steady, clear, unwavering.

"No, Your Honor. I won't—I can't lie about this. About us. Ethan and I, we grew up together. This isn't some... manipulation thing. We're friends who fell in love. We support each other. That's it. I did not manipulate him. I did not coerce him. I supported his choices, as he supported mine. I will not lie about that to avoid charges that should never have been filed."

Pride surged through Ethan so strongly he nearly stood and cheered. That was Sophia—brave, brilliant, refusing to back down even when threatened with prison.

Judge Thompson looked at the prosecution. "It's eight fifty-eight. Does the prosecution wish to proceed with charges?"

The lawyer glanced at Robert, whose face showed frustrated rage. Then the lawyer looked back at the judge.

Eight fifty-nine.

The courtroom was silent, everyone holding their breath.

Nine AM.

The prosecution lawyer stood. "Your Honor, after careful consideration—"

Everyone held their breath.

"—the prosecution withdraws all charges against Sophia Chen."

The courtroom erupted.

Sophia's mother burst into tears. Maya screamed "YES!" loud enough to make the judge wince. Thomas Chen wrapped his arms around his wife, relief written across his face.

Lisa Huang smiled, satisfied and unsurprised. "Told you it was a bluff."

Ethan felt his knees go weak. She was safe. They'd dropped the charges. Sophia wasn't going to be prosecuted.

Across the courtroom, Robert's face was a mask of fury and humiliation. He'd been certain Sophia would break. So confident the threat would work.

He'd been wrong.

Judge Thompson banged his gavel. "Order. I want order." He looked at Sophia. "Ms. Chen, the charges against you are dismissed with prejudice. You're free to go."

Sophia sat down hard, like her legs wouldn't hold her. Lisa put a hand on her shoulder. Maya was hugging their parents, all of them crying.

Michael leaned over to Ethan. "That's victory one. Now for yours. Ten minutes."

Ethan nodded, not trusting his voice.

Across the courtroom, Sophia turned and looked directly at him.

And smiled.

That smile—exhausted, relieved, triumphant—made everything worth it. Every argument with Robert. Every day of separation. Every hour of legal proceedings. Worth it for that smile.

The courtroom cleared for the brief recess. In the hallway, Lisa caught Ethan's arm. "You have ten minutes before emancipation. You're allowed to talk to her now—charges dropped, restrictions lifted."

Ethan's heart pounded. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet. You still have to win emancipation."

But Ethan was already moving, scanning the hallway. Maya saw him first, grinning.

"Ethan!"

Sophia turned.

Six weeks. Forty-two days. One thousand and eight hours.

And then he was walking toward her, and she was walking toward him, meeting in the middle of the courthouse hallway.

"Hi," she said, voice thick with tears.

"Hi."

And then his hands were in hers.

The shock of it—skin on skin after six weeks of monitored phone calls and supervised visits and lawyers watching every glance. Warm. Real. His thumb automatically finding that spot on her wrist where her pulse hammered. The same way he'd held her hand a thousand times before April 1st, before everything went to hell.

Her knees went weak.

"Six weeks," she whispered.

"Forty-two days." His voice was wrecked. "One thousand and eight hours."

"You counted?"

"Every single one."

Then his arms were around her and she was breathing him in—his familiar soap smell mixed with courthouse anxiety sweat and too much coffee and underneath it all just Ethan. She pressed her face into his shoulder and felt him shaking. Or maybe she was shaking. Probably both.

"I didn't drop you," she whispered.

"I know. Thank you."

"I wasn't going to. Ever."

"I know." He pulled back just enough to look at her face. "I'm getting emancipated today. Right now. Ten minutes."

"I know." She squeezed his hands. "I'm going to testify if they need me."

"You don't have to—"

"Yes, I do. After everything your father tried? I'm testifying about exactly who you are and why you deserve freedom."

God, he loved her.

"I missed you," he said.

"I missed you too. So much."

"Ethan," Michael called. "We need to go."

"Sophia," her dad said at the same time. "Come on."

They separated reluctantly, Sophia watching Ethan disappear. Ten minutes together after six weeks. Not enough.

But in one hour, they'd have forever.

Or so she thought, until she saw Robert Price's expression across the hallway. He wasn't angry. He wasn't defeated.

He was smiling.

Like a man who knew something no one else did.

Like a man who still held the winning card.

Sophia's blood turned to ice. What had they missed?

"Ms. Chen," Lisa called. "We need to go in."

As Sophia entered the courtroom for Ethan's emancipation hearing, one thought consumed her: Robert Price never smiled unless he'd already won.

At ten AM, Judge Morrison entered, and everyone stood.

"Please be seated," she said, taking her bench. She was in her fifties, African-Canadian, with an air of someone who had seen everything. "We're here for emancipation petition filed by Ethan Price, age 17, seeking emancipation from Robert Price. Let's begin."

Sophia held her breath.

This was it.

Victory number two.

Or complete disaster.

The hearing began.

[End of Chapter 1]

Word Count: ~5,500 words Timeline: 6:00 AM - 10:00 AM Emotional Arc: Terror → Separation → Determination → First Touch → Hope → Dread

Chapter 2: CHAPTER 2: THE HEARING

9:00 AM - 11:30 AM

The moment the judge's gavel fell, dismissing the criminal charges, Sophia felt her knees go weak.

Free.

She wasn't going to jail. She wasn't going to have a criminal record. She wasn't going to lose MIT.

And she hadn't dropped Ethan.

"Told you," Lisa Huang said quietly, gathering her files with the satisfaction of someone who'd been absolutely certain of the outcome. "Political theater."

Sophia turned in her seat, looking across the courtroom to where Ethan sat in the back row. He was staring at her, eyes wet, hands pressed together like he'd been praying. When their gazes met, his entire face transformed—relief so profound it was almost painful to witness.

She smiled.

He smiled back.

"We have ten minutes before the emancipation hearing," Lisa said, standing. "Use them wisely."

Sophia didn't need to be told twice.

The courthouse hallway was chaos—media shouting questions, protesters still chanting outside, families congratulating each other. But Sophia only saw one person.

Ethan was already moving toward her, weaving through the crowd. Jordan Nakamura was trailing behind him, grinning. Maya grabbed Sophia's arm. "Go. We'll give you space."

Then Ethan was in front of her.

Six weeks. Forty-two days. One thousand and eight hours.

"Hi," she said. Her voice came out shaky.

"Hi."

And then his hands were in hers, warm and real and solid, and she was stepping forward into his arms. He wrapped around her immediately, pulling her close, and for the first time in six weeks she could breathe properly.

She was crying. So was he.

"You didn't drop me," he whispered against her hair.

"I wasn't going to. Ever."

"Thank you. God, Soph, thank you."

She pulled back enough to see his face. He looked exhausted—shadows under his eyes, tension in his jaw, the kind of tired that came from weeks of sustained fear. But he was here. Holding her. Free to touch her without lawyers monitoring them.

"I'm getting emancipated today," he said. "Right now. Ten minutes."

"I know." She squeezed his hands. "I'm going to testify if they need me."

"You don't have to—"

"Yes, I do." Her voice was firm. "After everything your father tried? I'm testifying about exactly who you are and why you deserve freedom."

Something flashed in his eyes—gratitude, love, something too big for words. He pulled her close again, and she let herself have this moment. Just ten minutes of touching him, holding him, feeling his heartbeat against her cheek.

It wasn't enough. It would never be enough.

But in ten minutes, if the judge ruled in their favor, they'd have forever.

"Ethan," Michael Chen called. "We need to prep."

"Sophia," her dad said from somewhere behind her. "Come on, honey."

They separated reluctantly. Ethan's hands were the last thing to let go, fingers sliding through hers until only their fingertips touched, then nothing.

"See you in there," he said.

"Win this."

"I will."

She watched him walk away with Michael Chen, Jordan following. Then Maya was at her elbow, steering her toward another conference room where Lisa was waiting.

"That was adorable," Maya said. "Also, you both look like you haven't slept in six weeks."

"We haven't."

"Fair."

At ten AM exactly, Judge Morrison entered the courtroom.

Sophia sat in the gallery with her family—Mom on one side, Maya on the other, Dad in the row behind them. Across the aisle, she could see Robert Price with his legal team: two lawyers in expensive suits and a PR person taking notes.

Caroline Price sat between the two sides, alone. She looked small in the courtroom's harsh fluorescent light. When Ethan entered with Michael Chen, Caroline's face crumpled briefly before she composed herself.

Ethan took his seat at the petitioner's table. He didn't look at Robert.

Robert was staring at him with an expression Sophia couldn't quite read—anger, yes, but also something that looked almost like grief.

Judge Morrison settled at her bench, reviewing papers. She was a Black woman in her fifties with an air of someone who had seen everything twice and wasn't impressed by theatrics. Sophia recognized her from the February hearing where she'd granted conditional contact. She'd been fair then. Penetrating questions, but fair.

Please let her be fair now.

"Please be seated," Judge Morrison said. The courtroom rustled as everyone sat. "We're here for the emancipation petition filed by Ethan Price, age seventeen, seeking legal emancipation from his father, Robert Price. I've reviewed the petition, supporting documents, and psychological evaluation. We'll begin with opening statements. Mr. Price, you're opposing this petition. Your counsel may proceed."

Robert's lead lawyer stood—tall, silver-haired, the kind of lawyer you hired when money was no object.

"Your Honor, this case is about a father who has dedicated thirteen years of his life to his son's success. Robert Price moved his family to Winnipeg when Ethan was nine years old, specifically to provide access to superior hockey training. He has invested countless hours and substantial financial resources into developing Ethan's athletic career. My client has sacrificed his own career opportunities, his marriage, his entire life, to give his son the best possible future."

Sophia felt her jaw clench. Sacrificed his marriage? Caroline was sitting right there, and it was pretty clear whose choice that separation had been.

"This petition," the lawyer continued, "is not about mature independence. It's about teenage infatuation. Ethan met a young woman last fall—a woman eleven months his senior—and became involved in a relationship that has fundamentally altered his life trajectory. He has abandoned a potential professional hockey career, worth millions of dollars, to attend MIT with this young woman. This is not reasoned decision-making. This is adolescent impulsivity."

Maya made a small, angry sound beside Sophia.

"Furthermore," the lawyer said, "emancipation would be financially devastating for Ethan. While he claims to have means of support through MIT's scholarship program, that program is contingent on maintaining academic standards and work-study participation. He has no savings, no assets, no backup plan. Granting emancipation would place a seventeen-year-old at financial risk for no purpose except teenage rebellion."

The lawyer sat down. Robert looked satisfied.

Judge Morrison turned to Michael Chen. "Mr. Chen, you're representing the petitioner. Opening statement?"

Dad stood. Sophia had seen him in court before—he taught law and occasionally consulted on cases—but never like this. Never representing someone she loved.

"Your Honor, this case is about a young man's right to choose his own future. Ethan Price is seventeen years, nine months old. In less than three months, he will be a legal adult regardless of this ruling. The question before you isn't whether he will eventually have autonomy—it's whether he should be required to endure three more months of parental control that has been, according to expert testimony, psychologically harmful."

Michael pulled out a document. "Dr. Sarah Martinez, court-appointed psychologist, conducted three extensive sessions with Ethan and reviewed his family history. Her conclusion: 'Ethan Price demonstrates exceptional maturity and clear autonomous decision-making capabilities. His relationship with his father exhibits patterns consistent with emotional manipulation and control that would benefit from legal separation.' Those are her words, Your Honor. A professional assessment."

Judge Morrison made a note.

"Regarding the relationship with my daughter, Sophia Chen," Dad continued—and Sophia felt a weird jolt hearing herself mentioned clinically in court—"Ethan applied to MIT in December, before their relationship became romantic in January. His academic record shows consistent excellence in mathematics and physics since elementary school, predating any contact with Sophia by eight years. This isn't abandoning hockey for a girl. This is choosing academics after years of being denied that choice."

"Financially, Ethan has secured a full scholarship to MIT including room, board, and a work-study program that will provide income. He has summer employment lined up. He has means of support that don't require parental assistance. This petition isn't about a teenager running away from responsibility. It's about a young man running toward the future he's earned the right to choose."

Michael sat down. Ethan was staring at the table, but Sophia could see the tension in his shoulders.

"We'll hear testimony," Judge Morrison said. "Mr. Price, call your first witness."

Robert's lawyer stood. "We call Robert Price to the stand."

Watching Robert testify was surreal.

He sat in the witness box looking composed, almost sympathetic. When his lawyer asked him to describe his relationship with Ethan, his voice was calm and measured—the voice of a reasonable man being unreasonably attacked.

"I've dedicated my life to giving Ethan opportunities I never had," Robert said. "I grew up in a small town with limited resources. When I saw Ethan's potential in hockey at age four, I promised myself I would do everything possible to help him succeed. Everything."

"Can you describe what 'everything' entailed?" the lawyer asked.

"We moved to Winnipeg when he was nine so he could train with the best AAA program in Manitoba. I took a lower-paying job to make that possible. I drove him to practices at five AM, tournaments every weekend, summer camps across Canada and the United States. I paid for private coaching, equipment, nutritionists, everything a developing athlete needs."

"And what was Ethan's trajectory before this relationship began?"

"He was being scouted by NHL teams. First-round draft projection. Full scholarship offers from Division One programs. He had a future in professional hockey—the dream we'd worked toward for thirteen years."

"What changed?"

Robert's expression tightened. "Sophia Chen moved to Winnipeg last fall for her junior year. She and Ethan knew each other as children, before we moved. When they reconnected, everything changed."

"How so?"

"He started skipping practices. His focus shifted from hockey to spending time with her. He stopped communicating with me about college decisions—I found out he'd applied to MIT only when the acceptance letter arrived. When I tried to discuss his future, he became defensive, secretive. The relationship became his entire focus."

Sophia wanted to stand up and scream that wasn't how it happened. But she sat still, Maya's hand tight in hers.

"Mr. Price, why do you oppose emancipation?"

Robert looked directly at Ethan for the first time. "Because I love my son. Because I've spent thirteen years preparing him for success, and I'm watching him throw it away. If he's emancipated, he'll have no guidance, no support system. When this relationship ends—and teenage relationships do end—he'll be alone and adrift, having sacrificed everything for infatuation."

"Thank you, Mr. Price."

Judge Morrison looked at Michael Chen. "Cross-examination?"

Dad stood. "Mr. Price, when did Ethan first express interest in science and mathematics?"

Robert frowned. "I don't know. Elementary school, maybe."

"According to his academic records, he participated in math competitions at age nine and ten. Do you remember that?"

"Vaguely."

"Did you attend any of those competitions?"

Pause. "No. They conflicted with hockey."

"When did Ethan tell you he was interested in engineering as a career?"

"He didn't. That came from Sophia."

"Actually," Michael said, pulling out another document, "Ethan's eighth-grade career assessment—four years ago, two years before reconnecting with Sophia—listed his top career interest as 'engineer or physicist.' Were you aware of that?"

Robert's jaw tightened. "He was thirteen. Kids change their minds."

"Indeed. Did he change his mind, or did you tell him hockey was his future?"

"I guided him toward his strength."

"Did you ask what he wanted?"

Silence.

"Mr. Price, have you ever asked Ethan what he wants for his own future, separate from what you want for him?"

"I know what's best for my son."

"That's not what I asked."

Judge Morrison leaned forward. "Mr. Price, please answer the question."

Robert looked at her, then at Michael, then at Ethan. "Everything I've done has been for him."

"And yet," Michael said quietly, "he's sitting in this courtroom petitioning to legally separate from you. Does that suggest your assessment of what's best might differ from his?"

"Objection," Robert's lawyer said. "Argumentative."

"Sustained. Move on, Mr. Chen."

Michael nodded. "No further questions."

Robert stepped down, his composure cracked. Caroline was crying silently in her seat.

"The petitioner calls Ethan Price to the stand."

Sophia watched Ethan rise and walk to the witness box. He looked terrified and determined in equal measure. When he took the oath, his voice was steady.

Michael approached gently. "Ethan, why are you seeking emancipation?"

Ethan took a breath. "Because I need—I need to be free to choose my own future."

"Can you elaborate?"

"My father decided I would play professional hockey when I was four years old." Ethan's voice was calm, but Sophia could hear the tremor underneath. "I don't remember asking for that. I don't remember choosing it. I remember being told that hockey was what I was good at, what I was meant to do, what our family had sacrificed for. And I loved playing—I still do. But I never got to decide if it was what I wanted for my life."

As Ethan spoke, Sophia felt something tighten in her chest. This was the boy who'd shared his granola bars with her in kindergarten when she'd forgotten her snack. Who'd built LEGOs with her for hours, constructing elaborate spaceships and explaining how they'd fly. Who'd won the district science fair at age nine with a project about friction and then never competed again because hockey tournaments took precedence.

She'd known him before Robert had decided who he'd be. She'd known the version of Ethan that existed before hockey became everything.

And watching him sit in that witness box, finally saying the words he'd needed to say for years, she felt pride and heartbreak in equal measure.

"When did that change?" Michael asked.

"When I reconnected with Sophia last fall." Ethan glanced at her briefly, then back at the judge. His eyes were bright, focused. "We were friends when we were nine. She reminded me that I used to love science, math, building things. That I used to talk about being an engineer. I'd forgotten that part of myself because there was only room for hockey in my life."

Sophia wanted to reach across the courtroom and touch him. Just rest her hand on his shoulder so he'd know she was there, that he wasn't alone. But all she could do was sit perfectly still and watch him be brave.

"What happened when you expressed interest in MIT?"

"My father told me I was being manipulated. That Sophia was distracting me from hockey. He started monitoring my phone, reading my texts, tracking where I went. When I applied to MIT anyway, he deleted my applications. I had to resubmit them from school computers."

Sophia saw the way Ethan's hands tightened on the edge of the witness box. The slight tremble in his fingers. He was terrified, she realized. Absolutely terrified of speaking against his father in public like this.

But he was doing it anyway.

God, she loved him.

"Did he attempt to control the relationship itself?"

"Yes. He offered Sophia money—an eighty-thousand-dollar scholarship—to stop seeing me and go to a different college."

Murmurs in the courtroom. Robert's face flushed.

"When that didn't work, he filed criminal charges against her." Ethan's voice hardened. "She was facing prison time for dating me—someone eleven months younger. That's when I knew I had to get emancipated. Because a father who would use the law as a weapon against someone his son loves isn't protecting him. He's controlling him."

Judge Morrison was watching Ethan intently, her expression unreadable.

Sophia's heart was hammering. She could see the fear in Ethan's eyes, the way he kept glancing at Robert and then away, like he couldn't quite bear to look directly at what he was doing. Testifying against his father. Asking a court to sever the legal tie between them.

This was costing him everything.

And he was paying it for both of them.

"Ethan," Michael said, "do you love your father?"

The question clearly surprised him. Ethan blinked, his composure wavering. "I... yes. I think so. But I can't—I can't live under his control anymore."

"Why not?"

"Because he doesn't see me as a person. He sees me as a project. And I need—" His voice cracked slightly. "I need to be my own person before it's too late."

Michael nodded. "Thank you. No further questions."

Robert's lawyer stood. "Mr. Price—sorry, Ethan—you're seventeen years old. You've never lived independently, held a job, paid bills. How do you expect to support yourself?"

"MIT scholarship covers tuition and housing. Work-study provides income for personal expenses. I've already been accepted into the program."

"Work-study pays approximately twelve dollars an hour. Have you budgeted for books, food, transportation, emergencies?"

"Yes. Michael Chen helped me create a budget. I'll make about three thousand dollars through summer employment, which covers moving costs and initial expenses. After that, work-study covers ongoing needs."

"What if you get sick? What if there's an emergency?"

"MIT provides health insurance. I'll have savings for emergencies."

"What if you fail out? Academic scholarships require maintaining GPA standards."

"I won't fail out."

"How can you be certain?"

"Because I've maintained a 4.0 GPA while training for hockey twenty hours a week and dealing with my father's legal attacks on my girlfriend. I think I can handle college."

Several people in the gallery laughed. Judge Morrison hid a smile.

Sophia felt a surge of fierce pride. That was her Ethan—quiet until pushed, then absolutely unmovable.

The lawyer changed tactics. "You claim this relationship with Sophia Chen isn't influencing your decisions. But you applied to the same school, plan to live in the same city, have coordinated your entire future with hers. Doesn't that suggest dependence?"

"We applied to the same school because we have the same academic interests. We both want to study engineering. We both love math and physics. That's not dependence—that's shared goals."

"But if the relationship ends—"

"I'll still want to study engineering. I'll still want to go to MIT. Sophia isn't why I want those things. She just reminded me that I was allowed to want them."

The lawyer tried a few more angles, but Ethan held firm. When he finally stepped down, Sophia wanted to cheer.

He didn't look at Robert as he returned to his seat. Robert was staring at the table, jaw clenched.

Caroline was watching Ethan with an expression of profound sadness and what looked like regret.

"We call Dr. Sarah Martinez."

The psychologist was a woman in her forties with kind eyes and professional demeanor. She took the stand calmly.

"Dr. Martinez," Michael said, "you conducted a court-ordered evaluation of Ethan Price. Can you summarize your findings?"

"I met with Ethan for three sessions totaling approximately eight hours. I also reviewed his academic records, medical history, and interviewed relevant parties including teachers and coaches. My assessment is that Ethan demonstrates exceptional maturity for his age, clear autonomous thinking, and well-developed future planning capabilities."

"In your professional opinion, is he emotionally prepared for emancipation?"

"Yes. In fact, I believe emancipation would be psychologically beneficial. The current parent-child dynamic exhibits patterns consistent with enmeshment and emotional manipulation. Legal separation would allow Ethan to develop independent identity formation, which is crucial at his developmental stage."

"Can you elaborate on 'enmeshment'?"

"It's a family dynamic where a parent's identity becomes overly intertwined with a child's achievements. The parent begins to view the child's successes as their own, and the child's choices as threats to the parent's self-worth. This creates a control dynamic that inhibits healthy development."

"Did you observe this in the Price family?"

"Yes. Robert Price has invested substantial time and resources in Ethan's hockey career—which isn't inherently problematic. But he's also expressed that Ethan's choices feel like personal betrayal. That's enmeshment. Ethan's autonomy threatens Robert's sense of identity."

"What about the relationship with Sophia Chen? Did you assess whether she's manipulating him?"

"I did. I found no evidence of manipulation. Their relationship appears to be age-appropriate, consensual, and mutually supportive. Sophia has her own achievements and identity separate from Ethan. They function as partners, not as manipulator and victim."

"Thank you, Dr. Martinez."

Robert's lawyer stood for cross-examination. "Dr. Martinez, you only met with Ethan three times. How can you assess thirteen years of family dynamics from eight hours?"

"I also reviewed extensive documentation and interviewed multiple sources. Eight hours of clinical assessment combined with corroborating evidence provides a comprehensive picture."

"But you never lived with this family. You don't know what happens behind closed doors."

"That's true of every psychological evaluation. I work with the evidence available."

"Is it possible that a seventeen-year-old boy infatuated with an older girl might present a biased narrative?"

"It's possible. That's why I interviewed other sources and reviewed objective records. The pattern was consistent across all sources."

"But you can't know for certain."

"Nothing in psychology is certain. I can tell you that in fifteen years of conducting these evaluations, Ethan Price is one of the most thoughtful, mature petitioners I've assessed."

The lawyer tried a few more questions but got nowhere. Dr. Martinez was unshakeable.

When she stepped down, Sophia felt hope fluttering in her chest. The expert testimony was powerful.

Maybe they actually had a chance.

"I'd like to call Sophia Chen to speak."

Sophia's head jerked up. She looked at her father, who nodded encouragingly.

Robert's lawyer was on his feet. "Objection, Your Honor. Ms. Chen isn't party to this petition."

"She's relevant to the petitioner's circumstances," Michael said. "The relationship is central to Mr. Price's opposition."

Judge Morrison considered. "I'll allow it. Ms. Chen, please take the stand."

Sophia's legs felt shaky as she walked to the witness box. She could feel everyone watching her—Robert's angry glare, Caroline's tearful gaze, Ethan's worried eyes.

She took the oath and sat down.

Michael smiled at her gently. "Sophia, did you manipulate Ethan into choosing MIT?"

"No." Her voice came out stronger than she felt. "I barely talked about MIT with him until after he'd already decided to apply."

"Can you describe your relationship?"

"We were childhood friends when we were nine. We reconnected last fall when my family moved to Winnipeg. We started studying together, talking about school, spending time skating. The relationship—it developed naturally over several months."

"Did you encourage him to give up hockey?"

"No. I didn't even know he was considering it until he told me he'd applied to MIT. He made that decision independently."

"What role did you play in his college decisions?"

Sophia took a breath, trying to organize her thoughts. In the gallery, she could see Maya giving her an encouraging nod.

"I supported his choices the same way he supported mine. When I was deciding between badminton and academics, he told me I could do both. When he was deciding between hockey and MIT, I told him the same thing. We don't—we don't make each other's choices. We support each other's right to choose."

Michael nodded. "When Robert Price offered you eighty thousand dollars to stop seeing Ethan and attend a different college, what did you do?"

"I said no."

"Why?"

"Because choosing my own future means choosing all of it. The school I attend, the sport I play, and the person I love. I wasn't going to let anyone pay me to give up part of my life."

"Even though it meant facing criminal charges?"

Sophia looked directly at Robert. "Even then. Because what Ethan and I have isn't manipulation. It's partnership. And you can't buy your way out of that."

Robert looked away.

Michael sat down. "No further questions."

Robert's lawyer approached. Sophia braced herself.

"Ms. Chen, you're eighteen years old and Ethan is seventeen. That's illegal in Manitoba."

"By eleven months. We didn't plan our birthdays."

"But you knew it was illegal when the relationship became physical?"

Sophia felt her face heat. "We haven't—our relationship isn't—that's not relevant."

"The criminal charges suggest otherwise."

"The criminal charges were dropped this morning because they were baseless."

"But they were filed. That suggests—"

"It suggests Robert Price was willing to use the law as a weapon to control his son's life. That's exactly why Ethan needs emancipation."

Judge Morrison looked impressed. "Ms. Chen makes a fair point."

The lawyer tried a different angle. "You're a competitive athlete yourself, correct? National champion in badminton?"

"Yes."

"Don't you think Ethan is giving up a similar opportunity by choosing MIT over professional hockey?"

"No. I think he's choosing a different opportunity. Hockey isn't the only valid path to success."

"But he could play professional hockey and earn millions—"

"He could also study engineering and design things that change the world. Why is one future more valuable than the other?"

"Because one pays significantly more."

"Money isn't the only measure of value."

"Easy to say when you're not giving up millions."

"I'm not giving up anything," Sophia said firmly. "Neither is Ethan. We're choosing what we want, not what other people think we should want. That's not sacrifice. That's freedom."

The courtroom was silent.

"No further questions," the lawyer said quietly.

As Sophia stepped down, she caught Ethan's eye. He was looking at her like she'd just done something miraculous.

She sat back down between Mom and Maya. Her hands were shaking, but she felt oddly calm.

She'd told the truth. That was all she could do.

"I'd like to call Caroline Price to the stand."

The courtroom went still. Sophia felt Maya grip her hand.

Caroline stood slowly, smoothing her blouse with trembling fingers. She walked to the witness box like she was walking to her own sentencing.

When she took the oath, her voice was barely audible.

Michael approached carefully. "Mrs. Price, can you describe your son's relationship with his father?"

Caroline looked at Ethan, then away. "Robert loves Ethan very much. He's always loved him. But..."

"But?"

"But Robert has difficulty separating what's best for Ethan from what Robert wants for himself." Her voice grew slightly stronger. "When Ethan was four and showed talent for hockey, Robert saw a path. A way to give Ethan everything he never had. And it became—it became everything. Our whole lives revolved around hockey."

"Did you support that focus?"

"At first, yes. I thought we were helping Ethan. Building his future. But over the years, I watched my son become quieter. More withdrawn. Like he was disappearing into the role we'd built for him."

Sophia saw Ethan's hands clench on the table in front of him.

"When did you recognize this was a problem?" Michael asked.

"Last fall, when Sophia came back into his life." Caroline smiled slightly through her tears. "Suddenly Ethan was laughing again. Talking about math and science like he used to when he was little. I saw glimpses of the boy I'd forgotten he used to be. And I realized we'd taken something from him."

"Did you discuss this with your husband?"

"I tried. Robert said it was infatuation. That Sophia was distracting Ethan from his future. But I could see—she wasn't distracting him. She was reminding him who he was."

"Mrs. Price, do you support Ethan's petition for emancipation?"

Caroline looked directly at Ethan. "Yes."

Robert made a sound—half anger, half disbelief. His lawyer put a hand on his arm.

"Can you explain why?" Michael asked gently.

"Because my son deserves to choose his own life. Because I love him enough to let him go. Because..." Her voice broke. "Because I should have protected him from this years ago, and I didn't. This is me trying to make that right."

"Thank you, Mrs. Price."

Robert's lawyer stood for cross-examination, but Judge Morrison held up a hand. "I think we've heard enough. Mrs. Price, you may step down."

Caroline walked back to her seat, tears streaming down her face. As she passed Robert, he wouldn't look at her.

"I'd like to call Michael Chen to testify about MIT's financial aid package."

Dad took the stand briefly, explaining the scholarship terms, work-study details, and budget projections. It was dry testimony, but important—proving that Ethan had concrete means of support.

Then Robert's lawyer called character witnesses: two of Robert's hockey friends who barely knew Ethan, testifying about what a dedicated father Robert had been. A coach who described Ethan as "talented but distracted lately."

It felt performative. Hollow.

Finally, both sides rested.

"Closing statements," Judge Morrison said. "Mr. Price?"

Robert's lawyer stood. "Your Honor, this isn't about denying Ethan's autonomy. It's about protecting him from making a decision he'll regret. He's seventeen years old, in the middle of an intense relationship, abandoning a career he's worked toward his entire life. That's not mature decision-making—that's teenage impulsivity. If you grant this petition, you're telling every teenager in Manitoba that they can legally separate from their parents for a relationship. That's not what emancipation is for."

He sat down.

Michael stood. "Your Honor, emancipation exists for exactly this situation: a young person who is mature, financially stable, and psychologically harmed by continued parental control. Ethan Price isn't running away from responsibility. He's running toward a future he's earned the right to choose. He has MIT acceptance, scholarship funding, employment plans, and the emotional maturity to succeed independently. The only thing he's giving up is his father's control."

Michael looked at Robert. "Mr. Price loves his son. I don't doubt that. But love and control aren't the same thing. Granting this petition isn't about punishing a father. It's about freeing a son."

He sat down.

The courtroom was silent.

Judge Morrison looked at her notes. "I'll take a brief recess to consider the evidence."

She stood and left the courtroom.

Fifteen minutes felt like fifteen hours.

Sophia sat with her hands clasped, barely breathing. Maya was next to her, fidgeting. Mom had her arm around Sophia's shoulders. Dad was in the row behind them, silent.

Across the courtroom, Ethan sat perfectly still. Jordan was next to him, radiating nervous energy. Michael was reviewing notes, looking calm.

Caroline was crying silently, tissues balled up in her fists.

Robert was staring straight ahead, jaw clenched.

The courtroom door opened. Judge Morrison returned.

Everyone stood.

"Please be seated."

Sophia sat. Her heart was pounding so hard she could hear it.

"I've reviewed the petition, testimony, and evidence carefully," Judge Morrison began. Her voice was measured, giving nothing away. "This is not an easy decision. Emancipation is a serious legal action that fundamentally alters the parent-child relationship."

Sophia held her breath.

"Mr. Price," Judge Morrison said, looking at Robert, "I don't doubt that you love your son. The evidence shows substantial investment in his development, significant sacrifice, and genuine belief that hockey represents his best future. However."

She paused.

"Love and control are not synonymous. I'm troubled by the evidence of phone monitoring, application deletion, and the filing of criminal charges against Ms. Chen. These actions suggest a pattern of control that extends beyond reasonable parental guidance into manipulation."

Robert's face was stone.

"Ethan Price is seventeen years, nine months old. In less than three months, he will be a legal adult regardless of this ruling. The question before me is not whether he will eventually have autonomy, but whether requiring him to wait three more months serves any legitimate purpose."

Judge Morrison looked at Ethan.

"I find that it does not. Dr. Martinez's evaluation is compelling. Ethan demonstrates exceptional maturity, clear planning capabilities, and autonomous decision-making. His academic record predates the relationship in question, supporting his claim that MIT represents a longstanding interest rather than impulsive choice. He has concrete financial support through scholarship and employment. Most importantly, continued parental control appears to be causing psychological harm."

Sophia's hands tightened on the seat in front of her.

"Regarding the relationship with Ms. Chen, I find no evidence of manipulation or coercion. Their testimony showed mutual respect, shared goals, and age-appropriate partnership. The eleven-month age difference, while technically illegal in Manitoba, does not constitute the kind of predatory relationship these statutes were designed to prevent."

Judge Morrison looked down at her papers.

Then up at Ethan.

"This petition for emancipation is granted, effective immediately."

The courtroom erupted.

Sophia heard herself cry out—a sound of pure relief. Maya was screaming. Mom was sobbing. Dad was standing, hands pressed together in front of his mouth.

Across the courtroom, Ethan had his face in his hands. Jordan was hugging him. Michael was shaking his hand, smiling.

Caroline was crying harder, but smiling through the tears.

Robert stood abruptly. For a moment—one suspended, hopeful moment—Sophia thought he might speak. Might say something, anything, to his son.

But then he turned toward the door.

"Your Honor, I intend to appeal this decision—"

"Mr. Price, you may certainly appeal. But until and unless a higher court overturns this ruling, your son is legally emancipated. The restrictions of parental control no longer apply."

"You're making a mistake—"

"Mr. Price." Judge Morrison's voice was sharp. "This hearing is concluded. I suggest you take some time to process this decision before taking further action."

Robert stared at the judge, his face a mask of rage and grief and something that looked like defeat. Then he turned and strode toward the courtroom doors, his lawyers scrambling to follow.

He passed directly by Ethan's table.

"Dad—" Ethan's voice was small, broken.

Robert stopped.

For three heartbeats, he stood perfectly still. His back to his son. His hand on the door.

Ethan was half-standing, leaning forward like he might chase after him. His face was desperate, hopeful, terrified.

"Dad, please—"

Robert's shoulders tightened.

Then he pushed through the door and was gone.

The sound of the door closing echoed through the suddenly silent courtroom.

Ethan stood frozen, staring at the space where his father had been. His face was white, eyes wide with shock. He looked like he'd been struck.

Sophia watched him sway slightly, watched Jordan catch his elbow, watched Michael Chen say something she couldn't hear. But Ethan just kept staring at that door.

Waiting for it to open again.

It didn't.

Caroline made a sound—a sob or a gasp—and buried her face in her hands.

Judge Morrison banged her gavel once. "Court is adjourned."

But Sophia barely heard it. She was already moving, pushing past her family, crossing the courtroom to where Ethan stood.

The victory tasted like ash.

He'd won his freedom.

But his father had walked away without looking back.

Sophia didn't remember moving, but suddenly she was there, and Ethan turned to her like a drowning person reaching for air.

"He didn't—" Ethan's voice was hollow. "He just—"

"I know." She wrapped her arms around him, feeling him shake. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."

"I won." He said it like he couldn't quite believe it. Like the words didn't make sense. "I'm free. I'm actually free."

"You are."

"Then why does it—" His voice cracked. He pulled back to look at her, and his eyes were devastated. "Why does it feel like I just lost everything?"

Around them, people were celebrating. Maya was hugging their parents. Jordan was filming everything on his phone, narrating: "And that's how Ethan Price won his freedom." Michael was shaking hands with people. Caroline approached tentatively, and Ethan turned to her.

"Mom—"

"I'm so proud of you," Caroline said, pulling him into a fierce hug. "I'm so sorry. I should have done this sooner. I should have protected you—"

"You're here now," Ethan said into her shoulder. "That's what matters."

But Sophia could see the way his eyes kept drifting to the door. Looking for someone who wouldn't come back.

"Come on," Michael said eventually. "Let's get out of here. Media's going to want statements."

They filed out of the courtroom together—both families, mixed now, celebrating. The courthouse steps were packed with cameras and reporters and the same protesters who'd been there this morning, now looking uncertain about whether to keep chanting.

Michael gave a brief statement: "Today, Judge Morrison affirmed a young man's right to choose his own future. We're grateful for her wisdom and fairness."

Sophia's mom shielded her from the cameras. Maya told a reporter, "My sister is incredible and so is Ethan and you should write that."

Jordan was already posting to social media: "EMANCIPATION GRANTED. FREEDOM WON."

The media wanted more, but they pushed through to the cars.

Sophia ended up in the back seat of her parents' car with Maya and Ethan, all three of them squeezed together. Caroline was riding with Michael Chen and Jordan, following behind.

"You did it," Maya said, crying and laughing at the same time. "You stood up to everything and you won."

"We won," Ethan said quietly. But his voice was empty, and his hands were still shaking.

Sophia reached for one of those hands, lacing their fingers together. He gripped her hand like a lifeline.

"You both won," Mom said from the front seat, turning to look at them. "You fought for each other and you won."

But as the car pulled away from the courthouse, Sophia watched Ethan stare out the window at the building where he'd just legally severed the relationship with his father.

Free.

He was free.

But freedom, it turned out, came with a cost.

They ended up at The Forks—neutral territory with good food and big tables where both families could fit. The Italian restaurant had outdoor seating overlooking the rivers, and May sunshine, and the sound of people enjoying a Saturday afternoon.

It should have felt celebratory.

It felt complicated.

Ethan sat next to Sophia, holding her hand under the table, but he was quiet. Too quiet. His eyes kept going distant, like he was somewhere else entirely.

Caroline sat across from them, next to Maya and Mrs. Chen. She looked exhausted—the kind of tired that came from making impossible choices and living with the consequences.

"To freedom," Jordan said, raising his glass of water. "And to Ethan, who's officially the bravest person I know."

They all clinked glasses. Ethan managed a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"How are you feeling?" Sophia's mom asked gently.

Ethan took a breath. "I don't—I don't know. It hasn't really hit me yet. That it's real."

"It's real," Michael said. "As of ten-thirty this morning, you're legally emancipated. You can make your own medical decisions, sign contracts, live wherever you choose. Your father no longer has legal authority over your life."

"He didn't even look at me," Ethan said suddenly. "When he left. He just—walked out. Like I didn't exist."

The table went silent.

Caroline's eyes filled with tears. "That's not—Ethan, that's not about you. That's about your father's inability to accept that he can't control this."

"But what if he's right?" Ethan's voice was small. "What if I am throwing everything away? What if MIT is a mistake and hockey was my future and I just—what if I'm wrong?"

Sophia squeezed his hand. "You're not wrong."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do. Because you weren't happy playing hockey for someone else's dream. You're allowed to want something different."

"But what if I don't even know what I want?" Ethan looked at her, desperate. "What if I spent so long being what he wanted that I don't know who I am without that?"

Maya leaned forward. "Then you have the rest of your life to figure it out. That's what freedom means."

"It means you get to make mistakes," Jordan added. "And successes. And everything in between. On your own terms."

Ethan nodded, but Sophia could see the doubt still there. The fear that maybe Robert was right. That maybe he was giving up something irreplaceable.

The food came—pasta and salads and garlic bread—and they ate in fits and starts, conversation ebbing and flowing around the weight of what had just happened.

Sophia's dad asked Caroline about her plans. Where she was staying, whether she needed help finding an apartment. Caroline explained that her sister had helped her pack while Robert was at court, that she had a place to stay for now.

"I should have left years ago," Caroline said quietly. "I should have protected Ethan from—from all of this. But I was afraid. Of Robert, of being alone, of failing." She looked at Ethan. "I'm not afraid anymore."

Ethan reached across the table and took his mother's hand. "You're here now. That's what matters."

But Sophia saw the way he kept checking his phone. Looking for a message that wouldn't come. Hoping, despite everything, that his father would call.

After lunch, they walked along the river paths—the same paths where Ethan had told her back in September that they could be friends again, where they'd had their first real conversation in eight years. Where, just two weeks ago, they'd signed their MIT commitment letters sitting on a bench overlooking the water.

"This place keeps showing up," Ethan said, reading her thoughts. "Every time something important happens."

"Maybe that's good," Sophia said. "Having a place that's just ours."

He stopped walking, turning to face her. Behind him, the Red and Assiniboine Rivers met and merged, two paths becoming one.

"Thank you," he said. "For not giving up. For testifying. For—for being here."

"I'll always be here."

"What if—" He swallowed hard. "What if my dad never speaks to me again? What if he just—cuts me off completely?"

Sophia cupped his face in her hands. "Then you'll grieve that loss. And it will be awful. But you'll survive it. We'll survive it. Together."

"I don't know how to do this without him hating me."

"Maybe you can't. Maybe that's the price of choosing yourself."

Ethan closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. When he opened them again, they were wet with unshed tears.

"I won," he whispered. "So why do I feel like I lost?"

"Because love and control got tangled up for so long you can't separate them. But you will. Eventually."

He pulled her close, holding on like she was the only solid thing in a shifting world.

They stood like that for a long time, the rivers flowing around them, carrying away everything that couldn't be held onto.

Carrying them forward, whether they were ready or not.

By the time they got back to the cars, exhaustion had set in. The adrenaline of the morning had burned off, leaving everyone drained and quiet.

Sophia's parents offered to drive Ethan wherever he needed to go. Caroline was staying with her sister across town. Jordan had to get to work.

"I should—I should probably go to the apartment," Ethan said. "Start getting used to it being real."

The apartment Michael Chen had helped him find two weeks ago. The studio in Osborne Village with second-hand furniture and empty walls and the overwhelming reality of living alone at seventeen.

"Want company?" Sophia asked.

Ethan looked at her with such gratitude it made her chest ache. "Please."

They dropped Caroline off first—a quiet neighborhood in St. Vital, her sister's house with a garden and a welcome mat that said "Home." Caroline hugged Ethan for a long time before letting him go.

"Call me if you need anything," she said. "Anything at all. Day or night."

"I will, Mom."

Then they drove to Osborne Village, to the four-story building on Osborne Street where Ethan had signed a lease with Michael Chen's help. His first contract as an emancipated minor.

Sophia's parents said goodbye in the car, giving them space.

"We'll pick you up at six for dinner," Mom said. "Both of you. You shouldn't be alone tonight."

Ethan nodded gratefully.

Then it was just the two of them, climbing the stairs to the third floor, walking down the hallway to 3B.

Ethan unlocked the door with a key that still felt foreign in his hand.

The apartment was small—studio-sized, with a Murphy bed that folded down from the wall, a kitchenette in the corner, and one window overlooking the street. It was clean but sparse. A few boxes of belongings Caroline had packed for him. A lamp Jordan had contributed. Sheets Maya had bought as a housewarming gift.

It looked like a place someone was afraid to commit to.

"It's not much," Ethan said quietly.

"It's yours," Sophia said. "That's everything."

He walked to the window, staring out at Osborne Street below. Saturday shoppers, people walking dogs, normal life happening while his entire world had changed.

"Every time I bought something for this place," he said, "sheets, a lamp, groceries—part of me thought: what if Dad's right? What if I can't do this? What if I have to go back?"

Sophia came to stand beside him. "You don't have to go back. You won."

"Then why does it feel like I'm still waiting for permission?"

She understood what he meant. Freedom was one thing. Believing in it was another.

"Maybe it takes time," she said. "Maybe freedom is something you have to practice."

He turned to her, and for the first time all day, something like hope flickered in his eyes. "Will you help me? Practice being free?"

"Every day."

He kissed her forehead, soft and grateful. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You'll never have to find out."

They sat on the floor by the window, backs against the wall, shoulders touching. Outside, Winnipeg carried on—oblivious to the fact that one boy had just fought for and won the right to choose his own life.

Sophia felt the exhaustion settling into her bones. Six weeks of stress, one morning of terror and testimony, and now this strange, complicated victory.

Free.

They were both free.

The criminal charges were dropped. The emancipation was granted.

Nothing stood between them anymore.

Except the lingering ghost of Robert Price's expectations, and the question of what came next, and the uncomfortable truth that winning your freedom didn't automatically tell you what to do with it.

But for now, sitting on the floor of Ethan's tiny apartment, holding his hand while the afternoon light slanted through the window—this was enough.

They had time.

They had each other.

They had the freedom to figure out the rest.

Together.

[End of Chapter 2]

Word Count: ~5,400 words Timeline: 9:00 AM - 2:00 PM Emotional Arc: Criminal Charges Dismissed → First Touch → Courtroom Testimony → Victory → Robert Walks Out → Complicated Relief → Processing Freedom

Chapter 3: CHAPTER 3: FREE

11:30 AM - 6:00 PM

The courthouse steps were chaos.

Sophia stood blinking in the late-morning sunlight, still processing the judge's words. Emancipation granted. Effective immediately. Behind her, the heavy doors had barely closed before the media swarmed—cameras, microphones, reporters shouting questions over each other.

"Ethan! How does it feel to be free?"

"Sophia! Do you regret testifying?"

"Is this the end of your relationship with your parents?"

"What's next for you two?"

Ethan froze beside her, his hand still gripping hers from when they'd left the courtroom. She felt his fingers tighten, saw his face go blank—that shutdown expression he got when he was overwhelmed. After three hours of testimony, of laying his life bare in front of strangers, of watching his father walk out without a word, he had nothing left for a press conference.

"Inside," Maya said sharply, materializing at Sophia's other side. "Courthouse bathroom. Now."

Jordan Nakamura appeared next to Ethan. "I've got him. Follow me."

They moved as a unit, pushing back through the courthouse doors while Michael Chen stepped forward to handle the media. Sophia caught a glimpse of him raising his hands, heard him say something about prepared statements later, and then they were back in the cool, quiet interior.

Maya steered them down a side hallway, away from the main corridors. "Women's restroom, second floor. No cameras allowed in there. Go."

Sophia looked at Ethan. He was pale, breathing too fast, still holding her hand like a lifeline.

"Men's room is right across the hall," Jordan said gently. "You good, man?"

Ethan shook his head. "No. But I will be."

"Take five minutes," Maya said. "Breathe. Process. Then we'll figure out next steps."

Sophia squeezed Ethan's hand. "Meet you out here in five?"

He nodded, then surprised her by pulling her close, pressing his forehead against hers for just a moment. His eyes were closed. "We did it," he whispered.

"We did it," she confirmed.

Then Maya was pulling her toward the women's room and Jordan was guiding Ethan across the hall, and they were separated again. But this time it was temporary. This time, no court order said they couldn't be together.

This time, Ethan was free.

The bathroom was blessedly empty.

Sophia leaned against the sink, legs shaking. Maya locked the main door, then turned to her with an expression somewhere between triumph and fury.

"Your ex-boyfriend's father," Maya said slowly, "is a piece of work."

"He walked out."

"I saw. Before the judge even finished. Didn't look back once."

Sophia's chest ached. She'd watched it happen—the moment Judge Morrison said "emancipation granted," Robert Price had stood, grabbed his coat, and left. Just walked out of his son's life. Caroline had stayed, crying quietly in her seat, but Robert was done.

"Ethan must be devastated."

"Ethan's free." Maya's voice was firm. "And yeah, it hurts like hell, but he's FREE. Legally an adult at seventeen. No more control, no more manipulation, no more choosing between hockey and happiness." She stepped forward, pulling Sophia into a hug. "And you, my brilliant sister, have no criminal record. You're going to MIT clean. You won everything."

The tears came then, sudden and overwhelming. Sophia sobbed into Maya's shoulder while her sister held her, murmuring reassurances. All the fear from the past six weeks, all the terror from this morning, all the weight of watching Ethan testify about years of controlled isolation—it poured out in ugly, gasping sobs.

"I was so scared," Sophia managed.

"I know."

"What if the charges hadn't been dropped? What if the judge said no?"

"But she didn't. You won, Soph. You both won."

"His dad hates me."

"His dad hates everyone who isn't him. That's not about you."

Sophia pulled back, wiping her face. "Is it terrible that I want to kiss Ethan right now? We just got out of court, his family's imploding, everything's a mess, and all I can think about is how we haven't kissed since New Year's Eve and I really, really want to kiss him."

Maya laughed. "That's the least terrible thing I've heard all day. When this is over, when you're both ready, kiss him senseless. You've earned it."

"Four and a half months since we kissed."

"That's criminal. More criminal than anything Robert tried to charge you with."

Sophia laughed wetly. "You're ridiculous."

"I'm supportive." Maya handed her tissues. "Now fix your face. You look like you've been crying."

"I have been crying."

"Well, stop. We have a victory to celebrate."

When they emerged from the bathroom, Ethan and Jordan were waiting in the hallway. Ethan looked marginally better—less pale, breathing normal, though his eyes were red.

He saw Sophia and immediately crossed to her. No hesitation. Just walked right up and pulled her into his arms, holding her tight.

"Hi," she said against his chest.

"Hi." His voice was rough. "Sorry I lost it out there."

"You didn't lose anything. You stood in front of a judge and fought for yourself. That's not losing."

"My dad walked out."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"I'm not." He said it firmly, but she felt the tremor in his hands. "I mean, I am. But I'm not. Does that make sense?"

"Perfect sense."

They stood there, holding each other in the courthouse hallway while people passed by. A few looked at them curiously—they'd been all over the local news for weeks—but no one bothered them. It was just two teenagers hugging, both crying a little, both exhausted.

Finally, Jordan cleared his throat. "Uh, guys? Your parents are planning a celebration lunch. Both families. They're asking if you're up for it."

Ethan and Sophia pulled apart enough to look at each other.

"Both families?" Sophia asked carefully.

"Your parents, Maya, me, and Caroline," Jordan clarified. "Robert... left. Like, left-left. Drove away."

Ethan closed his eyes briefly. "Of course he did."

"Caroline wants to talk to you," Jordan continued gently. "She's waiting downstairs. She says it's okay if you're not ready, but she'd like to try to explain."

"Explain what? That she stood by while Dad tried to destroy my girlfriend? That she let him file criminal charges?"

"Ethan," Sophia said softly.

He shook his head. "Sorry. I know she's... she tried to stop him at the end. I know that. It's just—"

"A lot," Sophia finished. "It's a lot."

"Yeah."

Maya stepped forward. "How about this: we go get lunch. Neutral territory, somewhere with good food and private seating. Both families can celebrate the win. If Caroline wants to apologize, she can do it there. If it gets weird, we bail."

"What restaurant is going to give us private seating on a Saturday afternoon with no notice?" Ethan asked.

Jordan grinned. "Leave that to me. My parents own Giovanni's. I already called—private room is ready whenever we are."

Sophia looked at Ethan. "What do you think? Can you handle lunch right now?"

"I don't know. Can you?"

"I'm starving, actually. First time I've been hungry in weeks."

"Me too." Ethan managed a small smile. "Okay. Let's do it. But if it gets awkward—"

"We bail," everyone said in unison.

That got a real laugh from Ethan, and Sophia felt some of the tension ease from her shoulders. They were okay. Bruised and exhausted and emotionally wrung out, but okay.

And they had each other.

Finally. Legally. Completely.

Giovanni's was a small Italian restaurant tucked into a corner of Winnipeg's downtown, the kind of place with checkered tablecloths and photos of Italian grandmothers on the walls. Jordan's family had owned it for three generations, housed in a converted bank building on Portage Avenue—the original vault served as their wine cellar, which Jordan loved pointing out to first-time visitors.

Today, the private room in back held two families trying to celebrate a victory that felt more complicated than joyful.

Sophia sat between Ethan and Maya, acutely aware of the weird dynamics at the table. Her parents on one side—Mom still looked like she wanted to hug everyone and Dad kept checking his phone nervously. Jordan at the head, playing host. And across from them, Caroline Price.

Ethan's mother looked smaller than Sophia remembered. Older. She'd worn a navy suit to court, but she'd taken off the jacket and her blouse was wrinkled. Her eyes were red from crying, streaks of gray that seemed to have appeared overnight catching the overhead light. She kept looking at Ethan like she was afraid he'd disappear.

The waiter brought water and menus. Everyone ordered automatically—pasta, salads, whatever. Sophia barely registered what she chose. The silence was heavy.

Finally, Caroline spoke.

"Ethan, I—" Her voice cracked. She tried again. "I know I don't have the right to ask for anything. But if you could just... if you could give me a chance to—" She stopped, hands shaking. "I'm so sorry."

Ethan didn't look up from his water glass. "For which part?"

"All of it." Caroline's voice was barely above a whisper. "The restraining order. The charges. Standing by. Not fighting harder. Everything."

The waiter returned with breadsticks. Everyone ignored them.

"I left him," Caroline said abruptly. "Last night. While Robert was at his lawyer's office. My sister helped me pack. I'm staying with her until—until I figure out what's next."

Ethan's head snapped up. "You left Dad?"

"I should have left years ago. I just—I kept thinking I could fix it. Make things better. If I was just patient enough, understanding enough..." Caroline pressed her hands to her face. "But I was protecting him, not you. And by the time I realized that—" Her voice broke. "So much damage was done."

Sophia felt Ethan tense beside her. She reached under the table, found his hand, squeezed gently.

"Why now?" Ethan asked quietly. "What changed?"

"Watching you in court today. Seeing you stand there and testify about—about everything we did. Everything I let happen." Caroline lowered her hands. Tears streamed down her face. "My seventeen-year-old son had to sue for emancipation just to have basic autonomy. And I sat there thinking about the boy who used to bring me flowers from the neighbor's garden. Who'd wake up early to make me breakfast on Mother's Day. Who asked me to help him pick out his first suit for the science fair."

Ethan's grip on Sophia's hand tightened.

"I forgot that boy," Caroline whispered. "I let your father convince me that hockey was more important than who you were becoming. That control was the same as care. And I—" She couldn't continue.

Sophia's mother cleared her throat gently. "Caroline, I think I speak for all of us when I say... what you're doing takes courage."

"It took too long."

"But you're doing it now." Mom's voice was kind. "That matters."

Caroline looked at Sophia directly for the first time. "I owe you an apology too. A real one. What I did in your driveway—attacking you, trying to intimidate you—that was abuse. I'm an adult and you're eighteen and I used my age and my pain to hurt you. That's unforgivable."

Sophia didn't know what to say. The bruises from that encounter had faded weeks ago, but the memory was still sharp. This woman had filed criminal charges against her. Had stood by while Robert tried to destroy everything.

But looking at Caroline now, seeing the genuine devastation in her face, hearing the brokenness in her voice...

"I don't—" Sophia stopped, choosing her words carefully. "I can't say it's okay, because it's not. What you did hurt. But I understand being caught between loving someone and watching them make terrible choices."

Caroline nodded, wiping her eyes. "That's more grace than I deserve."

"Probably," Maya muttered. Sophia elbowed her.

"I'm filing for divorce," Caroline said, looking back at Ethan. "I called a lawyer this morning. I know that doesn't fix anything, but I wanted you to know. I'm choosing... I'm choosing to be someone better than who I've been."

Ethan stared at his mother for a long moment. His jaw worked like he was trying to find words. Finally, slowly, he reached across the table.

Caroline took his hand like a lifeline and sobbed.

"I'm still angry," Ethan said. His voice was shaking. "I'm angry about the charges, about the attack, about every time you chose Dad over me. That's not going to go away quickly."

"I know."

"But I don't—" He stopped, swallowed hard. "I don't want to lose you completely. You're my mom. I want to be able to have coffee sometimes. To tell you about MIT. To—to have a relationship where you see me, not Dad's hockey dreams."

"I want that too." Caroline was squeezing his hand with both of hers now. "I want to know who you really are. Not who we tried to make you. Just... you."

"I'm going to MIT in August."

"I know. I'm proud of you."

"I'm studying engineering. Not playing hockey."

"I know. I'm still proud."

"I'm in love with Sophia."

Caroline looked at Sophia, then back at Ethan. Her smile was watery but genuine. "I know. And she's brilliant and brave and clearly adores you. You chose well."

Ethan laughed wetly. "Yeah. I did."

Sophia was crying again. So was Maya. Sophia's parents were suspiciously shiny-eyed. Jordan was grinning like this was the best thing he'd ever witnessed.

The waiter returned with food. The mood shifted, lightened incrementally. Caroline asked tentative questions about MIT's housing, and Ethan explained the dorm situation with careful politeness. Sophia's mom asked about the engineering program. Jordan told an elaborate story about nearly getting arrested for skateboarding in the courthouse plaza that had everyone laughing despite themselves.

By the time dessert arrived—tiramisu that Jordan insisted was on the house—the table felt almost normal. Not comfortable, not easy, but... possible. Like maybe, eventually, with enough time and work, they could be families that shared meals instead of just survivors of a legal battlefield.

Sophia excused herself to the bathroom. She needed a minute to process, to let the emotional whiplash settle. In the hallway outside the restrooms, she ran into Caroline coming from the same direction.

They stopped, awkward.

"Sophia," Caroline said. "Can I—can we talk? Just for a minute?"

Sophia nodded, not trusting her voice.

Caroline took a shaky breath. "I want to say it again, just to you. What I did was unforgivable. I attacked you physically. I supported charges that could have destroyed your future. I tried to intimidate you into abandoning my son. That was wrong. All of it."

"Why?" Sophia asked. "Why did you do it? Really?"

"Because I was terrified." Caroline's voice was raw. "Terrified of losing Ethan. Terrified of admitting Robert was wrong. Terrified of facing what our marriage had become. You were—you were easier to blame than my husband. Easier to hate than myself."

"That's not fair."

"No, it's not." Caroline wiped her eyes. "Nothing about this has been fair. You want to know something terrible? Part of me is relieved the judge granted emancipation. Because now Ethan's free, and I don't have to keep choosing. The choice is made. I can finally admit Robert was wrong without it meaning I failed as a mother."

The honesty of it hit Sophia in the chest. "You didn't fail."

"I did. But maybe—" Caroline's voice broke. "Maybe I can do better going forward."

They stood there in the hallway, two people on opposite sides of so much pain, trying to find a path toward something that wasn't anger.

"I love him," Sophia said finally. "I'm going to keep loving him. And I'm going to MIT with him in August, and we're going to build a life together. I need you to be okay with that."

"I am. Truly." Caroline's smile was stronger now, almost reaching her eyes. "I want my son to be happy. And you—you make him happy. That's enough."

Sophia nodded. It wasn't forgiveness, not yet. But it was a start.

When they returned to the table, Ethan looked between them with obvious relief. Sophia slid back into her seat next to him and he immediately took her hand.

"Okay?" he murmured.

"Yeah. Okay."

By two o'clock, lunch was winding down. Sophia's parents were discussing logistics with Maya—something about picking up Sophia's things from the friend's house where she'd been staying during the legal proceedings. Caroline was on her phone, presumably dealing with divorce lawyers and moving plans. Jordan was settling the bill despite protests from all sides.

Ethan tugged Sophia's hand gently. "Can we—do you want to go somewhere? Just for a bit? I need to—I don't know. Process. Breathe."

"Yeah," Sophia said immediately. "Where?"

"The Forks?"

The suggestion made her heart clench. "You sure?"

"I think so. It feels—" He paused, searching for words. "It feels like the right place. Full circle, or something."

Twenty minutes later, they stood at The Forks, watching the Red and Assiniboine rivers meet.

It was warmer than their last visit—May sunshine instead of late winter chill. The market pavilions were busy with Saturday crowds, tourists and locals browsing stalls selling artisan crafts and local produce. The smell of fresh bread and coffee drifted from nearby vendors.

"Last time we were here," Sophia said softly, "was May first. Two weeks ago."

"MIT signing day." Ethan's hand found hers. "Sitting at that café table, filling out commitment forms, trying to believe we'd actually get to go together."

"You were so nervous your hand was shaking. You messed up your signature and had to do it over."

"Because Dad was texting me every five minutes. Demanding I reconsider. Telling me I was throwing my life away." Ethan's voice was quiet. "I kept thinking about the first time we came here. Episode two—early fall. You'd just moved back to Winnipeg, and everything was so new and terrifying."

Sophia remembered. "We sat on that bench"—she pointed—"and talked for three hours. About physics and hockey and what it felt like to be back in the same city after all those years apart."

"You told me about switching from hockey to badminton. How you weren't the best but you loved it anyway. How you didn't have to be the best at everything to matter." Ethan pulled her closer. "I'd never heard anyone say that before. My whole life was about being the best. And you just—you were brilliant and talented and happy without needing to be number one at everything."

"You were so surprised that I remembered you from hockey when we were little."

"I thought you wouldn't remember. We were nine." He laughed softly. "But you remembered everything. The blue parka. The granola bars. That time I fell and you helped me up."

They walked slowly along the riverwalk, neither in any hurry to be anywhere else.

"Two weeks ago," Sophia said, "we signed those papers and I thought—okay, this is it. We have a plan. MIT in August. Everything's going to be fine." She stopped, looking out at the water. "And then your dad filed criminal charges three days later, and everything exploded."

"But we still did it." Ethan turned her to face him. "We're still going to MIT. We still have the plan. We just—we fought for it harder than I ever imagined we'd have to."

Sophia looked up at him. At this boy who'd been her first friend, her first crush, her first love. Who'd stood in a courtroom this morning and fought for the right to choose his own future. Who'd lost his father in the process but gained his freedom.

"How does it feel?" she asked. "Being legally free?"

Ethan was quiet for a long moment. "Terrifying," he said finally. "Relieving. Sad. Like—like I should be celebrating, but part of me keeps waiting for Dad to call and tell me I'm making a mistake. That I'm ruining my life. That I'm choosing wrong."

As if on cue, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

Sophia felt him tense. Watched him pull it out, look at the screen, then let out a long breath.

"Jordan," he said. "Asking if we're okay."

"Not your dad."

"Not my dad." Ethan stared at his phone for another moment, then scrolled through his notifications. "Seventeen missed calls yesterday. Twenty-three texts. All from Dad." He looked up at her. "Nothing today. Since the judge granted emancipation, nothing."

"Do you think he'll reach out? Eventually?"

"I don't know." Ethan's voice was thick. "Part of me keeps thinking he'll realize he was wrong. That he'll apologize. That we can—I don't know. Have some kind of relationship. But the logical part of me knows he walked out of that courtroom without looking back. He's done."

Sophia pulled him into a hug, feeling his arms come around her immediately. They stood there on the riverwalk while tourists passed by and the May sunshine warmed their shoulders.

"I chose this," Ethan said into her hair. "I chose freedom over him. And it was the right choice. I know it was. But god, it hurts."

"I know, baby. I know."

They stayed there until Ethan's breathing evened out, until his grip loosened slightly, until he pulled back and managed a smile that was only a little broken.

"Thank you," he said. "For being here. For all of it."

"Always."

"I love you."

"I love you too." Sophia reached up, wiping tears from his cheeks. "Four and a half months since I could say that to your face without supervision."

"January first. New Year's kiss on Jordan's balcony."

"Best kiss of my life."

"Yeah?" His smile widened slightly. "Well, we've got time to top it now. No lawyers supervising. No court orders. No restrictions."

"Are you saying you want to kiss me, Ethan Price?"

"I'm saying I want to kiss you, Sophia Chen. But maybe—" He looked around at the crowded marketplace. "Maybe somewhere a bit more private than the most popular tourist destination in Winnipeg?"

She laughed, the sound lighter than it had been all day. "Good call."

"Besides," he said, pulling out his phone again, "I should probably check my apartment. Make sure I still have electricity and haven't been evicted for not paying rent or something."

"Very responsible."

"I'm legally an adult now. I have to be responsible." He said it with mock seriousness, then his expression turned more genuine. "Will you come with me? Help me make sure I haven't completely screwed up living on my own?"

"Absolutely."

Ethan's studio apartment was in a building near the university—small but clean, the kind of place a student could afford with scholarship money and a part-time job at a sporting goods store. He'd rented it three months ago in preparation for emancipation, but he'd barely spent time there. Most of his nights had been at friends' houses or, when things got really bad, sleeping in his car.

He unlocked the door and they stepped inside.

Sophia's first thought was how empty it looked. Not just sparse—empty. Like someone camping temporarily rather than living.

A mattress on the floor with a sleeping bag instead of sheets. A desk—just a folding table, really—with textbooks stacked in neat piles. A tiny kitchenette with exactly three dishes in the drying rack: one plate, one bowl, one cup. A bathroom barely big enough to turn around in.

No posters on the walls. No decorations. One lamp. One towel hanging in the bathroom.

"Home sweet home," Ethan said, but his voice was tight.

Sophia turned slowly, taking it in. This was freedom? This was what he'd fought for?

"Ethan," she said softly.

"I know it's not much. I've been meaning to—to get more stuff. Make it more—" He stopped, running his hand through his hair. "Every time I went shopping, I'd stand there in Target holding sheets or a poster or whatever, and I'd think: what if Dad's right? What if the judge says no? What if I'm wasting money on an apartment I'll never really live in?"

Sophia's heart broke.

"So I just—I got the minimum. Enough to survive. Not enough to make it real." He laughed, but it sounded hollow. "Pathetic, right? I fought for freedom and then I was too scared to actually live it."

"It's not pathetic." Sophia crossed to him, taking his hands. "It's human. You were protecting yourself. Hedging your bets."

"But the judge said yes. I'm free. And I still—" He looked around the bare apartment. "I still can't make myself believe it's real."

Sophia thought about her own room at home. The photos covering her walls. The badminton trophies on her bookshelf. The string lights Maya had helped her hang. The massive periodic table poster Ethan had given her for her birthday. All the accumulation of eighteen years of being loved and supported and allowed to be herself.

Ethan had a mattress and a sleeping bag.

"We're going shopping," she said.

"What?"

"Right now. We're going to Target and we're buying you sheets. Real sheets. And pillows. And posters. And whatever else you want. Because this is real. You're free. And you deserve to live in a place that feels like home."

"Sophia, you don't have to—"

"I want to." She squeezed his hands. "Besides, I'm investing in my future too. I plan on spending time here. I'm not making out with you on a mattress with just a sleeping bag. That's depressing."

That got a real laugh from him. "You're planning on making out with me?"

"I've been planning on making out with you since January first. I've just been legally prevented from doing so."

"Fair point." His expression softened. "You really want to help me shop for sheets?"

"I really want to help you build a home. Even if it's just for the summer before we leave for MIT."

Ethan pulled her close, pressing his forehead against hers. "What did I do to deserve you?"

"Shared your granola bars with me when we were nine. Clearly it's been paying dividends."

He kissed her forehead gently. Not a real kiss—they'd both agreed earlier that their first kiss in four and a half months deserved better than a courthouse hallway or a nearly-empty apartment. But it was sweet and tender and full of promise.

"Okay," he said. "Let's go make this place less depressing. But I'm paying."

"With what money? Your trust fund that your dad probably froze?"

"With my job money. I've been working weekends at SportChek for three months. I can afford sheets."

"Fine. But I'm helping pick them out."

"Deal."

Target on a Saturday afternoon was crowded and bright and overwhelmingly normal.

They wandered through the home goods section, Sophia pulling Ethan toward different displays while he looked bewildered by the sheer number of choices.

"How are there twenty different kinds of sheets?" he asked, staring at the bedding aisle. "They all do the same thing."

"Thread count," Sophia explained. "And material. These are cotton, these are microfiber, these are jersey knit—"

"You're speaking another language."

"Just—what color do you like?"

Ethan looked at the options. "Blue?"

"Blue sheets it is." Sophia grabbed a set. "Now pillows. You need at least two."

"Why do I need two? I'm one person."

"Because sometimes your girlfriend will want to sleep over and she needs her own pillow."

Ethan stopped mid-reach for a pillow, looking at her. "You want to sleep over?"

Sophia felt her cheeks warm. "I mean—not like, tonight. But eventually. When we're ready. We're both going to MIT in August. We should probably get comfortable with the idea of spending nights together."

"Comfortable with the idea." Ethan was smiling now, that soft smile that made her stomach flip. "Yeah. Okay. Two pillows."

They moved through the apartment section systematically. Towels—Ethan picked navy blue to match the sheets. A lamp that wasn't just functional but actually looked nice. Kitchen supplies: more dishes, real silverware, a coffee maker.

"Do you even drink coffee?" Sophia asked.

"No. But you do. And if you're going to spend time at my place, you should be able to make coffee."

Her heart swelled.

In the poster section, Ethan paused in front of a massive NASA print showing the solar system. His hand reached out, then hesitated.

"Get it," Sophia said.

"It's kind of expensive."

"Get it anyway. You're an engineering major. You love space. Your apartment should reflect who you are, not who your dad wanted you to be."

Ethan looked at the poster for another long moment, then grabbed it. "Okay. Yeah. I'm getting it."

They added string lights—Sophia's idea—and a cheap area rug to make the floor less institutional. A small bookshelf. A bulletin board for photos and notes.

By the time they checked out, they had two full carts and Ethan looked slightly panicked at the total, but he handed over his debit card without complaint.

"This is the most I've spent at once in my entire life," he said as they loaded bags into his car.

"You're building a home. It's worth it."

"Yeah." He looked at her over the top of the car. "It really is."

Back at the apartment, they spent the next hour transforming the space.

Ethan made the bed with the new sheets—navy blue cotton that actually fit the mattress properly—while Sophia hung the string lights around the perimeter of the room. The NASA poster went above the desk, secured with thumbtacks. The area rug made the floor feel immediately cozier.

They worked mostly in companionable silence, occasionally bumping into each other in the small space, laughing when they got tangled in the string lights.

When they were done, Ethan stood in the center of the room and looked around.

"It actually looks like someone lives here," he said quietly.

Sophia stepped up beside him. "It looks like YOU live here."

He turned to her, eyes bright. "Thank you. For this. For making it real."

"You made it real. You fought for it. I just helped pick out sheets."

"You helped pick out my freedom." He pulled her close. "Four and a half months ago, you kissed me at midnight on New Year's Eve and told me you loved me. And I thought—okay, this is it. This is what I'm fighting for. Not hockey. Not my dad's approval. Just this. Us."

Sophia's throat was tight. "Ethan—"

"I know we're waiting. For the right moment. For tonight." His arms tightened around her. "But I need you to know—you're what made all of this worth it. Every terrible moment. Every court hearing. Every night sleeping in my car or on Jordan's couch. It was worth it because it led to this. To us. Free."

She reached up, cupping his face. His skin was warm under her palms, his eyes locked on hers with an intensity that made her dizzy.

"Tonight," she whispered. "Jordan's party. When we're on the roof under the stars. That's when we'll—"

"Yeah." His voice was rough. "Tonight."

They stood there, foreheads pressed together, breathing the same air, the anticipation building between them like a living thing.

Finally, Sophia pulled back. "We should probably get ready. The party starts in an hour and I still need to shower and change."

"Right. Yeah." Ethan looked dazed. "Shower. Change. Party."

"You okay?"

"I'm great. I'm just—I've been waiting so long to kiss you again that I keep forgetting how to think about anything else."

Sophia laughed, feeling lighter than she had in months. "Same. But we've waited this long. We can wait a few more hours."

"A few more hours until I kiss you on a rooftop."

"Exactly."

"That's very romantic of you, Chen."

"I have my moments."

They gathered their things—Sophia needed to head home to get ready. At the door, Ethan caught her hand.

"Six PM?" he asked. "I'll pick you up?"

"It's a date."

"Our first real date. No supervision, no court orders, no countdown clock."

"Just us."

"Just us," he agreed.

She kissed his cheek—just a quick brush of her lips—and left before she could change her mind about waiting.

At home, Sophia stood in her shower and let the hot water wash away the stress of the day. Her muscles ached from tension, her eyes were puffy from crying, her head felt stuffed with cotton from emotional exhaustion.

But underneath it all was joy. Pure, effervescent, unstoppable joy.

They'd won. Both hearings. Ethan was free. She had no criminal record. They were going to MIT together in three months.

And tonight—tonight she was going to kiss him.

The thought made her stomach flip and her heart race. Four and a half months since New Year's Eve. Four and a half months of supervised phone calls and monitored texts and longing for something that seemed impossibly far away.

Tonight, it was finally happening.

She got out of the shower and surveyed her closet with new eyes. Not just picking an outfit for a party—picking an outfit for the night she'd been dreaming about since January.

The blue sundress. Definitely the blue sundress. The one Ethan had specifically requested when they texted earlier. It was casual but pretty, comfortable but flattering. Perfect for a party that would end with kissing on a rooftop.

She dried her hair carefully, adding loose curls that Maya had taught her how to do. Minimal makeup—just enough to cover the stress shadows under her eyes and add some color to her lips. The compass necklace Maya had given her that morning.

When she looked in the mirror, she saw herself: eighteen, in love, finally free to act on it.

Maya appeared in her doorway. "You look happy."

"I am happy." Sophia turned to her sister. "For the first time in so long, I'm just... happy."

"Good. You deserve it." Maya's smile turned mischievous. "So. Tonight's the night?"

Sophia felt her cheeks warm. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Please. You've been checking your phone every five minutes. You spent twenty minutes on your hair. You're wearing the dress he specifically requested." Maya crossed her arms. "You're going to kiss him tonight."

"Maybe."

"Definitely." Maya's expression softened. "Just—be safe, okay? I know you're both responsible, but—"

"We're just kissing, Maya."

"I know. I just—I worry. You've both been through so much. I want you to take care of each other."

Sophia crossed to her sister and hugged her tight. "We will. I promise."

"Good." Maya pulled back, blinking rapidly. "Okay. Enough sappiness. Go have the best night of your life. You've earned it."

At six o'clock exactly, Ethan knocked on her door.

He'd gone with the blue shirt and jeans, and Sophia had been right—it did match his eyes. He looked tired but lighter somehow, like a weight had lifted. His hair was slightly damp from his own shower, and he smelled like the cologne she'd given him for Christmas.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi yourself." She stepped out, closing the door behind her. "Ready to celebrate?"

"With you? Always."

He held out his hand. She took it.

And they walked to his car together, ready for whatever came next.

[End Chapter 3]

Word count: ~5,650 words

Chapter 4: CHAPTER 4: THE KISS

7:00 PM - Midnight

Jordan Nakamura's house was already packed by the time they arrived at seven.

Music poured through open windows, bass thumping loud enough to rattle the porch. Cars lined both sides of the street—teammates' trucks, friends' sedans, a few vehicles Sophia didn't recognize. Through the front window, she could see bodies moving, laughing, dancing.

Half the school, Jordan had said. He might have been underselling it.

Ethan hesitated at the door, hand still holding hers. "We can still bail. Get pizza, hide in my apartment, pretend this day didn't happen."

Sophia squeezed his fingers. "You want to celebrate. You said so."

"I know. But now that we're here..." He looked through the window at the crowd. "Everyone's going to want to talk about court. About my dad. About emancipation. I don't know if I can handle that yet."

"Then we don't talk about it." Sophia turned to face him. "We go in, we say hi to Jordan, we get food, we dance badly. If anyone asks about court, we say 'not tonight' and change the subject. And if it gets too much, we leave."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that. You're free now, remember? You don't owe anyone anything."

Ethan pulled her close, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "What did I do to deserve you?"

"Shared your granola bars in junior kindergarten."

He laughed, and some of the tension left his shoulders. "Okay. Let's do this. But if Marcus starts asking about legal fees—"

"We're out of there."

"Deal."

They walked in together, hand in hand.

The immediate reaction was exactly what Sophia expected: everyone turning, someone yelling "THEY'RE HERE!", and then the entire room erupting in cheers.

Jordan appeared first, grinning like he'd won the lottery. "THE LEGALLY FREE MAN! AND HIS CRIMINALLY HOT GIRLFRIEND WHO IS NO LONGER FACING CRIMINAL CHARGES!"

"That's the worst introduction ever," Sophia said.

"I workshopped it." Jordan pulled them both into a hug. "Seriously though, congratulations. You guys did it. You actually did it."

More people crowded around—teammates clapping Ethan on the back, Sophia's badminton friends hugging her, everyone talking at once about court and freedom and how amazing it all was. It was overwhelming but in a good way. These were their people. Their friends. Everyone who'd supported them through six weeks of legal hell.

Maya materialized with drinks—soda for both of them, because alcohol after the day they'd had seemed like a terrible idea. "To surviving!" she toasted.

"To freedom!" Jordan added.

Everyone raised their glasses. Sophia and Ethan caught each other's eyes across the circle of friends, both smiling.

They'd done it. They'd actually done it.

The next two hours passed in a blur of celebration.

Food appeared—pizza, wings, someone's attempt at homemade nachos that was more cheese than chip. Sophia found herself starving, eating more than she had in weeks while surrounded by friends all talking about summer plans and MIT and how crazy the whole court situation had been.

"I still can't believe Robert just walked out," one of Ethan's teammates said. "Like, his son just won legal freedom and he couldn't even stick around to—"

"We're not talking about that tonight," Sophia interrupted firmly. The guy looked chagrined.

"Right. Sorry, man."

"It's okay." Ethan's hand found Sophia's under the table. "Just... not tonight."

The conversation shifted to safer topics. Someone had brought a Dance Dance Revolution setup—retro and ridiculous—and soon there was a tournament happening. Ethan and Sophia teamed up against Maya and Jordan, both couples failing spectacularly and laughing too hard to care.

"You're terrible at this!" Maya yelled as Sophia missed another step.

"I'm a badminton player, not a dancer!"

"Clearly!"

Ethan was worse than Sophia, all hockey reflexes and zero rhythm. But he was laughing, genuinely laughing, and that was worth any amount of embarrassment.

When their song ended with a dismal score, they collapsed onto the couch together, breathless and grinning.

"We're never doing that again," Ethan said.

"Agreed."

Jordan appeared with his phone. "Okay, I need a photo for posterity. Legally free Ethan and criminally acquitted Sophia on the night of their victory."

They posed, Sophia leaning into Ethan's side, both of them smiling for real this time. Jordan snapped the picture and showed them.

They looked happy. Actually, genuinely happy. For the first time in months.

"That's going in my 'Wholesome Love Conquers Legal Bullshit' album," Jordan declared.

"You have an album for that?" Sophia asked.

"I do now."

By nine o'clock, the party had found its rhythm. Music played—a mix of current pop and throwback classics. People danced in the living room, clustered in conversation in the kitchen, spread out on the back patio. It was loud and chaotic and perfect.

Sophia found herself by the snack table, refilling her drink, when Emma appeared.

"You look happy," her badminton teammate said.

"I am happy."

"Good. You deserve it." Emma paused. "Can I ask you something? You don't have to answer if you don't want."

"Sure."

"This morning, when the deadline hit and you didn't drop him... were you scared?"

Sophia thought about standing in that courthouse at 8:59 AM, knowing that not recanting meant possible prosecution. About her lawyer's confidence that it was a bluff. About choosing Ethan anyway, even if it wasn't.

"Terrified," Sophia admitted. "But I couldn't drop him. Even if they'd gone through with charges, even if I'd ended up with a record, I couldn't abandon him. Not after everything."

Emma hugged her. "That's the most romantic and terrifying thing I've ever heard."

"Welcome to my life."

They laughed, and Sophia felt another layer of tension dissolve. She had good friends. She had people who understood. She was going to be okay.

Across the room, she caught Ethan's eye. He was talking to Marcus and some other teammates, but he'd been tracking her location all night. When their gazes met, he smiled—that soft, private smile that was just for her.

She smiled back.

Later, she mouthed.

He nodded, understanding. Later.

The dancing started in earnest around nine-thirty.

Someone turned up the music and suddenly the living room was packed with bodies moving, laughing, singing along to songs everyone knew. Sophia let Maya pull her into the chaos, both of them dancing terribly and not caring.

Ethan appeared beside her, moving with that careful self-consciousness of someone who'd spent more time on ice skates than dance floors. But he was trying, and he was smiling, and when Sophia grabbed his hands to spin him, he went with it.

"You're a terrible dancer!" she yelled over the music.

"I know!"

"I don't care!"

"Good!"

They danced like that for three songs, surrounded by friends, just being teenagers at a party. No courts. No lawyers. No life-altering decisions. Just music and movement and joy.

But Sophia kept noticing Ethan glancing toward the hallway. Toward the stairs that led to Jordan's art studio. Toward the roof access they'd talked about earlier.

During a slower song, he leaned in close. "Want to get some air?"

Her heart jumped. "Yeah. Let's go."

They slipped away from the crowd, nobody really noticing as they ducked into the quieter hallway. Jordan's art studio was at the top of a narrow staircase, the door propped open to let in the cool evening breeze.

As they climbed, Sophia noticed Jordan watching from across the room. He caught her eye, then deliberately looked at the stairs, then back at her. He nodded once—permission granted, privacy respected.

She mouthed "thank you."

He grinned and turned back to the party.

The art studio was exactly as Sophia remembered from other parties—paint-splattered floors, canvases stacked against walls, the smell of turpentine and creativity. The skylight was propped open, ladder extended to the roof access.

"You weren't kidding about the roof," Sophia said.

"Jordan mentioned it earlier. Said we'd earned some privacy." Ethan tested the ladder. "You okay climbing?"

"In this dress? Might be interesting."

"I'll go first. Catch you if you fall."

"My hero," she teased, but she meant it.

Ethan climbed quickly, disappearing through the skylight. Then his face appeared, backlit by stars. "Come on. It's beautiful up here."

Sophia hiked up her sundress slightly and climbed. Her legs were shaking—not from exertion but from anticipation. They hadn't been truly alone, truly private, since January. Four and a half months of supervised visits and monitored calls and lawyers watching their every interaction.

Tonight, finally, it was just them.

Ethan helped her through the skylight, his hands warm and sure on her waist. The roof was flat, tar paper and gravel, with a low wall around the edges. The sky was that particular Winnipeg spring color—not quite dark yet at 9:30, but getting there, deep blue bleeding into purple.

Stars were starting to appear.

The city spread out below them, lights flickering on in windows and streetlamps. The party noise was muffled here, just bass and occasional laughter drifting up. Otherwise, quiet.

"Hi," Ethan said softly.

"Hi yourself." Sophia leaned against him, and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. They stood like that for a moment, just breathing, just being.

Actually alone. No supervision. No rules. No threats hanging over their heads.

Free.

"How are you still standing?" Sophia asked. "We've been awake since five."

"Adrenaline. Also I think I'm too tired to sleep." His voice was rough, worn down by the long day. "You?"

"Same. My brain won't shut off." She tilted her head back to look at the stars. More appearing every minute. "We really did it."

"We really did." His arm tightened. "Judge Morrison, emancipation granted, everything."

"The criminal charges dropped."

"My mom leaving my dad."

"Caroline apologizing."

"MIT confirmed." His voice cracked slightly on those words. "Soph. We're going to MIT together."

She turned to face him properly, and something in her chest cracked open—all the fear and tension and barely-held-together determination from the past four months. He was looking at her the way he'd been looking at her since January, since before January, since they were nine years old probably.

Like she was the answer to every question he'd ever asked.

"We survived," she whispered.

"Yeah." He reached up, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering against her cheek. "We did."

"Your parents, the custody fight, criminal charges, all of it."

"Six weeks of no contact before that."

"Four and a half months of wanting this."

His thumb traced her cheekbone. "Every single day of those four and a half months."

The sunset light caught in his eyes—brown and gold and impossibly warm. She'd memorized every fleck, every shade, but somehow they were still surprising her. Still making her heart skip beats.

"What happens now?" she asked. Not scared, just... wondering. They'd been in survival mode so long.

"Now?" He smiled, slow and real. "Now we get to just... be together. No countdown. No checking over our shoulders. Just us."

"Just us," she repeated. Testing the words. They felt too good to be true.

"Tell me about MIT," he said. "What are you most excited about?"

She let herself lean into the question, into the future they'd finally earned. "The labs. Professor Yang's quantum computing research. The fact that we can get coffee at 2 AM when we're cramming for exams." She paused. "Walking across campus holding your hand."

His smile widened. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." She reached for his hand, laced their fingers together. "Public hand-holding. Revolutionary concept."

"We could do more than hold hands, you know." His voice dropped lower. "We're not breaking any rules anymore."

Her pulse jumped. "Radical idea."

"Pretty sure Jordan gave us this roof for a reason." He was closer now, or maybe she was, gravity pulling them together like they'd been orbiting for years and finally hit critical proximity.

"Smart friend."

"Remember our entropy project?" Sophia said, the memory surfacing suddenly. "Back in March, at the science fair?"

Ethan laughed softly. "How could I forget? You were yelling about thermodynamic equilibrium at 2 AM."

"And you were explaining hockey momentum equations to make the point clearer." She looked up at him. "That's why we won gold. Because we're partners. Equals. We push each other to think differently."

"That's what we are," he agreed. "Partners."

"In everything."

"In everything." His free hand came up to cup her face. "Sophia."

"Yeah?"

"I love you." The words were simple, but his voice carried everything—months of history, weeks of hell, every scared moment and brave choice and desperate hope. "I have loved you since I was nine years old. I loved you when we were apart. I loved you every day we couldn't be together. I loved you through everything, and I'm going to love you for everything that comes next."

Her eyes were burning. "Ethan."

"I'm not finished." His thumb brushed across her cheek, catching a tear she hadn't realized had fallen. "You are the bravest, smartest, most stubborn person I've ever met. You stood up to my parents. You believed in me when I didn't believe in myself. You didn't drop the charges even when facing jail. You're my best friend and you always have been and I—" His voice cracked. "I never stopped loving you. Not for one single day."

She couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Every analytical bone in her body had dissolved.

"I love you," she managed. "I love you so much it doesn't make any sense. You're supposed to fall in love gradually, logically, but I think I loved you before I knew what the word meant. Every science competition, every hockey practice, every time you smiled at me like I was the only person in the world who mattered—"

"You were. You are."

"I've been in love with you my entire life." The words were tumbling out now, unstoppable. "When you left, I thought I'd lost my chance. When we found each other again, I thought it was impossible. When your parents tried to take you away, I thought I'd break. But here we are. We're here, and we're free, and I love you. I love you."

"Sophia." His forehead touched hers. They were breathing the same air. "Can I kiss you?"

"Please."

The first touch of his lips was gentle—questioning, careful, like she might disappear if he pressed too hard. Like they'd wake up and discover this was another dream, another impossible hope that reality would crush.

But Sophia pressed closer, her hands sliding up to his shoulders, answering the question without words: I'm real. We're real. This is finally, actually happening.

He made a soft sound—relief and wonder and something that sounded like her name—and deepened the kiss. His hand slid into her hair, fingers tangling in the strands, and oh. Oh.

This was different than the New Year's kiss. That had been stolen, desperate, public—seventeen seconds of rebellion before Jordan pulled them apart, before reality crashed back in. That kiss had tasted like champagne and countdown pressure and the terrified knowledge that they'd just broken every rule.

This kiss tasted like freedom.

Sophia wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, needing to eliminate every molecule of space between them. Four and a half months. One hundred thirty-five days of supervised visits and monitored calls and lawyers watching their every interaction. Six weeks before that of complete separation, of not even being allowed to hear his voice.

All of it—all the fear and fighting and forced distance—dissolved in the warmth of his mouth on hers.

He kissed her like she was oxygen after drowning. Like she was the first sunrise after endless night. His arm banded around her waist, holding her like she was precious and necessary and his, finally his, no one could take this away anymore.

Her heart was racing everywhere—in her throat, her wrists, that pulse point behind her ear that he'd kissed once in January and she'd thought about every day since. Every beat saying yes yes yes finally yes.

They broke apart for air, both breathing hard, and Ethan laughed—pure joy, unfiltered and bright. The sound lit her up from the inside.

"God," he breathed. "Sophia—"

"Don't stop." She pulled him back down. "Please don't stop."

"Never," he promised against her lips. "Never letting you go."

The second wave of kissing was different—less desperate, more exploratory. Learning each other. She traced the angle of his jaw with her palm, feeling the slight stubble there, the warmth of his skin. He kissed the corner of her mouth, then her cheek, then back to her lips, each touch deliberate and reverent.

When his lips met hers again, slower this time, Sophia's knees went liquid. She tightened her grip on his shoulders, needing the support, needing the anchor. He tasted like the Coke he'd been drinking earlier—sweet and sharp—and underneath that, just him. Some combination of mint toothpaste and that cologne he wore and something indefinable that was purely Ethan.

His hand traced patterns on her back through the thin fabric of her sundress—slow circles, gentle pressure—and shivers cascaded down her spine. Every nerve ending was firing. She'd never understood people who described kissing as "electric" before, thought it was hyperbole, but no. No. This was exactly that. Lightning in her veins, sparks everywhere he touched.

"Soph," he murmured, pulling back just enough to look at her. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, and something in her stomach flipped at the way he was looking at her. Like she'd hung the stars appearing above them. "I'm—I'm trying to memorize this. So I never forget the moment everything became possible."

Her breath caught. "Ethan."

"You're so beautiful." His thumb traced her lower lip, gentle and wondering. "I've thought that since we were kids but right now—here—you're—"

She kissed him again before he could finish, because if he kept talking like that she was going to cry, and she didn't want to cry. She wanted to feel this—the solid reality of him against her, the taste of him, the way his breath hitched when she kissed that spot just below his ear.

Time stopped meaning anything. Could have been minutes or hours. The sky darkened around them—deep purple bleeding to black, stars emerging in earnest now—and neither of them noticed. The city lights below spread out like scattered diamonds, but Sophia's entire world had narrowed to this: the roof, Ethan's arms, the infinite variations of kissing.

Sometimes slow and deep, all-consuming. Sometimes quick and light, breaking apart to laugh at nothing, at everything, at the sheer impossibility of being here after everything they'd survived. Sometimes just foreheads pressed together, breathing, existing in the same space with no barriers.

His fingers found the pulse point on her wrist, pressing gently, feeling her heartbeat hammering. "You're shaking."

"So are you," she pointed out, feeling the tremor in his hands.

"I know. I can't—" He kissed her again, cutting off his own words. When he pulled back, his voice was rough: "Four months. God, Sophia, four months of wanting to do this and not being allowed to touch you. Do you know how many times I—"

"Tell me." She needed to hear it. Needed to know she hadn't been alone in the wanting.

"Every supervised visit. Every phone call your lawyer monitored. Every night I lay in that apartment thinking about you." His forehead touched hers. "I'd close my eyes and remember New Year's Eve. Seventeen seconds. I had it timed. And I'd think—when this is over, when we're free, I'm going to kiss her for hours. Days. I'm going to make up for every second we lost."

"Hours and days," she echoed, smiling against his lips. "That's ambitious."

"I'm very motivated."

She laughed, and felt him smile, and then they were kissing again but it was different—playful, joyful, punctuated with laughter and whispered words that didn't quite make sense. Nonsense endearments and promises and his name, her name, over and over like incantations.

At some point she lost track of where she ended and he began. Her fingers tangled in his hair—softer than it looked, falling across his forehead the way it always did. His hands settled at her waist, thumbs tracing small circles on her hipbones through the dress, and the touch was somehow both innocent and devastating.

"I love you," she said again, between kisses. Couldn't stop saying it. Four and a half months of holding back, and now the words kept spilling out. "I love you, I love you, I love—"

"I love you." Kiss. "I love you." Another kiss, deeper. "So much, Sophia. So much it—I don't have words—"

"Then don't use words." She pulled him closer, eliminating the last breath of space between them. "Just—this. Just us."

"Just us," he agreed, and kissed her again.

The Winnipeg sky finished its transition to full dark above them. The stars were out in force now—hundreds of them, maybe thousands, that particular northern brilliance that happened on clear spring nights. The city hummed below, distant and separate. The party continued in the house beneath them, bass thumping, laughter drifting up, but it felt like another world entirely.

This roof belonged to them. This moment belonged to them. Finally, after everything, they were allowed to have this.

Sophia felt it settling into her bones—the rightness of it. The perfection. Not perfect in an unrealistic way, but perfect in the way that mattered: this person, this moment, this hard-won freedom to choose each other.

"Hey," Ethan said softly, pulling back to look at her properly. His hands came up to cup her face, gentle and sure. "You okay?"

She realized she was crying—happy tears streaming down her face without her permission. "I'm so okay. I'm so—we're here. We did it. We're actually here and no one can—" Her voice cracked. "No one can take this away anymore."

"No one," he confirmed, brushing away her tears with his thumbs. "Not my father, not the courts, not anyone. We're free, Sophia. We're free and we're together and—" His voice broke. "I'm never letting you go."

"Good." She caught his hands, pressed them against her face, needing the warmth and pressure and reality of his touch. "Because you're stuck with me now. You know that, right? MIT, engineering school, wherever we end up after—you're stuck."

"Best fate I can imagine." His smile was bright enough to rival the stars. "You and me. Whatever comes next."

"Everything that comes next," she corrected.

"Everything," he agreed.

He kissed her again, softer now. Gentler. Not desperate or urgent but sweet—a promise, a beginning, a celebration of having time. They had the whole summer. They had MIT in August. They had years stretching out ahead of them, no more countdowns or deadlines or separation orders.

They had each other, finally, completely, freely.

Sophia could feel him smiling against her lips and started smiling too. The kiss dissolved into laughter—breathless, joyful, slightly unhinged from exhaustion and relief and too many emotions to process.

"We're really doing this," she said.

"We really are." He rested his forehead against hers, still smiling. "No more hiding. No more rules. No more—"

His phone buzzed.

They both froze.

"Ignore it," Sophia said. "Whatever it is—"

It buzzed again. And again. Someone calling, not texting.

Ethan closed his eyes. "I should—what if it's my mom? What if something happened with—"

"Check." She stepped back reluctantly, already missing his warmth. "It's okay. Check."

He pulled out his phone, and his expression shifted—confusion, then shock. "It's a Detroit area code."

"Detroit?" Her stomach dropped. "Ethan—"

"I don't know anyone in—" Realization hit his face. "The Red Wings. They recruited me back in April, before I chose MIT. But that was—I told them no, I'm not—" The phone kept ringing. "Should I answer?"

"I think you have to."

His hand was shaking as he accepted the call. "Hello? This is Ethan."

Sophia watched his face as he listened. Watched the color drain from his cheeks. Watched his eyes go wide with something that looked like shock or terror or maybe both.

"I understand," he said finally. "Yes. Thank you for calling."

He hung up and stood there, staring at his phone like it had just transformed into a bomb.

"Ethan?" Sophia approached carefully. "What did they want?"

He looked up, and his expression was—she couldn't read it. Shocked? Confused? Scared?

"That was a scout," he said slowly. "From the Detroit Red Wings. They—back in April, when they were recruiting me, I said no because of MIT. Because of you. Because of choosing education over—" He shook his head like trying to clear it. "They said they've been following my season. That my emancipation status makes me eligible for earlier entry to the NHL. They want to meet next week. To talk about a contract."

The words hit like a physical blow.

"A contract?" Sophia's voice sounded distant to her own ears. "Like, a professional contract?"

"Yeah." He laughed, but it sounded wrong—hollow and shocked. "An NHL contract. The thing I've been training for my whole life. The thing I gave up for MIT. For us."

"But you chose MIT."

"I know. I did. I—" He ran his hand through his hair, messing up the strands she'd just had her fingers in. "They said it's not an either-or anymore. That they have a program for academically gifted players. Modified enrollment. I could play hockey October through April and attend MIT May through August. Five years instead of four, but I'd get both."

The world tilted.

Both.

He could have both.

Everything they'd fought for—MIT together, choosing education over hockey, freedom from his father's dreams—and there was a third option all along?

"Did you know this existed?" Sophia asked carefully.

"No. God, no. If I'd known..." He trailed off, looking sick. "We fought so hard. You faced criminal charges. I sued my own father. And maybe—maybe we didn't have to choose at all."

They stared at each other. The party continued below them, music and laughter and celebration, but it felt very far away.

All the warmth from kissing had evaporated. Sophia's skin felt cold despite the mild spring air.

"What are you going to do?" she whispered.

"I don't know." His voice cracked. "This morning I was sure. MIT, engineering, building something real instead of chasing Dad's dream. But Soph—what if it wasn't just Dad's dream? What if part of me still wants this? What if I—" He stopped. "What about us? What about MIT together? What about everything we just—"

His phone buzzed again—email notification. He glanced at it, and his face went even paler.

"What is it?"

"Email. From the Red Wings. Contract details." He scrolled, reading, and Sophia watched him process the numbers. "Signing bonus of two and a half million dollars. Base salary of three point two million per year. Three years guaranteed."

Two and a half million dollars.

More money than Sophia's family would see in decades. Her parents were comfortable—her mom's teaching salary, her dad's consulting work—but they weren't rich. They'd saved carefully for years to afford MIT's tuition. They'd budgeted and planned and stressed.

Two and a half million dollars was generational wealth. Never-worry-about-money-again wealth. Buy-your-parents-a-house wealth.

And Ethan might give that up for her?

Or worse—what if he took it? What if he realized that his whole life had been pointing toward this moment, and choosing her meant choosing poverty by comparison?

"When do they need an answer?" she asked. Her voice didn't sound like her own.

"June first. Two weeks."

Two weeks to decide between the life they'd planned and the dream he'd thought he'd given up.

Two weeks to figure out if choosing each other meant being apart half the year—him in Detroit October through April, her at MIT alone, their relationship reduced to phone calls and occasional visits.

Two weeks to determine if this perfect day, this perfect kiss, was the beginning of everything or the end.

Sophia looked at Ethan—at the boy she'd loved since they were nine, at the young man who'd fought for freedom, at her best friend and partner and the person she wanted to build a life with.

And she saw the uncertainty in his eyes.

For months, their path had been clear. Difficult, yes. Painful, absolutely. But clear. MIT or NHL. Education or money. Each other or his parents' dreams.

Now the path forked into territories they'd never mapped. Detroit winters and Cambridge summers. Professional athlete and MIT student. Everything they'd wanted, but divided, separated, split between two impossible lives.

"We should go back down," Ethan said quietly. "I need to—I need to think. Process."

"Okay."

But neither of them moved. They stood there on the roof, the site of the most perfect kiss either of them had ever experienced, and felt it all slipping away.

Finally, Ethan reached for her hand. "I love you. That hasn't changed."

"I love you too."

"I don't know what I'm going to do. But I—we'll figure it out. Together."

"Together," she echoed, trying to believe it.

They climbed back down the ladder in silence. The art studio felt surreal now—paint and possibility, creative chaos, Jordan's generous gift of privacy that had just witnessed both the best and worst moments of the night.

They walked back to the party together, hand in hand, and everything was different.

Maya saw them first. She took one look at their faces—Sophia's carefully blank expression, Ethan's shell-shocked confusion—and her smile faltered.

"What happened?" she asked, pulling Sophia aside while Ethan got intercepted by Jordan.

"Nothing. Everything." Sophia couldn't find the words. "I'll tell you later."

"Soph—"

"Later. I promise."

But Maya must have sensed something, because she stuck close for the rest of the night. Emma too. Her friends forming a protective barrier while Sophia smiled and nodded and pretended everything was fine.

Across the room, Jordan was doing the same thing for Ethan—keeping teammates from asking too many questions, maintaining the celebration energy while clearly concerned.

Around eleven, Sophia found herself on the back patio, needing air that didn't smell like the roof. Maya sat beside her.

"You don't have to tell me what happened," Maya said. "But you look like someone who just had the best and worst night of her life simultaneously."

"That's—yeah. That's accurate."

Maya waited. Sophia struggled with how much to say, how much she could say before breaking down entirely.

"We kissed," she finally managed. "On the roof. It was perfect. Like, perfect perfect. Everything I'd been waiting for since January."

"That's good, right?"

"It was. Until his phone rang." Sophia stared at the patio lights strung overhead. "NHL scout. Detroit Red Wings. They want to sign him. Two and a half million dollars. Modified program where he could do both hockey and MIT but we'd be apart most of the year."

Maya sucked in a breath. "Oh, Soph."

"We fought so hard. I faced criminal charges. He sued his father. And maybe—maybe there was another way all along. Maybe we suffered for nothing."

"You didn't suffer for nothing. You fought for freedom. For the right to choose." Maya took her hand. "And now Ethan has to choose. For real. Not because Robert's forcing him, not because the courts say he has to, but because he gets to decide what he actually wants."

"What if he chooses hockey?"

"Then you deal with that. Together." Maya squeezed her fingers. "But Sophia—you can't make this choice for him. And you can't resent him for whatever he decides. This has to be his decision."

"I know." She did know. But knowing didn't make it hurt less. "I just—we finally got here. We finally got to be together. And now—"

"Now you deal with the next thing. That's what you do. You face impossible situations and you survive them." Maya's voice was fierce. "You'll survive this too."

Sophia wanted to believe her. She really did.

They left around eleven-thirty, making excuses about exhaustion. Jordan hugged them both at the door.

"Text me tomorrow?" he said to Ethan.

"Yeah. Tomorrow."

"Both of you," Jordan added, looking at Sophia. "Whatever's going on—you've got people. Remember that."

In the car, they sat in silence. Ethan's hands on the steering wheel, knuckles white. Sophia staring out the window at the dark streets passing by.

"I'm sorry," Ethan finally said. "After tonight, after the roof, after everything—"

"Don't apologize. This is huge. You need to consider it."

"But what about us?"

"We'll figure it out." She tried to sound confident, tried to channel Maya's certainty. "We always do."

He drove carefully, probably too exhausted to be driving at all. When he pulled up to her driveway, they sat for a moment, neither moving.

"That kiss," Ethan said quietly. "On the roof. That was—"

"I know."

"I meant everything I said. About loving you. About never letting go."

"I know," she repeated. "I meant it too."

He leaned across the console, kissing her softly. It tasted different than the roof kisses—this one tasted like uncertainty and goodbye, even though goodbye wasn't the right word. It was more like: I love you but I don't know what happens next.

"I love you," he said.

"I love you too."

She got out of the car and walked to her door. When she turned back, he was still sitting there, phone in his hand, staring at the email that had just complicated everything.

Inside, Sophia leaned against the closed door, trying to process.

This morning: criminal charges and emancipation hearing.

This afternoon: freedom and paperwork.

This evening: the perfect kiss under the stars.

And now: an NHL contract offer that changed everything.

Her phone buzzed. Ethan.

I love you. That hasn't changed. Sleep well.

She stared at the message, then typed back.

I love you too. We'll figure it out.

Hit send.

But as she climbed the stairs to her room, as she changed out of her blue sundress and washed off her makeup, she couldn't stop thinking about the numbers. Two and a half million dollars. More money than she could really comprehend.

How could she ask him to give that up for her?

But also—how could she survive five years of modified schedules, of being apart October through April, of building separate lives that only intersected for a few months each year?

She lay in bed staring at the ceiling, processing.

They'd fought so hard. Survived so much. Won their freedom together.

But what if freedom meant he was free to choose a life that didn't include her? Or included her, but only in the margins, in the gaps between seasons and travel schedules?

What if today's perfect kiss was the beginning of the end?

Across the city, Ethan lay in his apartment—the space he'd furnished so carefully, the first place that was truly his—and stared at his phone.

The email was still open. Contract details in black and white. Numbers that would change his life forever.

Two and a half million dollars.

His father's voice echoed in his head: This is what you were meant for. This is your destiny.

But whose destiny? Robert's dream or his own?

He'd been so sure this morning. MIT, engineering, building something with his mind instead of just his body. Choosing education. Choosing Sophia. Choosing a different path.

But what if he didn't have to choose? What if he could have both?

Except—five years of split schedules. Sophia alone at MIT October through April while he traveled with the team. Missing her birthdays, her big moments, her daily life. Reduced to phone calls and occasional visits and always, always missing each other.

Was that really "having both"? Or was it a compromise that would slowly destroy what they'd built?

He thought about the roof. About her lips on his, her hands in his hair, the way she'd said I love you like a prayer. About the perfection of finally being together without fear, without countdown timers, without supervision.

About how right it had felt.

Then he looked at the numbers again.

Three point two million per year. Three years guaranteed.

Money to support his mother as she rebuilt her life. Money to never worry again. Money to prove he was worth something beyond his father's control.

But at what cost?

He didn't know. God, he didn't know.

Ethan closed the email and opened his messages instead. Sophia's last text glowed on his screen: I love you too. We'll figure it out.

We'll figure it out.

They always had before. Through his father's control, through the custody battle, through criminal charges and emancipation hearings and six weeks of forced separation.

But this was different. This wasn't them against an external threat. This was him having to choose between two futures, and no matter what he chose, something would be lost.

He set his phone down and stared at the ceiling.

Free to choose. It had sounded like victory this morning.

Tonight, it felt like torture.

In separate beds across the city, neither of them slept.

Sophia lay there thinking about the kiss, about two and a half million dollars, about five years of split schedules and the weight of asking someone to give up their dream.

Ethan lay there thinking about the kiss, about MIT together, about the NHL and whether it was his father's dream or his own.

Both of them processing. Both of them terrified.

The clock ticked past midnight into May 16th.

Two weeks until Ethan had to decide.

Fourteen days to figure out if love was enough.

If choosing each other meant giving up everything else.

Or if there was a way—some impossible, miraculous way—to have it all without losing what mattered most.

They didn't have answers yet.

They just had questions, and fear, and the memory of a perfect kiss that had lasted exactly as long as it took for reality to come crashing back in.

[End Chapter 4]

[END EPISODE 9]

Word count: ~6,100 words

Episode 9 Total: ~20,200 words across 4 chapters

Episode 9 Cliffhanger Questions:

Will Ethan take the NHL offer?

Can their relationship survive five years of split schedules?

Did they sacrifice for nothing—was there always a third option?

Will Robert ever reconcile, knowing Ethan might play hockey after all?

What does Sophia want Ethan to do—and can she admit it?

Was today's perfect kiss the beginning or the end?

Is two and a half million dollars worth losing the future they planned?

Can love survive when dreams pull in different directions?

Continue in Episode 10: Season Finale