Mateo asked Nathalie to go to the Spice Festival with him the day after his birthday. He tried to sound casual about it, but I could hear the hope tucked into every word. She said yes, which lit him up in that way only she can, and the two of them headed off toward the city like they used to when they were little — shoulder to shoulder, matching steps without even trying.
They failed the Spicy Curry Challenge almost immediately. I wasn’t there, but I didn’t need to be. I could picture it perfectly: Mateo insisting he could handle it, Nathalie trying to be brave, both of them turning bright red and gasping for water while the vendor laughed kindly at them. They came back to the benches with their tongues hanging out, fanning their faces like they’d survived something heroic.
After they ate, they sat together on one of those old festival benches — the kind that wobbles a little when you shift your weight. From where I stood, they looked almost like the kids they used to be. Mateo leaned forward, talking with his hands, probably making plans the way he always does when he’s excited. Nathalie listened, nodding, but there was a distance in her posture I didn’t quite understand.
Later, he told me she already had plans with her girlfriend. She said it gently, he said — like she didn’t want to hurt him — and she told him she still wanted to be his friend, just not every afternoon, not the way it used to be.
He didn’t tell me what he said back. Just that he wished he hadn’t said it.
Whatever it was, it sent her standing up from that bench and walking away, leaving him sitting there with his hands in his lap and his shoulders pulled tight. I don’t think she meant to leave him like that. I think she just didn’t know what else to do.
He came home quiet. Not sad, exactly — just folded in on himself in that way he gets when he’s trying to make sense of something too big for words. Diego was at the table finishing another bowl of my diet ice cream, and without saying anything, Mateo sat down across from him and pulled out his homework.
Diego didn’t ask questions. He just pointed to the first problem, and started helping him through it. Mateo leaned in, listening carefully, pencil tapping against the page in a steady rhythm.
From the doorway, they looked like a pair of shadows bent over the same pool of light — father and son, working through the quiet together.
That night, before I went to bed, I stopped by Mateo’s room the way I always do. Just a quick check, just to make sure he was settled. The door was cracked open, a thin line of light spilling across the floor, and when I leaned in, I heard him moaning softly in his sleep.
Not crying — not this time — just the restless, tangled sound of a boy whose heart was still sorting itself out. His brow was furrowed, his breathing uneven, like he was caught somewhere between yesterday and whatever comes next.
I stepped inside, slow and quiet, and that’s when I noticed it.
On the other nightstand — not the one where he keeps his four displayed cards — sat his Articorn card. Alone. Propped up in its own stand, facing his bed like it was keeping watch.
He must have moved it there after I’d gone downstairs. Maybe he didn’t want it tucked away tonight. Maybe he needed it close. Maybe it was the only thing that still felt simple.
I didn’t touch it. I didn’t wake him. I just stood there for a moment, listening to his breathing settle, watching the rise and fall of his shoulders, letting the room’s quiet wrap around us both.
Then I slipped out, pulling the door gently behind me, leaving him to whatever dreams he was trying to fight his way through.
Saturday morning started quietly, the kind of slow, sun‑washed morning where everyone moved a little softer than usual. Mateo lingered near the kitchen doorway with his phone in his hand, pretending he wasn’t waiting for the right moment.
Then he took a breath and called Nathalie.
He tried to sound casual — he always does with her — but I could hear the hope tucked into every word. He asked if she wanted to come over, just to hang out, just like they used to.
For a heartbeat, I thought she might say yes.
But then his shoulders dropped a fraction, and he nodded into the phone.
“Oh. Okay. Yeah, that’s fine. Have fun.”
He thanked her, hung up, and didn’t look at me.
Didn’t need to.
The disappointment was written in the way he held himself — too still, too careful, like he was trying not to crack anywhere visible.
“I’m going to the park for a bit,” he said, grabbing his jacket before I could answer.
I let him go. Sometimes fresh air does more good than a conversation.
Just before lunch, I went to check on him. The park was busy — kids running around, teens clustered in little groups, parents pretending they weren’t exhausted. The fountain splashed steadily in the background, catching the sunlight in little broken pieces. It took me a moment to spot him standing near it, so still he almost blended into the stone behind him.
His face looked… shocked.
Not angry.
Not sad.
Just stunned, like someone had pulled the ground out from under him.
Then I saw what he was looking at.
Nathalie.
With her girlfriend, Yadira.
The girls were standing close together by the fountain. Nathalie had just leaned in — soft, certain, familiar — and kissed Yadira. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t meant for an audience. It was gentle, the kind of kiss you give someone when you feel safe with them.
And it stopped Mateo in his tracks.
He didn’t call out to them.
He didn’t move.
He just stared, frozen in place, as if the world had tilted and he was the only one who noticed.
When Nathalie finally saw him, she startled. Yadira stepped back immediately, giving her space, but the damage was already done. Mateo’s breath hitched, his shoulders tightening as he walked toward them — too fast, too sharp.
I couldn’t hear the words, but I could read the shape of them in the frantic way his hands moved, in the way Nathalie’s expression shifted from surprise to discomfort to resignation. Yadira stayed a step behind, watching carefully, not unkindly — just wary.
And then Nathalie turned and left with Yadira beside her, the two of them disappearing down the path without looking back.
Mateo stayed where he was, staring at the empty space they’d left behind like it had betrayed him. The sunlight glinted off the fountain behind him, but he looked dimmed somehow, smaller in the moment.
I think this was when Nathalie realized he was more attached than she could carry.
And when Mateo realized he wasn’t her first choice anymore.
The first night he slipped out, I didn’t even realize it until I heard the front door click shut behind him. It was late — later than he should’ve been awake — and by the time I reached the hallway, he was already halfway down the porch steps, hood pulled up, moving with a purpose I didn’t recognize.
“Mateo?” I whispered, but he didn’t turn.
Didn’t hesitate.
Just kept walking.
He was back before sunrise, quiet as a shadow, slipping into his room without a sound. When I checked on him in the morning, he was already dressed for school, hair brushed, homework packed, like nothing had happened at all.
I told myself it was a one‑time thing.
Kids do strange things when their hearts are bruised.
But then he did it again the next night.
And the night after that.
Always after the house had gone still.
Always returning before dawn.
And all week, he kept slipping out after dark.
No matter what we tried — earlier bedtimes, gentle talks, firmer boundaries — he always left. He would just walk out the front door like we couldn’t possibly stop him. He was never gone long. Never missed school. Never missed homework. Never acted tired.
During the day, he was perfectly himself — present, polite, doing his homework at the table, helping the girls with their projects, even laughing sometimes. If I hadn’t heard the door at night, I never would’ve known anything was wrong.
I noticed him spending more time at the mirror. When I asked, he told me he was practicing speeches — building his charisma. I didn’t have a reason not to believe him.
Diego tried talking to him once, gently, but Mateo just shrugged and said he needed air. When we asked him to stay in, he nodded like he agreed… and then went out anyway.
Then one afternoon I found him in the bathroom, pale and sweating, covered in a rash that crawled up his neck, across his shoulders, and along his face. He was hunched over the toilet, shaking, and for a moment my heart stopped cold.
“Mateo, we need to go to the clinic,” I said, reaching for him.
But he pulled back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“I’m fine,” he insisted, voice thin but steady. “It’ll pass.”
And somehow, it did.
He felt well enough to play on the computer before bed. I checked on him a couple of times — he stayed put, didn’t try to go out.
By morning, the rash was gone.
His color was back.
He looked… fine.
He went to school like nothing had happened.
And that afternoon, he walked through the door and handed me a progress report with an A stamped across the top. No smile, no explanation — just a quiet certainty in the way he held it out, like he’d known it would be there before he even opened it.
It meant he qualified for an early birthday.
Already.
“We don’t have to rush,” I told him gently. “You can stay a teen a little longer. There’s no harm in waiting.”
But he shook his head before I even finished.
“I want to age up,” he said. Not defensive. Not emotional. Just… certain. Too certain.
My stomach dropped. When Diego got home, I talked to him about it. We both agreed we weren’t ready for this. That Mateo wasn’t ready for this. He was still so new to being a teenager. Still raw from Nathalie. Still slipping out into the night like something was calling him.
We tried again that evening. And the next morning. Every time, he listened politely, nodded at the right moments, and then repeated the same quiet insistence:
“I’m ready.”
But the thing that unsettled me most wasn’t the words — it was the way he said them. Like he was already halfway out the door. Like something had chosen him and he was choosing it back.
And in the end, we agreed to let him have the early birthday.
Because he wasn’t wavering.
And because the harder we tried to hold him in place, the more it felt like he might slip away entirely.
Melody and Sydney are alone again in their house in Newcrest. All of the kids have moved out, and the rooms that once echoed with noise and chaos are quiet now. Too quiet, maybe. And by the time this chapter reaches you, they’ve signed their divorce papers. It breaks my heart a little to write that, but some endings arrive whether we’re ready or not.
Basil is living in Oasis Springs with his daughter, Karen — the two of them settling into their own rhythm.
Colby is single in Oasis Springs, finding his footing.
Reuben is there too, raising his toddler, Morgan Strange, on his own.
Saffron has made a home for herself in Willow Creek.
Berry is single in Oasis Springs, carving out her own space in the world.
Harmony… well, her life has shifted too. She’s no longer married, but her children still live with her — Kaitlyn, Zuri, Yadira, Thiago, Ricardo, and Carla. Her house is full, loud, and alive in the way only Harmony’s can be.
Everyone is scattered now, building their own lives in their own corners of the world.
And here, in this house, my chapter closes.
The next one belongs to Mateo.
Deanna’s Watcher’s Recap
Alongside this legacy, the Watcher is also keeping brief genealogical notes on Deanna’s parallel challenge save. These updates aren’t story‑based—just clean snapshots of each generation’s founders and their children, recorded at the same generational milestones as this legacy.
Generation One
Founder & Spouse:
- Bella Scott — Deceased (Old Age)
- Travis Scott — Deceased (Overexertion)
Children of Bella & Travis:
- Zoey Scott — Heiress, Generation Two
- Lydia Scott — Deceased (Old Age)
- Noah Scott — Deceased (Fire)
- Damian Scott — Deceased (Drowning)
Generation Two
Heiress & Spouse:
- Zoey Scott — Deceased (Old Age)
- Alan Banacik — Deceased (Old Age)
Children of Zoey & Alan:
- Kaitlyn Banacik — Heiress, Generation Three
- Coty Banacik — Deceased (Old Age)
- Lillian Banacik – Deceased (Old Age)
- Joy Banacik – Deceased (Old Age)
Generation Three
Heiress & Spouse:
- Kaitlyn Banacik — Deceased (Old Age)
- Derek Hale — Deceased (Old Age)
Children of Kaitlyn & Derek
- Annabeth Hale — Heiress, Generation Four
- Manu Hale – Deceased (Old Age)
- Maximilian Hale – Deceased (Electrocution)
Generation Four
Heiress & Spouse
- Annabeth Hale – Deceased (Old Age)
- Deon Cheek – Deceased (Old Age)
Children of Annabeth & Deon
- Brynn Cheek — Heiress, Generation Five
- Maddison Cheek – Deceased (Old Age)
- Charlotte Cheek – Deceased (Old Age)
Generation Five
Heiress & Spouse
- Brynn Cheek – Deceased (Old Age)
- Jason White – Deceased (Drowning)
Children of Brynn & Jason
- Beckham White – Heir, Generation Six
- Jamari White – Deceased (Old Age)
Generation Six
Heir & Spouse
- Beckham White – Deceased (Old Age)
- Yuki Behr – Deceased (Old Age)
Children of Beckham & Yuki
- Francesca White – Heiress, Generation Seven
- Denzel White – Still Alive
Generation Seven
Heir & Spouse
- Francesca White – Deceased (Fire)
- Akira Kibo – Still Alive
Children of Beckham & Yuki
- Serenity Kibo – Heiress, Generation Eight
- Jameson Kibo – Still Alive
Mara > Lacey > Mia > Ellie > Charlotte > Melody > Ginger > Mateo
Simmers!
If you’re interested in writing and/or reading sims stories, participating in fun competitions and events, joining a friendly and welcoming community, completing legacies and challenge and earning medals, or just having a great place to discuss Sims 2, Sims 3, or Sims 4, then there is a place for you at the
Boolprop.net Forums
Discover more from Love My Sims
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
Be the first to comment