𝐛𝐮𝐳𝐳 𝐛𝐮𝐳𝐳 𝐛𝐮𝐳𝐳

[ ₂₀₂₁! ]

It was a long, quiet drive back to the house. It wasn't a peaceful quiet — not even close — but the kind of silence that feels too heavy, like it's pressing down on your chest. Words floated to the edge of everyone's tongue but never made it past their lips.

Misty's tiny blue Fiat had peeled off a few minutes earlier, buzzing like a wind-up toy down the gravel road. Annie watched the taillights vanish between the trees, watching as Natalie drove, shoulders stiff, one hand on the wheel. Misty, of course, had been chattering the entire time, her voice tinny and far-off as she launched into increasingly convoluted theories about body doubles, ritual staging, and murder-by-horse.

Natalie didn't say a word. She just kept driving.

In Molly's car, it was different. Tense. Pulled tight like a wire.

Annie sat in the back seat beside Dahlia, the girl curled unconsciously into her side like she'd been doing it her whole life. Her small hand was twisted in the hem of Annie's jacket, curls brushing Annie's arm every time the car dipped or turned. Annie's hand hovered just above her for a moment before she finally let it rest gently across the girl's back, fingers splayed over the fabric of her shirt. Annie had forgotten how instinctive that kind of trust could be. How fragile it felt in your hands.

In the rearview mirror, Travis kept glancing back. At Annie. At the girl beside her. Like he couldn't quite reconcile what he was seeing. He didn't speak, but his eyes stayed on her too long, like maybe the memory of who she used to be was fighting with the image of who she was now.

Up front, Molly's hand hadn't left his. Their fingers were locked together over the center console, her thumb brushing back and forth over the curve of his knuckle. Like if she let go, he might vanish again. Like she still didn't fully believe he was here.

Annie watched them, a soft ache blooming low in her chest. She smiled — just a little — not from joy, but something quieter. Bittersweet. Like watching a flower grow through the cracks of a sidewalk. They made it. Somehow. After all that time, after the crash, after the wilderness, after the years of silence — they'd stayed tethered. Still them. Still a we.

She looked away, out the window, where the trees blurred past in streaks of silver and black. The sky stretched dark and wide overhead, stars glinting behind bare branches. Something about the movement, the hush of it, made her reach for her own hand — the one still resting lightly over Dahlia. Her thumb brushed the edge of her wedding ring.

She didn't mean to look at it—but once she did, she couldn't stop.

It was gold. Simple. Heavy in a way she didn't feel until she got lost in her head. Her throat tightened.

She saw Natalie's face again. Pale under the fluorescent lights, eyes rimmed with exhaustion, but still steady when they looked at her.

"I have a husband," she'd said, voice brittle, like paper pulled too thin.

"I know," Natalie had answered, not even blinking. "But that doesn't change the way I felt. The way I still feel."

Annie squeezed her eyes shut. Not now. Not here. She had a husband. She had a life. Kids. A house with matching towels and a fridge full of artwork and grocery lists. She had Thomas.

That was what I wanted, she told herself. That's what I chose.

So why did it feel like something was still missing?

She looked down again — at Dahlia, curled against her like a question mark, cheeks warm and flushed with sleep — something in her chest fluttered. Because love like that... that felt real. And for the first time in a long time, she wasn't sure if the life she'd built still felt like hers.

She cleared her throat quietly, trying to will the feeling away.

"So," she said, her voice low, just enough to cut through the stillness, "did you know... the guy?"

Travis shifted in his seat. His jaw flexed as he caught her eyes in the rearview again. "Henry," he said after a pause. "One of the other ranch hands. Drove me and Dahlia in this morning. My truck's been in the shop all week."

Annie nodded slowly. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "That's... a lot."

Travis didn't answer for a beat. Then quietly, "Yeah. It was."

They fell back into silence. The kind that didn't soothe — it just lingered.

As the house came into view and the headlights swept across the porch, Molly's brows pulled tight. "What the hell..."

The trash bins overturned, one crushed like it had been kicked, a flowerpot shattered on the front step. And the front window — cracked and jagged with a hole clean through the center.

Travis sat up straighter, already reaching to unbuckle. "Did we get robbed?"

Molly didn't answer him, looking at Annie, eyes narrowed in disbelief.

Annie threw her hands up defensively. "That wasn't me! Okay — the window was Natalie. But everything else? Misty."

Molly groaned, dragging a hand over her face. "Of course it was Misty. Jesus Christ. No wonder the neighbors called the cops."

"If it makes you feel better, they broke into my house first," Annie offered weakly.

Travis blinked, exhaling hard. "Two police run-ins, a body in the barn, and now this?"

"In their defense, they were looking for you." Annie said again, dryly. "And this definitely happened before the body."

The car eased into the driveway and stopped. The engine cut. For a moment, none of them moved — like if they sat still long enough, the night might rewind itself. Travis was the first to break the spell. He unbuckled and stepped out, breath fogging the cold night air. He moved around the side of the car and opened the back door with slow, deliberate care. Dahlia stirred. "M'cold..." she mumbled into his shoulder, half-asleep.

"I got you, bug," he whispered. "Let's get you to bed."

Annie climbed out after them, stretching her legs and twisting her shoulder until it cracked. The air bit against her skin, but the ache in her chest felt warmer now. Not gone, but dulled by something she couldn't name.

Her eyes flicked up just in time to catch the headlights of Misty's car shut off. Natalie stepped out of the passenger side, brushing her hair back with one hand, expression unreadable. Misty climbed out after her, bright as ever, practically bouncing on her heels. "Did I miss anything?" she chirped brightly, stepping out with a hand on her hip like she hadn't committed multiple break-ins.

Together, they crossed the lawn toward the house. The porch light spilled yellow over broken ceramic and the dark hole in the glass. Molly stepped carefully around the worst of it, reaching out to take Dahlia from Travis's arms. The girl stirred but didn't wake, her head nestling instinctively against her mother's collarbone. Molly held her close, already halfway down the hall before anyone else had made it through the doorway.

Travis watched her go.

Then — like the moment cracked — he sat heavily in the nearest armchair, elbows planted on his knees, both hands covering his mouth. He looked like he was made of concrete now. Like everything he'd been holding up had finally settled on his shoulders.

Annie moved slowly into the living room, lowering herself onto the couch. The cushion dipped beside her as Natalie sat down without a word, sitting close. Misty claimed the armrest with a flourish, like she was making herself at home. Or refusing to admit she'd ever left.

The silence stretched. Molly returned, arms crossed, leaning in the doorway, listening.

Travis exhaled hard and dragged a hand down his face. His voice came out hoarse. "So... what the hell is going on here?"

Annie looked at Natalie. Then Misty. Then back at Travis. "Some psychopath is sending us all the same postcards," she said, trying to build something clear out of nothing. "It's got the symbol on it and well... it led us to you."

"We didn't know if you were okay... if you were alive." Natalie added, her voice quieter, but no less certain.. "If either of you were."

Travis's brow furrowed. "The symbol," he echoed. "You mean that symbol?"

Misty leaned forward, her expression bright like she'd been waiting all day for someone to ask. "The symbol."

There was another beat of silence. Travis leaned back, lips pressed into a flat, unreadable line. Molly seized the opportunity to step further into the room. "Do you think someone's... targeting us?"

"Or trying to pull us back in," Annie shrugged. She crossed her arms over her chest, steadying herself. "Whoever it is... they know us. They know things."

Travis gave a slow nod — the kind you make when you've already decided, but it still costs you something. "Okay," he said. "Then we need to figure out who's sending them. And what they want."

Misty beamed. "You're in? Oh my God, I have so many theories."

"No," Natalie muttered, dry. "Absolutely not."

"I'm doing this for them," Travis said, cutting through the noise. His voice was clearer now. Sharper. "For Molly. For Dahlia. I don't care what whoever is trying to do — nobody's getting anywhere near my family again."

Annie watched him. The way his eyes had softened when he said family. How the edges of his voice had dulled when he looked down the hall.

She knew exactly how he felt.

Molly glanced from him to Annie to Travis, then back again. "Then maybe we should go to Wiskayok. Stay with my dad for a bit. Dahlia'll be safer there. And... we'll be close if anything else happens."

Annie blinked. "You'd really come back?"

Molly smiled — just a little, and not without weight. "That's where it all started, right?"

Annie exhaled, the corner of her mouth tugging upward. "That's... not a bad idea. Being close would be nice."

Molly gave a short nod, resolute. "Then I'm in too."

Natalie stood, brushing her hands down the front of her pants. "We should probably go, then." she said, already halfway to the door. "It's a long drive. And the more we sit here, the more time they have to do whatever next."

Misty groaned. "Already?"

Molly rolled her eyes, crossing the room to the drawer that Misty had rifled through, and pulled out a notepad and pen. She scrawled something down, tore the page, and pressed it into Annie's hand. "That's my number," she said. "Text me when you get in. We'll probably leave not long after."

Annie looked down at the paper, then back up, pulling Molly into a hug. "I will," she murmured. "I promise."

And then she let go, stepping out into the dark after Natalie and Misty — toward the car, the headlights, the open road.

The door shut behind them with a low, final sound. Not loud. But certain.

‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧

By the time Misty's blue Fiat rolled into Wiskayok, the sky had softened to a dull, streaked gray-blue — not quite morning, but no longer night. The sun was still tucked behind the low clouds, light pressing in at the edges like it wasn't quite sure it wanted to arrive. A soft, wet chill clung to the air. Misty pulled into the cracked lot of a roadside motel just off the highway, tires crunching through gravel. The neon "VACANCY" sign buzzed faintly overhead, one corner flickering like it was struggling to hang on. A single moth flitted at the edge of the glow.

Annie blinked, sitting forward slightly in the backseat as they rolled to a stop. Her brows furrowed. She knew this place.

Not just in the vague, fogged way you remembered small-town landmarks, but in that visceral, stomach-twisting way your body remembered long before your brain could catch up. Her breath caught. After the rescue, after the reporters and the closed-door interviews and the aching weight of having to survive — this was where she used to drop Natalie off.

Her dealer had lived in one of the units for a while. She remembered waiting in her old car, parked crooked in the very same lot, watching as Natalie hunched her shoulders and tugged her hoodie up, moving quickly toward one of the rooms with her hands shaking.

Annie swallowed thickly. Her fingers tightened around the strap of her purse.

Natalie shifted in the passenger seat, catching her eye for a second — just long enough for something unreadable to flicker across her face — and then turned toward Misty. "Thanks for the ride," she muttered, already unbuckling her seatbelt.

Annie's eyes widened. She hadn't expected her to actually get out. She sat up straighter, heart suddenly stumbling in her chest. Natalie was actually staying here?

Misty turned in her seat, glancing back at Annie. "I could give you a ride home, if you want," she offered with a sugary smile.

"I'm good," Annie said — too fast, too clipped. Her voice caught on the edge of it. Natalie turned her head slowly, brows furrowing. Annie leaned forward, pushing the passenger seat up so she could get out. "I think I'll stay a bit."

Misty's smile didn't falter, but her eyes narrowed behind her glasses as she watched Annie get out of the vehicle. "Suit yourself," she chirped. "Text me later. We've got sleuthing to do." She threw the Fiat into reverse and peeled out of the lot. Her car disappeared into the gray light.

Natalie stood on the sidewalk, arms crossed loosely, watching Annie like she hadn't quite decided what version of her was standing there. "You just lost your ride," she said.

Annie let out a long, shallow breath. "I can Uber. Esme taught me how. She says I'm... old." Annie said softly, tucking her hands into her jacket sleeves. "Plus, Thomas is still probably pissed off about me not coming home." Natalie huffed a breath that might've been a laugh. "Yeah," Annie added, "I'm a real rebel now."

They stood like that for a moment, half-facing each other, the silence crackling in the air between them.

"I'm guessing you want to come in?" Natalie asked finally, not quite a challenge — not quite casual, either.

Annie hesitated. Then nodded once. "Yeah. Okay."

They walked side by side, their steps crunching against the gravel as they passed rows of weathered motel doors. The place smelled like mildew and salt, like damp air trapped in carpet padding. Annie folded her arms, fingers tucked tight under her sleeves. She felt like a teenager again. Too tall in her own skin.

"Bet you didn't think you'd see this place again, huh?" Natalie asked over her shoulder.

Annie let out a shallow breath. "I thought you just came back from therapy. You're not still—"

Natalie paused. Her voice was flat. "No. I'm not using. I just needed somewhere quiet."

"You could've stayed with me."

Natalie reached the door and turned the key with a sharp click. "You really think you would've let me? Before all this?" Annie didn't answer. Her silence folded between them like a sheet being drawn. Natalie pushed the door open and nodded inside. "Ladies first."

The motel room was dim. It took a second for her eyes to adjust to the light that leaked in through crooked blinds, casting thin stripes across the floor. The bed was a sagging queen mattress covered in a paisley comforter that looked older than both of them. The air was stale — the kind of thick that clung to your clothes. Natalie closed the door behind them, the latch catching with a final click. Silence filled the space —- not uncomfortable, but tight, like it's holding its breath.

"It smells weird in here," Annie said softly, stepping further into the room. "Like—"

"Stale air and bad decisions?" Natalie offered.

"Something like that." Annie gave a dry little laugh as she walked forward, her fingers trailing the edge of the chipped dresser before sitting on the end of the bed, hands loosely folded in her lap. Natalie watched her for a second longer than necessary. Then crossed the room and sat beside her, not quite touching.

"I always figured you'd be the one to get out," Natalie spoke, turning her head toward the woman.. "You know, really out. Like... white-picket fence, smiling family, PTA meetings, and parent-teacher conferences where you're the teacher and the parent."

Annie laughed — but the sound caught on something. "You make it sound like I'm living in a Hallmark movie."

"Aren't you?"

Annie looked down. Her fingers twisted in her lap, her wedding ring catching the light. Her thumbs pressed into each other like she was trying to force something still. "No. Not really."

Natalie pushed off the bed, drifting to lean against the wall across from her. Her arms crossed, one foot planted against the floor, the other angled just slightly. "But you've got it," Natalie said. "The life you wanted. Family. Stability. A house, a routine. You said that was all you ever needed."

"I did."

"Then you got it."

Annie glanced up at her, her mouth twisting. "And I left the only family I had to get it."

Natalie didn't respond right away. She just stood there, her eyes dark and unreadable.

Annie rose slowly, crossing her arms. "That's the part nobody talks about, right? You fight for this dream of safety, of normalcy... and by the time you get there, everything real is gone."

Natalie's voice was lower now, more careful. "You don't have to explain it. I didn't stop you from leaving, I know."

"No," Annie corrects. "You let me take the path that seemed the least like bleeding."

Silence crept in again, lingering.

"I remember," Natalie says suddenly, almost as if she's reminding herself. "The night we talked about our futures... when we didn't think we'd have one. You said you wanted a family someday. A real one."

"And you said you didn't think you could do that." Annie murmurs. "That you weren't sure you were meant for something like that."

Natalie nodded with a smile, but there was no joy in it. Just exhaustion. "I believed that." she said. "Still do, sometimes."

Annie walked closer, just a few steps. "I thought you believed that about me. That I was wasting my time wanting something more."

Natalie shook her head. "I never thought that. Not for a second."

"Then why did you really not ask me to stay?"

Natalie opened her mouth. Then closed it. "I didn't think you could live without it." she admitted.

Annie let out a breath that caught halfway out, snagging in the hollow space between her ribs. "You should've asked."

The words weren't bitter — they were barely even voiced. Just a frayed corner of something she'd never let herself say aloud. A wound too old to bleed, but still sore to the touch. She wasn't accusing Natalie. She was mourning the question that never came.

Across from her, Natalie didn't move. The silence stretched again — not awkward, just reverent. Like they were both afraid of what speaking might shatter.

Then Natalie's voice dipped, almost inaudible. "Does he know?"

Annie's brow furrowed slightly. "Who?"

"Thomas."

That name settled between them like dust, familiar and weighted.

Annie hesitated — long enough to make it clear the answer wasn't simple. Then, slowly, she nodded. "He told me before I left. Said... he always knew." She let out a harsh breath, biting her lip. "He's...he's a good man," she added after a second. "He's kind. He held my hand through all the nightmares, through the breakdowns. He built a life around what I told him I wanted."

Natalie tilted her head slightly. "And?"

"And sometimes," Annie said, barely audible. I wonder if I lied to both of us." That brought them to a standstill, Annie running a hand through her hair. "I love my kids. God, I do. I could never regret them. Esme, Rowan — they're everything. And my job... it gives me purpose. It makes me feel like I'm doing something good. Like I'm helping people." She looked up, her eyes glassy. "But some days I feel like I'm standing in the middle of that perfect life, and I'm still screaming into the void."

Her gaze lifted, and Natalie saw it — the cracks just under the surface. The shimmer in her eyes, like she was trying not to cry. The woman stepped forward. Not enough to touch, but enough to remind her she was there. "You never really came back, did you?" she asked gently.

"I came back," Annie said, pressing a hand flat to her chest. "I just... never fully left." Her voice trembled, but she didn't look away. "You asked if he knew. He does. He always has." She paused, almost searching Natalie's face. "There's a box in the back of our closet. Buried behind winter coats and scarves. Photos. Letters. Your jacket... the leather one. I kept it. All of it."

Natalie's lips parted, a flicker of disbelief breaking through. "Why?"

"Because I never stopped looking for you," Annie whispered. "In the pieces I kept hidden from everyone else. Even myself." The words were barely out before another breath hitched in her throat. "I told Thomas I was going away for the weekend. That's what started the fight. He... I think he could feel it. Like he... he knew I wasn't coming back the same."

"Are you leaving him?"

Tears welled fast in Annie's eyes. She didn't even blink them back. "I think I already did," she said. "I just hadn't admitted it yet."

Natalie's eyes widened as she took in the woman's words, her fists curling at their sides. "I was angry," she said, voice quieter now, and full of something raw. "For a long time after you left. I thought you didn't choose me."

"I didn't think you wanted me to," Annie whispered. "I didn't think I was allowed to anymore."

Natalie swallowed. Her eyes didn't leave Annie's face. "Do you love him?"

There was no hesitation. No hedging. Just a single beat — and then:

"Not like I loved you." It wasn't said like a declaration. It was said like the truth finally dragged into the light, blistering and undeniable. And Natalie felt it — felt the ground shift under her, felt every bone in her chest hollow out with the sound of it.

She took one breath. Then another. Her chest rose and fell in the space between them as she stepped forward again — slow, deliberate, like every movement needed to be earned. Her hand lifted, hesitant but sure, until her fingers brushed Annie's cheek. She wiped the tears there — not roughly, but reverently. A thumb at the edge of a cheekbone. A palm that hovered, then cupped. "You think I would've let you go," she said, "if I thought you still wanted me?"

Annie was shaking her head before the words even finished. "I didn't know how to ask if I could stay. I didn't know how to come back."

Their eyes locked. All the years, the damage, the half-lived lives behind them — gone in that instant. Or maybe not gone. Maybe just quiet.

Natalie leaned forward. Breath trembling. And Annie didn't move.

Their foreheads touched first — light, tentative. Then their noses. Then the space between them narrowed, breath mingling.

And then—

BZZZ BZZZ.

Annie flinched so hard that she jolted a step back, nearly stumbling into the nightstand. "Shit," she mumbled, digging frantically through her jacket pocket. Her fingers shook as she yanked out the phone. The screen lit up — Esme. She answered, still breathless. "Hello?"

"Mom?" Esme's voice crackled through the speaker, high and casual, oblivious to the wreckage on the other end.

Annie let out a breath like it had been trapped in her lungs for hours. She sank onto the edge of the bed, wiping her face with the sleeve of her coat. "Hey, Ez. Everything okay?"

Across the room, Natalie had stepped away, arms folded loosely, her expression unreadable, but her eyes tracking Annie's every word. When Annie mouthed Esme, Natalie gave the faintest nod, settling into a lean against the wall.

"Yeah," Esme was saying. "Um... so Dad's not home. And Callie wants to know if I can go to the city with her, Cleo, and Linh B tonight. We'd be back tomorrow morning, promise. Also, can I grab something for a costume out of your closet?"

Annie's brows drew tight at the mention of Thomas. "What do you mean Dad's not home? Where is he?"

"No clue. He left early this morning and hasn't answered any of my texts or calls," the teenager complained. "He's been, like, mega pissed off since you left. Took Rowan's controllers and tried to take my car keys last night. It was a whole thing."

Annie pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. "Jesus Christ..."

"I don't get why you deal with him," Esme added bluntly. "Seriously. I would've kicked him out, like, forever ago. He's so annoying."

Natalie raised her eyebrows from across the room. Annie gave her a helpless, wide-eyed look and waved her hand. "I'll be home in a few," Annie spoke quickly, already gathering her purse.

"Wait, what? You don't have to come home, I just need to know if I can—"

"Love you, see you in a couple of minutes." Annie cut her off and ended the call before the girl could argue.

There was a second of silence before Natalie pushed off the wall. "Everything okay?"

Annie exhaled a sound that wasn't quite a laugh. "Thomas is gone. And apparently Esme's about one wrong look away from putting him in a home."

Natalie cracked a smile. "Want me to come with you?"

Annie froze mid-step, glancing up at Natalie. "I... yeah. I think I do." The woman moved toward the door, her hand fumbling with the strap of her purse, breath still uneven from the call. Natalie was beside her again — not touching, not pushing, just there. Annie glanced at her.

And something inside her stopped.

Natalie wasn't speaking, just watching her. Head tilted slightly, eyes soft in the way they only ever were for her.

The silence between them buzzed, louder than the motel fridge, louder than the hum of cars outside. Annie's fingers tightened around her bag, then loosened again. Slowly, as ig testing the weight of her own heart, she reached out — not in certainty, but in remembrance.

She touched Natalie's wrist first. Then, gently, the curve of her jaw. Her thumb brushed the old scar near her cheekbone, and Natalie shuddered — barely — under the contact. Her hands curled at her sides, like she was bracing herself for something, or maybe remembering how not to fall apart.

And then Annie leaned in — just a little. Natalie didn't move. Their noses brushed. Then stilled. It wasn't fast. It wasn't frantic. It wasn't desperate.

Their noses brushed. Then stilled.

It was the slowest kind of gravity — one soul moving toward another, not to conquer or reclaim, but to remember. Their lips met, barely at first — just a brush. Just a whisper of what had been. Then again, deeper.

Natalie exhaled shakily into it, and Annie's fingers slid into her hair.

The kiss unfolded like something ancient, something rediscovered in ruins. Not polished, not perfect. But real.

Natalie's hands found Annie's waist, anchoring her there, grounding them both in the now — not the memory, but the past. Annie lingered in it, as if she could taste all the missing years on Natalie's mouth. As if she were afraid that pulling away would make it all vanish again.

And then, gently, she did.

Breath trembling, lips parted, she rested her forehead against Natalie's for a half a second longer. Her eyes fluttered open, lashes damp. She let out a breath that almost turned into a laugh — raw and shaken and full of something so terrifyingly alive.

Then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, she slid her hand down and laced their fingers together. She paused, glancing at the door. "...Okay," Annie spoke, her voice ragged and stunned. "Now, how the hell do I call an Uber?"

Natalie blinked, still dazed. Still a little wrecked. Then she snorted — that short, startled kind of laugh that cracked her expression open. "Oh my god." She whispered, shaking her head.

Annie squeezed her hand. "I'm serious. I've got like ten apps and one of them is Duolingo."

Natalie snorted again, crooked smile still ghosting her lips, and tugged Annie gently toward the door.

And this time, it wasn't running.

It was choosing.

‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧

The Uber's tail lights dissolved into the dawn haze, red fading into blue. That quiet hour had settled — not quite night, not yet morning. A hush that felt both sacred and eerie. The street looked half-alive. Empty sidewalks. A newspaper folded in the wrong yard. Stillness that made even the sound of the car door opening feel too loud.

Annie stepped out first. Her shoes hit the pavement, the chill seeping through the soles like a reminder that she was back in her life again — back in the body of it. She still had Natalie's hand in hers. Fingers laced tight, like letting go might unravel everything they'd barely started stitching back together.

Her house loomed ahead. The porchlight buzzed above the steps, flickering faintly like it couldn't decide if it was supposed to be on.

"I think I left the light on by accident," Annie murmured.

Natalie tilted her head, eyes on the dim bulb. "You sure it was you?"

Annie huffed out something that could've passed for a laugh. "I don't know what the hell I'm sure of anymore."

She dug into her bag with one hand, the other still clinging to Natalie's, and fumbled for her keys. Too many on the ring — old ones, useless ones, forgotten ones — each one proof of a life she'd built trying to stay put. She tried the wrong key first, cursed under her breath, then tried another. The lock clicked. The door creaked open.

And then—

A blur of motion barreled into her.

"Mom!"

Rowan collided with her like a heat-seeking missile, all elbows and unbrushed hair and unfiltered panic. He wrapped his arms around her middle with the full-body grip of someone who had not emotionally regulated in a very long time.

"I thought you were dead or kidnapped or stuck in traffic or something and then Dad got mad when I asked about it," he said in a single breath, speaking fast and hot into her coat. "So then I asked Esme and she said not to freak out because he might be drunk or something, so I went back to gaming. But then Dad made me turn off the PlayStation and said we were having family dinner but there wasn't even any food, and then he unplugged the microwave and yelled at a bag of frozen peas, and—"

"Rowan," Annie said, barely able to get the word out.

He clung tighter.

"—and then Esme said to go upstairs and let her deal with it, so I did, but later I snuck out into the hall and Callie was over, and Esme was acting super weird, and then I made eggs and the smoke alarm went off but I fixed it—"

"Rowan." Annie placed both hands on his shoulders, trying to ground him. "Did you take your medicine today?"

"No," he mumbled, tucking his face back into her side. "You smell different. Like hotel. I missed you."

"Missed you too, buddy." She bent down slightly, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. Her voice cracked on the words.

Behind her, Natalie hovered in the open doorway, awkward but quiet. Her eyes scanned the room like it might detonate. Her hand lingered near the doorknob, not sure if she should enter or evaporate. Rowan squinted up at her.

"Who is she?" he asked. "I've seen her before."

Annie's jaw twitched. "This is Natalie."

Rowan's face lit up in a flicker of recognition. "Oh! She was at the Bible study. Esme told me. The one where you sent Dad and me upstairs."

Natalie's eyebrows lifted. "I'm sorry—what study?"

"Bible," Rowan said proudly. "Esme said you came over with your other friend and also visited her school and then talked to Mom about stuff."

Natalie blinked. "Wow. That's what I've been reduced to."

Annie raised a hand to her face, blushing deep. "It's... a much longer story."

Natalie's eyes glinted. "It better be."

Before Rowan could launch into another unmedicated information dump, soft footsteps creaked on the stairs. Annie looked up to see Esme, her phone still glowing in her hand, a braid falling over one shoulder. "Ro, who are you talking—" She stopped cold when she looked up and saw Natalie and her mother. Her gaze locked in. Curious. Alert. Not exactly hostile, not quite warm — more like mirrored recognition. Natalie straightened a little, and Esme didn't blink. "Hi," she said eventually, guarded.

Natalie nodded. "Hey"

Rowan, stuck at Annie's side, whispered to her. "Why is she staring like that?"

Esme tilted her head. "So, can I go or not?"

"Go where?" Annie blinked, throat still half-closed from everything unspoken.

"To the city. With Callie, Cleo, Linh B. I told you on the phone."

Annie opened her mouth to protest, then glanced back at Natalie — and then at the look on Esme's face. That coiled independence. That readiness to bolt if she felt boxed in. "Fine," Annie said finally. "Just... text me when you get there. And don't do anything—"

"Illegal, tragic, or worthy of a confessional," Esme recited. "Got it." She turned halfway up the stairs, then paused and looked back. "Oh — and can I borrow the thing in your closet?"

"What thing?"

"You know. The black thing. With buttons?"

Annie squinted. "Sure...?"

Esme was already disappearing.

Natalie snorted. "I can't believe you fell for that. Oldest trick in the book. Do you even own a black thing with buttons?"

Annie shook her head. "No clue. Maybe?"

Upstairs, the house was quieter. Esme's door clicked shut behind her. She crossed the hallway, pushed open the door to her parents' room. It creaked with a kind of tired resistance. The air inside smelled faintly of perfume and dust. The curtains were half-drawn. The bed was unmade.

At the edge of the mattress sat a cardboard box. Pulled out — but not opened. Like someone had meant to, then changed their mind.

Esme stepped toward it. Slowly. Quietly. She crouched and stared at it for a moment before her phone buzzed in her pocket.

Callie: found my mom's old uniform lol. we should match
Callie: i'll do your makeup too. come over soon. i miss youuuu

Esme's cheeks flushed, her mouth twitching. She typed back quickly, fingers flying.

Esme: you wanna match me that bad? clingy. cute tho

Callie: shut up. bring your mom's. pls.

Esme tucked the phone away, then sat down on the edge of the bed. Her curiosity — already legendary in her bloodline — got the better of her.

She sat on the bed and pulled the box closer, easing it open. Inside were layers of things — time capsules, really.

Yellowed photobooth strips, a folded napkin with smudged writing, a cracked leather jacket that looked like it hadn't seen daylight in decades. And then... more photos.

One had her mom in it — definitely younger, with hollow cheeks and a messy braid. She was crammed beside another girl with smudged eyeliner and a crooked smile.

Natalie.

Esme easily recognized her. But not like this. This version was softer, wilder. Her mom had an arm around her, their cheeks pressed together, both of them laughing. In the next photo, her mom was kissing her temple. The one after that— Natalie was kissing her.

Esme blinked. Her throat went dry. Her fingers trembled — just a little — as she shuffled through the rest. A patch from a jacket. A silver cross. A note signed -N.

She didn't say anything. Just sat there for a long moment. "Holy shit."

Not mocking. Not angry. Just surprised.

Then her phone buzzed again.

Callie: okay i'm outside. get your ass out here
Callie: i swear if you ghost me...
Callie: also found lipstick to match ur mom's jersey. you're welcome.

Esme exhaled, just a small smile curling at the corner of her mouth. She tucked the photos back into the box, but not before pausing on the last one — the way her mom was looking at Natalie.

Like the world ended and began in her.

She closed the box. Shoved it back to its place beside the bed. Then got on her knees and rummaged through the closet, past old purses and dusty heels and boxes labeled taxes. Her fingers brushed something soft. Cotton. Blue and yellow.

She pulled it out carefully — an old soccer jersey. The number 2 stitched onto the front. She didn't recognize it, but she didn't have to. There was a picture of the soccer team on top of it that she grabbed, placing it on the bed behind her. She smiled at the blonde in the photo, before stuffing the uniform gently into her bag, zipping it shut, and slung it over her shoulder.

Esme got up off the ground, glancing at the cardboard box on the bed before making her way back downstairs.

She didn't see — or maybe didn't notice — that her mom wasn't wearing the number two. That the girl beside her — the blonde with the headband — was.

"Bye, Mom!" she shouted from the front hallway, already slipping on her shoes. She wanted to get out of the house as fast as possible.

Annie, who was at the stove, looked up from Rowan's burnt egg scramble. Natalie leaned against the counter, mug in hand, watching curiously as the teen girl avoided her eyes. "Text me, Ez! Be safe — love you!"

Esme slammed the door behind her.

Annie sighed into the space her daughter left behind. The quiet that came after. The old, familiar ache of not knowing what happens next.

"She really is a lot like me, huh?" Natalie said, turning towards Annie.

Annie smiled behind her coffee. "Terrifyingly." She laughed, but the sound faded. Her gaze drifted to the stairs. Her smile dropped.

Thomas was still gone.

And none of them knew where.

‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧

A couple hours after leaving Callie's house, Esme found herself at a big costume party. The bass was so loud it rattled Esme's chest, the beat tangled in the pulse of her blood as she let herself laugh. The heat of the crowd pushed against her in large waves. She didn't know where she was, or what time it was, or how many times Callie had dragged her back into the lights and movement—but she knew her hands were still in Callie's.

And they may have been high. Just a little.

Just enough.

Their matching uniforms — old, faded blue and yellow — clung to them with sweat. Esme's throat was dry and her skin buzzed. Callie's hair was half-up, twisted with a clip that glinted under the lights. Esme wore a blue headband that kept slipping back every few minutes. She kept pushing it up with fingers that wouldn't stop trembling.

"I told you this would be fun," Callie grinned, bumping her shoulder into Esme's with easy confidence. "And you look hot."

"You're not so bad yourself," Esme murmured, cheeks flushed — though maybe that was the molly, or the crowd, or the way Callie's voice slid beneath her skin like heat.

Callie stopped, spun around. Her grin widened, bright and wild under the colored lights — and then, without warning, she leaned in and kissed her.

It was soft at first — testing, careful. Esme went still for a second before kissing her back, her fingers curling into Callie's hair like it was instinct. Her lips tingled, slow and sweet. She could barely feel her feet underneath her. The crowd melted behind her. Everything else disappeared.

Callie pulled away, lips parted, then leaned close again, her breath hot against Esme's ear. "C'mon," she whispered, tugging her hand tighter. "Let's go somewhere else."

Esme followed without thinking. She was a little dizzy from dancing, maybe from the molly, maybe from the kiss, maybe from the way Callie kept looking at her like she was a secret worth telling.

They slipped deeper into the house, past people in glitter and wings and face paint, lit by string lights and neon signs buzzing faintly in the corners. The air grew colder near the back. It tugged at Esme's headband again, pushing the sweat into a chill. Her hands were still shaking — but not in a bad way.

They turned down a hallway, laughing, bumping into each other, minding their own business until —

"Jackie? Laura Lee?"

Hands gripped their backs. Both girls jerked apart, spinning. Eyes wide.

Shauna.

Standing right behind them, jaw slack, mouth parted.

"Mom?" Callie choked out, already stepping in front of Esme like a shield.

Shauna's stare snapped from Callie to Esme and back again. Her gaze dropped to the blue-and-yellow jerseys clinging to their bodies. — old fabric, clinging with sweat. "Where did you get those?" Her voice was flat. Not quite yelling — but close.

Callie blinked, caught like a kid in headlights. "Your closet."

Esme echoed quickly, still breathless. The buzz in her head made it hard to string her thoughts together. "Mine was in my mom's closet—"

"I don't fucking believe you," Shauna snapped, turning to her daughter. Her voice cracked sharply through the hallway. "Callie, I specifically told you to never..."

"Hey, Shauna." A voice interrupted — smooth, casual. A man stepped into the space, arm draped around Shauna's shoulders like it belonged there.

Shauna stiffened. Her eyes widened, then she gently tried to peel him off. "Uh, can you just..."

Callie froze. "Woah."

Esme stared. The man looked interesting — or maybe she was just too buzzed to place him. She looked down. Up. Anywhere but Shauna.

Shauna's gaze narrowed again, flicking between them. Dilation. Flushed cheeks. Unsteady hands. She wasn't stupid. "What are you guys on?"

Neither girl answered at first. Then Esme, still a little loopy, still high on the kiss and molly, looked up at the guy again and couldn't stop herself from grinning. "Molly."

"Molly... like the... that's a drug, isn't it?" Shauna blinked. "What the fuck is—"

"Ecstasy, Mom," Callie groaned, dragging her hand down her face.

Shauna made a strangled noise. "Great. Wonderful." She pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering something under her breath. Her eyes dropped to their hands — still tangled together. "Come on. Both of you."

"What about our friends?" Callie asked, trying to avoid Shauna's grip, but her mother was faster, snatching her wrist. "Where are we going?"

"Where do you think we're going? The after party? We're going home." Shauna turned to Esme. "And your mom would kill me if I didn't take you too."

Esme jolted, the words hitting hard. "No—no, please don't tell her. She'll never let me out of the house again."

Shauna stared for a long moment. Her jaw worked, like she was weighing something. Then she sighed, frustrated but tired. "Fine. But I'm getting you both somewhere to sober up."

The man leaned back against the wall, still watching. He smiled lightly. "You need a ride?"

Esme blinked up at him, still woozy. "From you? I mean—"

"No. No, thank you." Shauna's voice cut like a knife. "Absolutely not."

Callie stepped forward, standing half in front of Esme, her grip tightening again as she glared. Shauna didn't say another word as she guided them away, her hand firm between their shoulders. Her silence was louder than yelling.

Eventually, she found a side room — empty, dim, mercifully quiet. She looked around, managing to find two bottles of water, and passed them to the girls. Then sat across from them, arms folded. Esme rested her head on Callie's shoulder. The buzz was starting to wear off, leaving a weird hollow behind her ribs.

"So," Callie said suddenly, her voice airy but edged. "Was that your lover?"

Shauna choked on air.

"I mean, he was pretty hot," Esme added dreamily, squinting up at the ceiling. "In a guy type of way."

"I agree," Callie nodded, gently brushing a piece of Esme's hair back behind her ear. Her fingers lingered. "Though honestly, you do have that whole Yellowjackets thing going for you. Buzz, buzz, buzz, right?"

Shauna groaned, rubbing her temples like the headache had finally landed. "As a matter of fact, Callie, he doesn't know anything about that."

"About what?" Esme tilted her head.

"Shhh..." Callie hushed her, but with a grin, sliding an arm around Esme's shoulders. "I mean, come on. Does he even know your name? Does he have the internet?"

Shauna didn't answer. Not right away. She just sat there, eyes distant. Like she was somewhere else entirely.

Callie laughed at her mom in disbelief, shaking her head. "When did you fall out of love with Dad?"

"It's not that — it's so complicated."

Esme frowned, voice low. "Shit. Is that what my mom's gonna say?"

Shauna turned to her, lips tight, as she patted her shoulder awkwardly before facing her daughter. "With your dad and I, there's a lot of... baggage."

"Baggage?" Callie echoed, raising a brow. "You mean Jackie?" Her voice was blunt now. "You guys never talk about her."

"Who's Jackie?" Esme perked up, curious.

"One of the girls on the team."

"My mom was on the soccer team." Esme blinked, the pieces floating.

"Yeah, Ez. That's why we're wearing their uniforms."

Shauna leaned forward, voice quieter now. "That jersey you're wearing, Callie—that wasn't mine. That was Jackie's." Callie's eyes widened as her jaw dropped in horror. Shauna turned to Esme. "And yours... that was Laura Lee's."

Esme sat up straight, her shoulders tense. "What?" She looked down at the faded number, her fingers trembling against the fabric.

"That was her number," Shauna said softly. "Two."

Esme blinked. The world slowed around her. The nausea rose again — not from the drug this time. From realization. "I—I didn't know," she whispered.

Shauna nodded, almost regretful. "That's probably why Annie didn't want you to find it, Esme." Her voice wavered. She looked over to Callie, who was frowning. "Jackie's parents gave that to me for her 40th birthday... so I could remember her. As if I hadn't already spent the better part of my life thinking about her every single day." She looked away. "And I think Annie couldn't let go of Laura Lee's."

The name echoed through Esme's head like it had come through water.

"Oh," she said, but it came out more like a gasp. Her vision blurred — eyes prickling without permission — and then it all crashed into her. The uniform number. The little girl standing next to her mom in the photos at her grandparents' house. It was someone else her mom loved —- before she had ever existed. And now she was wearing her dead aunt's jersey like it was a joke. A relic she never earned.

A name she never knew.

A sob clawed its way out of her before she could stop it.

Shauna moved fast, cradling Esme's face in her hands with shocking gentleness. "Hey. It's okay. You're okay."

But Esme shook her head, crying harder. "She never talks about her. Like—-ever." She sucked in a breath, her words soaked. "Nana just... she only said she died when she was young. That it was... hard."

Shauna stilled. Her mouth opened. Closed. She looked like she wanted to say something — but whatever it was dissolved on her tongue. "She doesn't talk about it," she said finally, voice gone distant. "Because she can't." Her eyes stayed fixed on the wall, like she wasn't just remembering—but reliving it. "I shouldn't be the one to tell you this."

Esme gripped her forearm. "If you don't, nobody will."

Shauna looked at her, then at Callie, then down. "After... after Laura Lee died, Annie was just gone." The words were soft, almost afraid of being heard. "Not physically, but— she wasn't in her body anymore. Not really. She didn't eat. didn't cry. didn't speak. She just lay there and stared. Like her soul got stranded and never found its way back."

Callie's brows pilled tight, watching her Mom. "What happened?"

Callie's eyes filled slowly. "What happened?"

"She tried to—" Shauna stopped. Swallowed. "There was a lake. She walked right in, like the world had ended. And for her, I think it had." Her voice was shaking. "It took a couple of people to pull her out. And when she returned to the cabin, she was just... there. Like she didn't remember how to be alive. She snapped out of the a couple of days later, but not all the way. Not really."

Esme didn't speak. Didn't move.

Shauna blinked slowly, finally turning her attention back to her. "She doesn't talk about it because she can't." She said again, softer this time. "Not without getting pulled under again."

Esme's lashes fluttered as fresh tears spilled. Something in her chest cracked wider, jagged and cold. "I think..." Her voice barely made it out. "I think this was the only thing in the house that was hers." She touched the jersey, fingers trembling on the number above her heart. "The only thing."

Shauna leaned forward, pressing a palm softly to Esme's cheek. "She would've loved you," She said. "You know that, right?"

Callie rubbed Esme's back gently, rubbing slow circles against her spine, her eyes soft. "Ez, it's okay," she whispered.

Esme just shook her head. "It's not," she whispered back. "It's really not." She looked up at Shauna, eyes wide and drowning. "I'm so sorry."

"I'm sorry too, Mom," Callie added. Her voice cracked. Her brows had drawn together, tears resting on the lower lid. "It's just... it's just so awful that you had to go through all that."

"Bad things happen in life." Shauna started, looking at her daughter. "I'm fine."

"No." Callie cut her off. "But, Mom, you're not. You're so not fine. Do you think I can't see that?"

Esme, quiet for a moment, finally looked up, her brows furrowed like she was assembling a puzzle she didn't want to finish. "Wait..." She said slowly. "What exactly did happen?"

Shauna blinked, caught off guard. "Annie never told you?"

"Told me what?"

There was a pause. Shauna's face changed. "There was a plane crash on our way to Nationals. We were missing for nineteen months."

The words hit like dull thunder. Esme sat back, eyes wide. "W-what?"

"We lost people." Shauna continued, "Friends. Family. Parts of ourselves... things we never really got back."

"So... that's what happened to Laura Lee?"

Shauna hesitated before nodding once. "She died out there. We all—" her throat caught. "We all almost did."

Esme leaned into Callie again, her body folding like paper. She blinked slowly, trying to study the pounding in her chest, her brain racing to make the math work.

Nineteen months. A crash. A sister. Her mother's twin sister.

Her namesake.

Her middle name was Laura. Annie had never said why. Esme used to think it was just a pretty name, something gentle, soft and sweet like some flour nobody saw anymore. But now— now it made her feel like she was walking in the skin of someone gone.

Borrowed love.

Borrowed grief.

Esme closed her eyes.

No one had ever told her. Not about the crash. Not about the girl with the number two on her chest. Not about Laura Lee.

Her voice was so quiet it barely broke through the silence, but it shattered something all the same.

"Nobody even told me she existed."

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Now. This chapter. This f***ing chapter.

We've officially launched into the "trauma-drip, kiss-your-best-friend, discover-your-dead-aunt's-jersey-while-on-molly" era of the fic. Welcome. Please take off your shoes before entering. We are now a no-stability household.

Let's talk about it.

Scene One: Trauma But Make It Domestic

Annie and Natalie are finally back at Molly and Travis's house... and the vibes? Rancid.

The car ride is like driving through the last fifteen years of silence while a toddler holds your sleeve like she knows your secrets. No one is speaking. Misty is spiraling in another vehicle like a cryptid. Natalie is trying not to collapse behind the wheel.

Everyone's acting normal™ but make it emotionally imploding. No one's yelling. But everyone's FEELING.

Also: Dahlia imprints on Annie like a baby duck. Girl doesn't even know what a postcard is and she's still like, this woman? Yeah. She belongs here.

Did I cry writing this? Yes.

Scene Two: Motel Room of Repression (and Also Kissing)

We finally get a kiss. 

After all this time. All the yearning.

Annie and Natalie kiss and the world doesn't explode.It just... pauses.It's not fireworks. It's ache. It's memory. It's finally.

Gay silence. Gay panic. Gay rights. 

Annie's still trying to convince herself she's okay — she's married, right? She has kids. A life. Matching towels. And Natalie's just there, watching her fall apart in slow motion, trying not to make it worse. 

But it's already worse. It's been worse. It's been worse since the cabin.

I hope you're emotionally hydrated because this scene was basically the soundtrack of Phoebe Bridgers crying into a motel pillow. 

 But props to Annie for doing her Duolingo! How long do we think her streak is?

Scene Three: Rowan the ADHD Bomb + Esme Lore Unlock

Rowan. He delivers. ADHD exposition king. Barrels out the door like a 12-year-old golden retriever with abandonment issues and immediately trauma dumps about his dad yelling at frozen peas and ruining family dinner via microwave sabotage and drunkenness. 10/10. Would cast him in a Wes Anderson spinoff. Then — enter Esme. 

Our favorite baby lesbian with a braid and emotional detachment like a shield. She's suspicious. She's nosey. She's brilliant. She asks to go to the city. Annie, still unraveling from grief and kissing, says yes. 

But then Esme drops the real question: Can I borrow the black thing with buttons?(Spoiler alert: there is no black thing.)

But upstairs? Lore is loading. 

Esme finds The Box.A cross. 

A note signed -N. A leather jacket that smells like memory.And then — the photos.Her mom. Natalie. Smiling. Pressed close. Kissing. 

The kind of happiness that feels dangerous in this story.

The kind that Esme's never seen in real life.And suddenly she realizes:Her mom isn't just like her. 

She is her. 

She doesn't freak out. Doesn't cry. Just softly: "Holy shit."(As one should when finding proof your mom once made out with the woman now sipping coffee in your kitchen.)

Then Callie — gay chaos gremlin of the year — texts: "I found lipstick to match your mom's jersey."And like the messy teen icon she is, Esme packs it all up, shoves the past back into the closet (metaphors are fun), and bolts out the front door in a dead girl's uniform. 

And here's the kicker:She thinks it was her mom's jersey. 

But it wasn't.It was Laura Lee's. 

 And now you have to sit with that. 

And we all pretend we're fine... because who cares about Thomas?

Scene Four: Molly (the drug), Matching Jerseys, and Mommy Issues

You know how some chapters are subtle? Delicate? Gentle?

Yeah. Not this one.

What even is this scene? 

It starts with Esme and Callie making out in stolen uniforms and ends with Shauna dragging them into a dim room to hydrate and unload 30 years of unspeakable grief. 

 Highlights include: 

"Molly? Like the drug?" (no, the person)
"Ecstasy, Mom." 

 The guy Shauna may or may not be sleeping with: exists

Callie: "So... your lover?"
 Esme: "Kinda hot tbh"

Then the trauma hits: 

Callie's jersey = Jackie's.
Esme's = Laura Lee's.

Esme realizes she's been living in the shadow of a name she didn't even know existed. Her middle name is Laura. Her aunt is a ghost her family never speaks about. 

She sobs and I sobbed with her. 

Like girl. Me too.

We end with Shauna quietly explaining the crash. You know, minus the important stuff. 

 Nineteen months.Friends who never came back.The wilderness they left behind and the parts of themselves they never really got back either.It's all finally coming undone. 

Also.... super sorry about the Annie Jo.... glimpse after Laura Lee...

Question of the Chapter: If you found out your dead aunt was a gay wilderness martyr and your mom's high school girlfriend was your friend's mom who just caught you doing drugs in her jersey... what's your next move?

Bonus Question: Which Yellowjacket would give the best "so you're dating my daughter" speech?

Bonus Unhinged Question: What else is in Annie's closet and should we be worried? (Wrong answers only.)

Thank you for surviving this. I love you. Buzz buzz.

Also, if you like the story or my weird commentary, please give it a vote and an add to your library. And... y'know, comment.

Until next time,
Lyss