She and Ryan Carter lived in a modest townhouse in Arlington, Virginia. The heater rattled in winter. The stairs creaked at night. Their furniture was a mix of thrift-store finds and “we’ll upgrade someday” promises.
Camille loved it anyway.
It was theirs.
They had met at Georgetown University, fueled by caffeine and ambition. Ryan studied business management, charismatic and strategic, the kind of man who could turn a class project into a networking opportunity. Camille studied civil engineering. Her mind worked in load-bearing walls and support systems.
“I fell in love with your brain first,” Ryan told her once outside the library. “You see structure where other people see chaos.”
“That’s literally engineering,” she laughed.
“And it’s impressive,” he replied.
They married in Charlotte, North Carolina, surrounded by Camille’s family and their warm, carefully folded napkins. Ryan’s relatives attended politely, but their smiles felt measured.
Camille ignored it.
During their first dance, Ryan whispered, “We’re going to build something unstoppable.”
For a while, they did.