Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“There are two types of secrets: the kind you want to keep in, and the kind you don't dare to let out.”

September 2021

“Thank you so much for doing this with me! I know organizing is not the most fun activity in the world,” Chloe calls behind her as she opens the door to the hall closet, praying that nothing comes crashing down on her in the process. “But it’s going to be so wonderful to finally have this cleaned out! And, since my mom seems to think all mess is ‘conducive to the creative process,’ I can only try to tackle this while she’s at work. But it will go so much faster with two people, so thanks for being here.”

“Are you kidding me?! You know how much I love filing,” Sam says earnestly, carrying a stack of collapsed Bankers Boxes and her favorite label maker. “And, even if I didn’t, I would still want to help! I’m just so happy to see you, it’s been too long!”

“It really, really has, I’ve missed you so much!” Chloe exclaims. “I want to know everything about your trip!”

“Well, I want to know about yours, too!” Sam says, passing Chloe a nearby stepladder.

“You first!” Chloe protests as she climbs up the ladder and starts to pull things down from the shelves. “I think a months-long tour of Europe beats another summer in the mountains with Mr. Sandoval.”

“Debatable,” Sam protests. “Besides, I’ve been home for months and you just got back.”

“Yeah, but we barely got to talk before I left for a land with no cell service,” Chloe argues as she begins to examine a nearby pile. She picks up what looks like a ceramic dolphin and puts it in a box that Sam has neatly labeled ART. “We’re definitely gonna need a bigger box than this, by the way,” Chloe says, “I’m pretty sure my mom still has every art project I’ve made since I was three.”

“We’ll deal with that when we get to it. Let’s just start sorting, or we’ll never finish!” Sam says. “What is this...?” she asks as she picks up an iridescent purple wig.

“Oh yeah, I think that’s my mom’s? I don’t know why she still has it, but here.” Chloe gestures towards a box she has labeled COSTUMES.

“Your mom really never throws anything away, does she?” Sam asks, moving towards a newly unearthed pile of papers.

“She really doesn’t,” Chloe says, sighing as she pulls a plastic broadsword out of the pile. “What can I say? I guess us Turner girls just like having a little chaos in our lives.” She smiles.

“To each their own,” Sam replies, eyebrows raised as she starts to sort the papers by subject.

“But your trip! How was it? You really did okay with it all?” Chloe asks.

“Yeah, I really did!” Sam stops and smiles wide. “It was actually really wonderful. Seeing all those places, in the present when I could actually interact with people, I think it was really good for me. It helped to remind me that… I’m more than what happened to me? More than the mistakes I’ve made.”

Sam goes quiet for a moment and Chloe hears her thinking about The Incident at the AM. It’s a memory Chloe didn’t experience herself but she’s witnessed it so often in the thoughts of her friends that it’s started to feel like she was there.

“Sorry!” Sam says, suddenly self-conscious. “I didn’t mean to think about it. I don’t want you to think— I mean, feeling the pain and the guilt, that’s always going to be part of it, I guess, but I’ve been doing better, really!”

“I know,” Chloe says, and she means it. Chloe can tell from Sam’s thoughts that she’s healing, that she’s happy, certainly the happiest she’s been since Chloe has known her. “Sam, you’ve come so far. I’m really proud of you.”

“Thanks,” Sam says with a small smile. “Anyway, I’m really glad I went, and I’m really glad to be back.”

“We’re all glad to have you back,” Chloe smiles knowingly. “Especially Mags!”

Sam immediately goes bright red and drops the pile of papers she’s been holding. “Chloe!” she chastises, scrambling to pick up the pages and reorganize them.

“What?!” Chloe protests. “It’s been soooooo long since we’ve talked crushes! I’ve got to make up for lost time.”

Sam keeps her eyes on the papers in her hands but Chloe can still clearly see the goofy grin on her face.

“Yes, I’d say Mags is glad to see me again,” Sam says, her voice strained from trying to stay serious. “I’m glad to see her, too. Before I left on my trip we agreed if we both still felt the same way when I got back, we’d maybe try making things official? And I think we’re going to.”

“About time!” Chloe exclaims. “Sorry, I know you were taking things slow after everything that happened and I totally respect that. But, when you can read everyone’s thoughts and you know that everyone wants things to go in the same direction…well, I can get a little impatient having to wait.”

“Well, thank you for bearing this burden, oh ever-patient one,” Sam teases. “But yeah, I think we’re finally ready? I mean, we’ll see what happens. It helps that we’re not colleagues anymore, that makes things simpler.”

“So you’re really not going back to the AM?” Chloe asks.

Sam shakes her head, “I can’t. I’m really glad that Mags and Jackson and Joan are still there, trying to make things right, working to fix the damage the AM has done. And I still want to help them in whatever way I can, but... I’m just not the person to be making the tough calls.”

Chloe can hear Sam’s thoughts swirling again. She puts down the macrame wall hanging she’s been holding and puts her hand on Sam’s shoulder. “I know this decision wasn’t easy for you,” Chloe says softly. “I’m proud of you for making it.”

“Thanks,” Sam whispers, sniffling. “And seriously, thank you for all the moral support. I really don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Chloe gives Sam a big smile. “Happy to help.”

Sam laughs. “I thought I was supposed to be here to help you! And seriously, we’ve got to keep going if we’re going to get this closet cleaned out before your mom gets home,” she says, turning back to her piles of paper. “How much stuff do you keep in this house?! How do you and your mom live like this?”

“I don’t know,” Chloe says, reaching for another pile. “We get used to not seeing it, I guess!”

“Like, these papers!” Sam holds up the nearest pile. “It looks like most of this is from 2011! That was a decade ago. Seriously you really should—” Sam suddenly stops speaking, and starts reading intently.

“Sam? Everything okay?” Chloe asks, hearing the sudden switch to surprise and confusion in Sam’s thoughts.

“Chloe,” Sam says, slowly. “Did your mom ever work for the AM?”

“What? No way! My mom refused to even communicate with the AM. Well,” Chloe pauses, “that is, they’d call sometimes to check on her ability, but she never cooperated with them. And then, after Dr. Bright left the AM, Mom would only go through her.”

“Okay, but then why does she have a letter from Wadsworth?” Sam asks, handing Chloe a letter that is postmarked April 2011. It is a single sheet of pale blue paper containing a short message:

Ms. Turner,

Your intel was good. Please disregard any future inquiries about Chloe Turner. I will handle them internally.

A pleasure working with you,

AW

“What?” Chloe scans the letter in confusion. “There are lots of people with those initials. Why would you assume it was Wadsworth?”

“Chloe, I used to work at the AM,” Sam says bitterly. “I spent months and months pouring over documents Wadsworth signed. I am telling you this is from her.”

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Chloe says, flipping the page over, expecting to find more answers there. “There’s no way my mom would have worked with Wadsworth. Why would my mom have a letter like this?”

“I don’t know, but, Chloe, your name is on this,” Sam says, pointing at the middle of the page. “This was years before you started exhibiting your powers. Why were they writing about you?”

Chloe stares at the letter again, the words ...any future inquiries about Chloe Turner… echoing in her mind. “I don’t know,” she says, “but I’m going to find out.”

--

“Hey, kid! I’m home!” Vanessa’s voice fills the entire house as she comes in with more bags and boxes than should be humanly possible to transport at one time. But then again, when it comes to Vanessa, what’s humanly possible is slightly different. “I’ve got pizza and donuts!” Vanessa sends greasy cardboard boxes of various sizes in Chloe’s direction. “You are finally home and we are celebrating tonight!”

“Hi, Mom!” Chloe calls and, after the danger of being hit by flying groceries has passed, she jumps into her mother’s arms, giving her the biggest hug she can.

Vanessa laughs and spins her around. “Oh! It is so good to have you back! This house has been far too quiet without you in it. Come on, dinner first, then we’ll catch up. I’m starving.”

Chloe and her mom quickly set the table in a synchronized routine that they’ve mastered over the years. Vanessa telekinetically sends plates, cups, and forks in Chloe’s direction. Hearing them coming through her mom’s thoughts, Chloe grabs and places the plates and utensils without ever having to turn around. As they work, Chloe tries to sort through her mom’s thoughts, searching for something that sheds insight on Wadsworth’s letter, but she finds no trace. Vanessa’s thoughts are all happy and caring; the joy of having Chloe home is the loudest thought in the room.

As they eat, they laugh and joke and share stories from their summers. All the while, Chloe keeps sifting through her mother’s mind. She pushes past the surface level thoughts, to the subconscious where she finds half-remembered song lyrics and preoccupations about the leaky faucet and finding their rake before the autumn leaves begin to fall in earnest. Chloe keeps digging down, down, down, until finally she reaches The Door.

For some time now, Chloe has known there’s a part of her mother’s mind that she keeps hidden. The Door shuts off Vanessa’s thoughts from the constant feed of information that comes Chloe’s way. Chloe knows if she wanted to she could use her ability to open it and walk through. But she doesn’t.

As a telepath, respecting people’s boundaries has always been a challenge. For a long time, Chloe struggled with knowing where to draw that line. The early years of her ability were full of missteps followed by feeble justifications to herself. Chloe knew she needed to change. As she began to master her ability she’d made a list of ground rules for herself. At the top of the list was The Door, and a promise to herself that she would never open it.

And even though she’s been tempted to peek before, despite wanting desperately to know more about the sister she never met, the questions she has about Lee Sandoval and her mom’s connection to him and the Order, Chloe’s managed to remain strong in her resolve. She never asks Vanessa questions about the secrets she doesn’t want to tell.

But this time, the secret is about Chloe. Maybe, this time, the answers behind that Door are ones she deserves to know.

“So, Mom,” Chloe starts as they finish their donuts, “you know how I’ve been telling you for years we should go through the closet?

“And I’ve been telling you ‘clean’ is just an abstract concept,” Vanessa retorts, a twinkle in her eye.

“Well... I decided to try to organize it anyway. Sam helped!” Chloe clarifies at Vanessa’s eyebrow raise of incredulity. “And… we found something… interesting,” Chloe ends awkwardly. She slides the letter across the table to her mother. “Do you know what this is?” She asks carefully.

Suddenly, Chloe is bombarded with a flash of thoughts and feelings coming out The Door so fast that she can’t help but cry out, squeezing her eyes shut in a futile attempt to block out the pain. Then, The Door slams closed and it’s all gone as suddenly as it came.

When she opens her eyes, her mother’s face is as composed as it has ever been, as if unaware anything has happened.

“Hm, no, I don’t, it’s nothing to worry ab—”

“No, no, stop talking!” Chloe interrupts. She’s struggling to sort through what she just saw, and her mother’s explanations are only going to distract her, “I heard that. I know it’s not nothing. You were… shocked. And there was anger and guilt, you were thinking about Joan and- Mark?” Chloe looks up in surprise. Vanessa’s face has gone very pale. “Mom, why did you just think about Mark?”

“Honey,” Vanessa laughs nervously. Chloe hears the murmur of thoughts behind that Door as if they’re banging on it, trying to escape. “I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“Yes,” Chloe says, firmly. “I think you do. This letter,” she holds it up, “it’s from the AM.”

“How do you know that?” Vanessa asks, shocked.

“Sam told me. Why do you have a letter from the AM from 2011? That was ten years ago! That was when—”

But suddenly the pieces start to fall into place.

“...That was the year Mark went missing,” Chloe says, dread slowly creeping into her.

The whispers of thoughts start to grow louder and The Door her mother’s always kept closed is buckling under the weight. Suddenly it’s open and Chloe is inside her mother’s memory. She is walking somewhere underground, her footsteps echoing...

--

“Seriously? Confronting me in a parking lot? Isn’t that a bit shady, even for you?”

Vanessa turns to face a figure who is waiting for her in the shadows of the university parking garage. Vanessa’s been working late and, with a lurch of dread, she realizes that hers is the last car in the lot.

“Well, you’ve been very hard to get a hold of, Miss Turner.”

A young Annabelle Wadsworth emerges into the flickering half light. Despite her age, she holds herself as if she is in complete control of the situation. “You haven’t been returning our calls.”

“I didn’t realize that was a criminal offense,” Vanessa responds with bravado in her voice, but Chloe knows her mother well enough to tell that she is nervous.

“Oh, it’s not, but I would think someone who owed the AM such a big favor would be a tad more responsive.” Wadsworth responds.

Vanessa’s body tenses. Her throat is dry. “Well, you have my attention now, so just go ahead and spit out whatever it is you want to say.”

Wadsworth gives an easy smile that is spine-chilling.

“I really must insist we work out the logistics of Chloe Turner’s initial evaluation.”

“No, that’s out of the question,” Vanessa’s response is fast and angry. “Chloe doesn’t have any powers.”

“Well that may be true, but, given you and your mother’s history, it seems very unlikely that a daughter of yours will have no abilities at all,” Wadsworth says. “She is sixteen, an age when many people’s abilities begin to manifest. This is a critical window for research and evaluation.”

“You can’t.” Vansssa is firm. “I’m not letting my daughter within a mile of that place.”

Annabelle laughs, “Oh, Vanessa, why such hostility? Such distrust? The AM is here to help. After all, we ensured you were able to keep working here. You must enjoy it, this university. It has such a rich history, a track record of academic excellence…” she gestures broadly. “Of course, if you’d prefer, we could always let your employer know about your role in that unfortunate incident eighteen years ago. Poor Michael Smith, so young, with such a promising life ahead of him…”

“Don’t.” Vanessa’s voice is shaking with emotion, “You don’t get to keep doing this.”

“Doing what?” Wadsworth asks.

“Bring up your knowledge of my past mistakes every time you want to pressure me into doing something!”

“I’m merely implying that it is a burden to withhold crucial information that could help a grieving family find closure. I suppose you should consider yourself fortunate that you are of enough value to us to make it worth our while. If you want it to stay that way, I’ll see Chloe Turner at our facilities on Monday morning, 8am sharp.” Wadsworth stares at her, unyielding. She has the upper hand and knows it. “If we understand each other, I believe we’re done here,” Wadsworth says quietly. She turns to go.

Then, suddenly, Vanessa calls out,“Wait!”

Wadsworth stops in her tracks.

“What if I had something else of value?” Vanessa asks.

Wadsworth turns back to face her, “Such as?”

“What if I knew about another Atypical, one with an ability like nothing you’ve seen before?” Vanessa is stumbling through her words, as if she’s grasping for something to hold on to.

Wadsworth is unmoved, “I’ve seen many things, Ms. Turner, it takes quite a lot to impress me.”

“He’s a mimic.” Vanessa chokes out the words in a half strangled sound. “He takes on the power of any other Atypical he’s near.”

The effect of these words is immediate. It’s as if Wadsworth has been playing a game of tic tac toe and suddenly realizes she could have been playing chess all along.

“Where do I find this Atypical?” she asks in a low voice.

“You have to guarantee that there’ll be no more of these ambushes. Never again will you request my daughter’s presence anywhere. You leave us alone from now on,” Vanessa demands. Her hands are shaking.

“If this person is really what you say… you have my word,” Wadsworth replies. “Now, where is he?”

Vanessa’s voice gets small, as if she’s far away from herself, as she says, “He goes to Boston Art College. He’s about to graduate.”

Wadsworth stares at Vanessa intently. For a moment, it seems that Wadsworth won’t believe her, or, even if she does, she’ll still use the might of the AM to swallow Vanessa and her family whole, simply because she can.

But then she says, “I will consider your offer, Miss Turner.” Wadsworth looks at her nails as she walks away, saying, “We’re done for today. Have a safe drive home, Vanessa. Driving a car like that I would daresay you need all the luck you can get.”

--

“No, no! You didn’t!” Chloe comes back to herself, she is shaking and crying. She stands, knocking her chair over as she backs out of the room. She has to get away from the thoughts and the memories. It’s too much, it’s all too much.

“Baby,” Vanessa implores, following her into the hallway, “I did it for you!”

“I never asked you for that!” Chloe cries.

“You didn’t have to!” Vanessa shouts, and the anger in her voice stops Chloe dead in her tracks. She’s never seen her mother look this driven. “I’m your mother. It’s my job to do everything in my power to protect you. I refused to let them take you there.”

“So, instead, they took Mark, and they imprisoned and tortured him,” Chloe snaps.

Vanessa blanches. “I didn’t know,” she whispers. “I couldn’t have known what would happen.”

“But you knew the consequences could be bad!” Chloe says. “I wasn’t even showing my powers yet and you still didn’t want them to know about me, because you knew it was dangerous. You chose my safety over his.”

Vanessa is quiet.

Chloe wipes her eyes, sniffling. “What did Joan and Mark say when you told them?”

More silence confirms Chloe’s suspicion, and a righteous anger grows in her until she is seething with rage.

“You haven’t told them?” Chloe is screaming. She can’t remember ever being this angry.

“What good would it do?” Vanessa shouts back. “They’ve been through enough! Knowing would only cause them more pain. Not telling them was the right thing to do.”

“Was it?” Chloe yells, “Or were you just too much of a coward to admit that you gave up someone’s brother because you were too scared something bad might happen to your kid!”

Thoughts of Hannah flood Vanessa’s mind, and the sadness and the grief is overwhelming.

Chloe immediately knows she’s gone too far.

Normally, Vanessa tamps down on uncomfortable thoughts quickly and efficiently, but this time, either by choice or because she’s unable to do anything else, the thoughts of Chloe’s sister keep coming. Memories of the child whose life ended so abruptly flow over the two of them in waves of sadness and terror and love and grief. The intensity makes Chloe sink to the floor, her head in her hands. Finally, mercifully, it stops.

An icy silence descends.

Chloe and her mother have had their disagreements before but they’ve never had a fight like this. It feels like some invisible line has been crossed.

When Vanessa finally speaks her voice is quiet but clear, laden with anger and grief. “You can think what you want, Chloe, but I will not have you stand here in judgement of the impossible choices I had to make. You can hear my thoughts but you weren’t there. You don’t know what that kind of pain is like. And I thank God every day for that.”

Chloe is stricken. She thinks about all the things her mother has lived through, the parts of her life that she doesn’t let Chloe see.

“Mom,” Chloe says, imploring. “Mom, you have to tell them.”

“I don’t have to do anything,” Vanessa responds stubbornly.

But Chloe is stubborn, too. She knows this time she’s right and she will not back down. “This information should really come from you,” Chloe says, “but if you don’t tell them, then I will.”

“Chloe, please,” Her mother says. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Yes, I do,” Chloe says, her voice shaking.

“Just because you know doesn’t mean you need to tell them,” Vanessa says. “It’s only going to cause more pain.”

“How can I look Joan and Mark in the face again and act like everything is fine?” Chloe asks. “How have you, for all these years? Isn’t this secret killing you?”

Vanessa goes quiet, “We all have pain that we learn to live with,” she says. “This secret isn’t even the worst of what I carry.”

Chloe stares open-mouthed at her mother, a woman she’s now wondering how well she really knows.

“Please, Chloe,” Vanessa says. She closes her eyes in exhaustion. “This isn’t something they need to know.” She walks over to Chloe, holding tight to her hands. “At least promise me you’ll think about it.”

Chloe feels her mother’s hands in hers, sure and strong. Those hands have held her up her whole life. Through all the ups and downs of the past few years, her mother has been there for her, never letting her fall, never letting her down. Until now.

“Alright,” Chloe hears the words come out of her mouth. Part of her mind screams in protest, but Chloe doesn’t have it in her to fight with her mother any more. At least not tonight. “I’m gonna go to bed now, I’m tired,” Chloe lies. She turns to go upstairs, her mind swirling, her heart aching.

Chapter Text

September 2021

Director Joan Bright starts that Monday morning like every other. She wakes up to her alarm, puts on the outfit she already selected and laid out the day before. She grabs her things, gets in her car and drives to the AM headquarters on the outskirts of town. In her mind, she goes through the tasks for the day. She has back-to-back meetings; patient sessions first thing in the morning followed by one-on-ones with the AM doctors and counselors. In the afternoon she has a meeting with Jackson to go over the month’s strategic priorities as well as a phone call with Headquarters in DC to update them on their division’s objectives.

It has been four long years of hard work. There are times when Joan feels discouraged, but on most days, it feels like things are moving in the right direction. Referrals are up and patient satisfaction is the highest it’s ever been. Their division is leading the way for the rest of the nation. Headquarters has mandated that the other AM divisions start implementing practices first introduced here, practices that center patient care and do away with non-consensual research.

And, of course, Atypicals are no longer held at the AM against their will. Tier Five is now a thing of the past.

It’s still hard for Joan to process what Mark went through, and her role in it. She knows all her efforts now will never be enough to make up for the suffering her brother, and so many others, underwent at the hands of the AM. But all she can do is move forward and try to do better. So that’s what she tries to do. She does it for Mark, and for Owen.

When Joan arrives at her office, everything is already organized and ready for her to start her work for the day. She tears a page off her daily calendar, revealing today’s date. With a heavy feeling in her heart she notes that it is one month before the anniversary of The Incident, the day when, in their efforts to shut down Tier Five for good, they’d all ended up locked inside the AM with a woman seeking vengeance. Two people had lost their lives that day, Dr. Sharpe and Director Owen Green.

Not a day goes by that Joan doesn’t think about it, about what she lost. There are still times when she feels like she is just going through the motions of what it looks like to be “okay.”

The therapist that Joan saw for two years after The Incident helped her come up with ways to get through the days when the memories are just too much. They created a routine for those days to help hold her together: she has to go on a walk and do thirty minutes of yoga. But, most importantly, she has to reach out to at least three of the people that she loves. She has to remind herself that she’s not alone.

It helps that Mark is back in Boston. He has his own life, but he comes over regularly for visits. And Jackson always checks in; he seems to know what she needs without her even saying it. It makes her believe that she can feel happy and safe again. Their love holds her together more than they know.

Joan makes a note to herself to reach out to Adam and Caleb as part of her anniversary routine this year. She can get an update on how they’re settling into their new life together in New York. Talking to them always makes her feel hopeful about the future. The thought of that makes Joan smile. She’s still smiling as she sits down to start her work. Despite everything, today feels like a day when things are going to be okay.

--

Joan is sitting at her desk; she’s about to go on her lunch break but first she wants to update her to-do list while it’s still fresh in her mind. She’s trying to determine when she’ll have time in her afternoon schedule to write up her client reports when the phone rings. Joan picks it up.

“Director Bright speaking,” she says.

“...Joan?”

“Chloe! This is a surprise!” Joan smiles. “It’s good to hear your voice, how are you doing? How was your summer?”

“Joan,” Chloe says again, nervously. “You know how we’ve talked about my ability putting me in positions where I know something that maybe I shouldn’t, but then I still know it so I have to decide what to do with that knowledge, and how that’s messy and complicated?” she says in a rush. “Well, I have to tell you something. And… it’s not going to be easy for you to hear it. And I don’t know if this is the right way for you to find out. But, I’ve been thinking about this for the last twelve hours, and I haven’t slept, and I don’t think there’s any way that would be easy, so I figured I might as well just tell you as soon as possible and not worry so much about how—”

“Chloe, it’s alright,” Joan interrupts her in a reassuring voice. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

Joan can hear Chloe take a deep breath through the telephone line. When she speaks again there’s a new steadiness to her voice, “I found out something. About my mom. And me. And you. And… Mark.”

--

October 2011 (Ten Years Ago)

“Joan, you’ve barely touched your scotch.You look like you really need it,” Vanessa says as she sips her beer.

They are at the Eagle & Crown, their regular Friday night bar. These hangouts are a ritual initiated during Joan’s college years. Vanessa has affectionately named the tradition “Ladies’ Night.” The two of them stay out late, gossiping and debriefing the events of the past week while they drink and sing karaoke. It’s only 6pm, but the place is hopping. The karaoke machine is already blaring; even though they are sitting next to each other at the counter, Vanessa has to shout to be heard.

“Tough day at work?” she asks.

“Every day is tough at the AM. It’s not that.” Joan says, sighing. “I... filed a missing persons report today. For Mark.”

“Oh,” Vanessa says, surprised. “Don’t you think that’s a bit... premature? I mean, he’s only been gone for a few weeks.”

Joan shakes her head, “Nessie, he isn’t responding to my calls. He never goes this long without replying to my messages. Even when we’re fighting he’ll always call, even if it’s just to say ‘Chill, Joanie, I’m not dead!’” Joan tries to laugh, but it comes out wrong. She takes a swallow of her scotch, her hand shaking. “But this radio silence? He wouldn’t do that. He knows I worry.”

Vanessa suddenly seems to grow uncomfortable. “Well, I’m sure he’ll turn up soon. You know how disorganized Mark is, he probably just got lost on some mountain somewhere with no cell service looking for the perfect shot,” she jokes.

“Maybe…” Joan says, unconvinced.

Vanessa gets a look on her face, like she wants to say something else, but then her practiced charming smile is back and she’s patting Joan on the shoulder.

“Trust me,” Vanessa says with her usual ease, “he’ll be back before you know it. Oh, looks like we’re up for karaoke! Are you going to join me or do I have to sing ‘Love Shack’ all by myself?”

--

September 2021

Joan searches the AM for every document she can get her hands on from 2011. She skips the rest of her meetings for the day; Jackson covers for her or Mags reschedules them. Joan can barely be bothered to feel guilty for the inconvenience she knows she’s causing. She is too busy desperately tearing through files, searching for answers.

It’s not that she doesn’t trust Chloe. But she doesn’t want to believe— can’t believe what Chloe said is true. At least, not without proof.

The boxes of archives grow and grow until her polished, organized office transforms into a labyrinth of papers.

Joan finds what she’s looking for in a folder of Ellie’s meticulously archived memos. She sits on the floor of her office, boxes of files towering over her as she pulls out a sheet of yellow lined paper, staring at Ellie’s impeccable handwriting. The memo is short and weighs next to nothing in Joan’s hand, yet as she reads its contents, it feels as heavy as the world.

Change designation of Chloe Turner, child of Patient #248-A-5: Vanessa Turner- No Longer a Priority.

Follow up on intel that there is an Atypical with a unique ability residing at Boston Art College. Any findings should be reported directly to Agent A. Wadsworth

--

June 2013 (Eight Years Ago)

“Joan, will you please lower your voice just for a moment so we can talk about this?” Owen Green pleads.

“NO, I will NOT LOWER MY VOICE! I will do NOTHING for you EVER AGAIN!” Joan is screaming as she frenetically moves around the apartment, grabbing Owen’s things and shoving them into a trash bag that she intends to throw at his idiotic face and then promptly kick him out the door and never speak to him again. If Agent Green has the audacity to show up at her home the evening she has discovered that he and Wadsworth have been covering up the fact that her brother is being held against his will by the very organization she works for, then she thinks she’s allowed to scream at him as much as she wants. Owen seems to think otherwise.

“Joan, be rational about this-” he starts.

“Rational? RATIONAL?!” She stops and turns to face him. “You BETRAYED me. You knew Mark was missing, you KNEW I was worried sick about him! All those times I talked to you about him— cried to you because I was afraid he was dead in a ditch somewhere, and all that time you—”

She is nearing hysterics.

“You need to leave NOW.” She can barely get the words out as she throws the trash bag at him and turns away. She hears him cautiously walk to pick it up and turn to go.

A thought suddenly occurs to her.

“WAIT!” Joan shouts, causing Owen to stop in his tracks. “I need to know,” she pleads.

Owen turns around to face her, and the hopefulness in his gaze momentarily knocks her off balance.

“How— how did they find out about him? Did— did you find out about his ability and then report him to the AM?”

Owen stares at her as if she has slapped him in the face. Shock hardens him into someone Joan doesn’t recognize. He’s always been kind and gentle, but when he speaks it is with the cold detachment of a bureaucrat.

“No, Joan. I didn’t know Mark was Atypical. You never told me.”

“Then how—”

“Well, let’s think about this for just a moment, Joan?” Agent Green says in a condescending tone. “Who used the AM’s resources to research mimicry abilities, who used a phone that she knew might be monitored to talk to Mark about his power? Joan, who else could it have been? No one else even knew about Mark besides you.”

The weight of what Green is saying hits Joan full force.

“No. No, I didn’t do this,” Joan says, dizzily. Her head is spinning, and she thinks she might be about to faint. “I was so careful, I— I only ever wanted to protect him.”

“And we have been protecting him, with the ample resources the AM can provide him,” Agent Green says matter-of-factly.

“That is NOT what you’re doing,” Joan spits back.

“Well, I suppose that is your opinion,” Agent Green replies, indifferent.

Joan is shaking. She can’t bear to look at him, can’t bear to think about all her mistakes, all the people she should have never let in who have now wrapped their tendrils around everything she holds dear and crushed it into a pile of ash.

“Just go.” Her voice is barely a whisper.

Mercifully, Agent Green finally listens to her.

She hears the door close and lock and then the sound of a key being slid under the door frame. No one else can get in now. She’s alone.

Joan crumples onto the floor and cries.

--

September 2021

Joan accomplishes nothing else at work that day. She mindlessly puts all the papers back in their respective files and reorganizes the boxes. Numbly, she asks Jackson if he can ensure the boxes get back where they belong. She can tell by the way he’s looking at her that he’s concerned about her wellbeing, but also aware that she isn’t ready to talk, so he quietly nods and assures her that he’ll take care of it.

Joan doesn’t remember the drive home from work, nor does she remember opening the door to her apartment. Her mind is swirling. Memories are resurfacing and then fading as quickly as they come. All the while, a feeling is growing inside her, something angry and broken. It’s all she can do to stop herself from screaming.

“Joanie?”

Joan has been so caught up in her thoughts that she hasn’t even realized that she has company. Mark is sitting on her couch. There is a bag of takeout from their favorite dim sum place on the table; he must have been planning to surprise her. He’s been watching television while he waits for her to get home, but the TV’s now paused and he is looking at her, concerned.

Joan realizes she is standing at the kitchen counter, keys still in her hand.

“You’ve been standing there, staring off into the distance, for a good ten minutes. That’s got to be a record,” Mark says, teasing, then serious. “You want to tell me what’s got you so distracted?”

Joan looks at Mark, really looks at him. He is here and alive and okay. She thinks about all that they’ve been through, all the moments when they felt so far apart. Somehow they’ve still found their way back to each other. She takes a steadying breath. She hopes their relationship can survive one more bombshell.

“Chloe called me today,” she says slowly, walking over to join him on the couch.

“Cool! Is she back from her summer retreat thing?” Mark asks, turning off the TV.

“Yes, she’s back home,” Joan hesitates a moment. “She found out something, that’s why she called me. Something about you.”

As gently as she can, Joan tells Mark what she knows. The cheer leaves Mark’s face so suddenly it makes Joan’s heart break. She can see the memories that have long haunted him flicker behind his eyes, never fully leaving him no matter how much she wishes she could make it so.

When she finishes, Mark is quiet. Joan sits in the silence as long as she can bear it and then says, “Mark? What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking…” Mark says slowly, “That the AM is fucking terrible for doing that to Vanessa.”

Joan is surprised. “But, Vanessa—”

“Vanessa was given an impossible choice,” Mark interrupts her. “She had to compromise her values to protect her daughter. And who made her do that? The AM.” Mark sighs. “I’ve already spent so long feeling hurt and betrayed and angry at the people I love. At Sam, at you… I refuse to let the AM make me feel that way about anyone else.”

Joan stares at her brother in shock. Her little brother, who has been through the unthinkable, who has been betrayed by so many people who should have protected and cared for him, can still forgive where she cannot.

She shakes her head. “I— I just— I wish it was that easy for me.” She laughs ruefully. “I guess you really are the better Bryant.”

“Finally, she admits it!” Mark teases before growing serious again. “Joanie, it’s okay for you to feel however you feel about this. I get that it’s different for you. She’s your friend.”

“Was my friend. I don’t know what she is now,” Joan says bitterly.

Mark looks at her for a moment. “You should talk to her. When you’re ready. You’ve been in each other’s lives for so long, I think you owe it to each other to talk about what happened.”

Joan suspects Mark is right, but the idea of talking to Vanessa about this, of facing her, fills her with pain and dread.

“Just, promise me you’ll think about it?” he asks.

Joan nods, shakily. “All right,” she whispers.

“Hey, c’mere,” Mark says, wrapping his arms around Joan. Joan leans her head on his shoulder.

“When did you get to be so good at taking care of people?” Joan sniffles, a tear escaping.

“Well, you know, luckily, I’ve got this amazing sister who’s pretty great at that kind of stuff. I learned from the best,” he boasts.

Joan gives a laugh that dissolves into a sob and she buries her head in Mark’s shoulder. Mark holds her, sitting there with her as long as she needs him.

--

October 2005 (Sixteen Years Ago)

Joan coughs from the fumes emanating from the rickety yellow Volkswagen Beetle in which she is currently a passenger. Vanessa is next to her in the driver’s seat, cool and collected. She accelerates the shaking car with a mischievous smile on her face.

“This isn’t exactly your normal speed, is it?” she asks.

“Um, no, not exactly,” Joan says, fighting to suppress another cough, which results in her making a sort of half strangled gargled sound instead.

Vanessa laughs. “Don’t worry, we’ll get you used to rickety old cars speeding down country roads in no time.”

Joan gives a shy smile and then turns to look out the window at the city as it disappears behind her, making way for fields and meadows.

She can hardly believe that she’s on a joy ride with someone who is so… cool.

Joan has no idea why, at a university with so many intelligent individuals, Vanessa would choose to take an uninitiated grad student like herself under her wing. Joan was initially cautious when their casual hallway pleasantries turned into restaurant recommendations, then book exchanges, then hours long discussions about psychology and philosophy. She had steeled herself for the day when Vanessa would lose interest, as she surely would. But she hadn’t.

And when Vanessa had started sending her invitations, out to lunch, to her house, and now on a car ride out into the country in the middle of the night, Joan had said yes. Though Joan is hesitant to trust, Vanessa is kind and caring. And, despite their age difference, she’s the first person Joan has met in Boston who feels like they could be a friend. She hopes she’s not getting her hopes up for no reason.

“So, Joan, how is Boston treating you so far?” Vanessa’s question pulls Joan’s attention back.

“Oh, it’s nice! I quite like this city,” Joan says with sincerity. “It feels like a place where important things happen.”

Vanessa laughs at that, “Well, that’s what the university brochure wants you to believe, anyway.”

“No, really!” Joan protests. “When I’m here, I feel like... like this place could turn me into someone who could maybe make a difference someday. I guess that sounds foolish, but that’s how it feels.”

Vanessa looks at Joan closely, as if she’s trying to figure out something important about her. But when she speaks she’s nonchalant.

“Well sure, it’s a great city. And I’m glad you’re enjoying it. But, it’s hard to pick up and move somewhere new where you don’t know a soul. How’s that going for you? Anyone from back home that you’re missing?”

Immediately, Joan’s mind conjures up the image of Mark’s face smiling at her. And it must be because she wasn’t expecting the question, since usually she prides herself on her composure and her professionalism. But now suddenly her eyes are watering and her voice catches in her throat.

“I— yes. My brother,” she says. “My younger brother.”

And suddenly Joan can’t think, can’t breathe. She struggles to get her eyes to focus on the car dashboard in front of her. She shakes her head in disbelief. How could such a simple question lead to her falling apart so spectacularly?

Vanessa smoothly pulls the car off the road and parks in the tall grass of an empty field. Silently, she opens the glove compartment and hands Joan a tissue from inside.

Joan laughs, embarrassed at herself. “I’m sorry, I’m not normally like this—“

“Don’t apologize.” Vanessa says firmly. Her eyes are kind as she asks, “Would you like to tell me about him?”

Joan blinks away the tears and takes a steadying breath, “Well, he’s seventeen. His favorite class right now is photography. He can’t get through a conversation without cracking a joke,” Joan grins. “He has this… amazing smile. And when he looks at you it’s like… he makes you feel like you’re the most important person in the whole world…”

Once Joan starts talking she can’t stop. Memories come pouring out of her, stories from their childhood, Mark’s likes and dislikes, the letter he'd hidden in her suitcase when she’d left for Boston, her hopes and dreams for him.

Vanessa listens to it all with a silent attentiveness that makes Joan feel worthy of being listened to. When Joan finally finishes, Vanessa says, “Your brother is lucky to have a big sister like you.”

Joan blushes and looks away. “I don’t know about that,” she says.

“I do,” Vanessa says with such conviction that, for a moment, Joan almost believes that she’s special.

“Thank you,” Joan says, struggling internally to let herself take in the compliment. “But, now, I’m so far away. I don’t know, I guess I worry that I’m losing him.”

“You’re not,” Vanessa says adamantly. “A bond like that doesn’t just go away with distance. But,” she says, considering, “Have you thought about asking him to come visit you here?”

“Oh!” Joan says, surprised. “No, I hadn’t. It would be nice. To see him here, away from our parents- um,” Joan quickly stops herself. “But, I’m so busy! When would I even have time to-“

“You’ll make time,” Vanessa says. “Trust me, for something as important as this, it’s worth missing out on that fourth pass of your paper,” she teases.

Joan laughs, her heart feels lighter. She hadn’t realized how much this had been weighing on her. “Alright,” she says, exhaling. “I’ll call and ask him about it tomorrow. Thanks, Vanessa.”

“Anytime, kid,” Vanessa says. “You can always talk to me about stuff like this, okay? I’ve got your back,” she smiles. “But! I didn’t actually bring you out here just to talk. Come on, I have something I want to show you.”

Curious, Joan follows Vanessa out of the car. They walk towards the middle of the rocky field. With only the moon to light their way, Joan strains to make her way without stumbling. When they finally stop, they are far enough away from the road that Joan can barely make out the yellow Beetle in the distance. The stars twinkle above them in a cloudless sky. It must be nearly midnight. They are completely alone.

“Vanessa, what’s this all about?” Joan asks.

Vanessa takes a deep shaky breath. It’s the first time Joan has ever seen her nervous.

“Joan, there’s something I want to show you. And I wasn’t 100% sure that I was going to until tonight. But I’ve decided to do it,” she says.

“Do... what?” Joan asks, confused.

Vanessa takes another breath, then starts over. “Joan, You’re smart. I’ve only known you for a few months, and already I think you might be the smartest person I’ve ever met. And I want more smart people like you to know we exist. But, more importantly, you care. You care about helping people. And the world needs people who care enough to want to make things better for people like me.

“And,” Vanessa’s voice is shaking again, “I’m doing this because I trust you. Even though we just met. I’m taking a chance on you because I believe in you. I believe that, someday, you’re going to make a difference.”

Joan’s stomach is full of butterflies. Her heart is racing. “Vanessa, I— thank you, but— I don’t understand.”

Vanessa gives one of her sardonic smiles. “Don’t worry, you’re going to.”

And then the rocks around her are suddenly rising from the ground. Joan stares, open-mouthed and speechless, as Vanessa manipulates them into a circle orbiting slowly around her like spinning planets. Then she moves them again so they form the letter V as she gently lowers them to the ground, totally in her control.

“Making Vs was my favorite thing to do as a kid,” she explains, as if that is the most pressing confusion to clear up.

Joan keeps staring at the V shaped stones, blinking very fast as if willing her eyes to make sense of what she’s seen. Finally, she manages to get her mouth working again, “You’re… a telekinetic?”

“Top of the class!” Vanessa says, smiling. “I knew you’d be a quick study.”

“But—” Joan stammers, “how is this possible?”

“Ever the scientist, Joan, always asking the big questions,” Vanessa laughs. “I’ll do my best to answer them, but some of it even I don’t understand. That’s where you come in. I want you to study me.”

“You— what?” Joan gasps in shock.

“Well, if I want you to become an expert on Atypicals someday, I might as well give you a head start,” Vanessa says wryly. “I have a good handle on my power. Lots of folks like me aren’t so lucky. Their powers end up hurting others, end up hurting themselves.” Vanessa goes quiet for a moment, as if she’s remembering something.

“When that happens,” she says, “I want someone like you to be in a position to help them.”

Joan’s mind is racing, struggling to take this all in. How can this be possible? Is this even real? What are all the implications of the existence of telekinesis? Why would Vanessa choose me? What am I going to do? How does one even begin to conduct a scientifically reliable trial when superpowers are involved?

But another voice inside her grows louder, rising above the noise.

This is it. This is your chance to help make things better.

Joan takes a deep breath, then says, “When do we start?”

Vanessa gives a joyful laugh that fills Joan with courage.

“Stick with me, kid,” Vanessa smiles, “and you’ll be alright.”

--

October 2021

“You still haven’t talked to her?” Sam asks.

Sam is seated across from Joan, visiting her office at the AM for a catch-up over tea and coffee. It’s Sam’s first time back at the AM since she’s quit and she is vibrating with nervous energy, as if she’s ready to jump up and run out at any moment.

“No,” Joan says as she drinks her coffee, “not yet.”

“Joan, it’s been three weeks. What are you waiting for?” Sam asks, exasperated.

Joan doesn’t know. At first, she’d needed time to process. Then, her focus had been making sure that Mark was okay. But, though this revelation has dredged up painful memories, it hasn’t seemed to leave Mark hurt or confused. Joan wishes she could say the same for herself.

Of all the gut punches in her life, this one is far from the worst. She’s safe, and so is everyone that she loves. Joan’s grateful that her relationship with Mark has weathered this unexpected news intact. And there’s Jackson, who has been extra caring and considerate these past few weeks. She’s fortunate to have them both in her life.

But, she knows that neither of them understands what she’s going through. She’s not even sure she knows what she thinks or feels. She doesn’t know how to begin to explain it to someone else. How can she talk to them about her friendship with Vanessa, what she’s lost? The only person who would understand is Vanessa.

On more than one occasion, Joan has reached for her phone to call her, then changed her mind.

“If it were up to me, I would have been at her door weeks ago… give her a piece of my mind,” Sam says angrily.

“And what exactly would you say?” Joan asks. “I don’t know, I would have thought of something,” Sam blusters, her cheeks turning red as she looks down at her mug.

“Mark says he forgives her.” Joan says quietly.

“I know, but he’s wrong!” Sam says. “It’s her fault that Mark lost years of his life to this place, that he hates large crowds, and still has nightmares and—” Sam stops herself and focuses on slowing her breathing. “I’m sorry.” “It’s alright, Sam,” Joan says gently. “You care about Mark. I do, too.” “Exactly!” Sam exclaims. “I care about him, and to know that she— did that and that’s why he went through all that pain and torture—”

“Vanessa didn’t know that would happen,” Joan interrupts.

“She knew the AM couldn’t be trusted and she gave him up anyway. Same difference,” Sam crosses her arms. “Honestly, this is pretty clear cut to me. I don’t see why you can’t see it that way, too.”

“Sam, she was protecting Chloe,” Joan says.

Sam goes quiet for a moment. She stirs her tea distractedly before putting her mug down.

“If things are ever going to get better for Atypicals, we need to look out for one another. We need to know we can trust each other. The only way for us to fight back is together. Vanessa should have known that more than anyone. She could have helped. Instead, she made a choice that tore your family apart.”

Joan opens her mouth to respond but no sound comes out. She puts a hand to her forehead. She’s tired, so very tired, of living in a world that has let her down in so many ways. She turns to look at the faded framed photograph on her desk of two children making goofy faces into a camera.

--

December 1993 (Twenty Eight Years Ago)

“Joan! Joan, I’m scared!” a small voice calls into the dark.

Joan blearily opens her eyes. Eventually, they focus on the outline of a small shape standing in the doorway of her bedroom.

“Mark?” She groans, “What is it? What’s happened?”

“I had a nightmare,” Mark whimpers. “It was really bad, Joanie. I dreamt we were at the beach and I was flying but I flew too far away and suddenly I couldn’t fly anymore and I was falling and I fell into this dark hole in the ground and there were all these loud noises echoing everywhere. I called for you but you couldn’t hear me and I couldn’t find you anywhere and I was all alone—”

“Mark, it’s okay, it was just a dream,” Joan says soothingly. She’s sitting up now and she pats the space next to her in her bed, “Come here, it’s going to be alright.”

Mark scurries across the room and crawls into bed next to Joan. With a practiced air, Joan tucks the blanket back in around him and wraps her left arm behind him as he settles his head into the nook between her neck and her shoulder.

They sit like that for a few moments in silence, listening to each other breathing, feeling each other’s heartbeats.

Finally, Mark breaks the silence in a small voice, “It was so scary, Joanie.”

“I know,” Joan says. “But I’m here now. And I’ll keep you safe.”

“Promise?” Mark asks.

Joan looks at her brother, who is staring up at her with those big brown eyes that watch the world with wonder. There is no one she loves more in the whole entire world. She knows with certainty that there is nothing more precious than the person who is currently wrapped in her arms.

“I promise. I’ll always be there to protect you.”

--

October 2021

The sky is gray on the day that Joan finally makes her way to the Turner residence. A chilly breeze is in the air, the first sign of fall. Joan crosses her arms as she approaches the house. She notices Vanessa’s car is in the driveway but Chloe’s is not. Vanessa will be home alone.

Her heart is pounding.

She takes a steadying breath, then knocks on the door.

Joan sees a hand pull back the front window blinds before its owner makes a quick retreat. For a long, agonizing moment, Joan hears only silence. Then, finally, the sound of steps emanates through the wall, and someone opens the door.

Vanessa is there. She is wearing ripped jeans and a stained sweatshirt. Joan is taken aback, she’s used to Vanessa looking so put together.

“I know why you’re here,” Vanessa says. “I’m— I’m sorry that you found out the way you did. You should have heard it from me.”

“I should have heard it from you ten years ago,” Joan responds, her arms still crossed. Vanessa looks away.

“I— I hoped that it would never come up, that you would never have to know,” Vanessa responds. “I wanted to spare you the pain.”

“Spare me the pain?” Joan shoots back, “Which pain were you sparing me from, exactly? Was it the unending doubt and fear that comes from not knowing exactly how I lost the most important person in my life? Or the assumption that it was my fault that my brother was kidnapped and experimented on for years? Maybe the soul crushing guilt that I carry with me every day?”

Vanessa looks up as Joan continues coldly, “Vanessa, you did me no favors by keeping the truth from me.”

Vanessa takes a shaky breath as Joan suddenly realizes something. “Nessie, was this why you started to pull away? After Mark went missing, we started talking less… I thought you were just getting tired of my fixation on finding him. But was it because you knew where he was the whole time?”

“No!” Vanessa cries. “Joan, I swear I didn’t!” Joan raises her eyebrows. “That is,” Vanessa clarifies, “there were times, when there were no leads at all, and… I wondered. I worried that it might be them. But I didn’t know!”

“But you knew when I left the AM,” Joan says. “You knew then what had happened, what you’d done. And still you said nothing.”

“We were barely talking!” Vanessa protests. “You canceled our karaoke nights, my phone calls went unanswered. You were so laser-focused on setting up your practice, and somehow using that to get Mark back and get back at the AM, that you shut yourself away.”

“Yes, I did pull away!” Joan responds. “Because I felt responsible for what happened. I came to the incorrect conclusion that I had to rescue Mark myself because it was my fault he was stuck there. You know what might have helped? If I’d had information that would have helped me to not feel that way, to not feel alone with the secrets and the guilt.” Joan is nearly shouting as she asks, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I think you know why.” Though Vanessa’s face is weary, her voice is still as calm and steady as ever. “I was ashamed.”

--

November 2005 (Sixteen Years Ago)

“Joan, if you keep pacing like that, you’re going to wear a hole in my floor.”

“I’m sorry, I just— Mark. He’s an Atypical! How— how did I never realize? All those years growing up, there must have been so many signs and I—”

“Joan, you didn’t know,” Vanessa soothes her. “You didn’t even know about Atypicals until you met me this year. And, if what we suspect is true, then most of the time there wouldn’t have been signs to pick up on. Mark would have just seemed like a normal kid.”

“But he’s not normal, he never was,” Joan says, a knot in her stomach. She shakes her head, “He’ll never be normal. Oh my God, for the rest of his life he’s going to be different. Vilified for what he is.” Joan’s voice is quickly spiraling into a high pitch that she associates with panic. “How am I going to keep him safe? How do I protect him from this?” As she continues to pace back and forth Joan finds herself thinking, If I was one of my patients, this would be the point when I’d suggest they join me in a breathing exercise. Joan laughs, noticing a hint of mania in her voice.

Suddenly cool, calming hands are on Joan’s shoulders. Hazel green eyes are staring into hers and stopping her in her tracks.

“Joan,” Vanessa says slowly, “Listen to me. We are going to take this one step at a time. We are going to figure out what we know and what we don’t know yet, and then we are going to try to find those answers. But you don’t have to know it all right now. For right now, all that matters is that you’re safe, and your brother is safe, and we’ll go from there, alright?“

Joan nods her head shakily, and then her whole body is shaking and she is sobbing as she collapses into Vanessa’s arms. Vanessa holds her as she gently lowers them both down until they are sitting on the floor. Vanessa telekinetically pulls the box of tissues from across the room, and when Joan’s breathing has begun to steady once again, she silently offers her the box. Joan accepts it with a small laugh.

“I’m sorry. I know you’ve figured out how to live with your ability without it taking over your life, without drawing unwanted attention to yourself. I don’t mean to imply that being Atypical is this terrible thing, because it’s not, I know it’s not.”

“I know,” Vanessa says calmly. “You’re right, I’m proud of who I am and I wouldn’t change it for anything. But, it hasn’t always been easy for me. And your brother, he has an even harder road to go down.”

Joan looks at Vanessa wide-eyed, never before has she felt so terrified, so vulnerable.

“I can’t do this alone,” she whispers.

Vanessa’s eyes are kind and understanding. She takes Joan’s hand and holds it tightly. And when she speaks, Joan feels, for perhaps the first time in her life, like someone is truly taking care of her.

“You won’t have to.”

--

October 2021

“Do you regret it?” Joan suddenly asks. The cold air is finally getting to her, and she would very much like this encounter to be over, so she can go back home where Mark will surely be waiting for her with two cups of hot chocolate.

Vanessa is silent for a moment. Then she says, “Joan, Chloe is my daughter. I did what I thought I had to do to protect my family.”

For a minute, Joan says nothing. She just stares at the woman in front of her, gazing at those hazel green eyes, looking for... she’s not sure what. Is it guilt or understanding that she hopes to find? Maybe she’s just searching for some kind of connection at all. But all she sees are the tired, sad eyes of a woman not all that much older than herself. Joan exhales a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and says one last thing before she turns to go.

“I guess I’d hoped I was your family, too.”