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Chapter Text

📘 Chapter 1 – Bonjour, Littleton

It all started out fine—too fine, even.

The late August sun was just beginning to fade behind the narrow horizon of Littleton, Massachusetts as the train pulled into the modest station. The air buzzed with a sleepy, small-town calm. Birds chirped in the maple trees, wind tickled hanging flower baskets, and crickets started their evening rhythm. It smelled faintly of pine and cinnamon, like the town itself had been tucked inside a handmade sachet.

Louis Dupain-Cheng Agreste stepped off the train with a suitcase in one hand and a duffel bag slung over the other shoulder. His black boots crunched against the gravel path as he took in the sight before him—rows of brick buildings, an ice cream stand still open, a bike shop with its door propped ajar.

It was different from Paris. Very different.

Still, it felt... peaceful.

“Louis!” a voice called out.

He turned toward the sound and spotted a smiling middle-aged woman with a camera bag and warm brown curls pulled into a messy bun. Beside her stood a lanky man with wire-rim glasses and a tucked-in shirt that looked two sizes too big. And between them—

A girl.

Blonde. Around his age. Holding a bright purple welcome sign with bubble letters that read “Bienvenue, Louis!” decorated with stickers, glitter, and one precariously attached googly eye.

She grinned wide enough to rival the horizon. “Hi! I’m Polly!”

He raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking. “You made this?”

“I had help,” she admitted, laughing as the sign drooped. “But yes.”

“Impressive,” he said, with a polite nod. “I’m Louis. It’s nice to meet you.”

He extended a hand.

She took it—firm grip, surprisingly strong. “Let’s get you outta this train station. You’ve got a whole American high school to survive.”

Behind her, the woman smiled warmly. “I’m Pamela Pocket, Polly’s mom. And this is Peter, my husband. We’re so happy you’re here.”

“Merci,” Louis said automatically. “I’m happy to be here.”

He wasn’t lying. Exactly.

Just... not telling the full truth either.

The ride back to the Pocket house was filled with questions—nothing invasive, just the usual “what do you like to eat?”, “do you have siblings?”, and “what do you want to get out of your year abroad?”

Louis gave safe answers. He talked about his love for fencing and photography. He said he was excited to experience the U.S. school system (not a complete lie). He smiled when Polly asked if Paris really did have the best croissants and nodded solemnly when Pamela reminded him their family dinners could get “a little loud.”

But inside, a strange tension curled around his ribs.

He had a secret. Several, actually.

And something about Polly’s bright curiosity made him feel like he was standing under a spotlight.

The Pocket house wasn’t large, but it was lively. Cozy. The walls were full of family photos and framed crayon art. A chubby dog named Peaches barked excitedly before tumbling over herself to greet him. Upstairs, Polly showed him the guest room, which smelled faintly of lavender and was decorated with glow-in-the-dark stars.

That night, over spaghetti and salad, Pamela asked Louis about his parents.

“They’re designers,” he said. “They run a fashion house in Paris.”

“Like, real designers?” Polly’s eyes widened. “That’s so cool. Are they famous?”

“Some people know them,” Louis said, keeping his voice neutral.

He didn’t mention their names. He never did if he could help it.

After dinner, Polly offered to walk with him to the backyard, where the late summer fireflies flickered lazily under a pale moon.

“Your accent’s not super strong,” she said as they walked along the gravel path. “Most exchange students I’ve met sound way more... I don’t know. French.”

He gave a half-smile. “I was raised bilingual.”

“Well, you’re lucky. I’ve been trying to learn French for like... ever.”

“Say something.”

She blinked. “Like what?”

“Anything. I’ll tell you how bad it is.”

She laughed. “Okay. Uhh... Je suis une... banane?”

Louis snorted. “You just told me you’re a banana.”

“Well,” she shrugged, “I do like potassium.”

They both laughed. The air between them lightened.

They walked until they reached a small bench near the back fence. The trees swayed gently. Louis looked up at the stars.

Polly followed his gaze. “We don’t have an Eiffel Tower or anything fancy, but we’ve got space and sky.”

“I like it,” he said quietly. “It’s... quieter than Paris.”

“Quieter’s good,” Polly said. “Especially when you’ve got secrets.”

Louis glanced at her then. “You mean...?”

She grinned again—wide, knowing, a little mischievous. “Let’s just say... Littleton might surprise you.”

Before he could respond, she stood up and dusted off her jeans. “You’ll see soon.”

The next morning, Louis stepped into Littleton Junior High with a fresh backpack and a dozen eyes on him.

Being new was one thing. Being from Paris was another.

Polly, ever the social meteor, helped soften the blow. She introduced him to nearly everyone, including her two best friends: a fashionable redhead with bold eyeliner named Lila Draper, and a calm, soft-spoken girl with wireframe glasses named Shani Smith.

“Lila’s our trend expert,” Polly explained, “and Shani is basically a genius.”

Shani offered a small nod. “Don’t believe her. I just like science.”

“Did she tell you she built a secret hot tub?” Lila added, elbowing her.

“Lila!”

Louis raised a brow. “Wait, is that true?”

Shani sighed. “Technically yes, but it’s not a hot tub hot tub—it’s a thermal steam bath using geothermal principles I learned from an online course.”

“She’s humble,” Polly whispered.

Louis found himself smiling again.

They made an odd group, but they felt... real. Not fake, not performative. Just genuine.

That afternoon, the four of them hung out at Polly’s house, sharing snacks and trading stories. Polly told them how she once got stuck in a treehouse while tiny (whatever that meant), and Louis shared a sanitized version of how he once accidentally set off a museum alarm in Paris.

They laughed, teased, and took selfies with Peaches the dog until the sun began to set.

And just before he left, Polly nudged his shoulder and whispered:

“Tomorrow. I’ll show you something... magical.”

The next morning came early.

Louis had barely adjusted to the time zone. His body felt like it was still stuck in Paris traffic, and his brain hadn’t quite accepted that school started at 7:25 A.M. in Littleton. He stood in front of the mirror in his guest bathroom, trying to get his hair to fall into something resembling effortless cool—not that he cared. Not really. But the guy in the mirror looked like he was trying to be okay. That was enough.

Downstairs, Pamela had made waffles. Polly, already halfway through hers, gave him a sleepy wave with her fork.

“First full day. You ready?” she asked through a mouthful.

“Sure,” he said, grabbing a plate. “As ready as a sleep-deprived exchange student can be.”

“Eat up. You’ll need your strength.” She winked. “Today might get interesting.”

By second period, Louis was starting to realize just how different American middle school was.

The classrooms were brighter. The teachers more casual. There were more posters on the walls—some about kindness, others about the solar system, one awkwardly positioned above the pencil sharpener that read NO BULLYING ALLOWED. Most of the kids wore jeans and sneakers. One wore a Pikachu hoodie with pride. Another passed Louis in the hall and whispered “bonjour” with an exaggerated French accent.

He didn’t correct him.

He also didn’t miss the way Polly smiled at everyone as they walked, like she carried sunlight in her back pocket. She wasn’t just popular—she was known. Loved, even. Not in a shallow way, but the kind people noticed.

She walked him to lunch, where Shani and Lila were already seated near the courtyard windows, splitting a container of strawberries.

“Tell him the weird thing about Tuesdays,” Polly said, sliding into her seat.

“Don’t say it,” Lila warned.

Shani lifted an eyebrow. “You mean the cafeteria chili?”

Polly grinned. “Yes. Never eat the chili.”

Louis stared at his tray. “So... this?”

“Poison,” all three girls said in unison.

He slid it aside.

Lunch passed in a breeze. They talked about weekend plans, the upcoming school dance, a new sci-fi show Shani was binging. Louis found himself listening more than speaking—not out of shyness, but because it felt rare to watch people talk like this. Honest. Comfortable. Unfiltered.

In Paris, everything was... filtered. Measured. Especially for him.

Here, it was just kids being kids. For now.

That night, Louis sat by the window in his guest room, legs folded underneath him, a spiral-bound sketchbook in his lap. He hadn’t drawn in weeks. Maybe longer. He tried sketching Polly, but her smile was hard to pin down. It wasn’t just lips and teeth—it was movement. Energy. A spark that flickered before every idea, every joke, every surprise.

He gave up on the face and started sketching Peaches instead.

There was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” he called.

Polly peeked in, barefoot and wrapped in a big hoodie. “You busy?”

“No.”

She stepped inside and shut the door gently. “I figured we could talk.”

Louis tilted his head. “About?”

She leaned against the edge of the bed, arms crossed. “You asked me earlier what I meant about surprises.”

“I remember.”

“Well...” She paused, then smirked slightly. “What would you say if I told you magic was real?”

Louis blinked. “I’d say you either believe in fairy tales... or you’re testing me.”

Polly gave a tiny nod. “Fair enough.”

“I mean, I’ve seen... unusual things,” he said carefully. “Paris has its moments.”

“Oh? Like what?”

He hesitated. “Let’s just say... I’m good at keeping secrets.”

For the first time, Polly looked serious. Like something important was behind her usual sparkle.

“Okay,” she said. “Then maybe... tomorrow after school. I’ll show you something.”

He held her gaze. “Magic?”

“Sort of.” She smiled faintly. “You’ll have to see it to believe it.”

In the morning, Louis noticed something small but odd.

The locket.

It hung around Polly’s neck, silver with a tiny heart etched into its center. Nothing extravagant. But he could’ve sworn it wasn’t there yesterday.

She wore it tucked under her shirt like a habit. Like it had weight. Like it wasn’t jewelry, but armor.

He didn’t ask about it.

Not yet.

The school day blurred by, though Polly seemed distracted. Shani noticed first and gave her a quiet look. Polly shrugged it off, whispering something about “a surprise later” under her breath.

“Surprises?” Lila asked, sipping a smoothie. “Polly, last time you said that, we ended up in a canoe with three raccoons.”

“Hey, they needed help crossing the pond!”

“Sure, but one of them stole my lip gloss.”

Louis tried not to laugh but failed.

After the final bell, Polly waited by the lockers, bouncing slightly on her heels. “You ready?” she asked Louis.

“Always.”

They took the long way home—through the woods behind the school, past a rusted-out tire swing and an old stone well. Polly didn’t speak much. Neither did he. The air was cool and smelled faintly of cedar and damp leaves.

Finally, she stopped in front of a mossy tree stump.

“I need you to promise something,” she said.

Louis tilted his head. “Okay.”

“Whatever you see—you don’t tell anyone.”

He nodded slowly. “I already said I’m good at secrets.”

She gave him a sharp look. “Even from your parents?”

His throat tightened. “Especially from them.”

Polly took a breath. Reached into her hoodie pocket. Pulled out the locket.

Then, in one smooth motion, she opened it—click.

A warm, violet light spilled out. There was no flash, no dramatic explosion. Just a hum. A shimmering glow. A pulse of energy like a heartbeat from the center of the world.

And then—

The world stretched.

Everything around them ballooned in size. The leaves turned into walls. Twigs became tree trunks. Ants scurried by, suddenly massive. The tree stump they stood by now towered like a fortress.

Polly Pocket and Louis Agreste were now four inches tall.

Louis blinked. Once. Twice.

His eyes darted from Polly to his surroundings, trying to make sense of what had just happened. The stump beside them now towered overhead like a gothic castle, casting long shadows across the moss. The grass swayed above them like jungle vines, and even a ladybug buzzing nearby sounded like a motorcycle.

He turned to Polly, whose hoodie now hung awkwardly on her tiny shoulders.

“What just happened?” he asked, in a voice higher and smaller than he expected.

Polly grinned. “Welcome to my world.”

“I’m dreaming,” Louis said. “I fell asleep on the bus. Or I’m hallucinating. There’s no way we’re actually—”

“Four inches tall? We are.” Polly stepped across a pebble the size of a dinner plate. “It’s real. It’s weird. And it’s kinda awesome.”

She started walking, motioning for him to follow. “Come on. You haven’t really seen Littleton until you’ve seen it like this.”

Still dazed, Louis followed. Each step made his legs ache slightly differently—like gravity had shifted. Polly moved confidently, navigating the oversized terrain with ease. She pushed aside a blade of grass like it was a curtain and revealed a narrow tunnel made of leaves and twigs.

“What is this?” he asked, still spinning.

“One of my shortcut trails. Leads straight to my backyard. Took Shani and me a month to build it.”

Louis stared at the leaf-covered path. “You built a... micro-highway?”

“Yep. And that’s just the start.”

The journey through Polly’s “tiny town” was something out of a fantasy novel. Polly led Louis beneath a bent dandelion she called “the umbrella tree,” across a pencil-bridge made of popsicle sticks and glue, and through an old birdhouse she had converted into a kind of hideout—complete with scraps of paper and glitter tape for wallpaper.

At one point, she tugged his arm and pointed to a tiny plastic Jeep parked beside a stack of marbles.

“Shani made it. Remote-controlled. We use it to haul Peaches’ snacks when we’re small.”

“You do this often?” he asked, wide-eyed.

“Pretty much daily.”

“And no one knows?”

She shook her head. “Just Shani and Lila. And now... you.”

Louis exhaled slowly, processing everything.

The surrealness of it all. The absurdity.

But also—how calm she was.

Confident. Capable.

He’d met other girls before—some from school, some from high-profile galas his parents dragged him to. But none like Polly.

None who showed him a glowing locket and shrunk him down to the size of a toy without flinching.

None who laughed as they balanced on a pine needle bridge over a garden stream, teasing him when he stumbled.

None who kept secrets as heavy as magic without being crushed by them.

They stopped at a resting point under a cluster of mushrooms that looked like umbrellas, catching their breath.

“Okay,” Louis finally said, brushing moss from his pants. “So... that locket. What is it, exactly?”

“It belonged to my grandma. Penelope. She passed it on to me a couple years ago,” Polly said, voice softening. “It lets me shrink. And whoever I’m holding onto when I open it... shrinks too.”

“And the light?”

“Pockite energy,” she explained. “It’s ancient, but it lives in the crystal inside the locket. There’s more to it—Shani could go into the science—but basically, it works because I believe it should.”

Louis tilted his head. “That sounds... dangerous.”

“It can be.” Her eyes met his. “That’s why I don’t tell people.”

He paused. “So why tell me?”

Polly hesitated. Then: “I don’t know. You just... felt like someone who’d understand.”

He stared at her for a long second. Something shifted in his chest.

A small truth—not loud, not huge, but quietly meaningful—settled inside him.

“I do,” he said. “I do understand.”

She smiled then. Genuinely. No mischief. No mask.

“Good.”

As the sun began to dip, casting long shadows across Polly’s backyard, they stood beneath the birdbath, now enormous above them. She pulled the locket from under her hoodie and held it between them.

“You ready to go back?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yeah. But... I don’t think I’ll ever see the world the same way again.”

With a soft laugh, she opened the locket.

Click.

In a flash of violet, they grew back to normal size. The world shrank around them.

Louis stumbled slightly but caught himself.

“Still standing,” he muttered.

Polly gave him a quick thumbs-up.

They didn’t say much as they walked inside. Pamela was finishing dinner. Peaches barked twice and then flopped onto the rug, satisfied.

At the dinner table, Polly kept stealing glances at Louis.

He caught her once.

She didn’t look away.

That night, as Louis lay in bed, he stared at the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling.

He’d come to Littleton thinking he’d just be an ordinary student for a year.

Low profile. New country. A break from the legacy that haunted his name in Paris.

Instead, by Day Two, he’d been shrunk, befriended by a girl with magic in her necklace, and trusted with a secret heavier than most people could carry.

And somehow... he didn’t feel afraid.

He felt alive.

Chapter Text

📘 Chapter 2 – Pocket Secrets

The morning after Louis’s first tiny adventure, he woke to the soft chirp of his phone’s alarm. Sunlight filtered through his curtains—no glow of violet magic to blur the edges. For a moment, he wondered if he hadn’t dreamed it all.

Then he saw it: a single blade of grass on his windowsill, impossibly large. A scrap of moss still clung to his sleeve.

He sat up with a shaky grin. The magic was real.

Downstairs, the Pocket kitchen buzzed with morning activity. Pamela hummed as she poured cereal; Peter scrolled through his tablet; Polly bounded in with a mug of hot chocolate—wholly awake at 6:45 A.M.

Louis followed her to the table. She set down his usual—toast with jelly—and slid into the seat opposite him.

“Thought you might want a minute to process last night,” she said, voice low.

He offered a half-smile. “Processing.”

She tapped her locket twice, almost ritualistically. “I figured we should go over some rules.”

He leaned forward. “Rules?”

She nodded, serious now. “Pocket Protocol. Number One: No shrinking inside the house. We could break something.” She tapped a spoon against her mug. “Number Two: Always bring a snack. It’s easy to get stuck. Number Three...”

She glanced at him, uncertain. He waited.

“Promise me you won’t tell anyone. Ever.” Her gaze was intense. “Not your parents. Not your friends in Paris. Not anyone.”

He met her eyes. “I promise.”

She exhaled, relief-softened. “Good.”

After breakfast, they walked toward town. The air was cool—early autumn brushing in. Polly explained as they went.

“The locket belonged to Prudence Pocket—my great-great-great-grandmother, founder of Littleton. She discovered the first Pockite crystals back in the 1800s. Green for teleportation, red for communication, purple for shrinking. But she kept the purple one—the Pocket Locket—because she thought it was too powerful.”

Louis listened, fascinated. He pictured Prudence as a pioneer woman, clutching a glowing locket.

“Over the years, the locket passed down through generations. Grandma Penelope used it during World War II to deliver secret messages by shrinking inside the supply crates.” Polly’s eyes gleamed. “True story.”

“No way,” Louis said, half-laughing.

“But way.” She pointed at the municipal fountain. “See that plaque? Says ‘In honor of Prudence Pocket—town founder, inventor, and secret agent.’ But they didn’t tell you about the locket part.”

Louis grinned. “Secret agent Pocket.”

She nudged him. “Exactly.”

They reached the edge of town—an old oak known locally as the “Whispering Giant.” Polly ducked behind a low hedge, opened her locket, and they both shrank again. Louis hardly needed the reminder of the protocol; his eyes sparkled.

She led him under the hedge, through tiny tunnels, until they emerged beneath the oak’s overhang. Polly pointed to a small, painted plaque nailed to the trunk—barely legible at their size.

“Prudence Pocket’s secret laboratory—1864.”

“Here,” she said. “Welcome to the lab.”

Louis’s jaw dropped as he scanned a hidden door cleverly built into the tree’s roots. Ivy curtains parted to reveal a tiny workshop lit by glowing mushrooms. Shelves held vials of colored dust, tiny tools, and crystal fragments that pulsed softly.

“This is where my family kept the Pockite repository,” Polly whispered. “Everything from shrink serum to time-freeze crystals. My grandma Penelope used this to store emergency supplies during the war.”

He stepped inside, marveling. “This... is incredible.”

She smiled, proud. “I help maintain it. I catalog each crystal, clean the vials, make sure nothing leaks. It’s my responsibility.”

He watched her gently dust a shelf. She was in her element here. Brave, meticulous—a guardian of magic.

“Why show me this?” he asked.

“Because,” she said, turning to face him, “you’re part of it now. And I trust you.”

He swallowed. “Thank you.”

Back above ground, they returned to normal size. Louis’s head spun, but a warmth spread through his chest. Trust. Friendship. Something more, unspoken.

“Next,” Polly said, eyes dancing, “we visit Shani’s place.”

They walked to Shani’s house—just a block away. Shani greeted them in the driveway, wearing goggles and carrying an odd-looking metal crate.

Polly introduced Louis. Shani offered a polite wave, then glanced between them.

“I trust you two have had your orientation,” she said, voice calm.

Polly’s grin widened. “Orientation complete.”

Shani led them inside. In the backyard, behind a stack of crates, sat a gleaming cylindrical steel tank with pipes and dials—half hot tub, half science project.

“I present,” Shani announced, “the GeoSteam Reactor.”

“It’s a steam bath,” Louis said, squinting. “For... relaxation?”

Shani adjusted her glasses. “More than that. It recycles geothermal heat from the ground, purifies water, regulates temperature automatically. It’s eco-friendly and perfect for our shrunken selves—steam at just the right level.”

Polly bounced on her toes. “It’s our secret spa.”

Louis chuckled. “Secret spa.”

Shani nodded. “But full-size humans can use it, too. With clothes on, obviously.”

Lila suddenly appeared, towel thrown over her shoulder. “Sorry, I’m late.” She glanced at Louis. “You’re our new friend.”

He smiled. “Nice to meet you, Lila.”

Lila nodded approvingly at Shani’s invention. “Impressive.”

Polly clapped her hands. “Tonight, we break it in.”

That evening, his heart thrummed with anticipation—and the weight of the secret he now carried. A magical locket. A hidden lab. An eco-steam spa.

Four kids, one extraordinary world.

Louis realized: this year in Littleton wasn’t going to be like any other exchange. It was going to be life-changing.

The stars were out when they returned to Shani’s house that evening, and the wind had picked up just enough to make the porch swing creak as it rocked.

Inside, the air was warm and humid, steam already rising from behind the garage where Shani’s GeoSteam Reactor bubbled softly. Polly, Louis, Shani, and Lila stood around the edge of the modified tub in oversized robes, towels slung over their shoulders, and matching smirks that said we probably shouldn’t be doing this—but we are anyway.

Polly was grinning ear to ear.

“I still can’t believe you actually built this,” Louis said, eyeing the reactor’s polished finish.

“Three weeks,” Shani said matter-of-factly. “And a few sketchy Craigslist parts.”

Lila raised an eyebrow. “Shani, if we die from this, I just want you to know that my ghost will haunt your lab.”

Shani shrugged. “Fair.”

The water inside the custom basin shimmered with faint blue lights—reflections from solar LEDs placed carefully along the rim. Polly dipped her foot in first, then eased herself down with a sigh.

Louis hesitated only a second before following.

“Hot, but not too hot,” he noted.

“Perfect for melting stress,” Polly murmured, arms stretched behind her along the edge.

Lila joined next, hair pulled up into a haphazard knot. Shani took the last spot, stepping in carefully and adjusting one of the dials behind her.

Steam curled around them like a dream.

For a while, they simply soaked in the quiet. The air smelled faintly of eucalyptus—thanks to a bath bomb Shani had pulverized into the system—and soft ambient music hummed from a speaker hidden under the deck.

It was the kind of silence that only friends who trusted each other could share: comfortable, unhurried, steady.

Then Lila broke it.

“Alright,” she said, “truth or dare.”

Polly groaned. “Really?”

“Yes. It’s tradition. Every time we try something new, we play.”

Louis leaned in. “And what happens if we choose neither?”

Shani sipped water from a thermos. “Then you’re forced to eat cafeteria chili.”

Louis paled. “Okay. Never mind.”

“Truth,” Polly said quickly, waving a hand.

Lila grinned. “Have you ever kissed anyone?”

Polly blinked. “Seriously?”

Shani smirked. Louis tried to play neutral.

Polly rolled her eyes, but she blushed faintly. “No.”

“Aw,” Lila said. “Well, we’ll change that eventually.”

Polly threw a towel at her. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” Lila said boldly.

Polly grinned. “Switch robes with Louis.”

Louis blinked. “Wait, what?”

Lila snorted. “You heard her.”

Polly gave him an exaggerated wink. “It builds trust.”

With theatrical groaning, the two swapped robes under the towels, laughter echoing through the steam.

The game continued, silliness mounting. Dares turned into small stunts—drink water upside down, spin in a circle until dizzy, do a handstand against the wall. But eventually, things started to slow down.

The questions became softer.

The laughter thinned, replaced with quiet truths.

“Are you scared of being forgotten?” Lila asked, staring up at the steam curling overhead.

No one answered right away.

Then Polly whispered, “Sometimes.”

Louis nodded silently.

Shani only said, “Yeah.”

Polly leaned closer to Louis, their arms brushing under the water.

He glanced at her, just briefly. Her face was pink from the heat, her curls pulled back, her expression unreadable.

“Truth or dare?” she asked, voice quiet.

He looked at her. “Dare.”

She hesitated. Then:

“I dare you to kiss me.”

Lila made a soft sound of surprise. Shani went still.

Louis blinked.

There was no teasing in Polly’s voice. No challenge. Just curiosity. Honesty.

He didn’t think. He just moved forward.

The kiss was light. Soft. Barely there. A second long, if that. The water swirled quietly around them, heat fogging the edges of the moment.

When they pulled apart, Polly smiled faintly.

“Thanks,” she whispered.

Louis gave a small nod. “Anytime.”

No one said anything for a long while.

Shani eventually excused herself, claiming she needed to adjust the temperature. Lila followed, mumbling something about towels.

Polly and Louis were left alone in the steam.

“I didn’t mean to make it weird,” Polly said.

“You didn’t.”

“I just...” She trailed off. “I’m glad you’re here.”

He looked at her.

“I’m glad I’m here too,” he said.

She leaned back, eyes closed, content for now.

And beneath the warmth of the water, the comfort of the moment, and the gravity of a secret world—something irreversible began.

The next morning, everything was normal.

Too normal.

The group met for breakfast at Lila’s favorite café downtown—bagels, smoothies, cinnamon rolls. Conversation flowed. Jokes were made. Everyone smiled.

But something was different.

Not visible to strangers. Not loud. Just… quiet shifts. Changed glances. Soft hesitations.

Polly and Louis barely looked at each other. When they did, it was brief—almost like they were afraid that looking too long might change everything again.

Shani noticed first.

She watched Polly butter her bagel in silence. Not her usual dramatic slather. Not even a comment about cinnamon raisin being “a violation against God.” Just quiet.

Shani didn’t say anything.

Not yet.

Later that afternoon, Polly, Louis, Shani, and Lila regrouped in Polly’s room, lounging across beanbags and floor pillows. The radio played low, and Peaches slept belly-up near the door.

“So,” Lila said eventually, scrolling her phone. “We’re not gonna talk about it?”

“About what?” Polly asked, feigning innocence as she spun a pen between her fingers.

“You know.”

Shani cleared her throat. “The kiss?”

Polly coughed. “That.”

Louis shifted on his pillow. “It was just a dare.”

Lila gave him a look. “Sure. But it happened.”

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” Polly added quickly, a little too quickly.

“Doesn’t mean it didn’t,” Shani said gently.

Silence again.

Polly exhaled, then flopped backward onto the floor. “Okay, so maybe it meant... something. But we don’t have to figure it out today.”

“Agreed,” Louis said, grateful for the pause.

Lila raised her hands. “No pressure. Just... keep us looped in, okay? No weirdness.”

“No weirdness,” Polly echoed.

But even as she said it, something inside her twisted. Not in a bad way. Just... in a way she didn’t know how to explain.

As the evening wore on, Polly and Louis stayed behind after Shani and Lila left.

The quiet between them was thicker now. Not awkward—just charged. Every move felt heavier.

Polly sat on the edge of her bed, legs dangling, the locket resting against her collarbone. She was playing with it absentmindedly, fingers brushing over the heart-shaped center.

Louis stood at the window, watching the last rays of sunset fade behind the trees.

“I should head back soon,” he said.

Polly nodded, still facing forward. “Okay.”

Neither moved.

Then softly, she asked, “Did it really not mean anything to you?”

Louis turned. “No. I didn’t say that.”

She finally looked up. “So what did it mean?”

He walked over, slow and careful, sitting beside her.

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “It felt... real. Even if it was just a dare.”

Polly nodded. “Yeah. Me too.”

They sat like that for a long moment. Shoulders just barely touching. Locket between them. Not kissing. Not needing to.

Just breathing the same air.

Later that night, after Louis had gone home and Peaches had curled up at the foot of Polly’s bed, Polly opened her journal.

She wrote in her usual looping script:

August 31

Today felt different. Not because of magic. Not because of shrinking. But because of him.

Louis kissed me. I kissed him. It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t a joke. It just... happened.

And now I don’t know what comes next.

She stared at the words.

Then, without overthinking it, she added:

But I want to find out.

Chapter Text

📘 Chapter 3 – Steam & Dares

It started the same way it always did: laughter, towels, and steam.

Two days had passed since the kiss, and things had mostly returned to “normal.” Polly and Louis joked again. Shani and Lila didn’t push. But something had changed—underneath it all, something quiet and real was taking shape.

It was Friday evening when they snuck back into Shani’s backyard steam room—just the four of them. Sunset spilled golden light across the lawn as Shani twisted open the steam valve, releasing that familiar swirl of warmth.

“We deserve this,” Lila declared, kicking off her shoes. “School was painfully long this week.”

“I still have three chapters of AP Bio homework,” Shani muttered, but she didn’t stop setting out towels.

Louis and Polly exchanged a glance, brief but electric. It wasn’t shy anymore—it was a look of knowing.

Not everything had been said.

But enough had.

They changed in silence. The steam curled around them, familiar and soft, like a secret wrapping itself around the four of them. This was their space now. No parents, no teachers, no cameras. Just breath and warmth and the buzz of being sixteen and alive.

Tonight’s energy was different.

There was no silly dares right away. No loud jokes or arguments. Instead, they sat close, speaking quietly over the low hum of water and the occasional drip of condensation from the pipes.

Polly leaned against Louis’s shoulder—casual at first, but she didn’t pull away.

Lila was the first to break the silence.

“Remember when we used to think sneaking juice boxes from the teacher’s lounge was wild?”

Shani scoffed. “To be fair, that was elementary school.”

“Yeah, but still,” Lila said, stretching her legs, “sometimes I wonder when we stopped being kids.”

“We didn’t,” Polly said softly. “We just got better at pretending we weren’t.”

Louis felt her fingers inch closer to his.

He didn’t move.

Eventually, the dares came back. Slowly. Hesitant at first.

“Say something you’ve never told anyone,” Lila prompted, eyes closed.

“I once hacked my middle school’s fire alarm,” Shani confessed. “Just to test a theory.”

“Respect,” Polly said with a small smirk.

“My turn,” Shani said. “Lila—truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

“Take off your towel and stay that way for five minutes.”

Lila blinked. “Shani!”

“What? Steam room rules.”

Lila rolled her eyes but stood. The towel dropped.

Polly laughed into her hand. “You’re actually doing it.”

“It’s skin,” Lila shrugged, crossing her arms. “We all have it.”

They laughed. The tension cracked—slightly.

More dares followed.

They dared Shani to sing the French national anthem. She did—terribly. They dared Louis to try doing a handstand in the slippery corner. He fell, dramatically. They dared Polly to spin in a circle and try to land a kiss on the first person she bumped into.

She spun, dizzy.

And landed in Louis’s lap.

Everyone froze.

Polly blinked. “Oh.”

Louis gave her a nervous smile. “Hey.”

She didn’t move right away.

Then someone—probably Lila—whispered, “Dare you to kiss him again.”

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t serious.

But Polly leaned forward anyway.

The second kiss was longer. More real. More intentional.

It wasn’t a game anymore.

After that, things blurred.

The others stepped out first, giving them “privacy” in air quotes, but not joking anymore. It wasn’t mocking. It wasn’t even teasing.

They just… knew.

Louis and Polly stayed in the steam. Close. Quiet. So close their knees touched, then their hands. Then their lips again.

And then—

Heat. Confusion. Curiosity. A decision made not in logic, but in instinct.

A mistake?

Maybe.

But in that moment, it didn’t feel wrong.

It felt like trust.

It felt like love, even if they didn’t call it that yet.

And afterward, when the steam began to fade and the sky turned black, they lay wrapped in silence. Nothing said. Nothing needed to be.

Not yet.

Polly sat up slowly, towel clutched to her chest.

“Is this going to change everything?” she asked.

Louis didn’t answer right away.

Then: “I think it already did.”

She nodded. “Okay.”

He reached out, gently lacing his fingers through hers.

“Whatever happens,” he said, “I’ve got you.”

She squeezed his hand.

But inside, something fluttered.

A tiny truth.

A giant consequence.

Waiting to be born.

Monday morning came heavy.

The weekend's warmth lingered in Polly's limbs, but so did the weight. She lay in bed longer than usual, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars on her ceiling. They’d faded with time—like secrets do when you try to hide them long enough.

Peaches nudged her hand with his wet nose. She scratched behind his ears, then rolled over.

She hadn't spoken to Louis since Saturday night. Not really. They'd exchanged a few texts—light, safe stuff. Memes. Emojis. Nothing real. Nothing about that.

She wasn't sure what to say.

Was it a mistake?
Did he regret it?
Do I?

Her stomach flipped. Not with nerves. Just... flipped.

She sat up quickly, dizzy.

Louis wasn't doing much better.

He walked into school wearing his usual hoodie and headphones, hoping to blend in. Shani waved from across the hallway; he waved back, but didn't stop to chat. Polly was at her locker. He slowed when he passed—but she didn’t look up right away.

Then their eyes met.

It lasted less than a second.

But it felt like hours.

A storm of things neither of them could say in front of the school.

Are you okay?
Did we mess up?
What are we now?

By lunchtime, the four of them had quietly drifted into their usual table. Conversation was stilted. Lila tried to crack jokes. Shani asked about homework. Polly chewed her straw. Louis avoided eye contact.

None of them mentioned the steam room.

None of them had to.

That night, Polly stood in front of her bathroom mirror brushing her teeth when she felt it again—that small, fluttery flip in her stomach. Not pain, but not nothing either.

She stared at her reflection. Her fingers brushed her stomach as a whisper of worry passed through her mind.

It’s just nerves.

It’s fine.

Right?

She pulled her hoodie over her head and went to bed early.

Two weeks passed.

And the flutter returned.

This time, it came with nausea.

She was walking to third period when the wave hit—sharp and sudden. She ducked into the bathroom and dry-heaved into the sink, gripping the porcelain like it might keep her from unraveling.

Later, she told Lila it was something she ate.

She told Shani she was tired.

She didn’t tell Louis anything.

Not yet.

But Louis was already worried.

He noticed her pulling away.

She still sat next to him in science, still laughed at the right times. But her smile didn’t reach her eyes anymore. Her locket hung a little heavier on her chest.

During lunch, he caught her staring blankly at a baby on a cereal box.

When she noticed, she looked away fast.

He almost said something.

But didn't.

The turning point came on a rainy Friday after school.

Shani had invited them over again. The steam room was quiet this time—no dares, no jokes. Just warmth and music. Polly sat across from Louis, her knees tucked up, hair pulled back. Her face was pale.

She barely spoke.

Afterward, while the others cleaned up, Louis offered to walk her home.

They didn’t talk much until they reached her block.

Just before the driveway, Polly stopped walking.

“I’m late,” she said.

Louis blinked. “For what?”

She turned to him, soaked in rain, her hoodie clinging to her arms. Her voice dropped.

“My period. I’m late.”

Silence.

He stared at her. “You’re—are you sure?”

“I was keeping track,” she whispered. “It’s been almost two weeks. And I feel... wrong.”

His mouth went dry. “Polly—”

“I haven’t taken a test yet,” she cut in, trembling. “I haven’t told Shani. Or Lila. Or anyone.”

“You just told me.”

She nodded, biting her lip. “Because you were there too.”

Louis didn’t know what to say. There were no words for the fear in her voice. No easy answers.

“Okay,” he said finally, quietly. “Okay. We’ll figure it out.”

Her eyes filled, but she didn’t cry.

Not yet.

That night, in her journal, Polly wrote:

October 6

My hands won’t stop shaking.

I think I might be pregnant.

I don’t know what to do.

Chapter Text

📘 Chapter 4 – Lines Crossed

Polly waited until Sunday morning.

Her parents were out—something about a tech expo. Peaches was asleep at the foot of her bed, snoring faintly. The world was quiet, still.

On her dresser sat a pink and white box. A single word printed in big letters:

PREGNANCY TEST

She hadn’t touched it for three days.

Now, her fingers trembled as she picked it up.

She didn’t cry as she went into the bathroom. She didn’t make a sound. Not when she read the instructions. Not when she followed them.

She waited.

Two minutes.

Then three.

Then—

Two pink lines.

Polly stared.

And stared.

And something inside her—something quiet—cracked.

She called Louis first.

He picked up after one ring.

“Hey,” he said.

There was a pause.

“I took it,” she said.

He didn’t ask what she meant. He already knew.

“And?”

“It’s positive.”

Silence.

Polly could hear the buzz of traffic in the background. He must’ve been walking somewhere.

“Where are you?” she asked.

“Almost at your house.”

She looked toward the window and saw him coming up the walk.

He climbed in through the back window of her room like they’d rehearsed it. Polly sat on the floor, cross-legged, holding the test in her hand like it was a glass shard.

Louis closed the window behind him.

“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered.

He sat across from her. “We’ll figure it out.”

She shook her head. “We’re sixteen.”

“I know.”

“This can’t be happening.”

“It is.”

She looked up at him, eyes red. “I’m scared.”

He reached forward, took her hand.

“I am too.”

Lila arrived twenty minutes later.

Shani followed five after.

Neither of them had needed an explanation. Polly’s tone on the phone was enough.

They all sat in a circle on the floor, silent at first. The test lay between them on Polly’s pillow like an artifact—undeniable and real.

“No one can know,” Polly said.

“Obviously,” Lila murmured.

Shani’s eyes were wide. “What about your parents?”

“They think I’m a kid,” Polly said. “They’ll freak. They’ll never trust me again.”

Louis ran a hand through his hair. “Mine would kill me.”

“Then we don’t tell them,” Lila said, sharp and sudden.

Everyone looked at her.

Lila sat up straighter, eyes narrowed in thought. “We lie.”

Polly blinked. “What?”

“We make up a story,” Lila said. “Something that keeps you safe. That keeps him safe. Something believable.”

Shani frowned. “That sounds—”

“Risky?” Lila interrupted. “Yes. But everything else is worse.”

There was a long pause.

Then Polly whispered, “What kind of story?”

Lila leaned forward, her voice cool and steady. “You’re going to say you found the baby on your porch. With a note. No one knows who left him. No one claims him. You were just... there. The kind girl who took him in.”

Polly stared.

Shani looked horrified.

Louis said nothing.

“And we keep your pregnancy secret,” Lila continued. “You use the locket. Stay shrunk when it matters. Hide it from your parents. From the world.”

“You want her to shrink... to hide a pregnancy?” Shani asked.

Lila looked at Polly. “Can you do it?”

Polly hesitated.

Then: “I think I can.”

Louis turned to her. “Polly, are you sure?”

“No,” she admitted. “But I don’t see another way.”

Shani shook her head, voice breaking. “This isn’t a prank. This is a life.”

“I know,” Polly said softly. “That’s why I have to protect him.”

She looked up at the three of them.

“I don’t know how I’m going to do this. But I know I’m keeping the baby.”

They pinky-swore over Peaches’ sleeping form.

Swore silence.

Swore loyalty.

Swore to protect the lie.

And none of them could know that the lie would one day break them.

Polly became a master of time.

She mapped every hour of her day in her journal—not just homework and meals, but nausea windows, energy crashes, locket intervals. She calculated when her parents were out, how long she could safely shrink, where she could hide if someone knocked on the door.

At school, she smiled. She raised her hand in class. She walked the halls like nothing had changed.

But everything had.

The locket helped, but it didn’t make it easy.

When the nausea hit between periods, Polly shrank down behind a locker vent and waited it out, breathing slowly until it passed. When her jeans no longer fit properly, she used shrinking spurts to relieve the pressure without drawing attention. Her hoodie became a permanent fixture—oversized, warm, concealing.

Shani built her a custom belly support harness—micro-sized, lightweight, adjustable. "If you're going to do this," she said, "you need help."

Polly hugged her without words.

Louis stayed close, but quiet.

He helped carry her books. Brought snacks she didn’t ask for. Texted daily to check in. But the lightness between them had dulled.

He felt it every time they passed each other in the hall. Every time he glanced at her during science class and saw the tension in her jaw, the pink in her cheeks that wasn’t from blush anymore.

They didn’t talk about names.

They didn’t talk about after.

Not yet.

Lila, on the other hand, became something else entirely.

Cold. Sharp. Focused.

She kept a spreadsheet of cover stories: which neighbors believed Polly was babysitting, which teachers she told she was “volunteering after school,” which dates needed to be falsified in case anyone asked.

“She’s going to be a good liar,” Lila muttered one night to Shani. “If she lives through this.”

Shani didn’t laugh.

But Polly was breaking in places no one could see.

By late November, her feet ached. Her back throbbed. She barely slept more than three hours a night. Her locket buzzed faintly every time she used it now—like the crystal itself was tired.

She cried silently in bed, Peaches curled near her side.

The lies were working.

But the truth was wearing her down.

One morning, as she sat in the school courtyard trying to eat a banana, the smell made her gag. She stood quickly, bumping into a freshman who dropped his lunch tray. Orange juice splashed across her hoodie.

“Watch it!” he barked.

Polly didn’t answer.

She ran to the bathroom and cried.

Later that night, she wrote in her journal:

November 22

I am two people now.
One that smiles and says “everything’s fine.”
And one that sits in the dark and wishes she could just tell the truth.

But I can’t.
Because if I do... everything falls apart.

I miss how things used to be.

That same evening, Louis knocked on her window.

She let him in, wordlessly.

They sat on her bed, their backs against the wall. He handed her a folded paper crane.

She unfolded it carefully.

Inside: You’re not alone.

She sniffled.

He didn’t try to fix anything.

He just stayed.

By the start of December, Polly was out of breath just climbing stairs.

The locket, once effortless to use, now felt like a strain—like it pulsed back against her every time she activated it, resisting her shrinking just a little longer than before.

The first time it glitched, she was in the school library. She shrank behind a bookshelf just as someone rounded the corner—only for her to flash back to full size seconds later, almost knocking over a cart of returned books.

She laughed it off.

The librarian didn’t.

Polly didn’t sleep that night.

Lila noticed next.

“You’ve got maybe four weeks left,” she said during lunch, pushing a fruit cup across the table. “Five, max. You can’t keep this up.”

Polly stirred her chocolate milk without drinking it.

“I know.”

Shani didn’t meet either of their eyes. She just clutched the strap of her bag a little tighter and whispered, “We should start preparing.”

“For what?” Louis asked quietly.

“For the birth,” she said. “Somewhere secret. Somewhere safe.”

No one spoke for a long moment.

Then Lila said, “Steam room.”

Polly looked up.

“No cameras. No neighbors. Clean water supply. Enclosed and temperature-controlled. Plus—Shani knows the controls.”

Shani flinched. “You want her to give birth in my steam spa?”

“You’ve upgraded it into a sterile facility before. You even installed the UV unit for skin detox. You can do this.”

Shani didn't respond. Her fingers twitched at the mention of the tech.

“It’s the best place,” Polly whispered.

Lila nodded. “Then it’s settled.”

Over the next few days, they transformed the room.

Shani brought in medical gloves and old blankets. She raided her parents' camping supplies for heat pads and storage containers. Louis ordered diapers and a baby bottle using an anonymous eBay account. Lila wrote out “backup lies” in her notebook in case anyone asked why Polly was missing from school for a few days.

“We’ll say it was food poisoning,” Lila muttered. “Or appendicitis. Something gross enough that no one asks questions.”

Shani worked late into the night, adjusting the humidity sensors.

Louis rubbed Polly’s back when her feet hurt too much to stand.

No one talked about the baby’s name.

Not yet.

One afternoon, while lying on her bed watching Peaches sleep, Polly pressed both hands to her belly and felt it—strong, certain.

A kick.

Then another.

And it wasn’t small anymore. It wasn’t just a flutter. It was real.

Her eyes filled.

“You’re coming soon,” she whispered.

The next morning, she started keeping a second journal. One that would one day be for him.

December 12

Dear Baby,

I don’t know if you’ll ever read this. But I want you to know... you were never a mistake. You weren’t planned. But you were wanted.

I’m scared every day. But I love you already. Even if I have to lie to the world about who you are... I will never lie to you.

Love,
Mom

She crossed the word out.

Then rewrote it more carefully.

Mom.

It was real now.

On December 19, Polly stood in front of the mirror in her room and turned sideways.

There was no denying it anymore.

Even with the hoodie, even with the shrinking magic, her body had changed.

She turned back to her desk, picked up her locket.

It vibrated faintly in her palm.

She closed her eyes, breathed in—and shrank.

Just for a minute.

Just to buy a little more time.

Chapter Text

📘 Chapter 5 – Baby in the Steam Room

It happened on the first night of winter break.

December 21. The house was quiet. Wind rattled the windows. Peaches paced near the foot of Polly’s bed like he knew something was coming.

Polly woke up just after 2:00 a.m. with a pain she couldn’t ignore.

Sharp. Low. Rhythmic.

At first, she thought it was another false alarm. Braxton Hicks. Her body had been giving her practice stabs for a week now.

But this time was different.

This time, the pain climbed—wrapped around her spine and made her breath catch.

Her hoodie was soaked in sweat before the next contraction hit.

She reached for her phone with shaking hands.

2:24 a.m. – Group Chat: Steam Squad 🔒

Polly: it’s time
Polly: it’s really happening
Polly: please come now

Shani answered first.
Shani: omw. grabbing kit
Louis: be there in 10
Lila: stall your parents if they wake up. i’ll meet you in the alley.

Polly didn’t remember how she got out of the house.

Her body moved on instinct. She activated the locket just long enough to shrink past the creaky stairboard, then full-size again at the back gate. Every few minutes, she had to stop—clutching the brick wall of the alleyway as pain crashed through her again.

By the time she reached Shani’s backyard, Louis was already there, unlocking the door to the steam room. His hands were shaking.

“Come on,” he whispered, gently pulling her inside. “We’ve got you.”

Inside, the room had transformed.

Gone were the towels and bath bombs. In their place: a clean mattress on the tile floor, emergency lights mounted to the wall, soft music humming low from a Bluetooth speaker.

Shani had brought heat packs, gloves, clean towels, water bottles. Everything she could find.

Polly collapsed onto the mattress, doubled over.

“Oh God,” she breathed, gripping the edges of her hoodie. “It hurts.”

“I know,” Lila said, crouching beside her. “But you’re safe now.”

The contractions came faster.

Louis paced in the corner, helpless.

Shani monitored Polly’s pulse with a wristband tracker she’d modified herself. “Steady. She’s strong.”

Polly gritted her teeth. “Can someone please tell my body that?”

Lila gently pulled Polly’s hair back with a clip. “You’re doing amazing. Keep breathing.”

Polly closed her eyes. She could barely speak.

She was sixteen. Lying on a steam room floor. About to give birth. Her parents thought she was asleep in her room.

The only people who knew the truth were three scared teenagers, trying not to fall apart.

The pain became everything.

Polly screamed once—loud and sharp—and Shani turned the music up to drown it out. Outside, the wind howled. Snow began to fall. It was the longest night of the year.

And then—
Her body shifted.

She felt it.

Everything.

The weight. The stretch. The pressure.

Lila gripped her hand.

“Push.”

The next scream was louder.

Louis knelt behind her now, supporting her shoulders.

“Polly,” he whispered. “You’ve got this. You’ve got him.”

Her whole body shook.

Then—

A cry.

Thin, raw, new.

Polly collapsed back onto Louis, tears falling silently down her cheeks.

Lila carefully lifted the tiny baby, still slick and red, and wrapped him in a clean towel.

Shani double-checked his breathing, her hands trembling but precise. “He’s okay,” she whispered.

“He’s here.”

Polly looked down at him—eyes wide, blinking, lips puckered in the softest little pout.

“Hi,” she whispered. “Hi, baby.”

Louis sat beside her, dazed.

“He’s so small,” he said.

“Name?” Lila asked, gently.

Polly swallowed. Her voice cracked.

“Paxton.”

She glanced at Louis.

“Paxton Miles Pocket.”

He nodded, tears sliding down his jaw.

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s perfect.”

They stayed like that for almost an hour.

No one left. No one spoke too loud. They just sat—Polly holding her son, the others huddled around her, warm and exhausted and terrified and amazed.

When the baby finally fell asleep, Polly looked up.

“We have to go,” she said.

Shani hesitated. “Are you sure?”

Polly nodded. “They’ll be home soon. I need to be in my bed when they check.”

“And Paxton?” Louis asked, gently.

Polly took a breath.

“We do what Lila said. We leave a note. We tell them someone left him on the porch. We... lie.”

Lila placed the forged note on the baby’s towel.

It read:

Please take care of him. I can’t. His name is Paxton. He’s healthy. I’m sorry.

At 6:31 a.m., Polly knocked on her parents’ bedroom door.

They opened it groggily.

“There’s a baby on our porch,” she said, clutching a towel-wrapped bundle in her arms. “Someone left him. I didn’t know what to do.”

Pamela blinked, eyes wide.

Peter stepped back.

“What...?”

“He was just there,” Polly lied, her voice trembling.

“I think someone needs help.”

Chapter Text

📘 Chapter 6 – Cracks in the Routine

On the outside, everything looked fine.

Polly Pocket was still a straight-A student. Still cheerful, still clever, still glued to her locket. She babysat her “baby brother” Paxton every afternoon. Walked him in the stroller. Fed him snacks during math homework. Smiled when the neighbors cooed over his tiny fingers and sleepy face.

She had an answer for everything.

“My parents had to take an emergency call. I’ve got him tonight.”

“Yes, I know how to change diapers. I’ve been doing it since he was dropped off.”

“No, we still don’t know who the mother is. It’s... sad.”

Most people never questioned her.

But the ones who did?

She just smiled wider.

Inside, though—behind closed doors—Polly was barely holding on.

Her schedule was brutal.

Wake up at 5 a.m.
Bottle feed.
Change diaper.
Rock Paxton back to sleep.
Homework.
Shrink for 45 minutes to keep her energy manageable.
Get ready for school.
Smile.

Repeat.

Louis helped when he could. He came by after school on Tuesdays and Thursdays under the excuse of “study group.”

He took Paxton on walks, cleaned bottles, folded laundry.

But he wasn’t always there.

Sometimes he couldn’t come.

Sometimes it was too hard for him to face what they’d done.

“You’re disappearing,” Lila said one afternoon, cornering Polly outside the school gym.

Polly blinked. “What?”

“You barely text. You bail on everything. We haven’t had a Friday hangout in months.”

Polly adjusted the strap of Paxton’s baby carrier. “I’m raising a human. Sorry if I missed karaoke night.”

“You’re not raising him alone,” Lila snapped.

“No,” Polly said flatly. “But I’m the only one holding him at 3 a.m. while he screams so loud I can’t breathe.”

Lila fell silent.

And for once, didn’t have a comeback.

Shani was quiet too.

She hadn’t argued. Hadn’t snapped. But Polly felt the distance.

The texts got shorter.

The check-ins got later.

Sometimes Polly would scroll through old photos—their four faces pressed together, blurry from laughter—and she’d feel like she was looking at strangers.

Meanwhile, her parents adored Paxton.

Pamela called him “the miracle on the porch.” Peter taught him how to wave.

Polly kept the forged note in her sock drawer, folded so many times it was almost tissue.

Every time her mom said, “You’re such a wonderful big sister,” something in her cracked a little deeper.

One night in early September, Paxton wouldn’t stop crying.

Polly tried everything—rocking, feeding, white noise, lullabies.

Nothing worked.

She sat on the floor with him pressed against her chest, her arms limp from holding him so long.

“I can’t do this,” she whispered. “I can’t...”

The tears started silently.

She cried until her face burned.

And Paxton finally fell asleep against her heartbeat.

She didn’t write in her journal that night.

She didn’t have the strength.

But if she had, maybe she would’ve said:

I love him more than I thought was possible.
But I’m losing myself.
And no one sees it.

Louis used to write to his parents every Sunday.

Emails from Littleton, full of polite summaries—classes were good, friends were cool, host family was kind. Nothing alarming. Nothing real.

Now he skipped weeks.

What could he say?

“Hey Mom, hey Dad, I lied about everything. I got someone pregnant, I help her hide it using pocket locket magic, and I have a son I’m not allowed to call mine.”

No draft made it past “Hi.”

He tried to be useful. He showed up when he could—brought groceries, helped wash baby clothes, learned how to sterilize bottles. He stayed late some nights when Paxton had colic.

But the more he helped, the more he felt like a fraud.

Every time he handed Paxton back to Polly, he felt a pit in his chest.

I’m his father.
But I can’t even say it.

One night, after putting Paxton down, Louis sat with Polly in her room.

She looked drained. Her hair was tied up haphazardly. Her eyes were sunken from sleep loss.

He reached out, hesitant.

“Let me stay tonight,” he said quietly.

Polly shook her head. “You can’t.”

“Just to help. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“You can’t,” she repeated, firmer now. “What if my parents check? What if he cries and I can’t explain why you’re already holding him?”

Louis closed his hand into a fist.

“Do you regret it?” he asked softly.

Polly didn’t answer for a long time.

Then: “No.”

“But I hate lying. I hate pretending.”

“Me too,” he said.

She looked at him.

Tired. Raw.

“I wish we were older,” she whispered. “I wish we didn’t have to hide him like he’s shameful.”

Louis swallowed.

“We’re not ashamed of him,” he said.

“No,” she agreed. “But we’re scared. And it’s starting to show.”

Across town, Shani sat at her desk, staring at the invention blueprints she used to love.

She hadn’t touched her 3D printer in weeks.

She’d turned down the MIT mentorship program without telling anyone.

Lila still checked in—short texts, sharp advice—but even she had limits.

The group wasn’t what it used to be.

What started as a miracle had become a web of half-truths, held together by exhaustion.

Paxton turned 9 months old on a Wednesday.

Pamela threw a tiny in-home party—just cake and balloons and a quick selfie for her parenting blog.

Polly smiled through it all.

But that night, she lay awake, staring at the ceiling.

Nine months.

Three more until a full year of lies.

She reached over, gently adjusted the blanket on Paxton’s crib.

“Someday,” she whispered, “I’ll tell you everything.”

Polly had always been good at reading a room.

She could tell when her parents were stressed before dinner. When Shani was faking a smile. When Louis needed air.

So when Nic blinked at her too long in the hallway on Thursday… she knew.

Something had shifted.

He used to be just a nuisance—too loud, too smug, constantly trying to flirt even when she shut him down. But now, there was calculation in his stare. Like he knew something. Or worse—thought he knew something.

She turned quickly, clutching Paxton’s diaper bag like a shield.

That same day, Gwen dropped her phone in the cafeteria—open to her photo gallery. Polly glanced down for half a second before Gwen snatched it up.

There, in that flicker of a moment, Polly saw it:

A picture of her. From the back. Holding Paxton.
Zoomed in. Cropped. Dated. Recent.

Her stomach turned cold.

Later, after she put Paxton down for his nap, Polly messaged the group.

Polly: I think they know.
Polly: Nic and Gwen. They’re watching me.
Lila: Define “watching.”
Polly: Gwen has photos. I saw one. It wasn’t casual.
Shani: You sure it wasn’t just a coincidence?
Polly: No. I felt it. They’re tracking something. Maybe not the truth... but something.

A pause.

Then Lila responded:

Lila: Then we double down. Stay calm. Act boring. Play perfect.

Polly didn’t reply.

Because she didn’t feel perfect.

She felt trapped.

That night, she stood in front of the mirror again.

Dark circles. Thin wrists. Eyes that didn’t sparkle the way they used to.

Her hoodie hung looser now—Paxton was no longer inside her, but the weight remained.

A quiet panic sat under her ribs like a ticking clock.

September 25

Every lie has a half-life.
Ours is running out.

Meanwhile, Nic deleted and re-uploaded a new video to his secret channel: "What Is Polly Pocket Hiding? 👀"
It had no real evidence.

Just a blurry still of her exiting the steam room.
A photo of a baby sock in her backpack.
A few captions that read like gossip.

But it didn’t matter.

People had started to whisper.

Chapter Text

📘 Chapter 7 – Tiny Lies, Big Exposures

It started with the hallway confrontation.

Polly was heading to chemistry, Paxton’s teether clipped to her backpack, when Nic stepped in front of her—too close, too loud.

“Hey, Pocket,” he said, flashing that stupid grin. “How’s the mystery baby?”

Polly blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You know,” he said, voice carrying just enough to draw attention, “your little porch package. Weird how he looks just like you.”

Behind him, Gwen laughed—quiet but sharp.

Polly’s fingers clenched at her side. Her chest burned.

“Leave me alone.”

Nic leaned in, still grinning. “Unless you’ve got something to confess, I’d be real careful where you point that attitude.”

It wasn’t a joke anymore.

That night, she marched into the principal’s office with a folder.

Inside: screenshots of Nic’s comments, a list of dates, Gwen’s photo post (now deleted), and a printed, timestamped note of every hallway "coincidence" logged since August.

Principal Denning took one look at Polly’s file and said, “We’ll handle it.”

And they did.

Nic was suspended for three days.

It should have been the end of it.

Instead, it was the spark.

Three nights later, a video dropped on TikTok.

Uploaded by an anonymous account.

No caption. Just emojis: 👀🍼🔥

The video was a mashup of blurry, secretly recorded clips:

• Polly sneaking into Shani’s backyard at night.

• Paxton’s pacifier falling from her hoodie.

• A clip of Louis exiting Polly’s room.

• An overhead shot from behind bushes of the group in the steam room—zoomed in, edited to slow motion during the dare sequence.

• Finally, a still frame of Polly at 8 months pregnant, shrunk on her desk, rubbing her stomach.

The music?
Something mocking. A slowed-down version of a lullaby with baby giggles layered on top.

The comment section exploded.

@LittletonTeaGirl: WAIT WHAT
@miraculousminds: That's Polly P and Louis Agreste????
@cat_gossipz: No way that’s real
@scaryaccurate: She SHRUNK while pregnant??? Wtf is this town
@neighborhoodspy: And I thought MY sister was messy 😳

Polly was in the kitchen feeding Paxton applesauce when her phone buzzed. And buzzed again. And again.

Her screen lit up with 47 notifications in under a minute.

Her heart dropped.

Louis called her. “Don’t check it.”

She already had.

“I’m going to kill him,” she whispered.

“We don’t know it’s Nic—”

“Yes, we do.”

The fallout was immediate.

By Monday morning, half the school had seen it. The other half pretended they hadn’t.

No one believed the porch story anymore.

Not when the footage showed her pregnant.

Not when it showed her shrinking.

The lie was dead.

And Polly? She was next.

She sat outside the front doors of school, heart pounding, Paxton’s blanket bunched in her lap. Shani and Lila stood beside her. Louis hovered behind her, silent.

“They’re going to ask questions,” Polly said.

“They already are,” Lila muttered, scrolling.

Shani looked sick. “I don’t know how to fix this.”

“We can’t,” Louis said.

They were out of time.

And secrets.

By third period, the school counselor pulled Polly out of class.

She left her desk without a word, ignoring the stares. Her cheeks were already burning.

“Leave Paxton with the daycare office,” the front secretary said gently. “It’s just a quick check-in.”

Polly nodded, mechanical.

She knew what this was.

She’d rehearsed it a hundred times.

But inside the counselor’s office, everything changed.

Pamela Pocket was already seated in the corner—eyes wide, lips pursed.

Beside her sat Peter, his fingers locked together so tightly they’d gone pale.

“Polly,” the counselor began, voice slow and calm, “there’s been a… situation.”

Pamela turned sharply.

“You want to tell us what that video is?”

Polly’s heart fell straight through the floor.

She opened her mouth. Closed it again.

“I—”

“Don’t lie,” Peter said softly. “Not now.”

Her eyes welled.

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

Pamela’s voice cracked. “You had a baby?”

Polly nodded.

“You shrank while pregnant?”

Another nod.

The room fell into silence.

Then, Pamela whispered, almost to herself: “And all this time... we thought you were just being a good big sister.”

Polly broke.

“I am! I mean—I tried. I didn’t want to ruin everything. I didn’t want you to be ashamed—”

“ASHAMED?” Pamela’s voice rose, sharp and wet with disbelief. “You lied to us! For a year!”

The counselor tried to speak. Tried to calm the room.

But the truth was already out.

And Polly couldn’t take it back.

The next day, Shani’s parents found the homemade monitors in her closet. The steam room schematics. The leftover towels.

Shani was grounded before she could explain.

Lila’s dad was worse.

He smashed her phone in half. Took her car keys. Called every school board member in a panic.

“You’re lucky she’s not pressing charges,” he said. “Do you understand the position you’ve put us in?”

Lila cries silently.

Not then.

And Louis?

Louis got a phone call at school.

His host family didn’t say much—just that his flight home was already scheduled. That his real parents were waiting.

He packed that night.

It didn’t stop at Littleton Elementary .

By the end of the week, the video had gone viral.

It crossed platforms—TikTok, YouTube, Reddit. Hashtags exploded.

#PocketScandal
#PaxtonMystery
#Shrinkgate

Everyone had a theory.

“She faked the porch story for clout.”
“She’s in some underground science cult.”
“Her locket is alien tech.”
“She’s part of a government experiment.”

The truth?
Buried under filters, theories, and clickbait.

Penelope Pocket arrived without warning.

One minute Polly was in her room, rocking Paxton in silence, the next—Penelope was standing in the doorway with the locket in her hand.

“I want to hear it from you,” Penelope said.

Polly’s heart pounded.

She looked at her grandmother—the woman who gave her the Pocket Locket, who trusted her with its power.

“I didn’t plan it,” Polly said. “But I couldn’t give him away. I couldn’t tell anyone. So I lied.”

Penelope said nothing.

Paxton squirmed in her arms.

“He’s mine,” Polly whispered. “And I love him.”

Still, silence.

Then Penelope looked at the locket, then at her granddaughter.

“You’re not ready to carry this anymore.”

She reached out and closed her hand around the locket. The soft blue glow faded.

Polly’s breath caught.
It was like watching a part of her get turned off.

“I’m not punishing you,” Penelope said gently. “I’m protecting you from having to hide again.”

Polly nodded, hot tears dripping silently down her cheeks.

That night, Polly met with Louis, Lila, and Shani one last time—at their usual corner of the Littleton park.

No strollers. No jokes. No snacks.

Just four kids sitting.

Then Lila spoke:

“Switzerland.”

Polly looked up.

“I have an uncle there. Wealthy. Quiet. Off-grid. If we go now, no one can stop us.”

Shani shook her head. “That’s crazy.”

“Everything else already is crazy,” Lila snapped. “Do you want to lose everything?”

Polly looked down at Paxton, bundled in her arms.

Then—slowly—nodded.

Louis turned to her.

“Are you sure?”

“I don’t want to run,” she said. “But I’m out of choices.”

They set the plan in motion that night.

Lila arranged the fake travel docs.
Shani erased their location history.
Louis booked the rideshare to the airport.
Polly packed just one duffel—for her and Paxton.

They were ready.

Almost.

But before they could make it out of Littleton…

They were intercepted.

Penelope Pocket stood at the gate.
Behind her: Pamela. Peter. Shani’s parents. Lila’s father.

And at the center—

Adrien Agreste.

And Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

Louis froze.

His mother’s eyes—red. His father’s jaw—tight.

Polly clutched Paxton to her chest, backing away instinctively.

Penelope stepped forward.

“No more lies.”

Marinette whispered, “Louis... transform.”

The words hit like a brick.

He didn’t want to. Not in front of everyone.

But Adrien’s voice was firm.

“Now.”

Louis hesitated.

Then, finally—ashamed—he whispered:
“PolyMouse, squeak on!”

Light exploded from his ring.

The disguise shattered.

Everyone stared.

The air went silent.

And the truth, at last, was undeniable.

Chapter Text

📘 Chapter 8 – The Great Interception

The silence after Louis’s transformation wasn’t just awkward.

It was devastating.

PolyMouse stood there in full gear—hood down, ring still glowing faintly. His usually confident posture had collapsed into something smaller, sunken.

His mother—Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Guardian of the Miraculous, former Ladybug—was frozen.

His father—Adrien Agreste, The Former Cat Noir himself—looked shattered.

“You—” Marinette started, then stopped. “You used the Mouse Miraculous... to sneak off and lie to us for nine months?”

Louis’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.

Polly stood beside him, holding Paxton. She didn’t speak either.

There were no more excuses.

Pamela Pocket stepped forward.

“Polly. Give me the baby.”

Polly’s grip tightened instinctively.

“No.”

Pamela’s eyes widened. “You lied to us. For months. You used your locket to hide a pregnancy. And now you’re about to run away to another country. This isn’t up for discussion.”

“He’s my baby,” Polly snapped.

Peter raised his voice—he never raised his voice.

“You told us he was abandoned! You let us believe you were just a kind-hearted girl helping a stranger!”

Shani’s parents were next—eyes flickering between the blueprints in Shani’s bag and the tracker on her wrist.

“You built a steam room delivery center? You enabled this?”

Shani couldn’t answer.

Lila just crossed her arms, silent.

Adrien stepped forward, face pale.

“You’re the father, aren’t you?”

Louis swallowed. “Yes.”

Marinette looked physically ill.

“You’re twelve.”

“I know,” Louis said. “I know. But we didn’t mean for this to happen. We weren’t being reckless—we just... we made one mistake.”

“One mistake?” Marinette’s voice cracked. “This isn’t just about a mistake. This is lies. Betrayal. Secrets. You dragged a whole other family into this. You endangered Polly. And Paxton.”

“I love them,” Louis said, voice breaking. “I love them both.”

“You don’t even know what love is yet,” Adrien said, fists clenched.

Penelope stood back from the chaos. Quiet. Watching Polly like she was made of glass.

“I trusted you,” she finally said. “I gave you the locket. The one thing that made you special. And you used it to hide from the world.”

Polly's voice was hoarse.

“I wasn’t hiding from the world. I was hiding from what the world would do to us.”

Pamela looked away.

It all spiraled quickly.

Louis was ordered into his parents' custody—returning to Paris the next morning.

Polly was forbidden from leaving the house without supervision.

Paxton was allowed to stay, only because Pamela—still trembling—insisted, “We’ll deal with this as a family.”

But the trust?

Gone.

Shani and Lila stood behind Polly as the adults argued.

They said nothing.

But their silence was no longer solidarity.

It was emotional distance.

Later that night, in her room, Polly rocked Paxton as he slept and whispered:

“They know now. Everyone knows.
I don’t know what’s coming next.
But I’m not running anymore.”

She looked down at her son.

“Whatever happens, I’ll protect you.”

Even if no one protected her.

The next morning, the sky over Littleton was dull and grey.

Louis stood on the front steps of Polly’s house with his duffel bag over one shoulder and his hands buried deep in his coat pockets.

No suit. No ring. No PolyMouse.

Just a kid with puffy eyes and a backpack full of regrets.

Inside the living room window, he could see Polly holding Paxton against her chest. Her face was half-hidden behind the curtain. She didn’t wave.

He didn’t either.

Adrien waited silently by the car, arms crossed.

Marinette stood beside him, every line in her face drawn tight.

Louis hadn’t slept. He’d packed like a robot. He hadn’t said goodbye to anyone but Shani, who could barely meet his eyes, and Lila, who just said, “We’ll talk when this dies down.”

There was no hug.

No "we’ve got this."

Just a heavy fog hanging between them all.

As Louis walked toward the car, he heard the front door creak open.

He turned.

Polly was standing there—no makeup, no locket, just a baby in one arm and the cold air blowing her hoodie strings sideways.

Neither of them said a word.

But Louis raised a hand.

Just a little.

And Polly nodded, once.

That was all.

Then he got into the car.

And the door shut.

Inside, Adrien drove.

Marinette stared out the window.

Louis sat in the back, next to a seatbelt he couldn’t bring himself to fasten.

The silence was unbearable.

Finally, Adrien spoke.

“Do you know how dangerous that was?”

Louis didn’t answer.

“You used a Miraculous to sneak around the world and lie to your family.”

Still no answer.

Marinette turned slightly, her voice quieter. “We trusted you.”

“I know,” Louis whispered.

“She had a baby, Louis.”

“I know.”

“You lied. To us. To everyone.”

“I didn’t want to lose my new friend Polly,” he finally said, tears rising again. “Or my son, Paxton.”

“They’re not yours to keep,” Marinette said softly.

Louis looked down at his hands, folded in his lap.

“That’s not true,” he said.

“They’re everything to me.”

Back in Polly’s room, Paxton played with his sock.

He didn’t know what was happening.

Didn’t know who left, or why, or what they’d lost.

Polly sat on the edge of her bed, phone buzzing every few minutes with texts she didn’t read.

She pressed her lips to her son’s head and closed her eyes.

Everything was quieter now.

But not in a peaceful way.

In a sad way.

The storm had passed.
But the wreckage had only just begun.

Shani’s room felt like a cell.

Her parents had removed everything “non-essential.”

No screens. No projects. No tech.

Her 3D printer was boxed up in the garage.
Her invention notebooks confiscated.
The steam room? Padlocked.

She wasn’t grounded for a weekend.

She was grounded indefinitely.

“You violated every safety rule we raised you with,” her mom said.

“I wasn’t experimenting,” Shani tried to argue. “I was helping.”

“You were hiding a pregnancy. In a modified sauna. That is not ‘helping,’ Shani.”

Shani just stared at her reflection in the dark computer screen.

She couldn’t even look herself in the eye anymore.

Lila fared worse.

Her dad was never the forgiving type.

He unplugged the Wi-Fi. Installed a tracker on her phone. Blocked all social media. Every app, gone. Her school was still “deciding” if she could remain enrolled.

“You faked documents. You forged medical notes,” he snapped. “You committed a felony to cover for someone else’s kid.”

Lila bit her tongue.

She wanted to scream.

Wanted to yell I did it because no one else would.

But it wouldn’t matter.

He wouldn’t understand.

So she sat in silence.

And planned her next lie—just to keep herself from drowning.

Polly had to earn back everything.

Penelope stayed in Littleton longer than she intended. “I’m not leaving until you’re stable,” she told Pamela, who was still reeling from the weight of it all.

Polly’s locket was locked in a vault.
Her phone could only make calls—to home and school.
She had to get permission just to take Paxton outside for a stroller walk.

And no more late nights. No more friends.

No more Louis.

She and Paxton slept in the same room again, like before. But now the shadows on the walls weren’t from secrets—they were from memories.

And they hurt worse.

Paxton babbled in his sleep. He’d just started saying "Ma" when he was upset.

Polly couldn’t decide if it made her smile or cry.

The four of them didn’t talk for a while.

No group chat.

No texts.

The silence stretched.

The only sound Polly heard was the faint squeak of Paxton’s rubber duck in the bath.

Over and over.

Until even that felt like a lullaby for everything she lost.

The secret was gone.
The cost was everything.
And nothing would ever be the same.

Chapter Text

📘 Chapter 9 – Consequences Unleashed

The Pocket family didn’t yell anymore.

They didn’t need to.

Everything in the house spoke for them now.

The hallway outside Polly’s room had a new sensor that beeped when she left.
Her phone charger was taken.
The baby monitor was upgraded with live-stream capability to Pamela’s phone.
And the locket? Still locked away in Penelope’s vault, deep underground beneath Pocket Headquarters.

“You will not have access to pocket locket,” Penelope told her. “Until you show us you can live without lying.”

Polly wanted to argue. Wanted to scream.

But she didn’t.

She was too tired.

Louis returned to Paris on October 7.

He didn’t speak for most of the flight.

Adrien tried. Marinette tried harder.

They asked questions:

• “Did you understand how serious this was?”

• “What if something had gone wrong with the birth?”

• “What if Polly got hurt and no one knew?”

• “What if Paxton was born too small to survive shrinking?”

Louis didn’t have any answers.

Just guilt.

He moved into his room at the Agreste home and was banned from seeing Polly—or contacting her—until further notice.

The polymouse Miraculous? Confiscated.
His phone? Screen time capped and monitored.
His school? Transferred back to Collège Françoise Dupont mid-term to keep him “focused.”

He didn’t fight it.

He just given up.

Back in Littleton, Polly attended school under a new agreement:

• No after-school activities.

• No unmonitored group work.

• No off-campus lunch.

• Mandatory counseling.

Every week, she had to sit in an office and explain to a guidance counselor why she hid a baby from the world.

They called it “support.”

It felt like parole.

Shani’s parents uninstalled her lab completely.

No tools.
No soldering iron.
No code.

Her science fair trophies were placed in storage—“until we can trust you with responsibility again.”

She didn’t cry.

She just stared at her bookshelf like it used to be a window and was now a wall.

Lila was sent to her grandmother’s house in Vermont.
“Maybe a new city will teach you what consequences feel like,” her father said.

No visitors. No phone. No unsupervised online access.

Just Silence And guilt she didn’t know what to do with.

One week had passed like that.

Then two weeks came and went.

By mid-October, Paxton was walking.

He took his first steps in the living room, between Polly’s knees and the couch, gripping a teddy bear for balance.

No one else saw it.

No video. No celebration.

Just Polly, stunned and misty-eyed, whispering, “You did it,” to a giggling little boy who didn’t know how heavy the world was yet.

That night, Polly wrote in her journal:

Louis wasn’t there.
None of them were.
But he still walked toward me.
That has to mean something.

The Agreste House was too quiet.

Even with Emma visiting on weekends. Even with the old piano Adrien used to play as a boy, the house now felt like a museum—full of achievements and silence.

Marinette stood in the kitchen, stirring tea she wasn’t drinking.

Adrien sat across from her at the table, chin in hand, watching the clock tick.

“Do you think we failed him?” she asked finally.

Adrien didn’t flinch. “I think we expected him to be smarter than we were.”

She let out a shaky laugh. “We were literally superheroes at thirteen. What did we expect?”

“Not this,” he said. “Not a secret baby.”

Marinette’s voice dropped.

“Do you think we would’ve made the same choices, back then?”

Adrien blinked.

His mind flashed: sneaking through rooftops, midnight patrols, stolen glances in alleys, the first time they kissed under the Eiffel Tower.

The danger. The pressure. The longing.

The risk.

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

“But we never had to find out.”

They looked at each other in silence.

Two parents, once heroes, now just... trying to raise their youngest son right.

Meanwhile, Penelope Pocket sat in her office, alone.

The locket sat in a sealed case on her desk, its glow dulled, like it missed its owner.

She hadn’t told Polly, but she knew what the girl had done with it—every shrinking, every energy spike, every concealment.

Penelope had installed tracking long ago, for safety.

She just never imagined she’d have to use it.

There was a part of her that was still proud.

Polly had protected the baby. She’d risked herself to give him life, and care, and warmth—even if it was reckless.

But trust wasn’t a thing you got back instantly.

So the locket stayed locked.

For now.

In Littleton, Polly sat on her porch steps, bundled in a coat, watching Paxton sleep in a stroller.

A red envelope sat in her lap—unopened.

Louis’s first letter.

He wasn’t supposed to write.

Neither was she.

But he did anyway.

And when she finally opened it, her hands shook.

Dear Polly,
I don’t even know where to begin.

I miss you. I miss him.
I watch every baby that passes me on the street and wonder what Paxton would be doing right now.

I don’t deserve to be there.
But I want to earn it.

I don’t know how to make this right.
But I know I want to try.

Yours—always,
Louis

Polly folded the letter back slowly.

Tears slid down her cheeks.

Not from pain.

But from the tiniest flicker of something she hadn’t felt in weeks:

Hope.

Shani stared at the blank text box on her old-school flip phone.

Her parents had stripped her of her smartphone—said she could “earn it back” with consistent behavior and “honest reflection.”

But even this clunky device could still send a message.

To: Polly P.

I saw your essay in class today. It was good.
I miss you.

She hovered over the send button.

Then tapped it.

No response came back.

But that wasn’t the point.

Lila’s grandmother let her walk to the corner store alone for the first time in two weeks.

She didn’t abuse it.

She didn’t take detours or try to borrow someone’s Wi-Fi.

But at the checkout counter, she slipped a dollar into a donation jar for “Teen Parents of Vermont.”

And for the first time in a long time, she thought:

Maybe I’m not the villain.

Polly folded Louis’s letter into a box she kept under her bed.

It joined a collection of things she couldn’t throw away:

• The first onesie Paxton wore.

• A printout of their fake baby note.

• The ultrasound photo only Shani had ever seen.

• A hand-drawn “family” picture Paxton scribbled last week with a crayon.

She sat cross-legged on the floor.

Quiet.

Thinking.

And then, for the first time in weeks, she took out her journal.

Paxton stood on his own today.
He held onto my sleeve and didn’t fall.
I didn’t either.

In Paris, Louis sat at his desk, sketching something that wasn’t homework.

A tiny house.

A backyard.

A boy with curly brown hair and Polly’s eyes.

He didn’t know if the future he was drawing would ever come true.

But it was better than picturing a future without them at all.

Later that night, his older sister, Emma knocked on his door.

“I saw your sketches.”

He tensed.

“I think they’re beautiful,” she said.

He looked up.

Her smile was soft. “You’re still my little brother, Louis. Even if Mom and Dad don’t know how to show it yet.”

Louis didn’t speak.

But he reached for her hand.

And held on.

Four kids.
Four houses.
Four kinds of silence.

But for the first time since everything fell apart—

That silence… was beginning to shift.*

Chapter Text

📘 Chapter 10 – Silence Between Us

Louis worked quietly, every day, at his father’s company.

He didn’t design.
He didn’t model.
He didn’t even speak much.

He ironed garments. Swept floors. Labeled inventory boxes in the sub-basement of Agreste HQ.

Adrien didn’t make it easier.

“This isn’t about punishment,” he told him. “It’s about rebuilding trust.”

But Louis could see it in his eyes.

It was punishment.

Not for the baby.
Not for the magic.

But for the lies.

His phone was still locked down—barely functional beyond school and home use.

But every few days, Emma smuggled him a handwritten letter from Littleton.

Polly never signed them with her name.

Just:

*"Still trying. Still tired. But he said his first real word.

It was 'uh-oh.'

I think that’s fitting."*

Meanwhile, Polly spent her days under a microscope.

Paxton was growing—chubbier cheeks, stronger steps, louder giggles. He had a tendency to fling his food across the room when frustrated, and he liked to chew on remote controls.

Polly called him her little “gremlin angel.”

But her smiles were worn thin.

At night, after homework and bottles and toy clean-up, she’d sit at her desk and write.

Letters she’d never send.

Letters she shouldn’t send.

But always did.

Louis,

You missed his pediatrician appointment today.
The pediatrician said he’s healthy, but a little small.
I told her I was small too, once.

*I didn’t mean it as a joke, but it made me laugh.

I miss you.*

I miss us.

Back in Paris, Louis read every word.

Twice.

Sometimes three times.

He folded them carefully into the back cover of his sketchbook and only opened them when he was alone—late, quiet, when no one would notice how red his eyes were.

At school in Littleton, Polly passed Gwen in the hallway one day.

The girl didn’t say anything.

Didn’t smirk.
Didn’t whisper.

Just lowered her eyes and walked away.

Maybe she felt guilty.
Maybe she was just bored now that the drama had cooled.

But Polly didn’t feel angry anymore.

Just tired.

Shani texted her once that week:

Shani: I’m building again. Nothing secret. Just… new.

Polly stared at the message for several minutes before replying:

Polly: That’s good. I’m breathing again. Just… slowly.

No hearts. No emojis. Just honesty.

And that felt bigger than any apology.

Lila hadn’t messaged anyone since Vermont.

But she sent a single envelope to Polly in mid-October.

Inside?

No letter. No words.

Just a tiny, hand-folded origami heart.

They were still apart.
Still broken.

But love doesn’t need permission to keep existing.
It just… does.

Lunch in Paris felt colder.

Maybe it was just the courtyard marble benches. Or maybe it was the space—not the kind that gave freedom, but the kind that isolated.

Louis usually ate alone.

But that Tuesday, someone sat beside him.

“Your sketches are backwards.”

Louis blinked up, startled.

A girl with short black hair and a navy trench coat was peering over his shoulder at the page in his lap.

“They’re not backwards,” he said. “They’re mirrored.”

“Same thing to the average eye,” she said.

She extended a hand. “I’m Chantal. I critique everyone. Don’t take it personally.”

Louis gave a hesitant half-smile. “Louis.”

A second shadow fell across the bench.

“You bothering another boy with your opinions, Chan?”

This voice was slower, deeper. A guy with pale skin and a brown beanie sat on the other side of Louis without asking.

“Kodiak,” he said simply, popping open a thermos.

Louis raised an eyebrow. “Like the bear?”

“Like the bear,” he nodded. “Or the camera.”

Chantal rolled her eyes. “Don’t let him lie. He’s named after a shampoo commercial. His mom was weird.”

Kodiak just grinned. “At least I wasn’t named after a chocolate truffle.”

“That’s not—!” she began, then sighed. “Okay. It is fair.”

They talked through the whole lunch period.

Not about Littleton. Not about Paxton. Not about heartbreak or secrets or shapeshifting mouse powers.

Just... food. Music. People-watching. Paper textures.

It felt like before.

Before everything fell apart.

Later, in art class, Louis pulled out a fresh page and drew three figures on a park bench.

One was slouched with a beanie.

One was perched like a cat mid-rant.

And one was quietly sketching something in his lap.

He labeled it in tiny cursive at the bottom:

“Not alone.”

The next day, Chantal handed him a folded slip of paper.

Inside:

*You don’t have to tell us anything.

But if you ever want to say something…

We’ll believe you.*

–C&K*

Louis didn’t cry.

Not then.

But that night, he stared at the message for a long time before writing Polly back.

*Today, someone reminded me that I’m still a person.

Not a problem.
Not a mistake.
Just… me.*

I hope someone reminds you, too.

Back in Littleton, Polly stared at the letter for a long time.

She didn’t write anything back.

She just held it to her chest and whispered:
“I needed that.”

And smiled.

October ended softly.

In Littleton, Paxton liked to point at puddles and say “uh-oh,” even when nothing went wrong.

Polly took it as a reminder.

Life wasn’t perfect.

It wasn’t even close.

But it kept moving.

She started journaling again—daily, this time.

Not for a grade.

Not for the counselor.

Not even for Louis.

Just... to exist.

Nov 1

Paxton said “ba ba” at breakfast.
Not sure if it meant banana or bottle.

I think it just meant “I’m trying.”

Me too, kid.
Me too.

At school, Shani passed her in the hall again.

This time, she nodded.

Not a wave. Not a smile. But a clear, unshaken nod that said:

“I’m still here.”

Polly nodded back.

That was enough.

In Vermont, Lila stole Wi-Fi from a laundromat once a week.

She didn’t DM anyone. Didn’t post. Didn’t troll.

She just watched.

Updates. News. The world she wasn’t allowed to touch.

Then, one evening, she opened a blank note and typed:

One day, I’ll fix this.

I don’t know how. But I will.

She saved it under a folder titled “Tiny Repairs.”

Louis got his first partial phone privileges reinstated in November.

Emma handed him Polly’s newest letter over breakfast, tied with a ribbon from one of her old hair bows.

He unfolded it slowly.

He’s saying “bye-bye” now.
But only to my cereal.

I think he thinks it’s alive.

*It made me laugh for the first time in three days.

That laugh?
It was for you, too.*

He tucked the note into his sketchbook and stared at it for a while.

Then picked up his pencil and wrote three words in the margin:

“I’m still yours.”

Across two countries.
Across four bedrooms.
Across more mistakes than they could count...

The silence wasn’t gone.

But it was starting to sound more like a song
than a sentence.

Chapter Text

📘 Chapter 11 – Journals & Voice Memos

[POLLY’S JOURNAL – November 15]

Today I pretended I was just babysitting again.

I said, “Time to go home, Paxton,” like it wasn’t our house.
He didn’t notice. He was chewing on his sock.

But I noticed.

I do that sometimes—pretend I’m still the girl I was before the steam room.
Before the lie.

But I’m not.

I’m not a sister.
I’m a mom.
I’m a girl who lied to the world because she was scared to lose it.

And now I’m just trying to build it back, one sleepless night at a time.

[LOUIS’S UNSENT LETTER – Draft 3]

Dear Polly,

I can’t tell if I miss you, or if I miss us, or if I miss who I used to be when I was with you.

I think it’s all the same thing.

I still remember the steam on the windows. The way you looked at me right before we crossed the line.

I remember what it felt like when you placed his tiny hand in mine.

I didn’t say it then, but I knew.

I knew that was my son.

I knew I’d never be the same.

[SHANI’S VOICE MEMO – 3:12 a.m.]

Okay.
This is dumb.

I’m whispering into my phone like it’s a friend.

But I don’t know who else to talk to.

I miss them.

I miss being useful. Smart. Part of something.

My parents think I’m grounded because I hid a secret.
But really, I’m grounded because I helped someone give life and then had to watch it get taken away from her.

We didn’t fail.
We just... weren’t old enough to carry what we tried to carry.

I wish I could tell her that.

Maybe I just did.

[LILA’S NOTEBOOK – “Tiny Repairs” – Page 2]

I was the mouth. The plan. The smirk behind every twist.

I lied to principals. I faked doctor notes. I made forged birth certificates in the middle of gym class.

But I wasn’t heartless.

I just didn’t know how to say:
“I’m scared Polly’s going to be crushed by this.”

So I built a lie big enough to hold her.

And it collapsed anyway.

[POLLY’S JOURNAL – November 20]

Sometimes I think about telling Paxton the truth when he’s older.

Not the bedtime story.
The real one.

About how four scared kids did everything wrong for the right reasons.
About how love and lies lived in the same house.

About how being a mother means failing, and showing up anyway.

I hope he forgives me.

More than that—
I hope I forgive myself.

[LOUIS’S SKETCHBOOK MARGIN – Scribbled in Pen]

I’m not the hero.
I’m not the villain.
I’m just a boy who wanted to be both and failed at either.

But I was there.

I held him.
I loved her.
I said yes when I should’ve said wait.

And I’ll never take it back.

[PENELOPE’S LETTER TO POLLY – Handwritten, unopened until November 25]

Dear Polly,

I haven’t written in years. I never liked letters.
Too slow. Too exposed.

But I’ve thought about you every day since I locked the locket away.

Not because I’m angry.
But because I know what it means to carry a legacy you didn’t ask for.

When I was your age, I used the locket to escape.

You used it to protect something real.

You misused it, yes.

But I would rather give magic to a girl who tried too hard to love—than to someone who never tried at all.

Keep growing.

Keep showing up.

We’ll talk soon.

With more respect than you know,
—Penelope

Polly didn’t open the letter until a week after it arrived.

She cried halfway through.

Not because of shame.

But because someone believed she might still be good.

[VOICE MESSAGE – EMMA AGRESTE → LOUIS (Midnight, Whispered)]

You asleep?

Doesn’t matter. I just needed to say this.

You’re not the first Agreste boy to carry guilt like it’s a birthright.

Dad does it all the time.

But you? You’re allowed to be sixteen. You’re allowed to be broken and lost and loving the wrong way.

I don’t know Polly, but I know you.

And if she still writes you?

Then whatever broke between you two isn’t actually broken.

It’s just... waiting.

Good night, little brother.

[SHANI’S VOICE MEMO – Deleted Immediately After Recording]

If I could do it again...

I think I’d still build the steam room.

But I’d add better insulation.

And I’d tell Polly to breathe before she made any promises.

And I’d hold her hand when Paxton came out.

Not just afterward.

During.

[LILA’S NOTEBOOK – “Tiny Repairs” – Page 4]

I’m going to be the one who calls first.

Not because I forgive everyone.

But because I want to live with fewer regrets.

I don’t want to be the girl who lied for her friends, then ghosted them forever.

I want to be the girl who returns.

[POLLY’S JOURNAL – November 30]

Paxton asked where Daddy was.

He pointed at the front door and said “Dada?”

I told him he’s far away but still thinking of us.

That’s what I believe.

It’s what I have to believe.

He smiled anyway.

Maybe he believes it too.

[LOUIS’S LETTER – Sent with Emma’s help]

Polly,

I know silence is part of healing.

But silence doesn’t mean absence.

I want you to know I’m not waiting for permission anymore.

I’m growing too.
I’m learning how to be a father, even from a distance.

I’m learning how to love you without hiding behind magic or mistakes.

I still don’t know if I deserve a future with you.

But I want to build one that’s worthy of it.

—Louis

This isn’t the end of the silence.

*But now they know what comes after it:
A voice. A pen. A choice.

Something like hope.

Something like love.

Something like beginning again.*

Chapter Text

📘 Chapter 12 – The Birthday Call

December 21.

Polly woke up before the sun, like she always did now.

But today felt different.

Not because she had plans.

Not because she had permission to celebrate.

But because the little boy beside her had made it—one full year.

Paxton was still curled beside her in his toddler bed. One arm flopped across her pillow. His lips puffed out in sleep.

Twelve months.

Three hundred sixty-five days of secrets, diapers, panic, giggles, aching back, hide-and-seek with a pacifier, whispered lullabies—and love she didn’t know she was capable of.

Downstairs, the house was quiet. Pamela had to work early. Penelope was visiting corporate.

Which meant the morning was theirs.

Polly made banana pancakes (Paxton’s favorite), poured orange juice in a sippy cup, and taped a single gold balloon to his high chair.

No party. No guests. Just them.

But Paxton didn’t need cake.

He needed her.

And she was still here.

At 2:00 p.m. sharp, Pamela returned home and opened the laptop.

“Fifteen minutes,” she reminded her daughter.

Polly nodded, nerves fluttering like moths in her throat.

The screen flickered, then cleared.

And there he was.

Louis.

On the other side of the screen.

He looked older. Tired, but cleaner somehow. His hair was shorter, and he wore a plain white shirt with a silver necklace—Emma’s, Polly guessed.

He said nothing at first.

Just stared at Paxton.

Polly angled the camera so Louis could see him standing—yes, standing—and wobbling toward a stuffed elephant.

“He walks now,” she said, her voice a whisper.

Louis nodded slowly. “I know. You said in your last letter. But seeing it is…”

His voice cracked.

“Real,” Polly finished for him.

He nodded again.

Paxton saw the screen and lit up.

“Dada!” he squeaked, smacking the laptop’s keyboard.

Louis gasped softly.

“Did he—?”

“Only when he sees your face,” Polly said, managing a fragile smile.

Louis pressed a hand to his mouth.

He didn’t cry.

But his eyes turned glassy.

They didn’t talk about the past.

They didn’t talk about punishment.

They just watched Paxton dance to the rhythm of his own squeals, waving his arms like he could reach through the screen and pull his father through.

“Is he... happy?” Louis asked, almost ashamed of the question.

Polly didn’t hesitate. “He’s loved.”

That was enough.

The call ended after fifteen minutes.

No promises. No plans. No declarations of love.

But after the screen went black, Polly stayed sitting there a while longer.

And whispered:

“Happy birthday, baby boy.”

That Evening – Paris

Louis sat at his desk, staring at a blank sketchbook page.

His pencil hovered over the paper.

He didn’t know what to draw.

Paxton’s eyes? Polly’s smile? The way the screen had flickered just before the call ended?

He closed the sketchbook and pushed it aside.

Instead, he opened a drawer and pulled out a small fabric elephant—one Polly had sewn for him before he left Littleton.

He hadn’t touched it in months.

Now, he held it like it was the most fragile thing in the world.

Emma knocked.

She didn’t wait to be invited in. She just walked over and handed him a folded paper.

“Happy birthday,” she said.

Louis looked up. “You know it’s not my birthday.”

“I know,” she said. “But you’re still part of what was born today.”

He opened the paper.

It was a sketch—done in Emma’s messy, bold lines.

It showed three silhouettes.

One tall.
One medium.
One tiny.

All holding hands under a banner that said:

“Year One.”

Littleton – That Night

Polly bathed Paxton, dried his hair with the softest towel, and hummed the lullaby she wrote herself when he was three days old and wouldn’t stop crying.

She whispered, “You were brave today,” and kissed his forehead.

Then she sat at her desk and wrote:

December 21 – 11:27 p.m.

You saw your father today.
You reached for him.

And for the first time, he was there to see it.

That’s enough.
That’s enough to start again.

Shani – Voice Memo (Never Sent)

I watched the whole Zoom from the hallway.

I shouldn’t have.
But I did.

I heard his voice.
I heard yours.

And I heard Paxton laugh.

I think that laugh healed something in me I didn’t know was still bleeding.

Lila – Tiny Repairs Notebook (Page 6)

Didn’t get an invite.

Didn’t expect one.

But I still baked a cake.

Chocolate. With strawberry filling.

For a baby I helped lie into existence.

For a future I still want to be part of.

Penelope Pocket – Private Email Draft (Unsent)

Pamela,

I watched the call. Louis behaved appropriately. Polly, too.

But that baby…
He’s got something in him.
Something I’ve only ever seen in the ones who hold the locket.

I don’t know what it means yet.
But I think Paxton will be important.
To more than just our family.

A child turned one year old.

And in fifteen minutes—fifteen quiet, flickering, imperfect minutes—

Hope became something real again.

The next morning, Polly sat on her bed with a notebook in her lap and Paxton curled up beside her, chewing on the corner of a foam block.

She flipped past doodles and journal pages until she landed on a clean one.

At the top, she wrote:

“Future?”

It felt like a joke at first.

She hadn’t thought about her future since the test turned positive.

Since her life turned tiny.

But now?

Now she was imagining again.

Maybe a local college.

Maybe part-time.

Maybe something with early childhood education.

Something that could let her raise Paxton and build something for herself.

It wasn’t a plan.

Just a seed.

But it was more than she’d let herself have in a year.

Across the ocean, Louis met with his school counselor.

His grades were improving. His teachers noted “quiet progress.” His father still said little—but didn’t object when the counselor floated a hypothetical question:

“What if he wanted to finish the year in Littleton?”

Adrien had blinked.

Then said:

“He’d have to earn that.”

That night, Louis wrote Polly a new letter.

He didn’t hide it in his sketchbook this time.

He gave it to Emma to scan and email—with his parents cc’d.

It read:

I want to see him again.
Not through a screen. Not through memories.

I want to earn it the right way.

I’ll do whatever it takes.

If you’re willing… maybe we could start thinking about what that looks like.

*A visit. A supervised one.

One step. Just one.*

—Louis

Pamela read the email before Polly did.

She sat at the kitchen table for twenty minutes before printing it.

Then she walked into Polly’s room, handed her the paper, and said simply:

“If you want this... we’ll figure it out.”

A birthday became a bridge.

A fifteen-minute call became a reason to try.

And for the first time since the steam room, since the lie, since the unraveling...

They all started looking forward.

Chapter Text

📘 Chapter 13 – Homecoming on Trial

The plane touched down in Boston on a Thursday afternoon under gray clouds.

Louis hadn’t seen American soil in nearly two months.

It felt different this time.
Not like an adventure.
Not like a secret.

It felt like a courtroom.

He stepped off the plane in jeans and a navy hoodie, holding nothing but a carry-on bag and a copy of the letter that had granted him this visit.

Duration: 72 hours.
Supervised by: Pamela Pocket.
Conditions: No unsupervised time with Polly Pocket or Paxton Miles Pocket.

Pamela met him at the airport.

No hug. No eye contact.

Just: “You’ve grown.”

And: “Car’s this way.”

Louis said nothing. He followed.

The house looked the same, but smaller somehow.

Inside, Penelope was waiting by the stairs. Paxton sat in her lap, chewing on a rubber toy shaped like a lion.

Louis stopped cold.

His chest tightened.

Paxton stared back.

Blinking once.

Then—recognition.

“Dada,” he said softly, leaning forward, arms out.

Pamela stepped between them.

“Not yet.”

Louis nodded. “Of course.”

Polly came downstairs ten minutes later.

Her hair was tied up. She wore an oversized T-shirt and no makeup. She looked exhausted. Grown.

They didn’t hug.

They just stood.

And Polly said:

“Hi.”

Louis swallowed.

“Hi.”

The silence wasn’t tense.
It wasn’t warm.
It was simply... wide.

Pamela gave them permission to speak on the porch—“where I can see and hear you.”

They sat on the steps.

Polly hugged her knees to her chest. Louis picked at a loose thread on his hoodie sleeve.

It was five minutes before either of them spoke.

Then Louis said:

“I’m sorry.”

Polly didn’t respond right away.

Then: “For which part?”

“All of it.”

She nodded once. “Good.”

Another silence.

Then Polly whispered:

“I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again.”

Louis’s throat tightened. “I thought about you every day.”

“I know.”

“I wanted to come back sooner.”

“I know that too.”

She looked at him.

Really looked.

“You’re still... you.”

Louis blinked fast.

“So are you.”

It wasn’t healing yet.

But it wasn’t hurting either.

*It was something in between.

Something like breathing again.*

Polly carried Paxton into the living room after dinner.

Louis was already seated on the floor, cross-legged, hands in his lap, waiting like a student before a test.

Pamela watched from the kitchen.

“Just a few minutes,” she warned.

Polly nodded.

Paxton wiggled, wanting down.

She set him gently on the rug.

The toddler waddled, paused, and stared at Louis like he was putting pieces together.

Louis didn’t speak.

Didn’t reach.

He waited.

Paxton took a slow, wobbly step forward.

Then another.

Then launched forward—arms open, off balance, right into Louis’s chest.

Louis caught him.

The boy giggled and squealed, “Dada!”

Louis’s arms shook as they closed around him.

His face buried in Paxton’s soft hair, tears caught in his throat like a stone he couldn’t swallow.

“Hi,” he whispered. “Hi, my little man.”

The moment was short.

Pamela stepped in quickly and gently picked Paxton back up.

But she didn’t scold.

She just said, “Thank you for waiting.”

And walked upstairs.

That evening, just before sunset, the doorbell rang.

Polly answered.

Shani stood there, holding a brown paper bag.

Lila stood behind her, hands in her coat pockets, eyes wary.

No words.

Just nods.

Polly stepped back.

“Come in.”

They gathered on the back porch.

Louis sat on the railing. Polly leaned against the wall. Shani paced slowly. Lila stood stiffly with her arms folded.

No one tried to explain anything.

They just... were.

The silence didn’t demand words.

It just made room for them.

Eventually, Shani broke it.

“I still think about the steam room.”

Louis glanced at her.

She continued, “I still dream about the night we brought him into the world. How scared I was. How loud it got when he cried.”

Polly blinked quickly. “That was the loudest I’ve ever felt alive.”

Lila whispered, “I thought we were invincible.”

Louis laughed softly. “We were just kids.”

“We still are,” Polly said.

“But we’re trying,” Shani added.

“And that’s... something,” Louis finished.

Lila reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded napkin.

Inside was a cupcake. Chocolate. Strawberry filling.

She held it out to Polly.

“I couldn’t make it to the party,” she said, voice dry.

Polly took it without a word.

Then broke it in four, passing pieces to each of them.

They stood there, eating in the breeze, watching the sun dip below the trees.

Together.

For the first time since everything fell apart.

Not healed.
Not forgiven.
Not finished.

But together.

And for now… that was enough.*

The others had gone home.

Paxton was asleep upstairs.

Pamela was reading in her room, giving them space—but not too much.

Louis and Polly sat on the porch steps again.

Same place as their first conversation when he arrived.

But everything felt different.

“I don’t think I knew how to love you back then,” Louis said quietly.

Polly didn’t look at him.

She watched the wind rustle the bushes in the yard.

“You didn’t have to,” she said. “We weren’t ready.”

“I wanted to be.”

“So did I.”

A pause.

Then she turned to him.

“But wanting wasn’t enough. Not for what we got.”

Louis nodded slowly. “We got him.”

A soft smile pulled at her lips. “We did.”

A breeze passed through, lifting the edge of her sweater. Louis reached out instinctively, tucking it back over her shoulder, fingers brushing her arm.

Polly didn’t pull away.

But she didn’t lean in either.

She just looked at him—clear-eyed, steady.

“I’m not asking you to fix anything,” she said. “I just want you to show up.”

“I’m trying.”

“I know.”

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper.

“Before you go tomorrow,” she said, “I want you to have this.”

Louis unfolded it.

It was a drawing.

Crayon lines. Scribbles.

A stick-figure girl with pigtails. A taller boy with big hands. A baby in between them.

Three hearts above their heads.

Underneath, it said: “MY FAMLEE”

He stared at it, silent.

Polly’s voice was barely a whisper: “He drew that last week.”

Louis folded it carefully.

“I’ll keep it,” he said. “Forever.”

They sat in silence again.

Not the kind that hurts.

The kind that holds.

The next morning, Louis hugged Paxton goodbye.

He didn’t cry.

Polly didn’t either.

They had already said what mattered.

As he climbed into Pamela’s car, he looked back just once.

Polly stood on the porch, holding Paxton, one hand raised.

He raised his hand back.

And for the first time in months, he smiled—fully, honestly.

Not because things were fixed.

But because they were finally beginning.

Four teens.
One child.
One truth finally acknowledged.

The homecoming didn’t solve everything.

But it reminded them:

They’re not broken beyond repair.*

Chapter Text

📘 Chapter 14 –Pieces of Freedom

The first piece of freedom Polly earned was time.

Not permission.

Not praise.

Just time—alone in her room with the door unlocked.

Pamela no longer hovered.

Penelope stopped reading every email.

And for the first time in almost a year, Polly started using her planner again.

Her days fell into a rhythm:

• 6:30 a.m.: Wake up, pack Paxton’s daycare bag.

• 7:00 a.m.: Make breakfast, feed him, brush his hair.

• 8:00 a.m.: School.

• 3:15 p.m.: Homework in the library.

• 5:00 p.m.: Pick up Paxton, walk him home.

• 7:00 p.m.: Bath time, story time, lullaby.

• 9:00 p.m.: Study, write, breathe.

It was exhausting.

But it was hers.

At school, she aced a biology quiz. Mrs. Raynor pulled her aside afterward and said, “You’re not invisible, Polly.”

Polly blinked.

“I mean it,” her teacher added. “I see how hard you’re working. And I want to nominate you for the spring science mentorship program.”

Polly said nothing at first.

Then: “I’d love that.”

The second piece of freedom came a week later.

Penelope knocked on her bedroom door and stepped in carrying a small box.

Polly stood immediately, nervous.

But Penelope just handed it over.

“I think you’ve remembered who you are,” she said.

Polly opened the box.

Inside—glinting like a second chance—was the Pocket Locket.

Polly stared at it, stunned.

“I’m not sure I deserve it,” she whispered.

“Then use it in a way that proves you do.”

Polly didn’t shrink that night.

She didn’t need escape.

Instead, she laid the locket on her nightstand, beside Paxton’s baby monitor.

And she slept through the night.

Meanwhile in Paris, Louis sat at his parents’ kitchen table after dinner.

Adrien didn’t speak much. Marinette asked about school, quietly impressed by his report card.

When he offered to do the dishes, they let him.

When he offered to babysit Emma’s adopted daughter while she met with one of her company’s client, they actually said yes.

It wasn’t approval.

But it was room to breathe.

That weekend, Emma handed him a wrapped gift.

“Open it.”

Inside: a tiny canvas.

On it, a stylized drawing of Louis holding Paxton in one arm and a sketchpad in the other.

At the bottom, she’d written:

“A better dad than you think.”

That night, Louis emailed Polly:

I’m looking at colleges in Massachusetts.

Not because I’m assuming anything.

But because I’m starting to believe I could be someone again.

Not just the mistake.
The man who learns from it.

Polly cried when she read it.

Not out of sadness.

But because she believed it too.

Shani hadn’t touched her toolbox since the fallout.

Not since her parents found the hidden schematics for the steam room. Not since they confiscated her soldering pens, grounded her from her basement lab, and told her: “Maybe it’s time you learned when to follow rules.”

That had stung more than anything.

But recently, they started noticing her again.

When she fixed the laundry machine’s leaky valve.

When she rewired her mom’s stereo without being asked.

When she helped her little cousin build a cardboard rocket and explained the physics of thrust to a 6-year-old.

So, they gave her one hour back.

Just one.

Sixty minutes per weekend in her basement lab.

It felt like getting her heartbeat returned.

She didn’t waste time.

By Sunday night, she had finished a project she’d been dreaming up since Louis’s visit.

She called it “The Memory Box.”

A tiny, customizable hologram cube—built to store voice memos, videos, drawings, and short journal entries—all activated by touch.

She gifted it to Polly.

“You don’t have to use it,” Shani said, placing it gently in her friend’s hands. “But if you do, maybe... he’ll remember all the right parts.”

Polly turned it over in her palm.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Shani smiled. “We’re not just the mistake, remember? We’re what came after, too.”

Two days later, Lila showed up at the Pocket household uninvited.

She wore a yellow raincoat and held a folder under her arm.

Pamela answered the door with a skeptical look.

“I want to apologize,” Lila said immediately. “Not just for Polly. For myself.”

Pamela raised an eyebrow. “You sure you’re ready for that?”

“No,” Lila admitted. “But I’m doing it anyway.”

In the living room, Polly, Penelope, and Paxton all sat watching as Lila handed Polly the folder.

Inside: printed copies of every forged document she’d created over the past year.

Dates. Notes. Emails. Photos.

“I want to clean it all up,” she said. “And I want to do it with you. Not behind your back.”

Polly didn’t say anything for a long time.

Then: “You want to help undo the lie?”

“I want to help us live beyond it.”

They shared a cupcake after.

Chocolate. No filling.

That time, they laughed about it.

The next day, in the hallway between classes, Paxton walked for the first time.

No one coaxed him. No one held out their hand.

He just stood near the coat hooks, balancing on uncertain legs.

Then—one step.

Another.

A tiny tumble.

Then two more steps.

Polly knelt nearby, eyes wide.

He reached her, wobbly but proud, and grinned like he had just unlocked magic.

“Good job,” she whispered, tears behind her smile. “Good job, Paxton.”

She pulled out Shani’s Memory Box.

Recorded a clip.

Paxton’s laughter. His tiny feet on the tile.

She saved it as “Step One.”

Tiny feet. Big progress.

The past still lingered—but it no longer ruled them.

They were earning their way forward.
Piece by piece.

Polly stood outside the Littleton Community Science Center, clutching a folder of recommendation letters and a folder of fear.

She hadn’t been inside a lab space since... before.

Before the lies. Before Paxton.

Before she thought she’d have to choose between being a mother and being anything else.

But here she was.

The science mentorship program had accepted her.

Three afternoons a week, she’d get to study under real engineers and environmental researchers.

The same day she got the acceptance email, she wrote this in her journal:

I am still allowed to grow.
Even after becoming a mother.
Even after messing up.
Especially after both.

That same night, Penelope sat beside her on the couch, watching Paxton build a tower of juice boxes.

“You know,” Penelope said, “I didn’t give your mom the locket because she was perfect.”

Polly looked up.

“I gave it to her because she was human. And because she could learn.”

Polly raised an eyebrow. “Did she mess up, too?”

Penelope laughed. “Have you met your mom?”

They both smiled.

Then Penelope leaned forward.

“You’ve earned it back. Not just the locket. My trust.”

Meanwhile, in Paris, Adrien Agreste filled out a co-parenting release form. The kind with boxes, clauses, and small lines for initials.

“Video calls twice a week,” he muttered. “Decision-sharing on schooling and health.”

Marinette signed beside him.

Louis stood across the table, stunned.

“I thought it’d be another year,” he whispered.

“You’ve done the work,” Marinette said. “Now we see if you can carry it.”

Louis folded the form, hands shaking.

“Thank you.”

That weekend, Emma boarded a plane to Boston.

She texted Polly from the gate:

Emma 🐞: Guess who’s in the air? ✈️
Emma 🐞: Also I brought a surprise. Don’t hate me.

At the airport, Polly spotted her instantly—red jacket, messenger bag, and a crooked smile that mirrored Louis’s when he was nervous.

They hugged without hesitation.

Emma held onto her longer than expected.

Then pulled back and said, “Okay. You ready?”

Polly blinked. “Ready for wh—?”

Out walked Adrien.

No fanfare.

Just him.

Holding a sealed envelope addressed:

To: Paxton Miles Pocket
From: Grandpa.

Polly’s breath caught.

Adrien approached her slowly.

“We’ve got a long way to go,” he said gently. “But I want to be part of his life. If you’ll let me.”

Polly stared, stunned.

Then whispered: “Okay.”

That night, they all sat in the living room—Polly, Emma, Adrien, Penelope, Paxton—eating pizza from paper plates.

No labels. No roles.

Just people.

Trying.

Freedom didn’t come all at once.

It came in steps.
In letters.
In cupcakes.
In co-signs and quiet invitations.

It came in the choice to keep going.

And they all chose yes.*

Chapter Text

📘 Chapter 15 –Giant Consequences, Tiny Truths

Thirteen months.

That’s how long it had been since Paxton took his first breath in the heat of a hidden steam room.

Thirteen months of secret parenthood.
Of tears and letters.
Of broken trust, repaired boundaries, and growing up faster than anyone should.

But now?

Now the secret was gone.

And he wasn’t just someone’s baby anymore.

He was Paxton Miles Pocket.
Tiny feet. Big presence.
Known. Loved. Real.

Polly stood on the stage at school in a modest blue dress. Not for prom. Not for a party.

For the Future Leaders of Science award ceremony.

Her hair was curled. Shani had helped. Lila sat in the front row with a poster that said “POCKET POWER.” Emma livestreamed the event for Louis.

And Paxton?

He sat on Penelope’s lap, clapping along to the music between awards.

When Polly’s name was called, she stepped up to the mic and smiled at the crowd.

Then she said something she hadn’t planned:

“I used to think my life was over at 13 months ago.

But it was just beginning.

Everything I am now… started because of him.”

She looked at Paxton.

“So thank you. For letting me fail and grow and still belong.”

That same week, Louis returned to Littleton for a full month—approved by both families.

He didn’t sleep in Polly’s house.

He didn’t try to reclaim what they had.

He just showed up.

He changed diapers. Cooked breakfast. Helped with preschool paperwork. And played guitar while Paxton danced in circles with a wooden spoon.

One night, after Paxton fell asleep on his chest, Louis whispered:

“I’m still scared.
But I’m here.
I’ll always be here.”

Polly didn’t reply.

She didn’t need to.

Shani submitted her Memory Box design to a national invention competition. She didn’t win first place.

She won funding.

And Lila?

She started therapy. Voluntarily. Every week.

She even forgave herself—just a little.

The night before Louis’s return flight to Paris, the four of them sat in Polly’s room again.

Like before.

Only this time, there were no lies.

Only stories.
Laughter.
Regret.
And hope.

Lila stretched out on the floor. “So… what now?”

Shani shrugged. “We grow up.”

Polly nodded. “Together.”

Louis smiled. “But slower this time.”

They all laughed.

And Paxton, half-asleep in Polly’s arms, smiled too.

This wasn’t a happy ending.

This was a beginning.

A truthful one.
A hard one.
A chosen one.*

A week later.

Louis boarded the flight back to Paris.

Polly stood at the gate holding Paxton, his little arms wrapped tightly around her neck.

Louis hugged them both—carefully, fully—then stepped back.

No tears this time.

Just a deep breath.

A knowing look.

Polly smiled, tired but real. “See you soon?”

“Not soon enough,” Louis replied.

And with one last wave, he was gone.

The following Saturday,

Paxton toddled across the community park, chasing butterflies and squealing at passing ducks.

Polly sat on a bench beside Penelope.

“I never asked,” Polly said suddenly, “what you thought of the name.”

“Paxton?”

Polly nodded.

Penelope smiled at the horizon. “It means peace.”

Polly blinked. “I didn’t know that.”

“Maybe you did,” Penelope said. “Somewhere deeper.”

In Paris, Louis framed the “MY FAMLEE” crayon drawing and hung it above his desk.

He had just submitted a college application.

For a design school in Massachusetts.

He didn’t know what Polly would say.

Didn’t expect anything.

He just wanted to be closer.

Not just to Paxton.

But to who he was becoming.

Back in Littleton, Shani visited her old steam room.

It had been cleared out.

But she placed a small plaque where the bench used to be.

“Built in secrecy.
Transformed by truth.
— S.S.”

She stood there for a while.

Then walked away.

Lila sat with her dad at the kitchen table, telling him about her therapy sessions.

He didn’t say much.

But when she finished, he cleared his throat and said, “I’m proud of you.”

She looked down, trying not to cry.

And Polly?

Polly sat beside Paxton one night while he colored with a fistful of crayons.

He turned to her suddenly and asked, “Was I a secret?”

She froze.

Then nodded softly. “You were. For a little while.”

“Why?”

“Because I was scared. And being scared made me make some really big mistakes.”

“Am I still a secret?”

Polly pulled him into her lap.

“Never again.”

He beamed.

And added a new drawing to the fridge.

It was three stick figures again.

One holding a locket.
One holding a sketchbook.
One much smaller, holding both their hands.

Beneath it, he had written:

“Truth is good.”

They were no longer hiding.

Not from each other.
Not from the world.
Not from themselves.*

They had made mistakes.
And carried consequences.

But now, they also carried…truth.

And with it—each other.*