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The house was unusually quiet for a Saturday.
Maura was at the kitchen table, medical journal open, glasses perched low on her nose. Jane stood at the stove, coaxing grilled cheese into golden crispness like it was a delicate forensic operation. And Grace, perched on a step stool, was slicing apples with an unnecessary amount of precision.
She’d insisted on helping-no, on doing it herself. "I’m basically eleven," she’d said, like that was license for maturity.
Jane had exchanged a look with Maura then, the kind that said okay, let’s just roll with it.
“You know,” Jane said casually, flipping a sandwich, “Faith usually quits halfway through this job. Says it’s ‘emotionally exhausting.’”
Grace didn’t laugh. She just pressed the apple slices into a neat fan shape on a plate. “Well, Faith’s younger.”
That was a sentence they’d been hearing more often lately. Sometimes stated with a sigh. Sometimes a shrug. Sometimes like it meant more than she let on.
Maura looked up over her glasses. “You don’t have to be older than you are, sweetheart.”
“I’m not,” Grace said quickly. “I’m just helping.”
Which was true. But also not.
She’d started doing her own laundry the week before - without being asked. Had volunteered to help with dinner. Had snapped at Faith for being “too loud.” And last night, when Jane kissed her forehead, she’d stiffened for a half-second before leaning into it like she’d forgotten she was allowed.
Jane turned off the stove and gently nudged the pan away. “Lunch is done.”
“I’ll make the plates,” Grace said, already moving.
Maura rose to get cups, but Grace waved her off. “I’ve got it.”
Jane frowned. “Kiddo-”
“I’ve got it.”
Maura caught Jane’s arm lightly. Let her. For now.
Grace loaded each sandwich, arranged the apple slices like restaurant plating, and added napkins folded into triangles. She didn’t sit down until everyone else was settled. She even asked if they wanted more pepper. She was eleven going on thirty-five.
But halfway through lunch, Maura’s phone buzzed with a reminder. The school’s email about field trip forms.
Grace went still.
She swallowed, wiped her hands carefully, and said, “You don’t need to sign it. I already… I used your name. I mean, I signed it.”
Maura blinked. “You forged my signature?”
“It’s not forgery if you meant to,” Grace said too fast. “I mean - I knew you’d say yes. I just didn’t want to bug you. You were reading. And Faith was sick. And-”
Her voice caught.
Jane put her sandwich down. “Gracie. Hey. You’re not in trouble.”
“But I used your card,” she whispered. “For the deposit. I remembered the numbers. I didn’t want Faith to miss out. Or me. I just… I didn’t want to be a problem.”
There it was.
Jane stood and crossed the room slowly, crouching beside her. “Grace. Baby. You are never a problem.”
Maura came around too, gently pulling Grace into her arms from the other side. “You’re our daughter. That’s not something you have to earn by being… good. Or grown-up.”
Grace stayed stiff for a second, then her shoulders sagged like someone had finally let her put something heavy down.
She didn’t cry. Not really. But her eyes shimmered, and she clung to her mothers like she had at five, knees tucked into Jane’s lap, head resting against Maura’s shoulder.
“I just wanted to help,” she mumbled.
Jane pressed a kiss into her hair. “You do. Every single day. But helping doesn’t mean doing it all alone.”
“And being a kid doesn’t mean you’re weak,” Maura added softly. “It just means you’re… still learning. And still allowed to lean.”
Grace stayed nestled between them long after the apple slices browned on the plates and the grilled cheese turned cold. She didn’t mind. This felt safe-like a secret pocket of time, stitched between heartbeats. She hadn’t realized how badly she’d needed it.
Jane’s hand moved slowly through her hair, untangling curls with the kind of tenderness Grace used to squirm away from. Today, she let her. Maura rubbed gentle circles against her back, murmuring now and then about nothing-reminders to breathe, to rest, to let herself be loved.
And Grace was loved.
She knew that.
But love didn’t stop her from remembering everything they’d been through lately.
Jane’s pale face in the hospital. The sound of Maura crying when she thought no one could hear. Angela whispering about how strong Jane had been, how brave Maura had stayed, how the girls didn’t need to know everything.
Grace had known anyway.
She’d seen it in the silences. Felt it in the way her moms looked at each other when they thought she wasn’t watching. How Faith got tucked in with an extra kiss. How Jane stayed up late folding laundry that was already clean. How Maura started double-checking the locks before bed.
Everyone was trying to be okay.
So Grace had tried, too.
Tried to stay helpful. Stay calm. Stay easy.
Because someone had to be.
Because it couldn’t be Faith-Faith still had that wild softness in her, the kind that screamed and cried and crawled into laps without hesitation. She didn’t know how to hold things in, not yet.
But Grace did.
She’d learned how.
Her moms meant what they said-she believed that. But believing something and letting herself live in it were two different things.
They wanted her to be a kid.
But they also had too much to carry already.
She couldn’t add to that. Not now.
So she sat up slowly, offering a tired smile as Jane brushed her hair back from her eyes.
“I’m okay,” she said, voice small but steady.
“You sure?” Jane asked, eyes narrowing with a softness that felt too big to look at directly.
Grace nodded. “Yeah. Just tired.”
Maura kissed her temple. “That’s allowed.”
“I think I’ll go read.”
She slipped away from their arms, padded barefoot up the stairs. And the moment her bedroom door closed, she curled beneath her blanket and let herself breathe.
She hadn’t lied.
She was okay. She just didn’t know if okay was enough.
-
Downstairs, Jane was stacking plates in the sink when they heard it:
A scream. Then a wail. Then-
“Maaaamaaa!”
Maura didn’t even flinch. “That’s Faith,” she said dryly, already setting down her glass of water.
“I figured it wasn’t Frankie,” Jane muttered, drying her hands on a dish towel. “Unless someone told him there’s no more leftover lasagna.”
They found Faith in the hallway, crumpled dramatically on the floor beside her favourite stuffed rabbit. Its ear hung loose, trailing thread.
“She’s broken,” Faith sobbed, holding the plush up like a casualty of war. “She’s DEAD.”
“She’s not dead,” Jane said gently, kneeling down. “She’s-uh, maybe mildly injured.”
“Gravely injured,” Maura corrected, crouching beside her. “But treatable.”
Faith’s lip trembled. “I didn’t mean to hurt her. I was trying to make her do a flip and she fell. I killed her.”
Jane bit back a smile. “Baby, if flips were fatal, your sister would’ve been gone years ago.”
Faith let out a hiccup-laugh through her tears. She reached for Maura, who didn’t hesitate to scoop her up into her lap, bunny and all.
“It’s okay, sweet girl,” Maura murmured, inspecting the torn ear like it was a surgical consult. “We can sew her back together.”
“With real thread?” Faith sniffled.
“The best thread,” Maura said. “And the tiniest stitches.”
“And a Band-Aid,” Jane added. “For moral support.”
Faith nodded solemnly. “She’ll need to rest.”
“We’ll write her a sick note,” Jane said. “She’s out of school for the week.”
Faith giggled again and pressed her face into Maura’s shoulder. “I love you.”
Jane leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Love you more.”
-
Upstairs, Grace sat cross-legged on her bed, the sound of laughter and comfort drifting faintly through the floor.
She closed her book without realizing she’d stopped reading.
The quiet in her room didn’t feel peaceful anymore.
It felt… apart.
And when she looked down at her own childhood plush-long ago exiled to the bottom drawer of her nightstand-she hesitated.
Then pulled it out.
Just for a minute.
Just to hold.
-
The museum was bright and echoing, all polished marble and field-trip energy. Dozens of fifth graders in matching T-shirts wove around dinosaur skeletons, interactive screens, and increasingly overwhelmed chaperones.
Grace was in the thick of it, clipboard in hand, acting like a mini adult. She wasn’t a chaperone, technically. But she had volunteered to help her teacher keep the group on schedule. She’d made a color-coded map. She had extra pens. She had band-aids in her pocket.
She’d been doing great - until Mia wandered off.
“Has anyone seen Mia?” someone called.
Their teacher was already across the exhibit, corralling a group of boys throwing paper airplanes near the Neanderthal display.
Grace froze.
She spotted the little girl’s backpack slung over the bench by the water fountains.
Her chest tightened.
She knew they weren’t supposed to split up. They were told-strictly told-to find a chaperone first. But Mia was only in third grade, a tag-along from the aftercare program. She was tiny. And scared. And alone.
Grace made a decision.
She went after her.
She darted past the bench, into the hallway beyond. It led to a fork: bathrooms one way, a stairwell the other. She checked both. Nothing.
She ran farther. “Mia?”
No answer.
She didn’t hear the footsteps behind her. Didn’t hear the voice of the staff member calling her name.
Because Grace was already panicking.
What if Mia had gone outside? What if someone took her?
Grace turned a corner and stopped abruptly-only to realize she didn’t recognize the hallway anymore.
White walls. No exhibits. No windows.
She was lost.
She’d tried to be responsible. Tried to be the grown-up.
And now she was shaking in a hallway, alone, with no clue how to get back.
-
Ten minutes later, she was found by a museum staffer and led back to the group-where Mia had already been found, safe and sound, in the gift shop near the sparkly geodes.
Grace didn’t speak the whole bus ride home.
Her stomach was twisted. Her face burned every time someone said, “You were just trying to help.”
Her teacher had been gentle, but firm. “Grace, it’s not your job to fix everything. You need to trust the adults to handle it, okay?”
She’d nodded.
But something inside her cracked open.
She’d been scared. Not just scared for Mia-but scared because, for the first time in a long while, she realized she didn’t want to be the one in charge.
-
The chill of the late afternoon air bit at Grace’s cheeks as she stepped off the bus. Clusters of parents and teachers milled around the playground, their voices bubbling with end-of-day catch-up. Jane’s face came into view first-pale lavender sneakers, poised in the front row. Maura stood beside her, arms crossed, watching every child disappear from the coach steps.
When the door shut behind the last student, Grace broke into a run.
She didn’t care about being tall enough to almost knock Jane over-or that her tie-dyed shirt hit her like a flag.
“Mooooom!” she wailed.
Jane dropped to her knees, arms wide.
Grace ran straight into her embrace. They sank together, Grace’s sobs muffled in Jane’s shoulder. Jane’s arms wrapped around her tight, rocking her gently.
Maura moved forward, but before she could reach them, the teacher-kind, apologize-in-her-eyes Mrs. O’Malley-pulled her aside.
“I’m so sorry,” the teacher began, voice tight but sincere. “Grace acted responsibly. But she went out alone, without telling anyone. She was quite shaken.”
Maura nodded, then noticed Grace clutching Jane like a lifeline. Her chest tightened. Grace had done more than she’d realized.
“I understand,” Maura said quietly. “But she doesn’t need blame. She needs reassurance.”
She stepped back and watched Grace. Jane’s hand smoothed Grace’s hair, thumb stroking small circles against her scalp.
Grace’s breaths began to steady. She peeked up at Jane with tear-glazed eyes.
“I tried to help… and I got lost. I thought something bad happened.”
“I know, sweetheart,” Jane said softly, pressing her forehead against Grace’s. “You did what you thought was right. And that’s okay.”
Maura stepped closer, placing a hand against Grace’s other shoulder, leaning in. “Let us handle the big things,” she whispered. “You’re eleven. Not in charge. Not expected to be.”
Grace blinked fast, one small nod after another.
“Promise?” Jane beckoned.
Grace swallowed and nodded. “Promise.”
They held each other quietly for a moment, the buzz of the playground receding. Then Jane scooped Grace into her arms again, and Maura pulled them both in, wrapping them in a circle of arms underneath her jacket.
Maura brushed a finger across Grace’s cheek. “We’ve got you.”
-
The house had settled into its soft evening hum - quiet enough for comfort, full enough to still feel alive.
Faith was curled on the rug in front of the coffee table, humming to herself as she gently patted her stuffed bunny’s patched-up ear. The makeshift Band-Aid-half peeling, mostly decorative-flopped with every bounce of the bunny’s head.
“She says she’s feeling a bit better,” Faith declared, stroking the toy’s back. “But she wants tea and something sweet.”
“Don’t we all,” Jane muttered from the hallway.
Grace sat tucked into the corner of the sofa, legs folded under her, watching her sister without speaking. Her eyes were quieter than they’d been earlier. Her shoulders, lower. She held nothing in her hands-no book, no clipboard, no task.
Just herself.
Jane crossed the room and paused behind the sofa, her gaze landing on Grace like it always did-like gravity. She reached forward and gently wrapped her arms around her.
“Hey, kid.”
Grace leaned back against her instinctively.
Without another word, Jane lifted her-effortless, like muscle memory-and slid down into the couch, pulling Grace into her lap as she went.
Grace didn’t resist. She just… melted.
One long, slow sigh escaped her as she nestled in, head resting against Jane’s chest, arms curling in close. Jane’s arms came around her like they’d never left.
“There she is,” Jane murmured into her hair. “My oldest baby.”
Grace let the words wash over her.
She didn’t flinch this time.
Didn’t pull away.
She just stayed.
Warm, safe, small in the way that didn’t mean weak-but loved.
Maura passed through the room a minute later with two mugs of tea and paused at the sight of them. A knowing softness flickered across her face.
“She’s asking for a pastry,” Maura said, nodding toward the bunny.
Faith looked up. “She needs it for recovery.”
Maura handed her a small cookie from her pocket like it was a prescription. “Administer as needed.”
And when she turned back to the sofa, she found Jane and Grace still curled together-Jane’s fingers moving in slow circles on Grace’s back, Grace’s breathing finally deep and even.
“I think we’re all in recovery,” Maura said quietly.
Jane nodded. “And finally starting to let ourselves be.”