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She wasn’t sure how to keep moving. Which is not something she’d ever expect to say. She's an Olympian, SFD Captain Maya DeLuca-Bishop. She’s always moving.
Or, well… lieutenant now. Lieutenant Maya DeLuca-Bishop.
The word felt foreign in her mind, like a misplaced note in a familiar melody. It echoed in her head every time someone called her by it—reminding her that she wasn’t enough. Not anymore.
It was difficult to find a place again, to find her place again, with 19. The team still welcomed her, still laughed with her, still called her family. But it felt different, as though there was an invisible wall between her and the rest of them now, made of her own shame and regret.
She isn’t quite sure who she is anymore. She’s a wife. She knows that much. She’s Carina’s wife. But… with everything happening lately, she doesn’t feel very worthy of that title.
She feels like a failure. She got demoted. Her wife married a captain. And now she’s a lieutenant.
The words play over and over in her head like a cruel mantra. She knows how to bury emotions. She’s been doing it for years, ever since she was a kid and the only way to survive her father’s relentless perfectionism was to focus on running faster, training harder, pushing past every limit. But burying doesn’t seem to work anymore. The feelings keep bubbling up like magma, threatening to spill over.
So, she isolates herself instead. She spends long hours in the locker room after shifts, pretending to organize her gear when she’s really just sitting there, staring at the wall. She stays in her car for minutes—sometimes hours—after arriving home, trying to convince herself to open the door and step inside. She tries to be alone, hoping to figure out what the emotions mean before they consume her.
But when the silence becomes too loud, when the ache in her chest becomes unbearable, she does the only thing she knows will quiet it. She runs.
The pavement under her feet is the only thing that makes sense. The rhythm of her steps is predictable, dependable. Her body moves without thought, without hesitation. It’s the only time she feels remotely like herself. She doesn’t have to think about being a lieutenant or a wife or a failure. She can just… be.
She runs better on her own. She thinks better on her own, too.
She’s never needed anyone. She’s spent her whole life convincing herself of that. Relying on people was dangerous, weak. It left you open to being let down, or worse, left behind. And now, even though she’s married to someone who loves her unconditionally, she’s not sure she knows how to let Carina in.
Maya’s never been the kind of person to ask for help, and she doesn’t know how to start now.
You say there's so much you don't know
You need to go and find yourself
You say you'd rather be alone
'Cause you think you won't find it tied to someone else
Carina sees it even if Maya thinks she’s hiding it well.
Her wife is struggling.
She sees it in the way Maya hesitates before walking through the door, her keys jingling in her hand as though she’s stalling for just one more second. She sees it in the way Maya’s eyes flicker with doubt when their gazes meet across the kitchen or the living room, as if she’s silently asking, Am I enough?
She hears it in the soft sighs Maya lets out when she thinks no one is listening, the kind that speaks of exhaustion that goes deeper than just a long shift at work.
Her heart aches because she knows Maya is too stubborn to admit it, too scared to show it. Her wife has always carried the world on her shoulders as though it was hers alone to bear, as though asking for help was a sign of weakness instead of trust.
But Carina knows her wife. She knows where this comes from—the walls Maya had to build to survive her childhood, the independence that was forced on her long before she was ready. She knows how deeply rooted those lessons are: that needing help is a failure, that leaning on someone is dangerous.
Carina knows Maya struggles with accepting help. But she also knows Maya is capable of growth.
She’s seen it before. She’s watched her wife peel back those layers of pain and fear, little by little, to let love in. She’s seen Maya learn to trust her, to open up even when it was terrifying.
And she knows they can do it again.
Ooh, who said it's true
That the growing only happens on your own?
They don't know me and you.
The words float in Carina’s mind as she watches Maya lace up her running shoes by the door, her movements brisk and deliberate, almost like a shield. Carina knows this is how Maya copes, how she thinks best, but she also knows it’s not enough. Running won’t quiet the doubts.
“Maya,” Carina says softly, and her wife pauses, looking up at her with guarded eyes.
“Yeah?” Maya’s voice is casual, but Carina can hear the undercurrent of tension.
Carina takes a step closer, kneeling down so they’re at eye level. She rests her hands gently on Maya’s knees, her thumbs brushing small circles on the fabric of her leggings.
“You don’t have to figure it all out by yourself,” Carina whispers. “You don’t have to run alone.”
Maya swallows, her throat bobbing as her defences flicker. “I’m fine,” she says, but the words sound hollow, and Carina can see the cracks in the armour.
“No, you’re not.” Carina’s voice is firm but laced with tenderness. “And that’s okay. You don’t have to be fine all the time. I’m here, amore. I’m here for all of it. The good, the bad, the in-between. We grow together, remember?”
Maya’s eyes glisten as she looks away, her jaw tightening. Carina waits, her hands steady and her gaze unwavering. She knows this isn’t easy for Maya, but she also knows it’s worth it.
After a long moment, Maya exhales shakily and looks back at her. “I don’t know how to let you in right now,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper.
Carina smiles softly, her heart swelling with love. “That’s okay,” she says. “Just start here.” She presses a hand gently to Maya’s chest, right over her heart. “With me. We don’t have to figure it all out today. We just have to start. One step at a time, amore. We’ll figure it out, together.”
Maya blinks back tears, her walls crumbling further. She doesn’t pull away this time when Carina steps closer, wrapping her arms around her in a firm, grounding embrace. Maya’s head dips, resting against Carina’s shoulder, and for a moment, neither of them says anything.
Maya nods slowly, her walls starting to crumble just a little. And for the first time in weeks, Carina sees a flicker of something in her wife’s eyes.
Hope.
Carina hums the thought to herself as she holds her wife, feeling Maya’s breath slowly steady against her.
“You’re not alone, Maya,” she whispers, her lips brushing against Maya’s temple. “You’ve never been alone, even when you thought you were. And you never will be, as long as I’m here.”
Maya nods against her, her voice muffled. “I’m scared, Carina. I’m scared I’m not enough.”
Carina pulls back just enough to cup Maya’s face, her thumbs gently brushing away the tears that have escaped. “You are more than enough, amore. You always have been. And when you feel like you’re not, I will remind you. Every single day.”
Maya closes her eyes, leaning into the touch. For the first time in weeks, she feels the weight on her chest start to lift, just a little.
Carina presses a soft kiss to her forehead. “We’ll take it slow,” she says, her voice full of love. “We’ll grow as we go.”
And for the first time in a long time, Maya believes her.
I don't think you have to leave
If to change is what you need
You can change right next to me
When you're high, I'll take the lows
You can ebb and I can flow
And we'll take it slow
And grow as we go
Grow as we go
Maya won’t be alone in learning.
Carina knows this isn’t just about her wife’s growth—this is about both of them. She’s not naive; she’s carried her own wounds, her own scars. Not all trauma is something you can process neatly and pack away. Some of it lingers, reshaping the way you see the world, the way you move through it.
She’s still learning, too.
Sometimes, that thought is overwhelming. But when she looks at Maya—her wife, her partner, her safe place—it feels less daunting. Together, they’re navigating uncharted waters. Together, they’ll figure it out.
Maya sits on the edge of their bed, her head in her hands, her breathing shallow. Carina watches from the doorway for a moment, giving her wife the space to collect herself but ready to step in when the weight looks like it might crush her.
Slowly, Carina approaches, her steps light but purposeful. She kneels in front of Maya, resting a gentle hand on her knee.
“Maya,” she says softly, her voice like a warm embrace.
Maya lifts her head, her eyes rimmed red but no tears falling yet. “I don’t know how to do this,” she whispers. Her voice cracks on the words, raw with vulnerability.
Carina doesn’t flinch. She cups Maya’s face with both hands, her thumbs brushing softly over her cheekbones. “It’s okay to be afraid, bambina,” she murmurs, her tone steady and full of love.
Maya lets out a shaky breath, her walls faltering. “I don’t even know what to expect,” she admits, her voice barely audible.
Carina smiles gently, her gaze unwavering. “Me neither,” she says. “But you know what I do know?”
Maya blinks at her, waiting.
“I know I’m right here with you,” Carina continues. “Every twist and turn, I’m right here. I’ve got you.”
Maya exhales deeply, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. “How do you do that?” she asks, her voice tinged with wonder.
“Do what?” Carina tilts her head, her dark eyes glinting with curiosity.
“Make everything feel… less impossible,” Maya replies, her lips quirking in the faintest smile.
Carina chuckles softly, the sound like a melody. “That’s love, amore,” she says. “You make things feel less impossible for me, too.”
Maya’s brows knit together in confusion. “But you’re so... strong, so sure of yourself. You always know what to do.”
Carina shakes her head, her expression softening. “No, I don’t. I’m still figuring it out too. I’ve got things I’m afraid of, things I don’t know how to face. But the difference is, I have you. And you have me. That’s how we’ll learn. Together."
Maya reaches for Carina’s hands, holding them tightly as though anchoring herself. “I’m scared,” she says, her voice trembling but honest.
Carina leans in, pressing her forehead to Maya’s. “It’s okay to be scared,” she whispers. “Fear doesn’t mean we can’t do this. It just means we care.”
Maya closes her eyes, taking in Carina’s warmth, her steady presence. For the first time in days, she feels the knots in her chest loosen, the weight on her heart lift ever so slightly.
“I’ll try,” Maya says softly, her voice fragile but resolute.
Carina smiles, her lips brushing against Maya’s. “That’s all we need, amore. Just try. I’ll be right here, no matter what.”
And as they sit there, hands intertwined, hearts beating in sync, they know they’re not alone. They’re unfinished, still learning, but they’re learning together.
Through every twist and turn, they’ll grow as they go.
You won't be the only one.
I am unfinished; I've got so much left to learn.
I don't know how this river runs,
But I'd like the company through every twist and turn.
Maya knows, logically, that she doesn’t have to do this alone. She’s told herself that a hundred times. She’s been there for others—her wife, her team at the station, her friends, even strangers in the middle of emergencies. Why shouldn’t others, especially her wife, be there for her?
But knowing it and accepting it are two very different things.
It’s hard to let go of the mindset she’s carried for so long—the one that says she’s supposed to handle everything herself. She’s the one people depend on, the one who keeps it together when things fall apart. She’s the Olympian, the firefighter, the woman who has fought tooth and nail for every bit of success she’s achieved.
Dependence has always felt like weakness. At least, that’s what she was taught.
And yet...
Maya exhales shakily, leaning back against the couch as those thoughts swirl in her mind. She glances toward the kitchen, where Carina is humming softly as she stirs something on the stove. The scent of herbs and garlic fills the air, wrapping around Maya like an invisible embrace.
Everything is so much better with her wife.
The thought tugs at her, both comforting and unsettling. Why would she doubt that? Why would she ever think she couldn’t lean on Carina, find comfort in her, feel safe in her arms?
Maya presses her palms against her face, groaning softly. She hates how her mind wages war with itself, how years of ingrained beliefs still whisper to her that she should stand on her own, even when every fiber of her being longs for the safety and love that Carina offers so freely.
Carina’s voice pulls Maya out of her thoughts. “Amore?”
Maya lowers her hands, looking up to see Carina standing in the doorway, a dish towel slung over her shoulder, concern etched into her features.
“Yeah?” Maya croaks, her voice rough.
Carina crosses the room and sits down beside her, tucking one leg under the other. “You’ve been quiet all evening. What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?”
Maya hesitates, her instincts telling her to brush it off, to say she’s fine. But the warmth in Carina’s eyes, the gentle way she reaches out to rest a hand on Maya’s knee and the memories of the days before, in the hallway and bedroom, the way Carina was so understanding and loving—it’s enough to crack her defenses.
“I just...” Maya trails off, searching for the right words. “I don’t know how to let go of this idea that I have to do everything on my own. It’s stupid, I know, but—”
“It’s not stupid,” Carina interjects softly. “It’s how you’ve survived for so long, amore. But survival isn’t the same as living.”
Maya’s breath catches in her throat. Carina always knows exactly what to say, how to cut through the noise in her head.
“I want to let you in,” Maya admits, her voice trembling. “I just... don’t always know how.”
Carina smiles, a soft, patient smile that makes Maya’s chest ache in the best way. “You’re already letting me in,” she says, sliding her hand up to lace her fingers with Maya’s. “Every time you share a piece of yourself with me, every time you let me hold you or comfort you—you’re letting me in.”
Maya swallows hard, her eyes stinging. “It’s just... hard to unlearn.”
“I know,” Carina whispers. “But we don’t have to do it all at once. We grow together, remember? Little by little, step by step.”
Maya leans into Carina, resting her head on her wife’s shoulder. She feels the tension in her body start to ease, the knot in her chest loosening as Carina’s hand strokes her back in slow, soothing circles.
“I love you,” Maya murmurs, her voice barely audible.
“I love you, too,” Carina replies, pressing a kiss to the top of Maya’s head. “And I’m not going anywhere. No matter how long it takes, I’m right here, amore.”
And in that moment, Maya believes her.
Ooh, who said it's true
That the growing only happens on your own?
They don’t know me and you.
Maya stands in the kitchen, her hands gripping the counter as she stares blankly at the coffee maker. The morning light filters through the windows, casting a soft glow over everything. But inside, Maya feels like she's in the dark.
She’s never felt this lost. Not since she was a probie, not since those early days when she had no idea what she was doing. But now... now, everything feels heavy. She wasn’t supposed to be here. She wasn’t supposed to be struggling with this, with her demotion, with the shift in her life that feels so out of control.
She’s used to being in charge, used to being strong. But right now, it feels like the ground is slipping away from beneath her feet, and no matter how hard she tries to steady herself, she keeps falling.
The sound of footsteps behind her breaks through the haze of her thoughts, and before she can turn around, Carina’s hand is on her shoulder. Warm and comforting, grounding her in the present.
“Maya,” Carina says softly, her voice gentle but filled with concern. “You’ve been standing here for a while. Are you okay?”
Maya doesn’t answer right away. She’s not sure she can do it without breaking down. So she just stands there, her chest tight, her thoughts a whirlwind.
Carina steps closer, her presence like a calm in the storm. She presses her body against Maya’s side, her hand sliding down to rest against Maya’s back, just beneath her shoulder blades. “Talk to me, amore. What's going on?”
Maya exhales, the sound heavy with frustration and weariness. “Everything feels… wrong. I’m not who I thought I was anymore.”
Carina doesn’t say anything at first. She just holds her, the gentle pressure of her touch a reminder that Maya isn’t alone, even when it feels like the world is caving in around her.
“You don’t have to figure it out alone,” Carina whispers, her breath warm against Maya’s ear. “I’m right here with you, every step of the way. You don’t have to be perfect, and you don’t have to be strong all the time. I’ve got you.”
Maya swallows hard, the tightness in her chest making it hard to breathe. “I’m supposed to be strong, Carina. I was supposed to be the one who had it all together. And now… I’m not.”
Carina turns Maya in her arms so they’re facing each other, her hands cupping Maya’s face with a tenderness that Maya doesn’t know how to process right now. “You don’t have to do this alone. If to change is what you need, if to grow means you need time—then I’m right here. You don’t have to do it by yourself.”
Maya looks down at the floor for a moment, feeling the weight of her failure, the sting of self-doubt. But Carina’s hands on her face, the warmth of her touch, the promise in her eyes—they pull her back from the edge.
“You’ve been there for me,” Carina says quietly, “through everything. You’ve held me up when I was falling apart. Now it’s my turn to hold you.”
Maya’s heart aches at the honesty in Carina’s words, and she finally lets the tears come. Silent at first, then streaming down her face, the weight of everything she’s been holding in for so long spilling out.
Carina pulls her into a tight embrace, letting Maya bury her face in her shoulder. “You won’t be alone in this,” Carina whispers. “When you’re high, I’ll take the lows. When you’re strong, I’ll be here to cheer you on. And when you’re struggling, I’ll carry the weight until you’re ready to stand again. We’re in this together.”
Maya’s hands clutch Carina’s shirt, her body trembling with the release of everything she’s been holding in. “What if I can’t do it? What if I’m not enough anymore?” Maya admits, her voice muffled by Carina’s shoulder.
Carina pulls back just enough to look her in the eye, her gaze unwavering. “You are enough, Maya. You’re more than enough. And it’s okay if you’re not okay right now. You don’t have to have all the answers. You’ve got time, I'm right here with you.”
Maya swallows a lump in her throat. “You’re not going anywhere?”
Carina shakes her head with a soft smile. “Never. I’m right here. And we’ll take it slow, step by step. Together.”
Maya takes a deep breath, letting the weight on her chest lift just a little. She’s not fixed yet, not by a long shot, but with Carina by her side, she knows she doesn’t have to be.
You don't ever have to leave
If to change is what you need
You can change right next to me
When you're high, I'll take the lows
You can ebb and I can flow
And we'll take it slow
And grow as we go
Maya stands in the doorway, a nervous tension running through her, her hands fiddling with the hem of her shirt. She’s been resisting this for weeks—this idea of talking to someone about everything she’s been carrying. She doesn’t want to admit she needs help, doesn’t want to feel vulnerable. But today, she took the first step. She made the appointment.
Carina watches her, her eyes soft with understanding. “You’re doing the right thing, Maya,” she says gently, stepping closer. “You don’t have to do this alone. I’m proud of you.”
Maya hesitates for a moment, unsure how to respond, but the sincerity in Carina’s voice makes her heart swell. “I don’t feel strong, Carina. I feel weak. Like I’m giving up or something.”
Carina shakes her head, placing a hand on her shoulder. “No, you’re not. Asking for help takes strength. It’s not a weakness to admit that you need someone. I’m so proud of you for taking this step.”
Maya looks up at her wife, a flicker of relief in her eyes. The tension that had been there is starting to fade, and she feels a little lighter. “I don’t know if I can do it, but… I’m willing to try.”
Carina smiles, pulling her into a hug. “That’s all anyone can ask for. We’ll take it one step at a time, okay? You’re not alone in this.”
Maya nods, feeling a surge of gratitude for the woman beside her, the woman who’s always had her back, no matter what.
Grow as we go
Grow as we go
Grow as we go
Maya and Carina sit on the couch, the soft glow of the evening sun filtering through the windows. The room is peaceful, but there’s a quiet undercurrent of uncertainty between them. There’s no clear path ahead, no guarantees. But there’s something in the air—an unspoken understanding that whatever comes next, they’ll face it side by side.
Carina turns to Maya, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I don’t know what’s coming, Maya. I don’t know who we’ll become, or where life will take us. But I do know one thing.”
Maya looks at her, her heart open, her expression calm but filled with a gentle curiosity. “What’s that?”
Carina places a hand over Maya’s, her touch steady and warm. “I know that we’re in this together. I know that however we grow, however we change, we’ll do it side by side. And when it’s all said and done, we’ll look back and see how far we’ve come—and we’ll know it was worth it. Because we did it together.”
Maya feels a surge of something in her chest—hope, love, relief. It’s that feeling you get when you know you’re not alone, even in the unknown. She smiles back, squeezing Carina’s hand. “You’re right. We don’t have to have everything figured out right now. But we’ll figure it out. Together.”
Carina’s smile widens, and Maya feels that familiar sense of peace settle over her. It’s the kind of peace that comes from knowing they’ve got each other, no matter what twists and turns come their way. Whatever the future holds, they’ll meet it together, growing as they go.
I don't know who we'll become
I can't promise it's not written in the stars
But I believe that when it's done
We're gonna see that it was better
That we grew up together
Carina sits on the edge of the bed, her fingers tracing the edges of an old photo album. It’s been a long day, one filled with meetings, patients, and the relentless pull of responsibility. It’s been a long and overwhelming day, and she’s not sure she’s ready for it.
She’s not sure she’s ever going to be ready for it.
Maya enters the room, freshly showered, her hair still damp. She pauses when she sees Carina sitting there, the quiet weight of something unspoken hanging between them. Her instincts flare—something’s wrong.
“Love?” Maya’s voice is soft but firm, like a question wrapped in concern. “What’s going on?”
Carina hesitates, her fingers stilling over the pages. She looks up at Maya, forcing a smile. “Just… a lot on my mind. A lot is happening.”
Maya walks over and sits next to her on the bed, her presence solid and reassuring. “Change can be hard,” she says quietly. “But you don’t have to go through it alone.” She places her hand on Carina’s, gentle and steady. “You’re the one always reminding me of that, let me be here for you too.”
Carina sighs, the weight of it all pressing down on her. “I don’t even know where to start, Maya. Everything feels like it’s moving so fast, and I’m just trying to keep up. What if I can’t?” Her voice wavers, and she looks away, ashamed of the vulnerability she’s letting slip through.
Maya watches her, her heart aching at the sight. “You don’t have to do it all on your own, Carina,” she says, her voice steady and calm. “If figuring it out is what you need, you don’t have to do that by yourself.” She moves closer, her hand resting on Carina’s cheek, tilting her face to meet her gaze. “I’m right here. Always.”
Carina’s breath catches in her throat as she meets Maya’s eyes, those deep brown eyes that have seen her at her best and her worst and never once flinched. “I don’t want to drag you down with me,” Carina whispers. “You have your own struggles…”
Maya’s thumb brushes gently across Carina’s jaw, silencing her fears. “When you’re high, I’ll take the lows,” Maya murmurs, her voice laced with the quiet promise of support. “When you’re strong, I’ll stand with you. When you need help, I’ll be your anchor. And if you fall, I’ll catch you.”
Carina’s chest tightens, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. She hadn’t realized how much she needed to hear those words. She hadn’t realized how much she needed to hear Maya remind her that it was okay to lean on her.
“I’m scared,” Carina admits in a small voice. “Scared that I’ll change and lose myself in the process. Scared that I’ll lose you.”
Maya’s smile is soft, unwavering. “You won’t lose me. You never will. We’re both changing, Carina. But we’re growing together. And we’ll take it slow.” Her hand slides down to hold Carina’s, the warmth of her touch grounding them both. “We’re not running from change. We’re walking into it—together.”
Carina inhales, her heart swelling with love for the woman beside her. She finally allows herself to lean into Maya, her head resting against her shoulder. “Thank you,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. “For being here.”
“Always,” Maya whispers back, wrapping her arms around Carina, holding her close. “We grow as we go.”
Tell me you don't wanna leave
'Cause if change is what you need
You can change right next to me
When you're high, I'll take the lows
You can ebb and I can flow
We'll take it slow
And grow as we go
Carina stands by the window, her arms crossed as she gazes out at the city. Maya can see the weight in her posture, the quiet struggle she’s been hiding. Carina has always been the strong one, the one who takes care of others. But Maya knows there’s been a shift lately—Carina’s been carrying a lot, and she’s been reluctant to ask for help.
Maya approaches her gently, placing a hand on Carina’s arm. “Hey,” she says softly. “I know you’ve been dealing with a lot, and it’s okay to not have all the answers. You don’t have to do this alone.”
Carina looks over at her, her eyes hesitant but open. “I’ve been thinking about calling someone… to talk. But I don’t know if I’m ready. It feels like admitting I’m not okay.”
Maya smiles softly, pride swelling in her chest. “It’s not a weakness to ask for help, Carina. It’s a strength. I’m so proud of you for considering it. You deserve to have someone listen, just like I do. We’re both allowed to need help.”
Carina smiles back, the vulnerability on her face easing. “I’ve never been good at this. But you’re right. Maybe it’s time.”
Maya steps closer, brushing a hand through Carina’s hair. “You’re doing great, baby. You’re allowed to grow, to heal, and I’ll be right here by your side.”
Carina leans into her, her shoulders relaxing as the weight she’s been carrying feels a little lighter. “Thank you,” she whispers, a quiet relief in her voice.
“You don’t have to thank me,” Maya replies. “I’m proud of you. And I’ll be here every step of the way.”
Grow as we go
Grow as we go
Grow as we go