Two months after the wedding, Isabel sat in the heart of Rising Root Consulting, staring at the wall where her favorite quote was framed in clean lettering:
"We rise by rooting ourselves in what once tried to bury us."
Her office wasn't just a space. It was her story in motion.
A soft knock interrupted her thoughts. Jude walked in, holding two cups of iced tea.
"CEO, your fuel," he said with a playful bow.
"You're getting better at this assistant thing," she teased.
"Excuse me," he gasped dramatically. "I am Director of Creative Outreach, madam."
She laughed and took the tea. "Right. My bad."
They sipped in silence for a moment, both staring out the glass window as students filtered through the city square. Isabel had just finalized a mentorship program, offering business guidance to survivors of abuse and trauma who wanted to launch small businesses. The applications were already flooding in.
She was overwhelmed—in the best way.
"Vanessa called," Jude said after a pause. "Her NGO's partnership event with the university was a hit. Two mental health campaigns already launched."
Isabel smiled. "She's really doing it."
"She's a force. And... we're talking about moving in together."
Isabel turned with wide eyes. "Seriously?"
He shrugged. "We work. Somehow. It's chaotic and funny and kind of perfect."
"Good. You deserve that."
"So do you."
---
Later that night, Isabel walked into their new home—hers and Adrian's. A small modern apartment near the river, where the city lights shimmered like secrets.
Adrian was in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, cooking something that smelled like garlic, butter, and love.
"Something's burning," she said, dropping her bag.
"Your sarcasm is spicy tonight," he replied, turning with a grin.
She walked over and wrapped her arms around his waist. "Tell me this is real."
"It is. You, me, garlic bread... all of it."
---
Over dinner, they talked about starting a scholarship fund. Adrian had quietly been working on it, using some of his family's dormant investments.
"I don't want to just break from the Cole name," he explained. "I want to reshape it. Give it a new purpose."
"Rewriting legacy," Isabel said, nodding. "I like that."
They named it The Between Us Foundation—dedicated to students overcoming adversity, and to helping young women chase leadership roles in business, education, and politics.
"It's not charity," Adrian said. "It's fuel."
---
The next weekend, they visited Vanessa's new NGO office. Located inside an old repurposed art gallery, it was now full of colorful murals, donated books, therapy couches, and vibrant energy.
Vanessa greeted them with paint on her cheeks.
"Sorry," she said, wiping her face. "Zara's idea of decorating is a full-blown mural war."
"I love it," Isabel said, walking through. "It feels alive."
Vanessa pulled out a plaque. "Jude and I designed this for your firm. Thought it might belong on your front desk."
Isabel flipped it over. It read: You're not broken. You're becoming.
Tears pricked her eyes. "Thank you."
Vanessa shrugged. "We're all still becoming."
---
That night, they all gathered on the rooftop of the NGO building—Adrian, Isabel, Vanessa, Jude, Zara, and a few others. The skyline was a soft hum behind them, and the wine flowed freely.
"I think," Vanessa said, holding her glass high, "we're starting something bigger than us."
"I think," Adrian replied, "we already have."
Isabel stood and looked around the group. They weren't just friends anymore. They were family. They were survivors. Builders. Dreamers.
"You know what's crazy?" she said. "A year ago, I didn't think I had a future."
"You were wrong," Jude said. "You didn't have one future. You had many."
And in that moment, Isabel believed him.