Their Wonder Years: Fall 98

Chapter 180: Reading the letters

Back at Sarah’s house, the bedroom lay still in dappled light.

Marisol stirred first from the warmth and the faint, lingering heat of skin and love The kind of warmth that only came after you gave everything to someone you trusted - and were cherished for it.

She blinked slowly, stretching her leg under the sheet. Her hand instinctively reached out to her left - searching for a familiar chest, the slow rise and fall of a sleeping protector.

But the space was empty. Her brows furrowed softly.

She pushed herself up, the sheet falling away from her bare shoulder. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she glanced to her right.

Sarah was still curled in a ball, facing where Bharath had slept. Her hand rested in the center of the bed like she had reached for him in her sleep and missed.

She looked radiant even like this - tangled hair, pillow-creased cheek, her lips barely parted.

Marisol’s heart squeezed.

Last night was everything. Not just because of the fire and rhythm and submission they had offered him - but because of what he had given back.

Safety. Power. Possession without force. Love without conditions.

He had worshipped them as much as they had worshipped him.

Marisol bent forward and kissed Sarah’s shoulder, whispering against her skin, “I think he’s up.”

Sarah stirred with a faint moan. “Mmm?”

“He’s not here,” Marisol whispered. “I think he went to the gym.”

Sarah’s eyes fluttered open, lashes twitching. “Already?”

Marisol smiled. “He probably needed to lift something before he exploded.”

That got a sleepy giggle out of Sarah. “Yeah, I’d say he earned it.”

They both sat up, groaning softly as their bodies protested with soreness and satisfaction. As Sarah pulled the sheet up to cover her chest, Marisol reached for her robe.

“You want to brush our teeth, mi vida?” she asked. “Coffee after?”

Sarah nodded, still blinking the dream from her eyes. “Yeah. Coffee sounds like salvation.”

They padded out of the bedroom together, feet light on the hardwood floor, their bodies moving with the kind of unselfconscious nudity that only came after shared intimacy.

As they passed the living room, both of them paused at once.

Mia was asleep on the couch, one leg tucked under her, blanket pulled up to her chin. Her hair was splayed across the throw pillow like a golden halo, her lips parted, her cheeks still flushed in that unmistakable post-desire glow.

She looked… beautiful.

Marisol leaned down first. She pulled the blanket higher and kissed Mia’s temple gently.

“She looks like she just fell asleep,” she whispered.

Sarah mirrored her on the other side, kissing Mia’s cheek.

“I saw her last night,” Sarah murmured. “Right before she ran to the couch.”

Marisol nodded. “I know. I saw it too.”

“She watched,” Sarah whispered. “She couldn’t look away.”

Marisol smiled. “Soon.”

Sarah blinked. “You think so?”

Marisol just pressed a finger to Sarah’s lips.

“Soon. After what she told Bharath last night - he won’t be able to resist her anymore. I didn’t think they would fall so fast - but it’s going to happen soon.”

They left Mia to sleep and walked into the kitchen, yawning as they reached for the coffee pot.

That’s when they saw it.

The tribute.

Not on a tray. Not on the counter. Not casually arranged.

But on the kitchen table - centered perfectly, like a shrine.

Two steaming mugs of coffee.

A plate of cinnamon sugar toast.

Spinach egg pockets - folded carefully.

Sliced strawberries.

And two small chocolate squares, one beside each mug.

Between the mugs - three neatly folded notes.

One labeled Marisol.

One labeled Sarah.

And one that simply read: Mia.

Marisol gasped first.

Her hand flew to her mouth.

Sarah froze beside her, suddenly wide awake.

“Oh my god,” Marisol whispered. 

“I know,” Sarah said, eyes shimmering. “I love him so much.”

Their legs moved on their own.

They pulled out chairs and sat, still in their robes, staring down at the coffee, the toast, the love. The handwriting. The care.

Marisol reached for her note with trembling fingers and unfolded it.

The words blurred immediately through her tears.

The sob caught in her throat.

Sarah reached across the table and held her hand as she wept - not violently, not loud - but like someone was pouring sunlight through the cracks in her soul.

Then Sarah unfolded her note.

Sarah didn’t make a sound.

Her shoulders just began to shake.

Then she laughed through the tears.

“Transcendent,” she whispered. “He thinks I’m transcendent.”

Marisol squeezed her hand. “You are.”

That’s when they heard the soft rustle of a blanket and the shuffle of sleepy feet.

They turned.

Mia stood in the archway to the kitchen, still clutching the note to her chest.

She hadn’t spoken yet.

Her face was pale with emotion, eyes swollen, lips trembling.

“I woke up to this,” she said quietly. “I haven’t even read it twice. I don’t think I can.”

“Come here, cariño,” Marisol said gently.

Mia walked toward them slowly, barefoot, wrapped in that same pink blanket - and sat between them like a dream just beginning to unfold.

She unfolded the paper.

The word cherished broke her.

Her tears hit the note like raindrops.

Sarah and Marisol reached for her at once, wrapping their arms around her shoulders, pulling her in.

The three of them - these brilliant, fierce, aching girls - sat wrapped around each other, weeping into each other’s necks, whispering things they couldn’t even articulate.

They cried for the pain they had carried.

For the love they had received.

For the future they hadn’t even dared to imagine.

Later, the tears finally subsided.

Their coffee had cooled. Their toast sat half-eaten.

But none of them moved.

Sarah leaned back, eyes closed, still clutching her note.

“He sees us,” she whispered.

Marisol nodded. “And not just what we show.”

“He saw through every scar,” Sarah murmured. “And he still wanted to write me this.”

Mia’s voice was small. “He doesn’t see me like that yet.”

The other two looked at her.

“But he will,” Mia added.

Marisol brushed her cheek. “You already know he loves you. That’s the hardest part.”

Sarah smiled gently. “And you’re already part of us.”

Mia whispered, “I just… I want to be worthy.”

“You already are,” Marisol said simply.

Mia glanced at her note, rereading the final lines.

No matter what path you choose - I believe in you.

She bit her lip.

“I think I want to choose this. Him. You.”

They said nothing.

But they both reached for her hands - and held on.

Not to drag her in.

Not to pressure.

But to say: we’re already waiting.

And you’re already loved.