Chapter Text
The linoleum floor of the Baker kitchen still has that familiar, uneven dip right in front of the sink, a spot worn down by two decades of pacing, scrubbing, and juggling toddlers. Tom Baker leans his hip against the counter, lifting a heavy ceramic mug filled with lukewarm black coffee. Across from him, sitting on a stool that has lost half its varnish, Kate lifts her own mug. There is no shattered glass, no lingering bitterness in the air—just the quiet, comfortable hum of a refrigerator and the distant thud of a stray sneaker hitting a bedroom wall upstairs.
"To the book," Tom says, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. He taps his mug against hers. "And to surviving the first twelve months of whatever the hell this new chapter is."
Kate smiles, the lines around her eyes crinkling with genuine warmth. "To survival. And to still liking each other when the paperwork is done."
Their divorce had been finalized exactly a year ago, a transition that many expected to be a catastrophic explosion given the sheer volume of their household. Instead, it had been a quiet, mutual realization. Twelve kids, a chaotic move to Evanston, and decades of shifting priorities had gently eroded the romantic foundation beneath them. They had grown apart, stretching until the tether snapped, but they never stopped being an anchor for their family. They remain best friends, a fierce, unbreakable co-parenting unit, but the quiet toast confirms what they both already know: they are better allies than spouses.
Kate sets her mug down, her fingers drumming nervously against the ceramic. On the kitchen island sits a pristine, glossy hardback book. The cover features a bold title about modern parenting, and her own name is embossed in crisp, elegant lettering. Today is May 1, 2003, and the book is officially hitting shelves across the country.
"The publicist called before you came downstairs," Kate admits, a nervous flutter in her chest. "The itinerary is locked in. New York, Chicago, Los Angeles, Seattle... It’s a whirlwind."
She is about to embark on a massive, grueling national book tour. It is everything she has worked for, a manifestation of her own identity outside of just being 'Mom.' Yet, looking at the calendar pinned to the wall, covered in a chaotic rainbow of highlighters for the kids' schedules, a familiar pang of maternal anxiety hits her. Tom notices and reaches out to give her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. He’s got the home front covered, but the sheer scale of her upcoming absence hangs heavily in the morning light.
The front door clicks open, and the heavy, rhythmic thud of work boots echoes down the hallway. Nora, their oldest daughter, sits at the kitchen table, her hands resting protectively over the prominent swell of her belly. She is exactly twelve days away from her twenty-second birthday, radiating the glow of impending motherhood, though her eyes are fixed anxiously on the doorway. Her husband, Bud McNulty, walks into the kitchen. Usually, Bud carries himself with an easygoing, midwestern confidence, but today his shoulders are slumped, and his face is a pale mask of exhaustion and anxiety. He holds a crumpled piece of letterhead from his university, his knuckles white against the paper.
"Tom, Kate," Bud mutters in greeting, his voice tight. He walks straight to Nora, dropping to his knees beside her chair and taking her hands in his. "I got the notification. It’s... It’s happening, but it’s a mess."
He swallows hard, trying to find the words. He explains that he has just been granted a massive, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to finish his advanced degree. It is the kind of breakthrough that young academics dream of, the golden ticket for their future. The catch, however, is brutal: it requires an intensive, strictly mandatory three-month residency program from June through August. And it is completely out of state.
"I can't go," Bud says bluntly, his voice cracking as he looks up at Nora. A tear slips down his cheek, driven by pure devastation. "The baby is due right in the middle of it. I'm going to miss the final stretch. I'm going to miss the birth of our first kid, Nora. I'll turn it down. We'll find another way."
The weight of his sacrifice hangs in the room. He is terrified, torn entirely between his family's financial future and the emotional necessity of being by his wife's side. Nora stares at him for a long moment, her heart aching for the pain in his eyes. She reaches out, her thumbs gently wiping the tears from his face. A soft, determined smile touches her lips.
"Bud, look at me," Nora says softly but firmly. "You are taking this. We’ve talked about this degree for three years. It’s what we need for your career, for our future, for this baby. I’m not going to let you resent a choice we made out of fear." She glances up at Tom and Kate, who are watching with quiet pride. "Look around you. I have a village here. I won't be alone. You need to go do this."
Across town, the atmosphere in the Murtaugh household is entirely different. The house is a pristine architectural marvel, all gleaming hardwood, high ceilings, and expensive minimalist decor. But inside, it feels like a pressure cooker.
Jimmy Murtaugh stands in his home office, rubbing his temples as he looks out the window. At fifty years old, he is a wealthy overachiever, a man who views parenting as a high-stakes corporate strategy. His eight children are intensely scheduled, their days mapped out in fifteen-minute increments of tennis lessons, violin practice, and Mandarin tutoring. They are tightly wound, hyper-competitive, and currently melting down under the pressure of their own perfectionism. Jimmy is drowning in the logistics of his own making.
To make matters worse, a sharp, rhythmic clicking of high heels echoes down the marble hallway. Jimmy stifles a groan. Sarina enters the office without knocking. She is a relentless, impeccably groomed high-society social climber, smelling strongly of expensive perfume and ambition. For the past three months, she has been aggressively pursuing Jimmy, viewing him as the ultimate prize to cement her status in Evanston's elite circles. She drops a flyer for a charity gala onto his desk, leaning in with a predatory smile.
"We need to coordinate our outfits for the country club benefit, Jimmy," she purrs, her hand brushing his arm. "People are talking. We make such a power couple."
Jimmy freezes, his smile tightening into a rigid, polite mask. He doesn't have the heart—or, more accurately, the absolute guts—to tell her the truth. He isn't interested in her social schemes, her country club galas, or her aggressive charm. More importantly, he isn't interested in women at all. He has spent years hiding that part of himself behind the shield of his career and his large family, and looking at Sarina’s expectant, ruthless face, the prospect of coming out feels like standing in front of a freight train. He merely nods, trapped in a cage of his own silence.