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at seven
There’s always a first.
A first argument that a child remembers.
Maybelle Parker didn’t understand what was happening at the time, not really. She was young—too young to comprehend what everything meant—and maybe that was a good thing because children shouldn’t have these types of burdens on their shoulders.
But the thing is, she heard her parents all the way from her bedroom. They weren’t just talking—not like how they typically do with each other, all soft and sweet and loving.
Their voices were harsh, sharp, laced with a kind of venom that people who are in love shouldn’t use with each other. It didn’t make sense.
Maybelle was always too curious for her own good, a trait that had been passed down from her dad according to everyone else. She wanted to know what was going on, wanted to know if it was something bad.
They didn’t notice her when she wobbled into the living room, her mother’s attention focused on her father as she knelt next to the couch. The crease was back between her brows, and there was blood on her cheek.
Her dad was hurt again.
“You can’t keep doing this, Peter,” her mom said, tone just a bit more exasperated. “I know you throw yourself into Spider-Man when you’re stressed, but it can’t be your only distraction.”
“Work is taking a toll on me, MJ. This is the only time I have to unwind—”
“It’s not just yourself you have to think about,” she had hissed under her breath.
“I know, I know, I get that,” he replied with a short breath, shaking his head. “But I can’t not...go out there when it’s my responsibility to help people—”
“You have more than one responsibility.” The rag in her hand drags against his bare chest, wiping away blood until there’s only smooth skin. “You have a responsibility to your family. To your daughter—”
Maybelle’s heart had skipped a beat.
Are they mad?
Are they fighting?
“Mama?”
Both of her parents had froze at the same time, her mom being the first to speak up after putting the bloody rag down.
“Hey, Mabe. How long have you been standing there, baby?” Her tone is softer, much unlike seconds ago.
“I dunno,” she had admitted, rocking on her heels, just in case she got in trouble for eavesdropping. “What are you guys talking ‘bout?”
Her father had offered a thin-lipped smile and answered with, “Nothing you need to worry about, kiddo.”
But Maybelle didn’t believe them then.
She’d always been an intelligent girl.
A trait passed down from both her parents.
“I heard you guys from my bedroom,” Maybelle said, bobbing her head up and down so as to avert eye contact. “Were you...um. Were you fighting?”
Neither of them ever answered her question.
Her mom raised a curious eyebrow, instead asking, “You heard us from all the way up there?”
Maybelle smiled sheepishly, revealing all but two missing teeth. “I hear a lot of things, Mama. My ears are really good. That’s what Mr. Tony says, at least.”
“Well, we’re just going to have to talk to Mr. Tony, aren’t we?” Her dad pulled her onto his knee, a bouncy thing. “In the meantime, why don’t you tell me what other things you can hear, Mabe?”
“Hey, Pete.” Her mother gave him a look, one that Maybelle didn’t understand, and then she moved to stand up. “We’ll talk later. I’m going to just…”
“No, no, no leaving. This is a moment we’re going to have. A nice...family bonding moment,” he said in response with a softer smile, tugging her so that she flops back down next to him. One of his arms goes around her waist. “My beautiful girls.”
“Eww,” Maybelle mumbled as she watched her dad kiss her mom’s forehead before giggling as he did the same to her own.
“I second that,” her mom agreed but she didn’t bother fighting her own small smile.
“Well, in that case.” He turned to her mom and reached out, fingers skimming the fabric of her sweatshirt, waving dangerously. “Mabe, you know what to do.”
“I swear to god—”
Maybelle had grinned and jumped onto her mother, arms outstretched for the tackle. “Tickle party!”
“I hate—you both,” she had said between restrained laughter before the tables had turned, making the two of them squirm away from her.
“No, you don’t,” her dad replied sweetly with a look that Maybelle’s used to seeing on him, succumbing to his wife’s wrath despite not having much of a defense without a shirt—the ticklish fool.
She had merely smiled in response. “No, I don’t.”
Maybelle relaxed as she watched her parents tackle each other in hugs and kisses. As long as they were happy, everything else was fine.
The fight didn’t mean anything because they loved each other.
And love is supposed to be enough.
at ten
The volume goes up.
But it never drowns them out.
Their voices echoed around in her head, ricocheted against her heart, getting louder and louder until all she could hear was them screaming at each other.
Maybelle wished it made a difference, her music, but it doesn’t. Not as she cranked it up all the way, not as she laid on her stomach and placed a pillow over her head. Not as she closed her eyes and wished she were anywhere else.
Nothing helps.
Wherever they were in the house—their bedroom, downstairs, in the kitchen—it didn’t matter. She could always hear them, their fights and their hoarse voices afterwards, always strained in an effort to apologize.
It was getting worse over time, becoming more frequent.
With every little argument, Maybelle wondered if they’re building up to a fight that won’t end with an apology—a fight that, just maybe, they won’t recover from. It scares her to think about.
Because these are her parents.
Parents are supposed to get along.
Parents are supposed to love each other.
Right?
But the thing was, she didn’t know if they still loved each other. All she heard were the yelling and the complaints, the tiredness of it all being a constant thing that surrounded them like dark clouds.
Maybelle sometimes wished she couldn’t hear every little conversation, but if that were the case, then she wouldn’t know anything. For as old as she was, they still didn’t include her in their talks.
Her bedroom door cracked open on its own accord, and the volume of their voices only increased.
That might’ve been a sign to go see, to go intervene.
Maybelle had slipped off her bed, tossing away the headphones because she wanted to hear them clearly when she asked what was going on.
She should’ve known that they would never give her a straight answer, not while being her parents.
Their postures said more than their lips when Maybelle peeked out from behind a wall, seeing her mother’s one hand braced against the wall, the other clenched by her side.
Her father was in his red and black suit, arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently.
Maybelle knew that her dad is a superhero. She knew that he left during the night sometimes, but sometimes was becoming more often.
He never used to leave this much.
Is it because of the fighting?
Is it because of her?
“—but it was, right? It’s always necessary. The Avengers need you, Stark needs you. Wow, everybody fucking needs you,” her mom had said through gritted teeth. “What about us, Peter? How many times have you chosen us over them?”
Maybelle wanted to cry, but she didn’t. If they’re not crying, she wasn’t going to, either.
“Why are you guys fighting again?”
Her father had found her gaze first, lips curving downwards. Maybe in disapproval, maybe in sadness. “Mabe, why don’t you go back to your room for a second?”
“I can still hear you in my room. I can hear you everywhere,” she had admitted with a small sniffle. “You guys won’t stop yelling, and I don’t get it.”
“Honey, parents argue sometimes,” her mom had explained quietly but never met her eyes straight on, a telling sign. “It’s completely normal in all families.”
“You guys do it too much.”
Her dad looked stricken at those words, had gone so far as to hoist her up off the floor and rested her against his hip. “We’re sorry, kiddo. Your mom and I have some disagreements, but that doesn’t mean—”
Maybelle had swallowed her tears. “You still love each other, right?”
“Of course we do,” her mom whispered, bringing both of them into her arms, into a warm embrace. “Your father and I love each other just as much as we love you, and that’s a lot. Okay?”
“Okay,” she had mumbled, sniffling again, because it didn’t take much to get a kid to believe their parents. “Do you promise to stop fighting?”
“We promise to try,” her dad offered instead, and Maybelle knew that was as good as it was going to get. “Hey, cheer up, Mabe. Tony got some padded mats for us to see if you’re really as sticky as you claim to be.”
“I’m sticky like you, Dad.”
“Hell, yeah, you are.”
“Peter,” her mom had grumbled but the smile was there. Small and thin and could be blown away with the lightest breeze, but it was there for now.
“Heck, yeah, you are,” he corrected.
“I’m old enough for you guys to swear in front of me. Tony does it all the time,” Maybelle had said.
“He what?”
Her mom rolled her eyes while her dad looked dumbfounded, and Maybelle had grinned because it looked like her parents were on the same page again.
Who cares if she just threw Tony under the bus?
Maybelle would’ve done anything to keep it like that, keep the peace, keep their family tucked together in an all-encompassing hug. She’d missed this.
Missed when they all ate dinner together at the table.
Missed when they watched animal documentaries as a family.
Missed them acting like a family in general.
But they promised to try, promised that they do still love each other, and that’s all she could really ask for at that moment.
at eleven
They didn’t cry together, anymore.
When Maybelle would come home from school, she could hear them sometimes.
Her mom weeping in the bedroom because that’s the only place she could get any privacy, her dad sobbing in the bathroom with the shower running because the water drowned him out.
Coming back to parents that weren’t happy is the worst thing a kid could experience, she’d always thought.
But Maybelle had learned to stop expecting anything else.
She can’t say that she’s not mad at them.
Because she is.
Maybelle is mad that they’ve stopped trying, mad that they broke their promises to her, essentially breaking their family. She’s angry and upset and confused, but most of all, she hates that she can’t do anything to fix it.
Do other kids’ parents argue this much?
Why are they never happy?
Is it wrong to wish for a whole new family?
She thought that loving each other was supposed to be easy, but apparently, she never really knew anything.
Maybelle talked to one of her friends about it at school, essentially releasing every single thought and emotion she’d experienced through the thick of it all onto him. She didn’t give herself a chance to feel bad about dumping her problems elsewhere because she needed it.
Needed someone who would listen.
“Wow. That really blows, May,” he had said, shaking his head and only offering a sympathetic smile. “But I know how you feel.”
“You—you know?”
Maybelle hated the way relief had cracked her heart open just a little at the fact that she wasn’t the only one going through this. It was a selfish thought but a comforting one still.
“My parents, too. They always argued over the smallest things and, like...I think they knew it wasn’t getting better. Their relationship, I mean. Not that I really remember any of it. I was pretty young.”
“But what did they do?” Maybelle couldn’t help but prod, wondering if these stories ever have a happy ending.
“They got a divorce,” he’d explained with a shrug. “Signed papers and everything. They live apart now, so I only get to see my dad twice a month.”
Maybelle’s stomach lurched as she knew what a divorce would mean—knew that it would essentially tear them apart because that’s what a legal document can do with two measly signatures.
Her anger had only intensified.
In that moment—that short, fleeting moment—she hated her parents, hated that they would even open themselves up to the possibility of a divorce by consistently picking fights with each other.
But maybe that moment wasn’t so short nor fleeting, because the second she’d gotten home that day, Maybelle found those words being choked out, expelled into the already tense atmosphere of her parents silently making dinner in the kitchen.
The sentence had felt like hot garbage spewing from her mouth, burning her throat and tongue and the air surrounding them.
“You hate us, Mabe?” Her father already looked wilted, exhausted, and those words were just another blow.
Her mother had merely raked a hand through her frizzy curls, stretching a small, sad smile that’s worn thin, far past its expiration date. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“I just want everything to go back to normal,” Maybelle had whispered.
But the thing is, this was her new normal.
And she was sick of it.
“We’re trying our best, Maybelle.”
It didn’t feel like they’re trying at all.
Maybelle hadn’t bothered to stay for any lingering conversation after that, heading up to her room instead and shut the door.
No. Slammed it.
She could hear them talking quietly through the floor, not screaming for once, but it didn’t matter at that point.
Because in that moment, she was the one crying alone.
at eleven and a half
Things hadn’t been getting any better.
Not that Maybelle expected them to.
But they’d come to a standstill of sorts after the confrontation in the kitchen months ago. Her parents hadn’t been fighting recently, not exactly, but they weren’t talking like they used to.
Not until her mother had called up the long-awaited family meeting that was bound to happen sooner or later.
Maybelle was finally included in the conversation, but she didn’t get a say in what mattered—that being the fact that her mom was planning on abandoning ship, leaving them.
Not leaving-leaving, but she was leaving the house in favor of staying with her parents for a bit.
“Just for a week or two,” she’d said with a sad smile, because apparently, space was a necessary thing in order for them to heal, and healing was the only factor that could bring them back together.
Maybelle didn’t like the idea of her mom leaving, and her dad didn’t seem to either, but neither of them were in a place to argue.
The house had been a tense war zone for months. Maybe even years. She can’t really blame her mother for wanting to get out, to get a reprieve.
All it meant was that Maybelle would get more visits to her grandparents, which wasn’t a bad thing. It meant that her mom would still come pick her up from school but wouldn’t eat dinner with them. It meant that her parents wouldn’t be sleeping in the same room for a while, though maybe that wasn’t anything spectacularly new.
On the day her mom had her suitcase all packed, Maybelle had tackled her by the door in a hug and asked, “Do you promise to come back?”
There was a moment of hesitation, but her mother didn’t falter with her words. “I’ll always come back to you, Mabe.”
“Okay,” she’d said. “I love you, Mama.”
“I love you, too.” And as her mother kissed her forehead, Maybelle saw a tear splash onto the ground.
“We’ll see you soon, Em,” her dad had said, his voice cracking only once, and her mom inhaled sharply. Nodded.
And left.
Maybelle repeated her mother’s words over and over again in her head for the next few days like a mantra, a reminder that she was going to come back.
But, that didn’t mean breakfasts and lunches and dinners weren’t lonely, that she wasn’t lonely, that her dad wasn’t lonely—an observation she couldn’t help but notice.
Her father had other friends, people from high school and college and work that he occasionally hung out with, but his wife took up such a big part of his life that when she left, it seemed like there was a big gaping hole in the shape of her.
Maybelle wanted her mom to come back home. Not just for herself, but for her dad, too.
She wanted their family to heal, and maybe it was, but they weren’t healing together.
One week of her gone stretched into two, and then two was nearing three.
It was a fragile topic, but Maybelle wanted to know why her mom still wasn’t home yet.
At dinner, her father was mindlessly stirring his green beans, not eating them, and then asked, “Did you have a good day at school, Mabe? That boy still got a crush on you?”
“Dad.” She could feel her own cheeks warm up slightly from embarrassment. “I don’t know. He stares at me sometimes. It’s probably because he caught me getting a pencil stuck to my hand once and thinks I’m gonna do it again.”
“Ah. You gotta get better at that, kiddo. Wouldn’t want anyone finding out about those powers of yours,” he said with a quiet chuckle, head shaking. “Dangerous world out there.”
Maybelle had merely nodded. “Yeah, I know. He’s smart, though. I think he could figure it out himself if he really tried.”
“It’s always the ones you least expect that sneak up on you,” her dad mumbled, mushing up his beans some more, cheek resting against one hand. “Who knows. Maybe you’ll fall in love and marry that sucker.”
“Are you thinking about Mom again?”
Her father’s head snapped up, cheeks red like he’d gotten caught in a dirty secret, but it was never very hidden. “Why—why do you ask, Mabe?”
“Because you look like you’re thinking about her,” she’d answered simply, and he laughed—genuine. “Does that mean she was the sucker?
“I think about your mother a lot.” He paused for a moment—a moment so long that she thought he’d forgotten they were talking. “And, no. I was the sucker between the two of us. Loser seems like the more appropriate term.”
“I can see it.”
Her father adopted a mock-offended expression before it melted away. “But you could call me the luckiest guy in the world because she decided to marry me, anyway.”
“Oh, my god. Dad.”
“That’s besides the point, though. Forget I said anything about marriage,” he told her all of sudden, like a system shutting down. “You’re eleven and don’t need to worry about it right now.”
Maybelle frowned. “I’m almost twelve.”
Her dad had snorted. “That means you’re still eleven.”
They lapsed into silence afterward for a few minutes, eating their dinner, and she almost didn’t ask. Almost but not quite, because Maybelle needed to know.
“When is Mom coming back?”
“It shouldn’t be too much longer,” he’d said with a strained smile, looking up from his potatoes to meet her eyes. She could see the sorrow clashing with longing and pain, because yeah. Of course he missed her, too.
Maybelle didn’t know what else to say other than, “She said she’d be back. She promised.”
Her father had nodded, raking a hand through his hair. He looked so tired. “I know, but things have been...complicated. As I’m sure you’re very aware of.”
She didn’t want to bring it up.
Didn’t want to put the idea out there.
But her fears have tugged any rational thought down the drain.
“You guys aren’t...you aren’t getting a divorce, right?” Maybelle watched as her father’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline seconds before his entire expression crumpled.
“No. No, we aren’t, Mabe. We’re just in a bit of a rough patch right now, yeah? We’ll be okay,” he said, but there was no certainty in his gaze, no reassurance for her to latch onto.
“I thought loving each other was supposed to be easy,” she’d muttered under her breath, which he caught, because duh. Super-hearing means never getting away with anything.
“Love is never easy.” Her father gestured for her to sit on his knee, and she did. “But that’s what makes everything worth it. You fight and you fight, but surviving through to the end? That’s a real feat of strength right there.”
“You think you and Mom are going to survive?”
“That’s all I can hope for, sweetheart.”
“I hope you do, too,” she had said, wiping her cheeks.
“We’re so sorry things have been hard for you,” he told her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “But we love you very much, Maybelle.”
Maybelle squeezed her dad in a tight hug, and he squeezed back—their strength together equaling something that might just be unbreakable.
at twelve and a half
Maybelle knew it was a last-ditch attempt.
Everyone knew it was a last-ditch attempt—the last stop before the train went off the rails, the last spark before the rest of the fire was suffocated.
The last chance before they sign their names to paper, agreeing that any and all marriage connections between them were null and void.
Tony was the one who suggested couples’ therapy.
Avengers Couples’ Therapy, to be exact.
Her father was willing to give it a shot, always a hopeful optimist, and her mother, while skeptical about the success rates, had agreed as well.
Because even though they didn’t know how to work together in their relationship anymore, they still loved each other. People in love become desperate when there aren’t many options left.
“We’ll see you after your session,” Grandma May had called out to them, resting one hand on Maybelle’s shoulder while the other waved to the departing couple. “Ah. I sure hope those kids work it out.”
Maybelle snorted. “They’re too old to be kids.”
“As long as I’m alive, they’re always going to be kids, kid,” she’d replied with a chuckle, leading her back into the house. “Your parents really do deserve to be happy with each other.”
“Do you think this therapy will work?”
“I think...that this is something they need. Whether it works or not is up to them,” May had told her, pouring two cups of tea for the both of them. “But I’m just an old lady. What do I know?”
“You’re not old, Grams.”
“I know I don’t look a day over fifty,” she’d teased. “And I could still roundhouse kick anyone that tries to hurt my babies, even though I’d probably throw my back out. That’s evidence that I am old.”
Maybelle had smiled. “But wise beyond your years.”
“If you know, you know.” May had shot her a wink before taking a long sip of her drink once a bit of cream was stirred in. “How are you feeling about all of this, dear? Aside from the obvious, of course.”
“I used to be mad. Like, really mad at them,” she’d admitted, absently tracing circles against the wooden tabletop with her finger. “Because I thought they weren’t doing enough. They weren’t trying.”
“And now?”
“Don’t get me wrong. I hate the fact that they’re talking about getting a divorce, and you know, I’d totally burn that paper if I could because it’s sitting on our kitchen table right now.” Maybelle paused, taking a deep breath. “But I just want them to be happy.”
“Loving is hard,” May agreed. “Sometimes, it doesn’t work out in the end, and the best option is to let each other go. But you guys will always be family.”
“Right, ‘cause family is permanent.”
“Hell, yeah, it is. You’re growing up, Maybelle. I’m glad that you’re able to see that everything isn’t just in black and white,” she’d said, ruffling her hair so that it stuck up and frizzed.
Maybelle had nodded, slurping her tea. “Mama used to tell me that all the time.”
May smiled with ease and fondness. “Your mother always was an intelligent woman. You really do take after her in that way, kiddo.”
“Yeah? Everyone tells me I act like my dad.”
“You’re a perfect mixture of both, Maybelle.”
Maybelle felt like that was the best compliment she could have received, because her parents are everything to her. She loved them so much—loved them together.
And she would still love them if they separated, too.
When her mom and dad eventually returned to the house after their therapy session, Maybelle knew something was different. Nothing had changed in an obvious way as they were still standing with enough room for Jesus in the space between them.
But it seemed like the dark storm clouds that had constantly been surrounding their heads for months had lightened up a bit, just enough to make it noticeable.
That was a baby step, one baby step, in the right direction, but at least they took it.
“We signed up for a few more sessions,” her mom had said with a small smile, and hope blossomed in Maybelle’s stomach.
As the next few weeks progressed, she observed them.
Observed the way they would occasionally glance at each other, fleeting little things, before quickly looking away. Observed how they would gradually gravitate closer to each other after each session without even meaning to. Observed what were supposed to be secret smiles reserved for the other but weren’t very subtle at all.
Maybelle observed the shyness and the hesitance that lingered with every move but the relief that flooded in at a mere hand-holding.
It was like watching them fall in love all over again.
They were finally clicking back into place.
Her mom had taken a liking to being with him in the kitchen again, cooking meals together for fun, and they were always talking. Laughing. Their household felt alive.
The divorce forms disappeared from the kitchen table one day, and she found them the next morning in the fireplace, scorched and shriveled up.
Maybelle specifically remembers the day that her mother had knocked on their door, her suitcase and belongings in hand. A small, sincere smile had graced her face as she asked to move back in permanently.
And, of course, her father had swept his wife into his arms and hugged her tight, like he would never let her go again.
“Welcome home, Em,” he had whispered to her cheek.
“Glad to be back,” she replied, eyes crinkling around the corners, before turning her head. “You wanna get over here, Mabe?”
Maybelle had nodded, unable to help the grin that broke out across her face, and wrapped both of her parents in a tight embrace.
Finally, they were healing together.
at sixteen
Maybelle remembers the way her family fell apart before falling back together again like it was yesterday. She thinks about it often, a constant thing that always resides in the back of her brain.
It lingers there, along with little fragments of fear that haven’t faded completely—fear that it could happen again and maybe it wouldn’t end so nicely a second time.
But she’s growing up, time passing faster than she could ever imagine.
And that means she should stop dwelling on the past, stop living in it.
Maybelle can’t change what happened, can’t travel back in time and prevent the fighting and the tears and the negative emotions that came with everything. She doesn’t think she would even want to, knowing how much their relationship as a family has only strengthened since then.
It’s a part of their history, and it’s not a bad thing.
A small smile appears on her face as she turns towards the living room, finding her parents already settled together on the couch, one of her father’s arms draped around his wife. They look so, so content.
Maybelle joins her parents after giving them a moment of peace, and they sandwich her between their bodies, teasing and laughing like it’s the easiest thing in the world now.
She flicks her wrist out, webbing the remote that was sitting on the TV stand towards them with one of her dad’s old shooters. He said she could use it for fun—no superhero antics just yet—and you better believe she’s making the most of it.
They turn on an animal documentary, because yeah, they still watch them as a family.
Maybelle pays attention while simultaneously letting her mind drift back to a conversation she had with her father once.
“Love is never easy,” he’d said. “But that’s what makes everything worth it. You fight and you fight, but surviving through to the end? That’s a real feat of strength right there.”
And Maybelle can’t help but agree.
It’s her choice to sit there between two people who love each other, who love her, because that’s what they do. That’s what they are.
They’re family.
Loving is hard.
It doesn’t always work.
But when it does, it’s the best feeling in the world.