CONTESSA DOESN’T UNDERSTAND OPENING UP II

Maggie sat cross-legged on the bed, a lukewarm cup of tea in her hands, doomscrolling with mild disinterest. Contessa stood by the window with the curtains parted slightly aside, staring out at the city lights. She hadn’t spoken in nearly an hour.

Maggie didn’t press. She’d learned not to.

Then, finally, Contessa said—quietly, without turning,

“My name isn’t Contessa.”

Maggie blinked and looked up from her phone. “Okay.”

“It’s what I was called for a long time,” she went on, her voice tight with something that might’ve been shame. Or maybe, just weight. “A title of sorts. A role.”

Maggie set her tea down and nodded, giving her full attention. “So… what is your name?”

Contessa turned. For once, she looked uncertain. Stripped of armor, as if saying it aloud might break something.

“Fortuna.”

The word fell gently into the space between them, unfamiliar, delicate, real.

“Fortuna,” Maggie repeated slowly, almost tasting it. “That’s pretty. Sounds like a goddess.”

“She was,” Contessa—no, Fortuna—said. “Roman mythology. Fate.”

“That tracks.”

A beat of silence.

“I’m not from here,” Fortuna added before Maggie could respond, eyes lowering. “Not from this Earth.”

Maggie’s brows rose slightly. “…Alternate universe?”

Fortuna nodded once. “My world’s called Earth Bet. I worked for an organization called Cauldron. We operated in the shadows. Outside the system. We… manipulate events. Built weapons. Sacrificed people. I was the leader’s bodyguard. Her right-hand woman.”

She watched Maggie carefully, braced for her reaction—for the moment when understanding turned into distance, and fear and revulsion took the place of love.

But Maggie didn’t recoil. She just exhaled slowly and said,

“You know… I figured you weren’t exactly from around here.”

Fortuna blinked. “You did?”

“You’ve got the posture of someone trained by the Vatican as an assassin. And you haven't experienced most normal people stuff. You called waffles a revelation for god’s sake. Waffles? Your actions kind of tipped me off.”

“That was your fault,” Fortuna said. “You wanted them served with an array of toppings.”

“And I stand by it,” Maggie grinned, scooting closer. “But seriously. Thank you. For telling me.”

“You’re not… disturbed?”

“A little,” Maggie admitted easily. “But only in the ‘holy crap, my girlfriend is a dimension-hopping ex-enforcer of fate’ kind of way.”

“That’s… accurate.”

Maggie studied her—the stiffness in her shoulders, the way her hands clasped tightly in her lap like they didn’t know what else to do. She reached out, gently tugging her down onto the bed.

“You’ve been carrying this alone for a long time, huh?”

Fortuna didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.

“You don’t have to be Contessa with me,” Maggie said softly. “You can just be… Fortuna. Awkward, terrifyingly competent, heartbreakingly sincere Fortuna.”

“I don’t know who that is,” Fortuna admitted.

Maggie brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “Then we’ll figure her out. Together.”

There were no grand declarations. No orchestral swells or dramatic confessions. No epiphanies. 

Just a name, spoken honestly. A truth, handed over with care.

And for the first time in her life, Fortuna felt like someone was seeing her—not the title, not the role. Just the woman beneath.

And it was enough.