Chapter Text
“We did it,” Bernie said softly. “We officially have an empty nest.”
“Yeah,” Serena whispered.
They stood in the middle of the kitchen, arms wrapped around each other, surrounded by a silence that felt louder than any argument, any slammed door, any late-night laughter that had once lived here.
Eleanor had been the last to go. The third suitcase, the third tearful goodbye, the third time Serena had stood on the doorstep waving until the car disappeared around the corner. Three children, raised and released into the world.
Serena buried her face into Bernie’s shoulder and sniffed. “I just want to go back in time,” she mumbled.
Bernie tightened her arms around her wife, steady and warm, but said nothing. Serena stepped back after a moment, embarrassed by the tears she couldn’t seem to stop, swiping at her cheeks with the heel of her hand.
“I know you do,” Bernie said gently. “But they’re good kids. We’ve done all we can. It’s down to them now to spread their wings.”
“Oh, you would say that.” Serena’s voice sharpened, the grief turning defensive. “It’s easy for you.”
Bernie frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Serena crossed her arms, the ache in her chest spilling out before she could stop it. “You had the military, Bernie. That was always the deal. You pursued your career, and I took care of the children and climbed the ladder at the hospital. Being a mum always came first. They always came first. And now what?” Her voice cracked. “What do I do now?”
Bernie sighed, resting her back against the worktop. She studied Serena’s face—the same one she had loved for decades, now etched with a grief. “We make time for us,” she said at last. Her tone was calm, careful.
Serena shook her head immediately. “Bernie, I love you, but I don’t want time for us. I want my babies back. I want noise and chaos and fingerprints on the furniture. I want slammed doors and forgotten backpacks and cereal bowls left in the sink.”
Bernie pushed herself upright and took Serena’s hands, grounding her. “This is temporary. Before you know it, we’ll have all that again—with grandchildren. You can spoil them, feed them junk food, and send them home.”
“I’m sorry,” Serena said, reaching for a tea towel and pressing it to her face. “I need to pull myself together.”
Bernie brushed her thumb across Serena’s knuckles. “Everything will be okay. You’ll see.”