Beso

They say you can fall in love multiple times in your life.

Bea always believed that. You can fall in love with many people, in many ways.

She didn’t know, though, that you could fall in love with the same person again. Over and over.

She first noticed you on the sidelines of a college soccer game. She was nineteen, scrapes on her knees, hair sticking to her forehead from the sun and sweat. You were there because of Daryn—her teammate, her anchor, her chosen family—and somehow, just being there, watching her move across the field, made your presence impossible to ignore.

She fell in those small, quiet ways. Staying a little longer after practice just to walk you home. Sharing a laugh that lingered too long. Watching you, feeling her chest lift every time your eyes found hers in the crowd.

It was slow, gradual, like a tide she didn’t realize she’d been caught in until it had already swept her off her feet. She never said the words at first—Bea doesn’t do that—but every glance, every small touch, every choice she made pointed toward you. Always you.

By the time you were together, a year later, she had learned what it meant to protect something she loved without fanfare. To build a life quietly but intentionally. Her first love was steady, grounded, the kind that doesn’t scream but lingers. She trusted it, she cherished it, and she let herself fall fully.

Years went by. Four, maybe. She went pro, joined one of the biggest teams in America alongside Daryn, earned the captain’s armband, and made a home with you—your home, her sanctuary, their life. Everything was stable, everything was hers, everything was yours.

TODAY’S LOVE:

The wedding day.

It was supposed to be calm. Routine even. But the moment she saw you, everything she had felt over the years—the quiet, steady love, the way she’d chosen you again and again—hit her all at once. Heart stuttered. Chest burned. Eyes stung. And when you finally reached her, Bea fell to her knees. Right there. In front of everyone. She didn’t care who was watching, who was gasping, who thought she was “down bad.” She was.

Down bad for you. Always.

Because this person here—this one she had spent years loving quietly, protecting, choosing—was