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For as long as Callie could remember, there had been a glow that followed her.
It wasn’t always the warm, steady light it had become—soft and comforting, like a hand resting between her shoulder blades. Once, it meant something more. Once, it meant someone. To Callie, the glow used to signal that she was about to see one of her favorite people in the world—the one person, besides Ilana, who never judged her, never asked her to be anything other than what she already was.
But as Callie grew older, the visits grew fewer.
The glow would linger without explanation, hovering just out of reach, like a memory trying to remember itself.The first time Callie had ever followed the light, she was five years old.That afternoon, her grandmother had given her a brand-new hula hoop—bright pink, flecked with silver sparkles that caught the sun when it moved. Her grandmother had smiled warmly as she handed it over and said, “Your mom was really good at this when she was younger. I bet she could teach you a thing or two.”
Callie had taken that promise seriously.Unfortunately, her mother had not.
After several half-hearted attempts to get her attention—each met with distracted nods and vague “later, sweetheart”replies—Callie found herself alone in the backyard. She sat cross-legged in the grass, the hula hoop resting uselessly in cher lap. Her lower lip trembled as she stared at it, blinking rapidly in a determined effort not to cry.
It was then that she noticed the light.At first, Callie thought the sun had simply shifted, spilling too brightly through the trees. She squinted, lifting one small hand to shield her eyes. But the light didn’t fade. Instead, it shimmered—soft and golden—and slowly gathered into something more solid.A girl stood a few feet away.They stared at each other.Callie tilted her head, confusion replacing her sadness.
The girl looked just as startled—dirty-blonde hair, and older way older than Callie she was a big kid, dressed strangely for the weather Callie knew it was way to hot for jeans and a jacket but the girl hadn’t seemed to mind. She glanced down at herself, then around the yard, as if trying to piece together how she had gotten there.“Well,” the girl said finally, letting out a small laugh, “this is new.”Callie blinked. “Are you… lost?”The girl hesitated, then smiled—an easy, kind smile that immediately made Callie feel a little braver. “I think I might be. I’m Jackie.”
“I’m Callie,” she said, hugging the hula hoop closer to her chest. “My grandma says my mom’s good at this, but she doesn’t wanna help.”Jackie’s eyes softened as she looked at the hoop. “Yeah? Well, I’m pretty good at those.” She knelt down, grass brushing her knees. “Want me to show you?”Callie’s sadness melted into something lighter, warmer. She nodded eagerly, and for the first time that day, she smiled.
And the glow stayed.
Jackie stayed with Callie all afternoon.She taught her how to keep the hula hoop spinning around her waist—“It’s all in the hips, trust me”—and when Callie got frustrated, Jackie turned it into a game instead. They clapped out hand games Callie had never seen before, fast and complicated, with silly rhymes that made Callie laugh so hard her stomach hurt. By the time the sun dipped low and the sky began to soften into orange and pink, Callie’s cheeks ached from smiling.
She almost forgot that Jackie had to leave.The realization hit her all at once, like a skipped heartbeat. “You’re gonna go now, aren’t you?” Callie asked quietly, fingers twisting into the hem of her shirt.
Jackie’s smile faltered, just a little. She knelt so they were eye to eye, the fading light curling around her like it had been waiting. “Yeah. I think… I think I have to.”
Callie swallowed. “Will you come back?”Jackie hesitated, her brow furrowing in a way that suggested she was trying to understand something that didn’t quite make sense yet. “I don’t know how I got here,” she admitted. “But I promise I’ll try really hard to come back to you. Okay?”
Callie nodded, holding onto the promise like it was something solid. And then, just as suddenly as she had appeared, Jackie was gone—leaving only the glow behind, lingering for a few extra seconds before it faded too.
But Jackie kept her word.The second time she came back, it was winter.Callie knew it was her right away—her breath puffed white in the air, and frost clung to the edges of the grass. Jackie looked around uneasily, rubbing her arms as if she could feel the cold too. Without even thinking about it, Callie ran back inside and returned with one of her mom’s jackets, oversized and smelling faintly of laundry soap.“Here,” she said, draping it over Jackie’s shoulders. “You look cold.”
Jackie blinked, surprised, then smiled. “Thanks, kid.”They didn’t stay outside long that time. Instead, they sat on the back steps, close enough that their shoulders brushed. Callie talked—about everything. She told Jackie about her dad, about how he laughed too loud at his own jokes. She told her about her grandma, who always smelled like vanilla and carried hard candies in her purse. She talked about her mother, too—how she was always there but somehow never really there.
Jackie listened carefully, asking questions, nodding, never interrupting. Callie noticed something strange then Jackie seemed to hear every story about her mom, but she never once looked toward the house or tried to go in even though she didn’t seem to like the cold. It was like that part of Callie’s world existed just out of Jackie’s reach.When Callie finally ran out of things to say, she turned the attention back where it belonged. “What about you?” she asked. “Tell me everything.”Jackie laughed softly. “Everything, huh?”
That was when Callie learned that Jackie was eighteen—almost nineteen, though she couldn’t remember exactly when her birthday was. That didn’t sit right with Callie at all.“We’ll figure it out,” she said seriously. “Everyone’s supposed to know when their birthday is.”Jackie smiled at that, something gentle and sad flickering behind her eyes.
She told Callie about soccer—how much she loved it, how fast she could run, how good it felt to kick the ball just right. “If you can convince someone to get you a ball,” Jackie said, nudging Callie with her elbow, “I’ll teach you how to play.”
Callie agreed immediately, already forming a plan.And then, almost as an afterthought, Jackie admitted something else. The first time she’d found Callie, she hadn’t been looking for her at all.
She’d been searching for someone else.“I just… got distracted,” Jackie said, smiling softly. “You were sitting there with that hula hoop, looking like you needed me.”Callie beamed, warmth spreading through her chest.The glow pulsed faintly around them, as if it agreed.
Callie asked her mom for a soccer ball that very night, right after Jackie left.
She’d rehearsed the question in her head, standing in the doorway while her mother sat at the kitchen table, flipping through something on her phone. Callie explained carefully—about how her friend really liked soccer, about how she’d promised to teach her, about how it would be fun. She tried to sound calm and reasonable, the way adults liked.
The answer came sharp and quick.“No, Callie. We are not buying a soccer ball right now.”Callie felt her throat tighten. “But—”still she was cut off.“I said no.”
That was it. No explanation. No discussion. The finality of it hit harder than Callie expected, and by the time she made it back to her room, the tears were already spilling over. She crawled onto her bed, face pressed into her pillow, clutching the oversized jacket Jackie had worn earlier that day the one her mom still hadn’t noticed was missing .
“I wish you were here,” she whispered. “I wish you’d come back.”She wished for it with everything she had—so hard her chest ached.And the glow returned.It bloomed softly in the corner of her room, warm and familiar, until Jackie stepped out of it like she belonged there. She looked around in stunned silence—at the posters on the walls, the stuffed animals lined up on the shelves, the little nightlight shaped like a star.“Whoa,” Jackie breathed. “This is your room?”
Callie stared at her, wide-eyed, shock overtaking her tears. “You came back,” she whispered.
Jackie barely had time to respond before Callie launched herself forward. Instinctively, Jackie sat on the edge of the bed and pulled the little girl into her lap, wrapping her arms around her without question.“Hey,” she murmured, rocking her gently. “What happened?”Callie sniffed, her words tumbling out between sobs. Jackie listened, rubbing slow circles into her back, her expression tightening with each detail. When Callie finally quieted, Jackie tucked a curl behind her ear.
“Hey,” she said softly, “how about a story?”Callie nodded, already leaning into her.Jackie told her about when she was little—about her and her best friend, how they used to stay up past bedtime whispering plans and promises, convinced they’d never grow apart. Her voice was low and steady, the kind that made the world feel smaller and safer. Callie’s breathing slowed, her grip loosening as sleep crept in.
Jackie stayed.She stayed long after Callie’s eyes fluttered closed, long after her small body went heavy with sleep. When Callie’s dad came in to check on her, Jackie pressed herself back into the shadows, holding her breath as he brushed a kiss across Callie’s forehead and turned off the light.Callie never woke up—but even in her dreams, she could feel it.The warmth. The presence.Jackie didn’t leave until she was sure Callie was safe.
That was when Callie decided that Jackie was her favorite person.Not in the simple, childish way favorites usually worked—like favorite colors or favorite cartoons—but in the deeper sense. Jackie was the person who stayed. The person who listened. The person who made the world feel kinder just by being in it.
As the years passed, though, Callie began to notice things.She noticed the way adults reacted when she talked about Jackie. The careful smiles. The exchanged glances. The way her teachers started calling home more often, gently asking whether Callie was still talking to her “imaginary friend.” And apparently, Jackie noticed too.Callie was in sixth grade when Jackie finally said something.They were sitting on the edge of the school playground after hours, the glow dimmer than usual. Jackie picked at the chipped paint on the bench, not quite meeting Callie’s eyes.
“Maybe,” Jackie said carefully, “I shouldn’t visit so much anymore.”Callie’s stomach dropped. “What? Why?”Jackie sighed. “I won’t stop coming. I promise. Just… not as often. Enough so your teachers stop worrying. Enough so your parents stop arguing.”Callie flinched. “You hear that too?”Jackie’s mouth curved into a sad smile. “It’s hard not to.”
That night Callie realized her parents’ voices carried farther than they thought.That the fights behind closed doors weren’t as invisible as adults liked to believe.There was something else Callie noticed too.Jackie got strange whenever her parents were mentioned—especially her mom. The first time Jackie ever saw her, really saw her, she disappeared for two full days. No glow. No warning.Callie was sure she wasn’t coming back.
When Jackie finally did return, she wouldn’t explain. And Callie, terrified of chasing her away for good, didn’t push.Instead, she snooped.She knew she wasn’t supposed to. That didn’t stop her. One quiet afternoon, she went digging through old photo boxes in the hall closet until she found it,a picture of her mom, younger and smiling, with a blonde girl standing beside her. The girl looked so much like Jackie it made Callie’s chest ache.
Jackie still didn’t tell her the whole story after that.Callie figured she never really would.Seeing Jackie less hurt more than Callie wanted to admit. And even though she tried to be logical about it, there was only one person she could really blame—her mom. If she hadn’t made such a big deal out of Jackie to her dad, if she hadn’t turned it into something wrong, Jackie wouldn’t have had to leave. Things could have stayed normal.
But Jackie kept her promise.She came back every two weeks. Sometimes, she even brought a friend.Laura Lee was a pretty blonde girl who smelled faintly like smoke and sugar, like the s’mores Callie used to make with her dad on camping trips. She laughed easily and spoke softly, like every word mattered. Laura Lee always told Callie to have faith—in herself, in the world around her, in the idea that things could still turn out okay.
It was advice Callie clung to as the visits grew fewer.Jackie was still the one who showed up the night Callie got her first period.Her mom had shoved a pad and some pain medication into her hands, clinically explaining everything in a detached, practiced voice. She congratulated Callie on “stepping into womanhood,” like it was a job promotion Callie hadn’t applied for.
Callie locked herself in her room afterward, curled up on her bed, overwhelmed and hurting and furious all at once.The glow came quietly that night.Jackie sat beside her, holding her hand, brushing her hair back while Callie cried. She didn’t explain. She didn’t congratulate. She just stayed—grounded and steady—until the pain dulled and Callie’s breathing evened out.And for a little while, the world felt bearable again.
As Callie grew into her teenage years and started high school, Jackie shifted.
She was no longer just an imaginary friend—if she’d ever really been that at all. Instead, she became Callie’s own version of Jiminy Cricket: a quiet, ever-present conscience who only showed up when things truly mattered. Jackie appeared during moral dilemmas, moments when the right choice felt heavy, or when Callie’s emotions threatened to pull her under.
Like the first time Callie and Ilana had a real fight.It hadn’t been one of their usual spats—the kind that fizzled out after a few hours. This one cut deep, full of words neither of them knew how to take back. Callie had locked herself in her room afterward, convinced she’d ruined the best friendship she had left. Jackie appeared sitting on the floor, back against the bed, arms folded.
“You gonna let it end like that?” she asked quietly.Callie sniffed. “She doesn’t want to hear from me.”Jackie raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that? Or are you just scared to try?”She didn’t push. She never did. But by the time Jackie faded, Callie had already picked up her phone. The apology wasn’t perfect—but it was enough. Iliana forgave her, and their friendship survived, bruised but intact.
Then there was Kyle.The first time they broke up—and the first time they got back together—Jackie showed up in full form. She stood in the doorway, shaking her head with exaggerated disappointment, wagging a finger like a scolding aunt.“Oh, absolutely not,” Jackie said. “We are not pretending that didn’t hurt.”But even as she scolded, she wrapped Callie in one of the fluffiest blankets from the hall closet and disappeared downstairs long enough to grab her favorite snack. She returned like it was the most natural thing in the world, sitting beside Callie and letting her vent until her voice went hoarse.
Callie learned to be okay with that.
She wasn’t a little kid anymore. She didn’t need Jackie every day—didn’t need her to teach her games or tell bedtime stories or sit guard while she slept. Life had grown bigger, messier, louder.Still, it was comforting to know that Jackie showed up when it counted.That even if the glow didn’t follow her all the time anymore, it hadn’t disappeared.
Callie always knew that Jackie would be there for the important moments.
But the older Callie got, the more Jackie’s physical presence seemed to fade—like something gently loosening its grip, not out of neglect, but out of trust in all the growth Callie had gone through.Callie was eighteen when she finally understood that she was in love with Ilana.The realization hit her all at once, sharp and overwhelming, and she broke under the weight of it. Jackie appeared without fanfare, sitting beside her on the bed like she always had. Callie collapsed into her, shaking with sobs, bracing herself for ridicule, for discomfort, for rejection.
None of it came.Jackie held her—one last time, though neither of them knew it yet—and whispered, “I know exactly how you feel.”Callie pulled back, stunned.“You do?”Jackie smiled, soft and sad and proud all at once. “Yeah. And you need to talk to her. Really talk to her. Figure it out together.”A week later, Callie had a girlfriend.Even more surprising, her home became quiet in a way it had never been before. No arguments. No slammed doors. Her mother moved carefully around the truth, but she didn’t fight it. For once, there was peace.
After that, everything changed.Callie could still feel Jackie—but she couldn’t see her anymore. The absence hurt in a way Callie couldn’t explain to anyone else, not without sounding foolish or ungrateful. Jackie was still there in the warmth at her back, in the glow that lingered just out of sight, but the space beside her stayed empty.She felt Jackie the night her acceptance letter to Columbia arrived.
Her hands had been shaking as she opened it, breath caught somewhere between hope and dread. When she read the words, she cried—quiet, disbelieving tears. Her mother hugged her then, one of the only genuine hugs Callie could remember receiving, aside from the night she came out.And still—Jackie’s warmth stayed with her, wrapping around her like a familiar blanket, keeping her steady for the rest of the night.
Now, at twenty-eight, Callie stood at the aisle, her hand looped through her father’s arm, walking toward the love of her life.Her heart hammered in her chest. The music swelled. The world narrowed to the person waiting at the end of the aisle.And yet—She felt it.The warmth. The glow.If Callie glanced back for just a second, two thin rays of light flickered behind her—soft and golden. It seemed Jackie had brought Laura with her.Callie smiled through her tears.She could only hope the blonde was proud of everything she’d become.
Callie was thirty-five when she saw the glow at full force again.It had never truly left her. The warmth had always been there—wrapped around her shoulders, humming softly in her chest—but as Callie grew older and life layered itself over her memories, she stopped recognizing what it really was. It became background. Comfort without a name.
Until that afternoon.She had taken a few days off work to spend time with her five-year-old daughter, Lennie, while her wife was away on a business trip. It was one of those quiet days that felt like a gift—sun-warmed air, no schedules, no urgency. Callie was rinsing out a mug at the kitchen sink when she glanced into the backyard and froze.
Lennie was standing near the center of the grass, laughing.Talking.To nothing. Callie’s heart stuttered painfully as she stepped outside. “Lennie?” she called, trying to keep her voice calm, light. “Who are you talking to, sweetheart?”
“I’m playing,” Lennie replied easily, hands clapping in a familiar rhythm. “She’s teaching me.”As Callie moved closer, the air shifted.The warmth sharpened. The glow gathered.And suddenly—there she was.
Jackie Taylor stood in the yard like she had never left, sunlight curling around her hair. She was clapping along with Lennie, laughing softly as she corrected her timing. It was the same game. The same one Jackie had taught Callie all those years ago.“Oh,” Callie breathed.She didn’t think. She didn’t hesitate. She ran.
Jackie barely had time to turn before Callie crashed into her, arms wrapping tight around her waist.
Lennie gasped loudly in shock, while Jackie laughed—real, bright giggles Callie hadn’t heard properly in years.“Callie,” Jackie said, breathless and delighted. “Wow.”Callie clung to her, burying her face against Jackie’s chest like she was five again, like the world hadn’t hardened her yet. Tears poured freely now, soaking into Jackie’s shirt. Jackie held her without question, one hand cradling the back of Callie’s head, the other wiping away tears with her thumb.
“Hey,” Jackie murmured. “I’ve got you.”Callie laughed through her sobs. “You’re here,” she said, voice breaking. “You’re really here.”Before Jackie could answer, a very pointed throat-clearing cut through the moment.“Ahem.”They both looked down.
Lennie stood with her hands on her hips, eyebrows drawn together in dramatic offense. “Mommy,” she said, “why’d you jump on my friend?”Callie burst into laughter, the sound spilling out of her like relief, like release. Jackie grinned, eyes sparkling, and gently loosened her hold on Callie.“Your friend, huh?” Callie said warmly.Lennie nodded solemnly. “Uh-huh. She’s nice. And she’s really good at clapping games.”Jackie crouched and held out her arms. “Well then,” she said, beckoning, “you better come join us.”
Lennie didn’t hesitate. She stepped right into Jackie’s embrace, fitting there as naturally as Callie once had.And standing there in the yard, wrapped in sunlight and laughter and the steady glow she had followed her all her life, Callie finally understood.Jackie had never left.She had just been waiting for the right moment to be seen again.