Updated Feb 20, 2026 • ~6 min read
LUCIA
I change outfits six times.
Nothing feels right.
Too casual. Too formal. Too trying-too-hard.
Finally I settle on jeans and a simple sweater.
Paloma does my hair.
“You look beautiful,” she says.
“I look terrified.”
“That too.”
“What if his family hates me?”
“Then you survive it and leave. But I don’t think they will.”
“Why not?”
“Because West invited you. That has to mean something.”
I hope she’s right.
West picks me up at six.
The car ride is awkward.
“Thanks for inviting me,” I say.
“Thanks for coming.”
Silence.
“Are you going to tell them? Who I really am?”
He glances at me.
“I already did. After… everything.”
“What did they say?”
“Mom said she wasn’t surprised. That you seemed different from the Carmen she remembered.”
“And Jonah?”
“Jonah apologized for being an ass.”
A small laugh escapes me.
“He called me. To apologize.”
“He did?”
“Yeah. A few days ago.”
West is quiet.
“I didn’t know that.”
“He cares about you. He was protecting you.”
“I know.”
We pull up to his parents’ house.
The same house I came to before.
When I was pretending to be Carmen.
“Ready?” West asks.
No.
“Yeah.”
WESTLEY
Mom hugs Lucia.
Actually hugs her.
“It’s good to see you again, Lucia.”
Lucia looks shocked.
“You’re not… angry?”
“Angry? Sweetheart, I’m just glad you and West are talking again.”
“We’re not—I mean—we’re just—”
“It’s okay. Baby steps.”
Dad shakes Lucia’s hand.
“Nice to officially meet you.”
“You too, Mr. Archer.”
“Call me Tom.”
Jonah appears.
“Hey, Lucia.”
“Hi, Jonah.”
It’s painfully awkward.
We sit down to dinner.
Mom made pot roast.
Lucia compliments everything.
Too much.
She’s nervous.
“So Lucia,” Mom says. “West tells us you’re a writer?”
“Aspiring writer. I work at a coffee shop.”
“What do you write?”
“Romance mostly. It’s silly—”
“It’s not silly,” I say.
Everyone looks at me.
“Romance is a legitimate genre. Don’t diminish your work.”
Lucia stares at me.
“Thank you.”
LUCIA
Dinner is surprisingly pleasant.
West’s mom asks about my novel.
His dad talks about his favorite books.
Jonah even cracks a few jokes.
It feels normal.
Like I belong here.
But I don’t.
I’m the girl who lied.
Who broke West’s heart.
After dinner, West and I do dishes.
His mom insists.
“You two need time to talk.”
We stand at the sink.
Him washing. Me drying.
Like a domestic scene from a life we’ll never have.
“Your family is nice,” I say.
“They like you.”
“They probably shouldn’t.”
“Probably. But they do anyway.”
I dry a plate carefully.
“West?”
“Yeah?”
“Why did you invite me tonight?”
He’s quiet for a long moment.
“I don’t know. I just… I wanted to see you.”
“Even though you’re still angry?”
“Even though.”
My heart aches.
“I miss you.”
He doesn’t respond.
Just hands me another plate.
WESTLEY
After dishes, we sit on the back porch.
The same porch where Carmen—the real Carmen—used to sit with me years ago.
But I’m not thinking about Carmen.
I’m thinking about the woman next to me.
“Can I ask you something?” I say.
“Anything.”
“When did you know? That you were in love with me?”
She’s quiet.
“The family dinner. The first one. When you were talking about your work. About building things that last. I looked at you and thought ‘I could love this man.’ And then I realized I already did.”
“That was week two.”
“Yeah.”
“And you didn’t tell me for another two weeks.”
“I was scared.”
“Of what?”
“Of losing you. Which is ironic because I lost you anyway.”
I turn to look at her.
Really look at her.
“You didn’t lose me. I’m right here.”
“You know what I mean.”
Yeah.
I do.
“I’m trying, Lucia. To understand. To forgive. But it’s hard.”
“I know.”
“Every time I think about that first day—about how I called you Carmen and you just… let me—it makes me angry all over again.”
Tears slide down her cheeks.
“I’m so sorry.”
“I know you are. But sorry doesn’t undo it.”
“Then what will?”
I don’t have an answer.
LUCIA
We drive back to my apartment in silence.
He walks me to my door.
“Thanks for tonight,” I say.
“Thanks for coming.”
We stand there.
So close.
Close enough to touch.
“West—”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t ask me to make a decision I’m not ready to make.”
I nod.
Blink back tears.
“Okay.”
I unlock my door.
Start to go inside.
“Lucia.”
I turn.
“I meant what I said. I’m trying.”
“That’s enough.”
But it’s not.
It’s not enough and we both know it.
WESTLEY
I drive home.
Replay the night in my head.
The way she laughed at Dad’s stupid joke.
The way she helped Mom clear the table without being asked.
The way she fit so naturally into my family.
My phone buzzes.
Text from Jonah.
Jonah: She’s good for you.
Me: She lied to me for a month.
Jonah: And you’re still thinking about her. What does that tell you?
I don’t respond.
Because I don’t know what it tells me.
Except that I’m not over her.
Not even close.
LUCIA
I call Carmen.
She answers on the second ring.
“How did it go?”
“Confusing.”
“Explain.”
I tell her everything.
The dinner. The dishes. The porch conversation.
“He’s softening,” Carmen says.
“You think?”
“I know. West doesn’t spend time with people he’s done with. If he invited you to family dinner, he’s considering giving you another chance.”
Hope blooms in my chest.
“Really?”
“Really. But Lucia—don’t push. Let him come to you.”
“What if he doesn’t?”
“Then at least you’ll know. But my bet is on him coming around.”
“Why are you helping me? I stole your identity. Your ex-fiancé.”
Carmen laughs.
“You didn’t steal anything. West and I were over the moment I entered witness protection. And you? You’re my sister. I want you to be happy.”
“Even if it’s with the man you loved?”
“Especially then. Because I know he’s a good man. And you deserve a good man.”
I’m crying again.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. You still have work to do.”
“I know.”
After we hang up, I write.
Not my novel.
A letter.
Dear West,
I know you need time. I know I hurt you beyond measure. But I wanted you to have this—a record of what happened from my perspective. Not to excuse what I did, but to help you understand.
I write for hours.
Pour everything onto the page.
Every feeling. Every regret. Every moment of falling in love.
When I finish, it’s three AM.
I read it over.
Then I put it in an envelope.
Address it to West.
Tomorrow I’ll give it to him.
And then I’ll wait.
For as long as it takes.
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