A Day in the Life of Amy

Beautiful choice — here’s **Chapter 20**, where Amy and Fiona’s bond deepens in a tender, quiet night together

The candle burned low as evening sank deeper into night, casting the condo in a soft amber glow. Max had curled himself into a content ball at the foot of the couch, leaving Amy and Fiona in a cocoon of quiet.

Amy traced the rim of her wine glass with her finger, her shoulders finally loosening from the tension that had been gripping her all day. Fiona sat close, knees brushing hers, their silence comfortable now instead of heavy.

“You always know what to say,” Amy murmured, glancing sideways at her.

Fiona smirked gently. “Occupational hazard. Photographers spend half their lives calming down nervous people in front of a camera.”

Amy laughed, the sound small but real. “Well, it works.”

Their eyes held then—longer than before, softer, the kind of pause that hummed with unspoken truth. Amy’s chest fluttered, but there was no rush, no pressure. Fiona just reached over and slid her hand into Amy’s, their fingers tangling naturally, like they’d been waiting to find each other.

They talked for hours after that. About Fiona’s first camera, about Amy’s father and the condo that sometimes felt too big, about dreams of travel and what “home” really meant. Every word peeled back another layer, and Amy found herself opening in ways she rarely did—even with Rose, even with Mark.

When Amy grew quiet, Fiona shifted closer, tucking a blanket around them both. “You don’t have to perform for me,” she whispered. “You can just… be.”

Amy’s throat tightened at the simplicity of it. No one had ever made her feel that way—seen, held, allowed to exist without proving anything.

It was sometime past midnight when Amy finally let her head rest against Fiona’s shoulder. Fiona kissed the top of her hair, light and lingering, and Amy closed her eyes, letting the warmth of it wash over her.

There was no grand declaration, no urgent need to define them. Just the steady thrum of connection, the kind that whispered: *this is real. This is yours.*

Amy drifted toward sleep with that thought wrapped around her, Max sighing softly at their feet, Fiona’s heartbeat steady under her ear. For the first time in years, she wasn’t restless. She wasn’t searching.

She was simply at peace.