April 29th, 2040
Candice’s eyes softened as Dominic held out his phone, displaying a picture of his children—Amanda, Clara, and their younger brother. The sight of his daughters, their bright smiles and shining eyes, warmed something deep in her chest. They were beautiful, and the happiness on their faces was unmistakable. For a split second, Candice felt a tug in her heart, an instinct to pull out her own phone and show him pictures of her kids, her life—the family she had built with Charlie.
But that instinct was tangled up in a web of caution. The past wasn’t something she could forget easily, no matter how far they’d come. For years, every shared happiness felt like a vulnerability, a target for old wounds she wasn’t sure had fully healed. Her smile faltered, just a moment of hesitation clouding her expression, before she tucked it away and leaned into the warmth of the present.
“They’re beautiful, Dom,” she said softly, her eyes lingering on the image of the girls before meeting his gaze again. And then she heard the name—Clara. The significance hit her like a gentle wave, pulling at memories she thought she’d locked away.
“That’s… that’s beautiful, Dom.” Her voice was quiet, sincere, the words carrying more meaning than she could articulate. The fact that he named his daughter after his sister said so much, about grief, about love, about the way life carried on even when it felt impossible.
Candice’s eyes flickered with emotion as she spoke. I think things were meant to happen the way they did, Dom. Whatever happened with us in the past… it’s just that—the past. You’re happy… and I’m happy. And that’s all that matters, right?”
Her smile grew when he spoke about his husband, her heart genuinely lightened by the joy in his voice. “It sounds like Clara to push you together with someone… even now. I mean… I’m prettyyyyy sure it was her who introduced us, Dom.”
Flashback
The music was loud, the chatter of kids running through the backyard blending into the background. A 11-year-old Candice stood near the snack table, her fingers brushing through her hair nervously as she stole glances toward a boy across the lawn. Dominic, equally awkward, was pretending to examine a plate of cookies, his eyes flicking up to meet hers before darting away.
“Honestly, you two are hopeless,” Clara’s exasperated voice broke through their mutual staring contest. She marched over to Dominic, grabbing his hand with a determined grin. “Come on.” Without waiting for a response, she dragged him toward Candice, who looked just as stunned.
Clara planted Dom in front of Candice, crossing her arms. [color= “This is Dom. Dom, this is Candice. It’s Candice right? Anyways, you both like each other. Come on. Talk.” She gave them a triumphant smile before running off, leaving the two preteens red-faced and speechless.
Present
Candice blinked, the memory shimmering like sunlight through a dusty window. She laughed softly, shaking her head. “I guess Clara’s still making sure we don’t mess things up, huh?”
Her eyes flickered with surprise and amusement as Dom confessed his full name. “Lucier-O’Brien, huh? Well… I like it. It flows off the tongue. Honestly a great artist name if you ask me.” Her smile turned wistful. “Sometimes it’s better… especially for me, to just enjoy being in the background, Dom. I guess it also helps that I’m Clarke-McDowell now.” Her voice was calm, but there was a guarded edge to it, a piece of her that still wasn’t quite ready to share everything.
But as she looked at him—standing there, years of pain slowly giving way to healing—she couldn’t deny that he looked… happy. Happier than when she’d last seen him. And that was enough.
Candice took the card he offered, her fingers brushing it thoughtfully. “I actually have to get going for a meeting,” she said, glancing briefly at her watch. Her smile softened as she looked back at him. “But how about this? Are you free Wednesday night around 6? We can go get dinner at Clementine’s—it’s this little place downtown. We’ll talk about your portfolio once I get a chance to look it over?”
It felt like an olive branch, a small step toward rebuilding something neither of them knew they needed.