Chapter Text
One year after Nicole Haught stepped out of a snow globe, Waverly Earp woke up to an empty side of the bed and a Post-it stuck to her forehead.
She peeled it off, squinting at Nicole’s messy, careful handwriting.
Good morning. Do not come to the kitchen until you have counted to one hundred slowly.
I am serious.
Love, N.
Waverly stared at the note.
“Love, N,” she repeated out loud, her voice rough with sleep. “Suspicious.”
The apartment was too quiet. No clatter of pans. No Wynonna humming badly out of tune. No Rosita swearing at her laptop. Just distant city noise through the window and the soft tick of the wall clock.
Waverly rolled onto her back and folded the note between her fingers.
One year ago, she had woken up terrified, thinking she had imagined everything. That the globe would be back on her nightstand and Nicole would be frozen behind the glass. That she had dreamed the cracking sound, the light, the way Nicole’s hand had felt when it finally landed in hers.
This morning, the bed was simply warm on one side and empty on the other.
Progress.
She started counting. Out loud. Slowly. Because apparently she was dating a woman who took Post-its very seriously.
“Twenty-seven. Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine.” She chuckled, unable to stop her smile. “This is ridiculous.”
She made it to eighty-three before she got impatient, threw off the covers, and padded out into the hall in her socks.
The kitchen was empty.
Suspicion deepened. On the table sat a coffee mug, a small folded card, and a single red panda sticker. The sticker made her smile. The card made her wary.
She picked it up.
Clue One
Where you met a woman in glass who made your heart forget how to beat properly.
Go there. Bring your Jeep. And your courage.
P.S. Wynonna has your keys. Good luck.
Waverly blinked at the paper.
“Of course she does,” she muttered.
From the living room, Wynonna called, “Check your Life360 if you get lost, Waves. Technology is your friend.”
Waverly stepped into the doorway.
Wynonna sat sprawled on the couch, already in jeans and a worn shirt, eating cereal out of a mixing bowl like the gremlin she was. Rosita was perched on the armrest, sipping coffee and looking entirely too innocent.
“You both knew about this,” Waverly accused.
Rosita held up her hand. “I was told I would be cut off from zoo gossip if I spoiled anything.”
“That was me,” Wynonna said. “I threatened her access to Randy’s ridiculous lemur stories. I stand by it.”
Waverly narrowed her eyes. “What is this?”
“A scavenger hunt,” Wynonna said around a mouthful of cereal. “Nicole style. Romantic. Intense. Mildly terrifying. Kind of like her.”
Rosita’s eyes softened. “You should go. She’s been planning this for weeks.”
Waverly’s heart gave a traitorous jump. She tried to sound annoyed and failed.
“She could have just asked me to meet her somewhere. Like a normal person.”
“Where is the fun in that?” Wynonna asked. “Also, she took my truck, so your Jeep is the only ride you are allowed to use. She was very specific. Go get dressed. Try not to hyperventilate.”
Waverly clutched the card.
“Is this what I think it is?” she asked, the words catching as something warm spilled through her, sudden and unguarded, like being handed a gift she hadn’t let herself imagine.
“Depends,” Wynonna said. “If you think it is Nicole relocating all your favorite memories like they are part of a romantic puzzle, then yes.”
Rosita smiled into her coffee. “You are going to love it.”
Waverly looked down at the card again.
Where you met a woman in glass.
The Magic Shop.
Her chest tightened in the way it always did when she thought of that day. Snow globe light on her hands. The first time she saw Nicole’s eyes.
“Fine,” she said, trying for dry and almost pulling it off. “I’m going.”
She rushed back to her room, dressed in jeans and a old sweater that Nicole had once called her “thinking outfit,” tied her hair back in a loose braid, and grabbed her bag.
In the hall, Wynonna tossed her the keys.
“Drive carefully,” Wynonna called. “Think about your life choices. Say yes.”
Waverly stopped walking and asked, “what was that last part?”
“Nothing,” Wynonna sang, already turning the volume up on the television.
Rosita just smiled and shook her head. “Have fun.”
The Magic Shop
The Magic Shop looked almost exactly the same as it had a year ago. Honestly, it looked the same as it had a few weeks ago, the last time they’d ducked inside to visit Mattie.
Nothing ever really changed. And yet, somehow, it always felt new. Maybe that was the magic of the place. Or maybe it was just history settling differently each time.
The sign was still faded. The door still hung a little crooked. The windows still fogged around the edges no matter the season. But Waverly wasn’t the same, and that difference made the whole street feel smaller. Less like a backdrop in someone else’s tale, and more like the place where her own story had finally started to make sense.
The bell over the door chimed when she pushed it open.
Inside, the air smelled like the same mix of herbs, dust, and something faintly metallic. Candles glowed on a few shelves. Mattie stood behind the counter, flipping through an old book with a pencil stuck behind her ear.
She looked up at the sound of the jiggling.
“Took you long enough,” she grumbled.
Waverly huffed out a breath. “Wow. Hello to you, too.”
Mattie closed the book and motioned with her chin toward the spot on the counter where a small envelope waited. A red panda sticker sat on top of that one, too.
“She wanted to be here for this part,” Mattie said. “Work schedule said otherwise. I am the stand-in. Hate it. Do not tell her I said that.”
Waverly stepped closer, fingers tingling as she reached out. “So you know what this is.”
“I know enough,” Mattie replied. “And I approve. Not that you asked.”
Waverly picked up the envelope. Her name was written across the front in Nicole’s careful hand.
She opened it.
Clue Two
One year ago, you walked in here and argued with a witch to buy a cursed snow globe.
You were stubborn. You were scared. You were the bravest person I had ever seen.
This is where you chose me, even before you knew you had.
Now go to the place where I saw the world with you for the first time.
Not through glass.
P.S. Mattie has something that belongs to you and from her.
Waverly frowned. “Belongs to me,” she repeated.
Mattie reached under the counter and pulled out a small box. Plain. Tied with a piece of twine.
“From the day you brought her here,” Mattie said. “You left this behind in all the commotion.”
Waverly took the box, fingers suddenly unsteady. She opened it.
Inside lay the tiny notebook she had carried everywhere for her first semester of grad school. Bent corners. Coffee stains. A pen looped haphazardly through the spiral.
On the first page, she had once scribbled: “Figure out what the hell you are doing with your life.”
She had torn the page out in frustration, then stuffed the notebook into her bag the day she went to Salem and never really looked at it again.
Now, tucked into the inside cover, was a folded note she didn't recognize.
She opened it slowly.
You once wrote that you needed to figure out your life.
You did.
You pulled someone out of the dark, and in doing so, you pulled yourself into the light.
You are not lost anymore.
Neither am I.
N.
Waverly’s eyes stung.
She shut the notebook and slid it into her bag.
“She said there was something from her. Who?” she asked, even though she already knew.
Mattie sighed and bent down behind the counter. When she straightened, she set a small, flat object on the worn wood between them. It was a tarnished oval locket on a thin chain, its silver gone soft with age.
“I have held on to this for a long time,” Mattie said. “It was Zella’s.”
Waverly stared at it. “Why are you giving it to me?”
“Because I am tired of it glaring at me from the shelf,” Mattie muttered. Then, quieter, “And because it does not belong to me. It belongs to the people who broke what she could not.”
Waverly’s throat felt tight. “Nicole should have it.”
“She tried,” Mattie said. “Twice. She couldn't keep it. Every time she saw it, she looked like the walls were closing in. She said it felt like wearing her own ghost.”
Mattie nudged the locket a little closer. “You are her kin. You are also the one who told Nicole to let the echo end. That puts you in a better position than most to decide what this becomes.”
Waverly reached out and picked it up. The metal was cool against her fingers. There was a faint scratch across the front in the shape of a crooked crescent, like someone had once tried to carve a moon and given up halfway.
“Does it have a spell on it?” she asked.
Mattie shook her head. “Not now. I checked. Twice. Whatever it held burned out a long time ago. It is only metal and memory. What you do with it next is your choice.”
Waverly turned it over in her hand. Her stomach knotted and eased at the same time.
“Did Zella wear this when she lived here?” she asked.
“Every day,” Mattie said. “Even after Nicole was gone. Especially after that. She kept a pressed flower inside. It has crumbled to dust now.”
Mattie paused, then added, “You can throw it in a river if you like. You can keep it. You can turn it into something better. None of that changes what you and Nicole already did.”
Waverly slid the locket into her pocket, feeling the weight of it settle there. Old magic. Old sorrow. Old story.
“I think I’ll see what Nicole wants to do,” she said quietly. “Together.”
Mattie gave a short nod as she tried to hide the smile playing on her lips. “That is the right answer.”
Waverly tucked the card back into its envelope.
“Next clue is the zoo, right?” she asked.
Mattie’s mouth twitched again. “Yes. She would not stop talking about red pandas. It was like listening to someone recite a very specific poem over and over.”
Waverly smiled in spite of the lump in her throat. “Sounds like her.”
“Go on then,” Mattie grunted, already reaching for her book again. “You have a scavenger hunt to finish.”
Waverly stepped back toward the door, the locket a cool circle against her thigh, the card warm in her hand.
The past was still there. It would always be, but the future was calling her.
And now a piece of Zella’s story was in her pocket, not on a shelf.
Whatever they did with it next would be theirs to decide.
“Zoo,” Waverly mumbled. Regardless of the piece of jewelry now tucked away, one thing was sure and certain: she loved that slightly eccentric ginger. “Ailurus fulgens.”
“She’s a little obsessed,” Mattie said, as if reading her mind. “She keeps talking about red pandas like they are part of a prophecy. I mean, they care cute. A cute prophecy.”
Waverly laughed, voice thick. “They kind of are.”
Mattie nodded, pointing toward the door. “Go then. She is waiting.”
The Zoo
She knew something was different as soon as she pulled into the staff parking lot.
Normally, on a weekend, the place still had the lingering buzz of families leaving, staff finishing up, someone’s kid crying because they didn’t get one more look at the otters. Today, it felt quieter. The main gate was closed, but Randy stood near a side entrance, arms crossed and grinning.
He waved her through like he was welcoming her to a secret clubhouse.
“Hey, Earp,” he said. “You’re late.”
“I am exactly on time,” Waverly replied. “I checked the card.”
“Nicole said you would say that too,” Randy chuckled. “Come on. She has instructions.”
He led her down a side path that wound behind the usual visitor areas. The air smelled like damp earth and hay and that distinct zoo scent that never quite washed away.
Near a small break room, he stopped and pointed at a bench.
“Check under there,” he said.
Waverly crouched and found another envelope taped to the underside of the bench. Another red panda sticker.
She opened it.
Clue Three
This is where you watched me learn to live again.
Where you waited in the Jeep and worried for an entire day.
Where I came back to you exhausted, covered in hay, talking about goats and baby animals and how the world still made sense as long as there were creatures who needed care.
You said you were proud of me that day.
I have been trying to deserve that look ever since.
Now go to where we had our first real date.
Where I saw your face through something other than glass.
Where you laughed at my joke about beans pretending to be meat.
P.S. Randy is under strict orders not to follow you. Ignore any comments he makes about romance.
“Wow,” Randy said, reading over her shoulder before she could stop him. “Beans pretending to be meat. Iconic line.”
“Privacy,” Waverly protested.
“Too late,” he said cheerfully. “Go to the red pandas. She said you would know.”
Waverly felt a small spark go through her.
Of course.
Red Pandas
The red panda habitat was technically closed. A sign hung on the rope that blocked the main path.
Closed for private event.
Waverly snorted. “Subtle.”
She stepped over the rope and moved toward the viewing platform. The trees were lush, the air cooler here. The soft rustle of leaves mixed with the quiet huffing sounds of the animals as they moved along branches and platforms.
At the center of the platform, propped against the railing, was a small stuffed red panda wearing a tiny khaki vest.
Waverly’s throat tried to close.
Tucked under the plush toy’s arm sat another card.
Clue Four
Our first date.
I brought you here because it was the only place I knew well in this century.
I was afraid I would say the wrong thing at dinner.
I was afraid I would step into the street without looking both ways.
I was afraid that the world would be too loud and too bright and that you would see how much it still frightened me.
You reached for my hand before we went in.
You did not let go once.
You called me magical with animals.
You called me kind.
You called me brave.
I started to believe you.
Now it is my turn to be brave.
Come to where the world began again.
The place where glass broke and I found you waiting.
P.S. Do not cry yet. Wynonna will never let us live it down if your eyes are red in the photos.
Waverly wiped her face with the back of her hand on instinct.
“Too late,” she whispered.
The place where glass broke.
The Magic Shop again. But no. Not just the shop.
Her stomach fluttered.
The back room.
The counter.
The memory of cracks spreading like silver veins through glass as Nicole pressed her palm to Waverly’s.
The next card didn't specify.
She didn't need it to.
Where Glass Broke
When she stepped back into the Magic Shop for the second time that day, Mattie didn't look surprised.
“Back,” Mattie said simply.
Waverly nodded, chest tight. “Back.”
“Go on,” Mattie told her, motioning toward the short hallway that led to the back. “She’s waiting.”
Waverly’s feet felt unsteady as she pushed open the door.
The back room looked different than it had the day the curse shattered. Less cluttered. More intentional. The shelves had been rearranged. Some of the more ominous jars were gone. In their place sat plants, stacks of books, a small lamp.
Near the center of the room, in the exact spot where the globe had rested all those months ago, stood a simple table.
On the table sat a final envelope.
No sticker this time.
Waverly’s fingers trembled as she opened it.
Clue Five
There is no clue here.
You already know where you are.
You already know what this place means.
This is where you pressed your hand to the glass and refused to let go.
This is where you stood in front of a hundred years of regret and told me I did not have to carry it anymore.
This is where the glass broke.
This is where my life began again.
Turn around.
Her chest tightened in a single, sharp pulse.
She turned.
Nicole stood in the doorway.
Khaki pants. White button-down. Hair loose around her shoulders. Nerves written all over her face.
For a second, Waverly could not breathe.
Nicole took one careful step forward.
“Hi,” she said quietly.
“Hi,” Waverly answered. Her voice sounded strange to her own ears.
Nicole’s eyes traced her face, then softened in a way that made Waverly’s knees threaten to give out.
“You found all the clues,” Nicole said.
“You made it hard,” Waverly replied, trying to sound light. “You realize I almost cried at the red pandas.”
“That would not be the first time,” Nicole said, shrugging her shoulders. “You cried when one of them tripped on a branch.”
“It was very tragic,” Waverly muttered. “He was embarrassed.”
Silence settled between them, not uncomfortable but charged with something large and shimmering.
Nicole straightened slightly as if gathering her thoughts.
“You once asked me what our story was,” she said. “If we were cursed or chosen or something in between.”
Waverly nodded slowly. “I remember.” She remembered it like it was yesterday. A lazy Sunday afternoon. A heartfelt conversation.
“I have been thinking about that,” Nicole continued. “About Zella. About the globe. About Mattie and the shop and your Jeep and the zoo and your tiny, strange kitchen.”
“Hey,” Waverly protested weakly.
Nicole smiled. It was easy and filled with promise.
“I think our story is about breaking,” she said. “Not in the way it used to be. Not the breaking that trapped me. The other kind. The good kind. The kind that freed me when you told me to let the regret end. The kind that shattered old patterns. Old fears. Old cages.”
Her hand went to her pocket.
“I wanted to ask you something where it began,” she said. “So I brought you here. With help from your sister. And Rosita. And Randy. And Mattie. They all had opinions. Many of them were unhelpful.”
“I’m sure,” Waverly said, her heart lodged somewhere in her throat.
Nicole stepped closer. Her hands shook a little as she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small box.
Not the modern kind.
Waverly recognized it before she fully understood it. The worn edges. The soft click of the clasp. She had seen boxes like that in antique shops near the zoo, the ones Nicole wandered through on her lunch breaks. Nicole always said she liked the quiet in those places, the way old things carried stories without demanding to be heard.
Realization struck Waverly like a warm rush of air.
Nicole didn't stumble into this moment. She had planned it. She had chosen it. She had been carrying this with her, waiting for a night that felt right.
Her pulse jumped as Nicole held the box with both hands.
The room swam for a second.
Heat rushed through her, and she thought she was going to fall.
“Waverly Earp,” she said, voice steady even as her eyes glistened, “you pulled me out of a grave made of glass. You helped me face my past without letting it decide my future. You have been gentle where others were cruel. You have given me patience, laughter, and a home that smells like coffee and Rosita’s burnt toast. I love your mind. I love your stubbornness. I love the way you talk to the red pandas like they understand you.”
“They do,” Waverly choked.
“I love you,” Nicole continued. “Entirely. Completely. In a way that does not cage either of us. So I am asking.”
She set the box on the table, then went down on one knee.
The sight knocked the air from Waverly’s lungs.
“Will you marry me?” Nicole asked, voice cracking on the last word. “Will you keep breaking the bad things with me. The fear. The regret. The curses that say we are not enough. Will you let me spend whatever time we have proving that love can be something else? Something kind.”
Waverly understood, all at once, that she had been waiting for this question without even knowing it.
She let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob, and dropped to her knees in front of Nicole so they were level again.
“Of course,” she said. “Yes. Yes.”
Nicole’s shoulders sagged with relief. Her eyes shone.
“Are you certain?” she asked, almost dazed.
Waverly grabbed her face and kissed her instead of answering, hands framing her cheeks, heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst. Nicole kissed her back with the kind of care that had become familiar and the kind of intensity that still made Waverly dizzy.
When they finally broke apart, they were both breathless, foreheads touching.
“I love you,” Waverly whispered. “You know that, right?”
Nicole nodded, smiling in that way that made Waverly feel like the only person in the world.
She pulled back and held up one finger.
Yes.
Shaking her head as if she still couldn’t believe, she whispered. “I like hearing it.”
“I’ll say it all the time,” Waverly promised. “You’ll get sick of it.”
“Impossible,” Nicole said.
Nicole took the ring from the box with shaking fingers.
“Hold out your hand,” she said.
Waverly did.
The ring slid onto her finger like it had been waiting a century to land there. It was simple and modern, a smooth band of brushed silver set with a small moonstone. The stone was pale and cloudy, catching light softly rather than reflecting it, like frost held beneath glass. It didn't sparkle. It glowed quietly, carrying the memory of how it all began.
Nicole looked at it, then at Waverly, then pulled her into another kiss that tasted like laughter and relief and everything new.
From the doorway, a muffled sniffle sounded.
They both turned.
Mattie stood there, eyebrows furrowed, pretending not to wipe at her eyes with the back of her hand.
“I am happy for you,” she said roughly. “Now get out of my back room. You’re making the air emotional.”
Five Years Later
The snow globe sat on the top shelf of the bookcase, well out of reach of small hands.
It was not the globe.
Not the one that had held Nicole’s world for a hundred years.
This one was new. Smaller. Inside, instead of a frozen town, there was a tiny red panda clinging to a tree, surrounded by slow, harmless flakes that drifted down when the glass ball was shaken.
Waverly watched as their daughter tried her best to reach it anyway.
“Up,” the little girl demanded, bouncing on her toes. “Up, Mama.”
Nicole scooped her up with practiced ease.
“Gentle hands, Ash,” she reminded her. “Remember what we said. We do not play catch with glass.”
Ash. Not Ashley. Just Ash. Waverly and Nicole chose it because she came after everything had burned away, the past and the curse and all the old fear, and because every good thing in their life grew from what was left behind.
Ash giggled, dark curls flopping into her eyes. “No throw. Look only.”
“That is my girl,” Nicole agreed, holding the redheaded girl tightly.
She stepped closer to the bookcase so Ash could see.
The child pressed her small hand against the side of the globe, nose wrinkling as she focused hard on the tiny animal inside.
“Panda,” she mumbled.
“Red panda,” Waverly corrected automatically, leaning against the doorway with a mug of coffee in her hand. “You have to use their full title. It’s respectful.”
Ash turned in Nicole’s arms and reached out toward Waverly.
“Mommy,” she said. “Panda.”
“I see,” Waverly replied, her chest doing that soft ache that had become her favorite sensation. “Very important panda.”
Moments like this had quietly reshaped everything.
Five years had passed, not marked by any single dramatic change, but by a slow accumulation of ordinary miracles. A new kitchen with mismatched cabinet handles. A crooked hallway that always caught the light wrong in the afternoon. The same couch Wynonna still claimed as hers, despite having her own place with Rosita now. Together.
The refrigerator was layered with bright crayon drawings. Stuffed animals had multiplied into every corner. Plastic sippy cups sat stacked beside the coffee mugs, no longer temporary clutter but permanent proof of the life they were building.
And new photos on the walls.
Ash sitting on Nicole’s shoulders at the zoo, tiny hands tangled in Nicole’s hair. Wynonna holding Ash in one arm and a fake sheriff’s badge in the other, teaching her how to “arrest” pigeons. Rosita asleep on the couch with Ash sprawled across her chest, both of them drooling.
On the highest shelf, next to the snow globe, rested a single framed photograph of the back room at The Magic Shop.
Nicole on one knee.
Waverly bent toward her, cheeks damp, eyes alight.
Mattie had grumbled through the entire process of letting Wynonna take that picture, complaining about technology and emotion and how no one ever dusted properly, but she had allowed it. Waverly was still grateful.
Nicole shifted Ash onto her hip and turned to look at Waverly.
Her hair was a little shorter now. She had a few faint lines near her eyes from years of smiling. She still looked at Waverly like she was something impossible and real all at once.
“Big day,” Nicole said.
“Very big day,” Waverly agreed. Every day with Nicole was a big day, if she was honest.
Ash slapped her hands against Nicole’s cheeks. “Birthday,” she declared, pleased with herself.
“That’s right,” Waverly said, crossing the room to tickle her side. “Ash is three. How did that happen?”
“Time,” Nicole said calmly.
“Rude,” Waverly argued without any bite to the word.
They had not expected any of this five years ago.
Not the wedding in the small garden behind the Magic Shop, with Mattie pretending not to cry and Wynonna slipping a flask into Waverly’s hand right before she walked down the path.
Not the farmhouse they rented just outside the city when the apartment started to feel too small. A place where Nicole could drive without having a panic attack and Ash could chase bugs in the yard.
Not the way Ash had arrived, loud and furious and perfect, making Nicole promise twelve times in one night that she would never let anyone put her in a metaphorical globe.
They had not expected how ordinary some of it would be either.
Diaper blowouts at three in the morning. Arguments about who forgot to start the dishwasher. Nicole falling asleep on the couch with a veterinary manual open on her chest. Waverly grading papers at the kitchen table while Ash colored over her note cards.
Love had turned out to be less fireworks and more embers that never went out.
Waverly wouldn’t trade it for anything.
“Ash,” she said, setting her coffee down and stepping closer. “Do you want your present now?”
Ash’s eyes went wide. “Present,” she repeated, eager, rapidly nodding her head.
Nicole kissed the top of her head. “Ask politely,” she reminded her.
“Please,” Ash added, without taking her gaze off Waverly.
“That’s my girl,” Waverly said again, something soft blooming inside of her.
From the table, she picked up a small box wrapped in paper covered in tiny horses. Nicole had found the wrapping and insisted.
“From Mama and Mommy,” Waverly said, handing it over.
Ash tore at the paper with the single-minded focus of toddlers everywhere.
Inside lay a small wooden music box. On the lid, carved in careful detail, was an image of a horse running across a field. When Ash opened it, soft notes filled the room.
She gasped.
“Horse,” she whispered.
Nicole’s eyes shimmered.
“That was mine when I was small,” she said. “My mother gave it to me. We kept it in the bag.”
Her voice turned softer as she added, “I would like you to have it now.”
Ash seemed to sense the importance. Her fingers gentled on the wood.
“Thank you, Mama,” she said, echoing Nicole’s exact cadence.
Nicole smiled in that quiet way that still undid Waverly.
“You are welcome,” she said.
Waverly watched them together.
There were still nights when Nicole woke up breathing too fast, eyes unfocused, shaking as if she could hear glass cracking again. On those nights, Waverly held her and reminded her where they were. That the world outside their window was real and wide. That the only glass in the room was in the picture frames.
There were still days when the weight of Zella’s letter settled heavy on Nicole’s shoulders and she disappeared into her thoughts for a while. On those days, Waverly left her have her space first, then found her later and pressed their foreheads together until Nicole’s gaze steadied again.
Healing was not a straight line. It never would be.
But it moved forward. They had moved forward.
And somewhere between late-night feedings and zoo field trips and long talks at the kitchen table, they had built a life that felt like a quiet, ongoing spell.
The good kind.
The kind you choose every day.
Ash wriggled out of Nicole’s arms and ran laps around the living room, music box clutched in both hands, singing something that was half song and half nonsense.
Nicole watched her with a look that still made Waverly’s chest ache.
“She is fast,” Nicole said.
“Must take after you,” Waverly replied. “I am more of a sit at the table and overthink things kind of person.”
“You are both,” Nicole said gently. “You ran straight at something impossible and pulled it into the light. That is not overthinking.”
Waverly bumped her shoulder against Nicole’s.
“You know,” she said, looking up at the snow globe, “I feel less weird about that thing now.”
Nicole followed her gaze.
“I never thought I would allow another glass world in my home,” Nicole said. “Yet here we are.”
“It’s different,” Waverly said. “No curse. No heartbeat in the base. Just fake snow and a small red panda that probably judges us.”
“All red pandas judge us,” Nicole answered. “They are tiny, fluffy, moral authorities.”
Ash ran back toward them, skidding to a stop in her socks.
“Up,” she demanded again.
They both reached for her at once.
Ash squealed with delight as she ended up with one arm around each of their necks, music box pressed against Nicole’s shoulder.
Waverly kissed one messy curl. Nicole kissed the other.
Ash looked between them with great seriousness.
“Love,” she announced.
Waverly’s throat tightened.
“Yes,” she said. “Love.”
Not the type that choked. Not the type that caged. Not the type that turned into something sharp and bitter when it got afraid.
The other type.
The type that held but didn't own. The type that walked beside instead of in front. The type that looked at the broken pieces of what had been and didn't turn away.
Nicole set Ash down, then reached for Waverly’s hand.
Their fingers slid together easily.
“You remember what Mattie said?” Waverly asked, voice soft. “About regret echoing until it became all there was.”
Nicole nodded slowly.
“I remember,” Nicole said. “I carried that echo for a very long time.”
Waverly tightened her fingers around Nicole’s.
“Do you still hear it?” she asked.
Nicole went quiet, her gaze drifting as she eased into that reflective place Waverly had come to recognize. It was the look she carried when she was sorting through memories that still cut if touched too quickly.
Waverly waited. She didn't rush her.
When Nicole finally spoke, her voice was softer.
“Not like I used to,” she said. “Now, when I think of breaking glass, I do not think of being trapped. I think of you reaching for me. I think of the moment the world opened again.”
Waverly felt her chest tighten again. She leaned up and pressed a kiss to Nicole’s jaw, steady and sure, grounding them both in the present.
Nicole exhaled slowly, her shoulders easing.
The past stayed where it belonged. The future waited. And this moment settled between them with a quiet certainty Waverly never questioned.
Waverly leaned up and pressed a kiss to her jaw.
“Good,” she said, kissing her once more.
Nicole looked at the snow globe again.
“Glass is not always a prison,” she said quietly. “Sometimes it is just something that needed to break so that everything inside can finally breathe.”
Waverly smiled at that. They typically weren't this emotional, but there was something about their daughter turning three, or maybe it was because of the child Waverly would have in a few months. They were still writing their future.
“That feels like the moral of our story,” she said. “Letting go of regret. Letting the bad glass break.”
“And learning that love did not curse me,” Nicole added. “It saved me.”
Waverly slid her arm around Nicole’s waist.
“Love didn't trap you,” she said. “Zella’s fear did. Your own guilt did. Love is what walked into the shop, argued with a witch, and refused to leave you behind.”
Nicole swallowed, eyes bright. She placed a gentle hand on Waverly’s belly.
“Love is also what kept you beside me when I did not remember how to live here,” she said. “Love is tiny hands demanding to be lifted. Love is Wynonna calling you at midnight to complain about my zoo schedule. Love is Rosita showing up with soup when Ash has a cold. Love is this.”
She tightened her hold on Waverly, drawing her in.
The music box played softly in the background. Ash lined up her stuffed animals, including her beloved snuggle turtle, for a concert. The snow globe sat harmless on the shelf, catching the light.
Waverly rested her head against Nicole’s shoulder and listened to the familiar, calming beat in her chest.
Breaking glass had once meant the end of everything.
Now, when she thought of it, she heard something else.
The sound of a curse ending.
The sound of a life beginning.
The sound of a woman stepping out of a frozen world and into her arms.
Good things sometimes come from breaking things.
One late evening, a few weeks later, as Waverly stood in the quiet of their living room after Nicole had gone to bed and after the baby had finally fallen asleep, the beauty of her life hit her.
Her eyes drifted to the small snow globe on the shelf. Beside it hung Zella’s necklace, suspended from a simple brass hook. The glass caught the lamp’s light and sent a thin silver shimmer across the wall. Waverly touched the necklace lightly with her fingertip. It didn't hurt anymore. It reminded her of where Nicole had been and, more importantly, how far she had come.
She had finished her research on Zella years earlier. All the old records. The fragments of journals. The torn census pages. The hidden notes Mattie found tucked into spellbooks. She learned the truth she needed. She and Zella shared blood, but nothing else bound them. Not destiny. Not magic. Not fate. Zella chose fear. Zella chose regret. Zella chose the kind of twisted power that grows from loss.
Waverly chose something else. She chose love. Real love. The kind that frees instead of traps.
And that’s the story they would one day teach their children when she told their fairy tale.
It was not love that broke the curse.
It was letting go of what love left behind.
The guilt.
The words spoken in fear.
The part of a person trapped in the moment after everything fell apart.
You cannot live forever in the moment you regret.
You have to forgive yourself to move forward.
Nicole learned that.
Waverly learned it too.
The necklace stayed on the wall not as a weight, but as a marker of everything they had survived. A reminder that the past didn't own them. A reminder of the life they chose instead. A reminder that love could be true, honest, and free.
Waverly smiled at the sight of it before turning toward the bedroom where Nicole waited. The glass behind them had shattered long ago. What remained was the life they built afterward.
And that was the real magic.