Chapter Twenty: The Graduation
Fabiola's POV - Age 18
Graduation day was sweltering late May heat that made the folding chairs on the football field feel like they were radiating fire.
Fabiola sat with her family in the bleachers, scanning the sea of blue caps and gowns for Evan. Her mother had tried to convince her not to come.
"That boy is pulling you away from your own life, mija. You're too young to be so tied to someone."
"I'm not tied to him, Mama. I love him."
Rosa had crossed herself and said nothing more.
Now Fabiola watched as the graduates filed in, searching for that particular set of shoulders, that specific way of moving controlled, careful, like he was always bracing for impact.
There. Third row, aisle seat. Evan sat alone while classmates chatted around him, his posture rigid, his face blank.
She looked for his parents in the crowd.
Margaret Harlow sat near the front, dressed in black as always, her face impassive as stone. Beside her was an empty seat probably meant for Richard Harlow, who was nowhere to be seen.
Fabiola's heart ached.
This should be a celebration. Evan had maintained a 4.0 despite everything, had gotten into multiple colleges, had somehow survived four years of high school while grieving his twin.
And no one was there for him.
No one but her.
The ceremony dragged on. Speeches about futures and dreams and potential. Fabiola barely heard them.
When they finally called Evan's name "Evan Lucas Harlow" she stood up and cheered.
Loud. Enthusiastic. Probably embarrassing.
Her mother tried to pull her down, but Fabiola didn't care. Someone needed to celebrate him. Someone needed to show him that this moment mattered.
Evan walked across the stage to accept his diploma, and for just a moment, he looked up into the crowd.
Their eyes met.
And he smiled.
Small. Private. Just for her.
Then he was gone, back to his seat, the moment over.
But Fabiola's heart was full.
After the ceremony, families swarmed the field, taking photos, hugging graduates, celebrating.
Fabiola's parents congratulated other families they knew while Sofia ran off with friends. Fabiola stood on her toes, trying to see over the crowd.
Where was Evan?
She spotted Margaret Harlow near the parking lot, talking on her phone, already leaving. No proud photos. No congratulations. Just a cold exit.
And then she saw Richard Harlow.
He was leaning against a car, still in his work clothes, a flask barely concealed in his jacket pocket. His face was red, his expression bitter as he watched the celebration like it personally offended him.
Evan stood ten feet away, still in his cap and gown, staring at his father with an expression of such profound disappointment it made Fabiola's chest hurt.
She pushed through the crowd toward him.
"Evan.."
He turned, and the devastation in his eyes nearly broke her.
"He's drunk," Evan said flatly. "My graduation, and he couldn't even stay sober. And my mother..." He laughed, bitter and hollow. "She left during the recessional. Couldn't even wait until it was over."
"I'm here," Fabiola said, taking his hand.
"You're always here." His voice cracked. "You're the only one who..."
He stopped, squeezed his eyes shut.
Fabiola wrapped her arms around him, and he buried his face in her neck, breathing deep that ritual that grounded him, that reminded him she was real.
"Congratulations," she whispered. "I'm so proud of you."
His arms tightened around her. "Say it again."
"I'm proud of you. You did it. You graduated. You survived."
A shudder ran through him. "I wouldn't have without you."
"Yes, you would have."
"No." He pulled back to look at her, and his gray eyes were intense. "No, Fabiola. You don't understand. You're the reason I'm still here. The reason I didn't..." He stopped himself. "You saved me."
"Evan..."
He kissed her.
Right there, in front of everyone. In front of classmates and parents and teachers and his drunk father.
He grabbed her face and kissed her like she was oxygen, like she was everything, like nothing else in the world mattered.
When he pulled back, his forehead pressed to hers, his voice dropped to a fierce whisper.
"You're mine. Forever."
It should have sounded possessive. Controlling.
Instead, it sounded like a vow.
"Forever," Fabiola echoed.
Around them, people stared. Whispered. The freak and his charity case, making a scene at graduation.
Fabiola didn't care.
Let them stare.
Let them talk.
Evan Harlow had chosen her in front of everyone, had claimed her publicly despite his need for secrecy, had made her his in a way that couldn't be taken back.
And she had chosen him right back.
That night, they drove to the overlook.
Evan had removed his cap and gown, sat in jeans and a t-shirt, his diploma tossed carelessly in the backseat.
"What happens now?" Fabiola asked softly.
"College, I guess. My mother wants me at Yale. Business degree. Take over the company." His voice was hollow. "Be the heir she needs now that Lucas is gone."
"What do you want?"
Evan was quiet for a long time. Then: "I want to leave this town. This house. These memories." He turned to her. "I want to take you with me."
Fabiola's breath caught. "What?"
"Come with me. Wherever I go college, another city, anywhere. Come with me." His hand found hers, gripped tight. "I know it's crazy. I know we're eighteen and this is probably insane. But I can't..." His voice broke. "I can't imagine a future without you in it. Can't breathe when you're not near. Can't think about tomorrow if you're not in it."
"Evan..."
"I need you." His eyes were desperate. "I know I shouldn't. I know it's not healthy to need someone this much. But I do. I need you like air. Like water. Like if you left, I'd stop existing."
Fabiola should have been scared. Should have seen how unhealthy this was. Should have recognized the red flags waving frantically in her face.
But all she felt was certainty.
"Okay," she said.
"Okay?"
"I'll come with you. Wherever you go." She squeezed his hand. "We'll figure it out together."
The relief that washed over Evan's face was profound.
He pulled her into his lap, held her so tight she could barely breathe, and scented her neck, hair, wrists—like he was memorizing her all over again.
"Thank you," he whispered between inhales. "Thank you, thank you, thank you.."
"I love you," Fabiola said simply.
"I love you." He pulled back to look at her. "I love you so much it terrifies me. I love you so much I'd burn the world down if it kept you safe. I love you so much that sometimes I think I'm going insane."
"Then we'll be insane together."
Evan laughed broken and beautiful and kissed her again.
And in that moment, with the city lights spread out below them and Evan's arms around her and the future stretching ahead uncertain and terrifying and theirs, Fabiola felt complete.
She was his.
He was hers.
Forever.
Even if forever meant drowning.
Even if forever meant losing herself in him completely.
Even if somewhere in that big house by the lake, something dead was still watching.
Still waiting.
Still hungry.
But that was a problem for another day.
Tonight, they were eighteen and graduated and in love.
And that was enough.
It had to be enough.
Because Fabiola had made her choice.
And she wasn't looking back.