built sandcastles, and sat beneath the stars. That night, Tess whispered, “I think I love you the most.” And Piper let herself cry—not out of loss, but strength. When an invitation to Tess’s birthday—planned entirely by Lizzie—arrived, Piper went. She stood at the edge of a party she hadn’t been invited to help plan, calm and composed. Lizzie tried to offer an apology. Piper asked one question

“Then why did she think I was the evil one?” No reply came. But Piper didn’t need one. Tess came home full of glitter and laughter, curled against Piper in bed, asking about happy and sad tears. She understood more than anyone gave her credit for. Now, there’s a photo on their mantle: Piper, Tess, and Gran at the beach. Just the three of them. No ribbons. No pretense. Just real, raw, enduring love.