This is probably the hardest decision Forest has ever had to make.

Because it isn’t just romantic—it’s final. It’s the kind of moment where “forever” stops being a sweet promise and becomes a deadline stamped in ink. He doesn’t say it like a man panicking, though. He says it like he’s always known. Like he’s already chosen.

“She’s my second half,” he tells everyone in that calm, certain voice people use when they think they’re safe. “I know she’s the one for me.”

Across from him, Sheena’s smile is still fresh—still bright from the days leading up to it, the kind of joy that makes the rest of the world feel far away. They’re only a couple of days removed from the proposal. Only a couple of days removed from that private, almost unreal high where nothing feels complicated.

And for a moment, it actually isn’t.

Not yet.

Because the room changes when paperwork walks in.

Forest is talking about filing—about moving forward—about how fast this can happen. He’s thinking in timelines built from hope, where the next step is always rewarded. But then an immigration attorney speaks in a different language. Not romance. Not destiny. Rules.

The attorney’s words land like a verdict dressed up as information.

“If you file today,” they say calmly, “it will be denied.”

No delay.

No maybe.

No second chance.

Just a straight rejection sitting between the man who promised forever and the woman he just swore he’d bring home into his life.

And the worst part—Forest doesn’t hear this from some random comment online. He doesn’t hear it from a bitter stranger or a rumor thread. He hears it sitting across from someone whose job is to know exactly how the system thinks.

That’s when everything shifts.

Before this moment, the story felt clean. Proposal. Yes. Smiles. Two people locking eyes like the hardest part was already behind them. Like love had already done the hard work.

But one sentence quietly pulls the floor out from under all of it.

“This isn’t try again later,” the attorney continues, almost gently, as if gentleness makes it easier. “This is a hard stop.”

And you can see it happen in real time—right on Forest’s face.

That brief, frightening flash when you realize you’re not in control anymore.

When love stops being enough.

When the system doesn’t care how sincere your feelings are, or how badly you want it, or how real the connection feels in your chest. It doesn’t measure the warmth in a gaze. It doesn’t weigh the meaning of an engagement ring. It looks at numbers, rules, requirements.

And right now, Forest doesn’t meet them.

The scary part isn’t that the problem shows up out of nowhere.

It’s that it was always there—quiet and patient—waiting for the exact moment Forest decided to believe everything would work out.

Because now, he has to face the uncomfortable question he didn’t want to ask himself:

If this was always going to happen… why wasn’t he ready?

Not in a dramatic “how could he be so foolish?” way.

In a gut-level way that makes you wonder what else has been ignored. What else has been pushed aside. What else has been delayed because delaying it felt easier than confronting it.

Here’s what Forest tries to explain.

He’s not working.

Not in the sense of “between jobs.” Not in the sense of “taking a little time to transition.” He’s unemployed, and he’s receiving disability benefits.

To him, it’s not shame. It’s not avoidance. It’s just his current reality.

But to immigration law, that reality doesn’t count as valid income for this visa process.

The requirement exists like a gate with a lock only certain keys can turn. The threshold is around $26,500 a year, and it has to come through stable employment—actual earned income. Not assistance. Not support. Not “it might get better.” Not potential.

Not hope.

Actual work that shows up on paper.

And right now, Forest’s situation doesn’t fit the standard.

So if he submits that application today, it doesn’t even get reviewed like they’ll look for exceptions. It doesn’t get considered like maybe there’s room for mercy. It gets denied—automatically, mechanically, like the system is doing exactly what it’s built to do.

And suddenly the engagement ring doesn’t feel like a symbol of forever.

It feels heavy.

Like an anchor in the wrong place.

On the other side of the table, Sheena is processing it in real time. You can almost feel the shift before she even speaks. Because just a few days ago, she was celebrating a proposal—imagining a life