Terminally Real
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Chapter 3: The Season of Yes

There are seasons in a love story—seasons of hesitation, seasons of silence, and sometimes, a rare season of yes. For Stephen and Honey, that season came around 2020.

It wasn’t sudden. It didn’t arrive like a storm. It crept in gently after years of small sacrifices and bigger questions, after nights when she cried into the camera and days when he wired money without being asked.

By then, Stephen had already done things no stranger would do:

And he did it not because he wanted to earn love—but because he already loved.

Honey didn’t always say it. But something in her changed that year. She started saying “yes.”

Yes to being seen. Yes to being helped. Yes to letting Stephen be part of the kids’ lives. Yes to the idea that maybe, just maybe, she deserved someone who wouldn’t run.

She let him talk to the kids. She told people he was her partner. She let him send gifts without defensiveness.

She started sending songs again — “Wind Beneath My Wings,” “I Will Always Love You.”

There were photos now. Old ones, yes, but curated — of her and Stephen, sent quietly.

She said things like:
“I wish I could be close to you now.”
“I know who you are. You’re not like the others.”
“You’re my home, Stephen. My real one.”

And for the first time in years, Stephen began to believe that maybe this love wasn’t just a rescue mission. Maybe it was a future.

COVID made things both harder and easier. The world slowed. There were lockdowns, illness, panic. But also time. More calls. More chats. More need. And for Stephen, more chances to show up.

At one point, he helped Honey prepare for a court hearing. She was terrified. The case involved abuse from a past relationship. Stephen stayed up all night reviewing documents, rehearsing her answers, reminding her of her worth. He didn’t sleep. He didn’t eat. He just stayed.

And then came the soft declarations.

“You’re the only one who knows me.”
“If something happens to me, I want you to take care of the kids.”
“Maybe one day, we’ll be married… maybe.”

She never said “I love you” in the American way. But her yeses were louder than words.

Stephen remembers her walking down the street, holding the phone, showing the neighborhood, introducing him to people as if he were already part of the family.

This wasn’t fantasy. This was inclusion.

But even in the Season of Yes… there were cracks.

The yeses were fragile. Conditioned. Sometimes they disappeared for weeks at a time. She’d say “I’m just overwhelmed,” or “My signal is bad.”

But Stephen knew what he felt. He wasn’t imagining it. She was letting him in. Piece by piece.

And when she called him “my king,” when she said “I want you here,” when she told him he was the only one who never tried to buy her — it wasn’t performance.

It was honesty. Rare, trembling honesty.

This was the season Stephen would return to in his mind again and again. The season that reminded him that at one point — no matter what came after — she had chosen him. Freely.