When she runs into him in the grocery store, the instinct to turn around and run is overwhelming. She didn't think he would still live here, in the same small town, going to the same grocery store, living the life that they lived together ten years ago. Her feet shuffle indecisively, but before she can make a decision he's looking at her and she knows it's game over.

"Annabeth?" he asks, his eyes wide like the air was just sucked out of his lungs or the world stopped turning. Her hands tighten on the shopping cart until her knuckles turn white.

"Wow. Hi Percy." She meets his eyes and they're just like she remembers- bright and sparkling. He's got wrinkles in the corners of his eyes now and a few strands of gray hair running through the black, but otherwise he looks the same. It's funny seeing him older like this; when they were together, she would often imagine him ten, twenty, fifty years in the future. He looks exactly like she imagined.

"What are you doing here?"

"Getting groceries," she responds, frowning slightly. "Visiting my dad. He just moved back here because he was diagnosed with cancer and didn't want to live in the city anymore."

He coughs. "So sorry to hear that. Give him my best?"

Annabeth nods. "It's life, right?"

"He's lucky to have a daughter like you." He smiles easy, genuine. And that's the thing about him that gets her- he assumes the best in everyone. He speaks from his heart, his easy confidence making her wish she could be better. She thinks if he knew the truth about her, he would be so disappointed.

The reality is that for the past ten years she's been so focused on her career, on winning awards and getting her results published that she's barely had time for anyone. She can literally- and metaphorically- not see over the beakers and papers and mathematical equations piled up in her laboratory. And she's had success, but the feeling of relief is fleeting before she's back trying to make the next big discovery to satiate some black pit in her chest that only seems to grow bigger with time.

"Hey-" he says when she doesn't respond. "You're here now. And you've helped a lot of people with what you do."

Her lips press together. What's the point of helping others if it makes those around you suffer?

"Thanks."

She can barely meet his gaze but she does. His eyes are big and green and when they were in love they used to make her laugh. Now it just hurts. It hurts so bad.

Percy clears his throat, gently pulling a toddler that was hiding behind his legs out by her arm. She knows it's his kid instantly, curly black hair, freckles, wide brown eyes.

"This is my daughter, Aurora. Aurora, this is my friend, Annabeth."

Annabeth forces a smile. "How old is she?"

"C'mon, Aurora. Say how old you are," her encourages, scooping her up with one arm. She buries her face in his chest, holding out two fingers.

"My wife is pregnant, soon to be an older sister, right?" he asks her, avoiding looking up.

It's not like Annabeth truly ever believed in soulmates. Objectively, there are seven billion people in the world so that leaves a lot of compatible potential partners. And although she doesn't know exactly what she was expecting (him not to move on? him not to become a dad so quickly?) this feels like some sort of betrayal. Like she had foolishly imagined some sort of fragment of thread holding them together across the years and just now it had snapped. She thinks it's a funny thing how quickly you can go from knowing someone better than you know yourself to not knowing them at all.

"Congrats" she says, aching, hollow.

He looks in her direction again but his gaze isn't on her face—it's focused behind her with a twinge of sadness, like he's looking back on years worth of memories and wondering where it went wrong. Like he's imagining a different life than the one he's had; a life where the promises they whispered to each other in the throes of young love actually came true. A life where his kids are blonde haired instead of black, gray eyed-instead of brown.

She thinks about that a lot too. It's a sad feeling to feel that way: to wish she could rewind her life, like the last few years had slipped through her fingers and she's just now realizing she can never have them back.

"We should get going," he says eventually, his voice sad but resolved. "It was really nice to see you, Annabeth. I really hope that we can keep in touch."

"Me too," she says, but she doesn't mean it. She needed to see him again, just once more, to know for sure. She knows that she's still loved him all these years, but she's been clinging to the past. The distance between them is insurmountable now.

When she meets his eyes, she knows it's for the last time. Perhaps he knows it too. That he will have more kids. He will love someone unconditionally—someone that isn't her. That he will grow old, and he will die, and so will she. And they'll do it apart, living a life neither of them had envisioned.

The sun comes out from behind the clouds and light sifts through the window. Annabeth watches the light fall across the floor like time is moving in slow motion. She can't tell if she wishes she was anywhere else or if she wants this moment to last forever. He gives her a smile, places Aurora on the ground, and he turns away. She watches them walk down the aisle and turn the corner before she allows herself to move again.

Annabeth finishes shopping, pays, and pauses by the door. She feels a pair of eyes on her back and the urge to turn around is overwhelming, almost paralyzing, but she resists.

"Enough. Enough now." She takes a deep breath, steps out into the sunlight, and lets him go.