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The thing no one says about moving to a new place is the amount of stuff you realize you’re going to have to pack up.
Luckily, Grace has the paranoia of two separate diagnoses for anxiety and autism by her side, which means she has everything she has ever owned listed out then put on a clipboard.
“Alright. Think that’s the last of them.”
Standing in the middle of her new living room, Grace hugs the clipboard to her chest as she turns to say thank you to her neighbor for helping her move in.
Pink hair flowing down her back and limbs lanky like a supermodel, Mira lets out a scoff.
“Like I would let you carry all of this on your own.”
Shy from the attention and just generally how good Mira’s bare, toned biceps looks in her sleeveless tanks, Grace giggles.
“It's not like there were a lot. I could’ve handled it.”
“You could, doesn't mean you should.” Mira claps, effectively ending the conversation. If Grace is sulking outwardly, she hopes Mira doesn't notice. “I’ll leave you to settle in. Remember, we are right next door should you need something.”
“Thank you,” Grace immediately says, intrigued by the choice of pronoun. “What do you do, if you don't mind me asking?”
“I’m a tailor.” Mira flexes her fingers, on one of which has a wedding band. “And my wife has a cafe just a block away.”
Damn, she's taken.
Not like Grace will shoot her shot or anything, but damn. At least it's not a man.
“I see,” she says, smiling. She doesn’t make a habit of telling people she’s FBI for obvious reasons, and Mira didn’t ask anyway. “Thank you for your help, truly. It means a lot to be welcomed into the new building on the very first day.”
“Sure.” Mira shrugs, casual and suave in the way Grace is sure must work so well on the ladies. “By the way, let me add you to our building group chat.”
“Oh, the landlord already added me,” Grace points out joyfully.
“We have a separate one.” Oh? “Just in case. Can’t trust them these days. You get what I mean.”
Grace’s only place of living after her mom died has been a temporary hotel room afforded to her by the government then an apartment building under the FBI’s ownership so, no, she doesn’t quite get it.
But all the same, she listens to Mira, handing over her phone and rocking on her toes as she waits.
“Done.” Mira hands it back, hands effortlessly sliding into the pockets of her skinny jeans. “I gotta go, but text if you need anything, yeah?”
Grace nods, meek. “Of course. Thank you.”
Mira rolls her eyes, hopefully fond. “Say that one more time and you might summon my wife. She’s just as annoyingly polite.”
Grace bids Mira goodbye with a laugh and a long sigh once the door closes.
Don’t get her wrong, Mira seems like a pleasant person to be around, but Grace can only handle so many social interactions, and with beautiful women who look like they can stomp on her at that, without dying on her feet.
Unlocking her phone, Grace verifies the time. Five hours until she can pick Emily up.
Determined, Grace kicks herself off the door, grabs her trusty clipboard, and gets the place ready.
Thankfully, her new apartment comes fully furnished, with three bedrooms— one for her, one for Emily, and one for her office— two bathrooms, a living room, a kitchen and dining room hybrid, and the best part, a porch.
With only her own stuff and Emily’s to tackle, Grace makes quick work of getting everything where they should be.
Changing the sheets, swapping the pillow cases, putting away clothes in wardrobes and stocking the fridge, Grace slaves away until her watch beeps with an ominous one-hour warning before it’s time to get Emily.
Quickly, Grace grabs a random change of clothes and dashes into the shower.
Usually not the type to take long, Grace exits with a freshly washed head of hair and body smelling like an odd mix of X-Men and Chanel’s in less than thirty minutes.
She checks herself in the mirror, pleased with her subconscious choice of a simple pair of dark leggings paired with a dark button-up that makes her complexion pop.
Her hair sways softly with her movements, courtesy of a very expensive shampoo that treats all the damage she sustained from that horrific night in Raccoon City. It’s getting quite long, though, perhaps she should give it the cut she’s been thinking about for a while.
“Okay,” she says to her reflection, trying to build up confidence. “You’re okay. She won't be disappointed. She loves you.”
Deeming herself okay and checking her phone, Grace finds a text message from Jamie, who informs her that Emily is all dressed and ready to go.
There’s even a picture.
Emily in the most adorable jeans overalls with her little backpack and her tiger plush, a gift from Grace when they went to the carnival last month, held tightly against her chest.
She’s sitting in a chair that’s even bigger than she is, eyes glued on the door like she’s expecting to see Grace walk in any minute now.
The wonderful thing is that she can.
Emily’s cataract surgery had gone off without a hitch, and today marks the start of her third week of recovery.
According to Jamie, Emily now has nearly perfect vision but intense exercise such as swimming, running, or even indulging in the bathtub should be avoided.
Grace hadn’t seen her since she held Emily’s hand going into surgery and right after, when she had her eyes wrapped in bandages.
Something about October always comes with a sudden uptick in criminal investigations.
Maeve used to say it's the time when the line between the mortal world and the underworld is at its thinnest, so of course people are acting stupid.
Anyway.
This will be the first time Grace sees Emily in person and vice versa in two weeks, and just the thought of Emily properly seeing Grace for the very first time makes her so excited, she feels sick to her stomach.
Come, Jamie writes, purposely framing only Emily’s back and leaving the long-awaited anticipation for when Grace is there in person. Your little girl is so excited to come home.
God, she’s going to throttle that boy if he keeps trying to make her cry.
Sniffling and smiling like an idiot, Grace pockets her phone and hurries to the door.
She somehow manages not to trip on air or her own feet while putting on her shoes, and miraculously not breaks the elevator with how hard she jabs the button leading her to the garage.
The facility is a bit of a drive from their new place, but Grace still manages to get there in record time.
Taking deep breaths, Grace makes sure she looks tidy before stepping out. She has to double back when she realizes she forgot her wallet, thus her ID, and makes a half grimace at the security guard who grins at her.
Getting past the receptionist and security clearance feels like an eternity, Grace’s hands shaking and her words stammering as she tries to be as quick as she can.
Then, as if they're pitying her, one of the nurses Grace recognizes comes out and leads her down the regular path to Emily’s room.
Outside of a small thank you, Grace doesn't dare make a peep. So nervous she can feel the sweats concentrating at the back of her head.
Finally, they arrive.
The nurse gives Grace an encouraging nod before she dips, though kind enough to knock the door for her.
Frozen, Grace feels the anxiety crawl up from her chest to her throat, slowly rendering her capability to breathe impossible.
But then she sees green eyes and it’s like the whole world is no longer black and white.
“Grace?”
Emily has green eyes.
Big, green eyes that peer up at Grace in a way that's intelligent, curious, and unmistakable.
Emily, tiger plush nowhere to be seen, slowly approaches. In turn, Grace kneels down so they can be of equal eye level.
She's shaking so badly, her knees feel like they're going to drill through the floor.
“Is that really you?” Emily asks, in that same, scared little voice she used when they first met. Grace never wants to hear it ever again. “Grace?”
“Hi Emily.” Emily gasps. Grace smiles through her tears. “Will you come here, baby?”
Footsteps, tiny footsteps, cushioned by the pads of bright white and blue shoes, meander towards her. Grace sucks in a painful breath at every one of them, her body melting into the floor atom by atom.
By the time Emily steps close enough for her to see there are identical tears in her eyes, Grace is so close to breaking apart.
Then Emily puts a hand on her right cheek, followed by her left. Green eyes scan her face with an almost awed sense of curiosity, drinking her in like she’s a wonder to behold.
It’s true.
After all, she is a mother.
“Your eyes are beautiful,” Emily says, marvelled.
“Thank you,” Grace croaks out. “They’re green, just like yours.”
“There’s pink on your cheeks,” Emily continues, fully immersed. “Your teeth is white, your mouth is pink too, and your hair is yellow.”
“Blonde,” Grace corrects, choking on a half laugh, half sob.
“You look like me,” Emily whispers, and Grace’s heart splinters.
“We look like each other,” Grace gently corrects her, and Emily’s lower lip quivers like a storm. “Oh sweetheart, come here.”
When her little girl falls into her arms, Grace knows this is home.
—
Emily comes home on a Tuesday and as per tradition, Grace orders takeouts.
She was going back and forth between options, but then Emily confessed the flyer for Grace’s favorite restaurant looked the most interesting, so they decided on Chinese for dinner.
Emily is helping Grace decorate their kitchen, namely by picking out which ones of her drawings she wants to put on the fridge, when the food arrives.
Grace waits a few seconds for the delivery guy to leave before she goes out and grabs the food.
While outside, Grace spots the door leading to Mira’s apartment closing, presumably Mira’s wife just arriving home from work.
Musing over the idea of sending them a thank you card for their warm welcome, Grace brings their equally warm paper bag of food and puts it on the coffee table.
Emily, adorable and curious Emily, pokes at the bag like it's a bomb.
“It smells good,” she says, peering up at Grace.
“And it tastes even better,” Grace promises, striding to the kitchen for plates and utensils. “Do you want water while we eat, Ems?”
“That’d be great, thank you.”
It's the opposite of Grace’s usual luck to adopt a child already so polite and well-behaved.
She grins to herself at the realization, remembering her own rebellion phase as a teen that traumatized Alyssa and feels a familiar ache in her heart.
Gosh, she misses her mom.
“Alright.” Grace takes the paper bag and opens it with enough dramatics to make Emily giggle. “I got us some classic fried rice and sweet sour pork. Perfect beginner's guide to Chinese food.”
Emily hums. “Pork. I think I’ve had that before. The nurses would put them in my porridge.”
Grace tries really hard not to grimace. “I can't say I like porridge all that much, but I promise you this will taste so much better.”
Emily makes a face like she doesn't think anything can taste better than porridge, and Grace vows to give Jamie a piece of her mind for not feeding her daughter properly while she was in his care.
“Wow, they look beautiful,” Emily exclaims as Grace plates out their food. “Are all foods yellow like that?”
“No, they can be of many different colors.” Adding illustrative children’s books to her shopping list. “Rice is usually white, but fried rice is yellow. Pork is red when it's raw, but pink when cooked. This pork is covered in sweet and sour sauce, so it's bright yellow.”
Emily nods along to every word Grace says, politely taking her plate and her spoon with both hands.
She scoops some, a bit more than she should and gasps when they fall back on the plate, but Grace encourages her to just eat it.
You can see a lightbulb popping up on Emily’s head the moment she has the spoon in her mouth, a noise of genuine joy spilling out that warms Grace’s heart.
“Wow!” Emily shovels another spoon before Grace can stop her, cheeks squirreling and eyes lighting up like stars. “This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”
Grace laughs helplessly. “I haven't even shown you the wonders that are instant noodles yet.”
The rest of dinner goes on in the same fashion, with Emily exclaiming in delight at every new discovery about the outside world and Grace gleefully info-dumping to her heart’s content.
Once finished, they toss the dishes into the sink and plop on the couch to watch TV, where Emily shyly asks if she can lay down on Grace’s lap.
Heart like candle wax, Grace easily lets her little girl use her leg as a pillow, and together they watch TV until Emily’s eyes begin to droop.
Grace hears the yawn before she sees Emily stretching out across the length of the couch, chuckling as she takes her into her arms and walks towards the bathroom.
A quick shower later, Grace guides Emily into her bedroom so she can pick out her sleepwear.
They unanimously decide on a pair of flannel pajamas that have ducks on its pant legs, an adorable housewarming gift from Jamie right before they were discharged from the specialized care facility for good.
Grace’s desire to murder him decreases significantly after Emily comes out of the bathroom all dressed and clearly proud of herself for doing it all on her own, even rolling up the hems so she doesn’t trip.
For the two hundredth time since they’ve been home, Grace wants to cry.
Somehow she manages not to, picking Emily up again and depositing her into bed. The sheets are a simple, calming blue that totally does not remind Grace of anyone else, with patterns of tigers etched into the fabric and smelling faintly of Grace’s go-to detergent of choice.
Emily’s tiger plush, whose name is apparently George, sits prettily by her pillow, just waiting for Emily to come in and cuddle.
Grace isn’t sure what to do here though, continuing to tug Emily in even after she’s settled under her blanket.
Finally Emily takes mercy on her, “Can you read me a bedtime story?”
A metaphorical lightbulb popping up her own head, Grace grins so hard her cheeks hurt.
“You want that?” Emily nods. “Okay. Scooch.”
Emily does exactly that, giggling when Grace makes a show of swan-diving onto the bed. They get into position, then Emily reaches over the nightstand to grab one of the books lent to them by the care center.
Grace presumes those are all books written in non-braille to encourage Emily to learn how to read, but this is the perfect time for her gift.
“Wait.” She stops Emily with a gentle hand, taking in green eyes widening in confusion but absolute trust staring back at her. “How about I read you your favorite story? Village of Shadows?”
Her little girl gasps, delight obvious on every surface of her face. “You learned how to read?”
“Not yet,” Grace laughs. “But I had a friend translate the book for me so I could read it for you. Would you like that?”
In response, Emily bulldozes her way into Grace’s embrace, head on her chest and big, doe eyes peering up at Grace in poorly-hidden anticipation.
The new position lets Grace rest her head against the headboard, one of her hands naturally stroking the softness of Emily’s hair and the other pulling out her phone from her pocket.
One of these days, she’s going to learn the story by heart. But Emily doesn’t look like she is all that bothered, almost vibrating in Grace’s arms.
Long ago, a young girl went with her mother to pick berries for her father who was hard at work.
It’s a fascinating story, if not a little scary for little girls like Emily. She really loves it though, giggling and humming at every dramatic turn, even more so when Grace puts on a silly voice and makes herself blush the force of a thousand suns.
In the story, the little girl mistakes the Iron Steed’s golden gear for yet another gift and anger all the monsters in the cold, barren land of the dark forest.
“Gifts we gave, but more you took,” she snarled. “So more, in turn, is due.” In a blink, the girl was trapped inside a mirror.
Emily gasps, clutching Grace’s shirt like she fears she might disappear any minute now.
Something in Grace’s chest breaks at the sight, and her voice shakes as she continues telling the story.
Her parents, though, had searched all day and, at last, arrived.
With rampant rage, Father fought the Witch while Mother’s loving touch shattered the dark enchantment.
But the Witch was strong and Father yelled, “Save our daughter!”
So Mother bore their child to safety as the forest was consumed.
“I love you.”
Even now, the burnt forest is a grim reminder of Father’s sacrifice.
“To this day, any child who stares too long into the charred wasteland will be haunted by nightmares of getting lost while picking berries,” Grace robotically recites the last line, trailing off into uncomfortable silence.
She isn’t sure why this story is affecting her so much. She had read every word of Maeve’s translation through the text-to-speech in her car, then in her old office, and once more before she went to bed that night.
So why?
Why would the universe decide to be cruel to her again? And like this?
Emily, who is more observant than anyone ever gives her credits for, tugs gently on Grace’s collar.
“Grace?” Who only hums in response. “Are we a family?”
Brows furrowed, Grace takes a second longer to respond. “Yes, of course.”
“Is there anyone else?” Emily asks, so genuinely curious. “I read that some have big families. Like, fill up a whole house.”
Grace nods. “Some do. I once knew a friend who had over twenty living in their home.” She pauses, unsure if the collapse in her chest means she’s about to cry or have a panic attack. “There is… no one else, Emily. It’s just the two of us.”
But that’s not true, is it?
“Actually, there is someone else I want to show you.”
Going into her phone gallery, Grace’s thumb trembles as it hovers the hidden folder. She practically jabs it with her nail, the soft ding of facial recognition granting her access not at all comparable to her heart pounding away in her chest.
When wheat hair and loving smiles fill the screen, Grace tilts it over so Emily can see.
“This is my mom,” Grace says, voice somehow steady. “Her name is Alyssa.”
Emily gently takes the phone, her little mouth forming an oh.
“She’s beautiful.”
“She is,” Grace laughs. Her heart is supernova.
“Can I meet her?” Emily asks, her question so innocent and kind that it completely shatters whatever holding Grace together.
But that’s not true either.
Because for her daughter, Grace will be as strong as Emily needs her to be.
“She’s in heaven now, Emily,” Grace pauses, choosing her words carefully. “But there is a special place I go every year because that’s what we loved to do. I would like to take you there one day, if that’s what you want.”
Emily nods, handing the phone back without saying more. Grace locks it and throws it on the nightstand without a care, hiding her tears behind her hair.
“She looks like me,” Emily whispers, sleepiness seeping in from Grace’s comforting caress and the story.
“Yes, baby.” Grace sniffles. “She looks like me too.”
“So we’re all family.”
“That’s right. We’re a family.”
When Emily drifts into sleep, Grace stays.
She never told anyone this. Would never dream of saying this out loud, but Grace had wanted to die with her mother that night.
It all happened so fast; the blackout, Alyssa’s sudden paranoia, the murdered hotel manager, the man in the hood.
But Grace remembers the end. Oh, she remembers.
The crunch of an axe slicing her mother's throat. The splatter of her mother’s blood on her cheek. The thump of her mother’s lifeless body meeting the cold, hard floor.
Then the fire came and it felt like hell.
Not because Grace couldn't breathe or the sweats coming out of her in buckets, but because her mom was dead.
She was dead. Just like that.
She was Grace’s whole world and she was dead.
Grace had sunken to the floor and draped herself over Alyssa’s body, still warm from life or remnants of the fire, who even knows.
She had held her mom for as long as she could, before the police barged through the door and dragged her away.
Grace went, not without kicking and screaming, and for the longest time, Grace felt like she had also died that night.
As if the universe wasn’t cruel enough ripping her mother away from her, it took her essence too.
As a kid, Grace always thought Alyssa had a distinct smell. It’s not perfume or laundry detergent or shampoo, it’s late nights pouring over documents on the couch and early mornings at the park, feeding ducks and watching the sunrise.
It was reliable. It was warm and comforting.
It was home.
And that fire took it all away, replacing it with ashes and blood.
The day she turned twenty three and realized she could no longer remember what her mother used to smell like, Grace filled out a job application form for the FBI and never looked back.
But that was then, and this is now.
Now, Grace has Emily.
Who she saved and who saved her.
“I was ready to die in that place,” Grace murmurs, drinking in the sight of Emily safe and sound and curled up warmly in her arms. “But then Leon told me you could still be alive and suddenly I wanted to live again.”
Please know that you are my hope. Never forget that.
“You are my hope.” Grace leans down, her lips pressed into Emily’s hair in a featherlight kiss. “You are my home, and I’m going to keep you safe until my last dying breath. I promise you that, Emily.”
Emily stirs in her arms, and for a moment Grace fears she might have committed the most heinous crime of waking her up.
But thankfully she remains asleep, or so Grace thinks, her little form cuddling even closer to Grace’s chest. Like her heartbeats are a lullaby and her warmth a home.
To carve up a place in your heart for someone to step inside and call it their home, what bliss.
“I love you,” Emily murmurs, and Grace lets herself cry.
“And I love you.”
If you can hear me, mom, know that I love you. I’ll always love you.