Virgin Dot Com Novel

[Jasmine's POV] Week before Christmas, Leo arrives alone. Maya's working-twelve-hour shift at the hospital that's become more frequent as year-end chaos compounds. He carries paper bags that smell like the deli near his apartment, the one that makes sandwiches exactly how we ate them as kids-too much meat, not enough vegetables, mayo on both sides. First time seeing him since the engagement. Since Liam asked and I said yes and we told the girls and updated the family group chat that still includes Asher and Finn because co-parenting requires communication even when romance has evaporated.

Leo responded with thumbs up emoji and "we need to talk," which is why he's here now, insisting on lunch, demanding conversation I've been avoiding. He's healthy now. Solid in ways he wasn't during active addiction, when his body was consuming itself, when I'd find him passed out and have to check if he was breathing. My baby brother who survived what killed so many others, who found love with someone who sees his scars and loves him anyway. I owe him honesty about my own journey, about the choices I've made and the man I'm choosing to marry. "So.

You're marrying Liam." He settles into chair that used to be Finn's, claiming space without hesitation. "I am." My voice is steady. Certain in ways I haven't been about previous decisions. "How do you feel about it?" The question is deceptively simple. How do I feel? What singular emotion could possibly encompass the complexity of choosing one man after attempting to love three, of rebuilding on ruins of what failed, of finding clarity in simplification? "Terrified. Happy. Sure." Three emotions that shouldn't coexist but do, occupying same space in my chest without contradiction.

"That's a lot of feelings." His lips twitch toward smile. "Yeah." I laugh, releasing tension I've been carrying since he arrived. Leo leans back, studying me with assessment I recognize from therapy sessions when he was learning to identify his own bullshit and call out everyone else's. "I need to ask you something, and I need you to be honest. Are you marrying him because you love him, or because he's the safe choice after everything imploded?" The question lands hard. Accusation disguised as concern, or concern expressed through accusation-impossible to distinguish which.

I set down my sandwich, appetite evaporating under weight of interrogation I knew was coming but hoped to avoid. "Both?" The answer emerges as question, uncertainty bleeding through attempted confidence. "I love him desperately. But yes, he's also safe. He stayed. He showed up. He didn't make me compete or share or explain myself constantly. Is that wrong?" "No." Leo's voice softens, edges blunting into something that might be approval. "That's exactly right. You deserve safe. You deserve someone who shows up.

I just needed to make sure you knew the difference between settling and choosing." "I'm choosing." The declaration is firmer now, conviction building as I articulate it. "Actively, intentionally choosing. Not settling for what's left. Choosing what I want from what's available, and what I want is Liam. Just Liam." He nods, satisfied by answer he probably already knew but needed to hear. We eat in silence for moment-comfortable quiet of people who've survived too much to require constant conversation.

"I need to bring up the wedding incident." Leo's voice carries shame that's been brewing for months. "I was an asshole. Calling you... what I called you." The memory surfaces-drunk brother, wedding night disaster, words that cut deeper than Asher's fist that followed them. Words I've forgiven but can't quite forget, that echo during moments of doubt, that make me question if there's truth in drunk confession even after apology. "You were drunk." The excuse comes automatically, shield against hurt that's scarred over but not healed. "Still. I'm sorry.

You're not-you never were-" He can't finish, can't even repeat the word in apology, throat closing around syllable that wounded us both. "I know. And I forgave you months ago." Truth that doesn't erase damage but acknowledges repair that's already occurred. "Maya says I was projecting." He picks at sandwich, avoiding eye contact. "My own fear of being judged for my addiction. Seeing you being judged and lashing out because I knew how it felt." "Probably." I reach across table, cover his hand with mine. "But it's okay. We all fuck up. The difference is learning from it, doing better.

You've done better." We talk about our childhood then-inevitable destination when Moreau siblings gather, when shared trauma becomes lingua franca we both speak fluently. Absent mother who chose men and substances over children who needed her. Absent father who was never really present even when he showed up. Two kids raising themselves through whatever combination of luck and stubbornness kept us alive when statistics suggested otherwise. "We turned out okay," Leo says, conviction that sounds like prayer.

"Despite everything." "We did." I squeeze his hand, feeling gratitude for survival that wasn't guaranteed. "You're sober, married, happy. I'm figuring out how to be happy. That's more than we ever expected as kids." "Mom would be..." He trails off, leaving sentence unfinished because there's no good ending. No way to complete thought that doesn't hurt.

We sit in shared grief for the mother who never got her shit together, who died at forty-three from liver failure that surprised no one, who never got to see us succeed or meet her grandchildren or witness that sometimes the apple falls far enough from the tree to take root somewhere better. "She'd be proud," I finish for him. Offering comfort I'm not sure I believe. "Maybe. Or she'd find a way to fuck it up." His laugh is dark, bitter, real. "Ask for money. Show up drunk to the wedding.

Make it about her somehow." We laugh together-dark humor of survivors who learned early that sometimes laughter is only defense against pain that would otherwise drown you. Our mother's damage was gift in its way-taught us what not to be, who not to become, how not to love. Negative space defining positive choices. "Liam's good for you." Leo's voice shifts, returns to present tense and current concerns. "I see it. The way you light up when you talk about him, the way the girls are settled. He's good for you." "Yeah.

He is." "The girls are happy?" Always his focus, always protecting children because no one protected us. "Getting there. It's an adjustment." Understatement that encompasses therapy and behavioral regressions and questions I can't quite answer. "But they're resilient. More than we were at their age." "Everything's an adjustment." He stands, starts clearing plates with automatic helpfulness that's habit from childhood. "You'll be fine. Better than fine." After he leaves-with hug that lasts longer than usual, with "I love you" spoken out loud instead of assumed-I feel settled.

Not resolved or fixed or healed, but settled in ways that matter. My brother's blessing carries weight because he knows me, has seen me at my worst, survived his own worst, understands that perfect isn't possible but better is achievable. One more piece falling into place. One more person supporting the choice I'm making, the life I'm building, the man I'm committing to. The foundation is solidifying-not perfect, never perfect, but strong enough to hold weight of future I'm constructing.

Liam comes home to find me still at kitchen table, staring at nothing, processing conversation that excavated old wounds while dressing new ones. "You okay?" He reads my face with practiced ease, sees beneath surface to emotional work happening underneath. "Leo came by. Gave his blessing. Called me out. Made me think." "And?" He sits beside me, hand finding mine, grounding touch that's become reflex. "And I'm sure. About us. About this." I turn to face him fully, need him to see certainty in my expression. "I'm choosing you. Not because you're safe, though you are.

Not because you stayed, though you did. But because I love you. Because you're who I want." His smile breaks open-relief and joy and love that doesn't require division. "I know. I've always known. But it's nice to hear anyway." "Say it back." Needing reciprocation, needing confirmation that this choice is mutual. "I love you. I choose you. Every day, every moment, without hesitation or comparison." He pulls me into his lap, and I go willingly, settling against his chest where his heartbeat anchors me to present instead of past. "And in a few months, I get to marry you.

Make it official in ways that matter to everyone else, even though it's already official to us." "Yeah." I burrow closer, breathing in scent that's become home. "We do." Leo's blessing matters. But this-Liam's arms, Liam's certainty, Liam's unwavering presence-matters more. He's my choice. My safe place. My forever. Virgin Dot Com