Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Life at No.6 was settled, calm and beaming with love through every fibre of the interior and exterior.

6:00 AM

The house was quiet.

Not peaceful never quite peaceful anymore but still. The kind of stillness that sat in your chest and made everything feel heavier than it should.

Lisa was already awake.

She stood in the kitchen, fingers curled around a mug she hadn’t touched in several minutes. The coffee had gone cold, but she hadn’t noticed when.

Her mind had been elsewhere running through case notes, timelines, possibilities. The job never really left her. Even here. Even now.

Outside, Weatherfield was just beginning to stir. A faint glow of morning stretched across the sky, soft and pale, like the day hadn’t quite decided what it was going to be yet.

Lisa exhaled slowly.

Today was meant to be normal.

That thought alone made something in her chest tighten.

Behind her, the floor creaked.

“You’re doing it again.” Carla’s voice was gentle, but knowing.

Lisa didn’t turn straight away. “Doing what?”

“Thinking too loudly.” That pulled a faint smile from her.

Lisa turned then, leaning back slightly against the counter. Carla stood in the doorway, wrapped in one of Lisa’s old shirts, her hair loose, her face still soft with sleep.

And there it was that quiet shift in Lisa every time she looked at her.

Grounding.

Always grounding.

“You should still be in bed,” Lisa said.

Carla ignored that completely and stepped into the kitchen, one hand instinctively resting on her stomach.

Four months.

It still didn’t feel real. Not fully. It lived in the quiet moments like this one more than anywhere else.

“You didn’t answer me,” Carla said softly.

Lisa sighed. “Just work.”

“You say that like it’s ever just work.”

Lisa didn’t argue.

Carla moved closer, close enough that Lisa could feel the warmth of her, the steady presence she had come to rely on more than she ever expected.

“You don’t have to carry everything,” Carla said quietly.

Lisa let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh.

“Bit late for that.”

Carla tilted her head. “Not with us, it isn’t.”

Us.

That word still did something to Lisa.

Before she could respond, a loud bang echoed from upstairs followed by a muffled groan.

Carla raised an eyebrow. “And that would be sixteen.”

Lisa huffed. “God help us.”

x

7:20 AM

Betsy looked like she hadn’t slept.

She dragged herself into the kitchen, hoodie hanging off one shoulder, her expression somewhere between exhausted and distant.

There was still a faint trace of yesterday in the room balloons tied to chairs, a half-collapsed banner, wrapping paper shoved into a corner.

Sixteen.

It should’ve felt older.

Better.

“Morning,” Lisa said carefully.

Betsy dropped into a chair. “Is it?”

Carla slid a plate in front of her. “Eat.”

“I’m not”

“Eat,” Carla repeated, softer this time, but firm.

Betsy stared at the toast like it had personally offended her, then picked it up with a sigh.

Lisa watched her closely.

There were things you learned to notice as a parent things other people might miss.

The way Betsy avoided eye contact.

The way she held herself slightly tighter these days. The pauses before she answered anything real.

“How was yesterday?” Lisa asked.

“Fine.”

Too quick.

Carla tried. “Your friends seemed lovely.”

“They’re alright.”

Another shrug. Another wall.

Lisa leaned forward slightly. “Betsy”

“I said it was fine,” she snapped, a little sharper now.

Silence dropped heavily between them.

Instant regret flickered across Betsy’s face, but she didn’t apologise.

She never did straight away.

Carla stepped in gently. “We’ve still got cake.”

Betsy glanced up. “For breakfast?”

Carla nodded. “I’m pregnant. I can do what I want.”

That got the smallest, briefest smile.

“There it is,” Lisa murmured.

Betsy rolled her eyes. “Don’t make a thing out of it.”

But the tension eased just slightly.

For a moment, they sat there like a family that hadn’t been through everything they had.

For a moment, it almost felt simple.

x

9:05 AM

Lisa stood by the door, keys in hand.

She hesitated.

Something tugged at her something she couldn’t quite explain.

“You’ll be back later?” Betsy asked, trying to sound casual.

Lisa looked at her properly then.

“Yeah,” she said. “Course I will.”

Betsy nodded, but didn’t quite meet her eyes.

Carla stepped in, pressing a soft kiss to Lisa’s lips.

“Be careful.”

“Always am.”

Carla gave her a look with a raised eyebrow.

“Lisa.”

Lisa kissed her hand and then tapped her hand on Carla’s small bump forming.

”Be good for your mummy little pea.”

Carla smiled, a hot flush moving through her body.

Lisa smiled faintly, then turned to Betsy.

“We’ll do something tonight,” she said. “Properly. Your birthday, take two.”

Betsy shrugged. “Yeah. Okay.”

Lisa reached out, squeezing her shoulder gently.

“Love you, kid.”

Betsy huffed. “Yeah… love you too.”

Lisa lingered for just a second longer.

Then she left.

The door clicked shut behind her.

And just like that

The house felt emptier.

x

11:45 AM

The day dragged.

Carla was in her office down at the factory trying to focus on emails, orders, numbers but her concentration kept slipping.

There was a strange restlessness in her chest, like something was off, slightly out of place.

Across the room, Betsy sat curled into the emerald green sofa, wrapped in a blanket scrolling endlessly but not really seeing anything.

“Bets,” Carla said softly.

“Hmm?”

“You want to go out for a bit? Get some air? Or come off your phone for a bit?”

Betsy shook her head. “I’m fine, Mum.”

Carla watched her carefully.

“You don’t have to be fine all the time.”

Betsy’s jaw tightened. “I’m not doing this today.”

“Doing what?”

“This,” she gestured vaguely. “The… checking. The worrying.”

Carla softened. “That’s kind of my job.”

Betsy looked at her then, something raw flickering through her expression.

“I just” she stopped, swallowing hard. “I just want one normal day.”

Carla’s heart ached.

“I know,” she said quietly.

But normal didn’t really exist for them anymore.

Not after everything.

x

2:27 PM

The phone rang.

Carla almost didn’t answer it.

Something instinct, maybe made her pause before picking it up.

“Hello?”

“Is this Mrs Carla Connor-Swain?”

Her stomach dropped.

“Yes.”

There was a pause.

Too long.

“I’m calling from Weatherfield Police Station…”

The words came, but they didn’t land properly.

Accident.

On duty.

Serious.

Carla’s hand moved instantly to her stomach, fingers pressing protectively.

“No,” she whispered.

Across the room, Betsy stood up so fast the sofa scraped loudly behind her.

“Mum? What is it? What’s happened?”

Carla couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t think.

All she could hear was the echo of those words

Accident.

On duty.

Again.

Carla raced out of her office and straight into her car. Her hands shaking while trying to start the engine. 

Carla was breathing heavily, eyes watering.

Betsy was confused, her face dropped with concern. Carla left the office so quickly Betsy didn’t have time to react. By the time Betsy came back into the room and grounded herself she noticed she was alone.

Betsy could hear the muffled sounds of the machines in the background but the office was oddly still and quiet you could hear a pin drop.

It was an uncomfortable silence.

Carla wasn’t there. Betsy felt a wash on unease shiver through her body. 

Betsy picked up her phone and texted her mum.

Betsy

Where are you? I’m worried.

Delivered, but no response.

The shaken teen then went onto the find my friends app and could see Carla had not long stopped on the side of a road 20 minutes from the factory.

Betsy grabbed her coat and made her way to Carla’s location. Sally called out to Betsy “everything okay Bets…” while looking round to the other machinists, locking eyes with Sarah who was stood at the door with her laptop and a pen.

Sally got no response as Betsy darted through the factory doors, where she was greeted with the warmth of the September air.

Betsy continued to call Carla several times during the journey there, but the calls went straight voicemail.

x

2:52 PM

The Sirens Didn’t Stop.

They tore through everything.

Through the noise. Through Carla’s thoughts, splitting them apart until nothing made sense anymore.

Blue lights flashed violently against the open road, against the fields, and the clear blue sky where the blazing summer sun was beaming down.

Against the shattered remains of what used to be a car.

Carla stood at the edge of the cordon, frozen. Her hand pressed tightly to her stomach.

Four months.

Four months of something fragile and hopeful and new.

And now this.

“Please,” she said, her voice breaking. “I’m her wife.”

Her wife.

Lisa.

Who had kissed her goodbye.

Who had promised she’d be back.

“Mum!”

Betsy’s voice cut through everything.

She pushed through the small crowd that had started to form, a mix of other road users who had been left in stand still traffic, paramedics, fire and police, panic written all over her face.

“Mum..what’s happened? Where is she? Why won’t anyone tell me anything?”

Carla grabbed her daughter, holding on like she might disappear.

“I don’t know yet,” she said, her voice shaking.

“They’re working on her.”

Betsy’s face drained of colour.

“Working on her?” she repeated, like the words didn’t make sense.

Carla pulled her close, one hand cradling the back of her head.

“It’s going to be okay,” she whispered.

But it didn’t sound convincing.

Not even to her.

Betsy shook her head, her voice cracking.

“That’s what they said last time.”

Carla closed her eyes.

Because she knew.

She knew exactly what that meant.

A car accident.

A mother who never came home.

Betsy had already lived this once. So much grief for such a young girl already.

And now

No.

Carla tightened her hold on her. 

“Not this time,” she said firmly, even as fear clawed at her chest. “This is not happening again.”

For a brief moment blonde streaks of hair could be seen in the distance, a lifeless body lying on a stretcher being worked on. Several paramedics surrounding this one body. Murmured voices in the background. 

Carla let out a piercing screen that cut through the building tension, surrounding the scene, as the stretcher carrying Lisa was transferred into the ambulance with a sense of urgency.

As the ambulance doors slammed shut and the sirens started up again, neither of them truly believed it.

x

4:37 PM

The hospital felt colder than it should have.

Time moved differently there slower, heavier, each second stretching into something almost unbearable. Carla sat in a hard plastic chair, her hand still resting on her stomach, as if it had become second nature now.

Beside her, Betsy hadn’t said a word in nearly twenty minutes.

That scared Carla more than anything.

“You should drink something,” Carla said gently, nodding towards the untouched bottle of water in Betsy’s hand.

No response.

“Betsy”

“I can’t do this again.”

The words were quiet, almost lost beneath the distant hum of hospital machinery, but they carried more weight than anything else in the room.

Carla turned to her slowly. “You’re not doing it alone.”

Betsy let out a hollow laugh. “That’s what mum said before.”

Before.

Carla swallowed, choosing her next words carefully. “Your mum’s a fighter, strong and I’ll be right beside you the whole time. I promise.”

Betsy finally looked at her, really looked at her and for a moment, Carla saw it all. The grief that had never fully healed. The fear clawing its way back to the surface. The exhaustion of carrying so much for so long.

“I can’t lose her too,” Betsy whispered.

Carla reached for her hand, threading their fingers together tightly.

“You won’t,” she said, with a conviction she forced into existence. “We’re not losing her.”

But the truth sat unspoken between them.

They didn’t know that.

They didn’t know anything yet.

A door opened down the corridor, and both of them looked up at the same time, hope and dread colliding in equal measure.

A doctor stepped out, scanning the room.

“Family of Detective Sergeant Connor-Swain?”

Carla stood immediately, her grip on Betsy tightening.

“That’s us.”

The doctor’s expression was careful. Practiced.

The kind that tried to soften the edges of something sharp and unforgiving.

The DR introduced herself as DR Matthew’s. She took a deep breath.

“I’m afraid…” she began.

Carla felt the world tilt on its axis.

Beside her, Betsy’s hand trembled in hers.

And in that moment before the words fully landed, before the reality had time to settle there was only one question echoing between them both.

Will life ever be the same?

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

6:28 AM

Carla woke before she meant to.

It wasn’t unusual anymore.

Sleep had become something lighter these days easier to fall out of, harder to settle back into. Not because she was uncomfortable, not yet, but because her mind never seemed to fully switch off.

For a moment, she stayed still, eyes closed, listening.

The house was quiet.

Not peaceful she wasn’t sure it had felt truly peaceful in a long time but quiet enough to hear the small things. The hum of the boiler. The faint creak of pipes. The distant sound of a car passing outside.

Beside her, Lisa wasn’t in bed.

Carla frowned slightly, one hand instinctively moving to her stomach as she rolled onto her back.

Four months soon to be five months into this pregnancy.

It still caught her off guard sometimes that quiet awareness of something changing, growing. Not visible enough for the world yet, but present in ways only she seemed to notice. The slight tightness in her clothes. The waves of exhaustion that came and went. The strange, overwhelming need to protect something she couldn’t even see yet.

And the fear.

God, the fear.

Careful, she told herself, like she always did. One day at a time.

She pushed the covers back slowly and sat up.

Lisa would be downstairs.

She always was.

x

6:38 AM

Carla paused in the kitchen doorway, just watching her.

Lisa stood at the counter, mug in hand, but she wasn’t drinking it. Her shoulders were tense, her mind clearly somewhere else.

Carla recognised that version of her instantly.

“You’re doing it again.”

Lisa didn’t turn straight away. “Doing what?”

“Thinking too loudly.”

That got the smallest reaction a flicker, but enough.

Carla stepped further into the room, bare feet against the cold floor, one of Lisa’s shirts hanging loosely off her frame. She moved closer without really thinking about it, drawn in the way she always was.

There was something about Lisa like this guarded, distant that made Carla instinctively soften.

Ground her.

“You alright?” she asked, quieter now.

“Yeah. Just work.”

Carla raised an eyebrow. “You say that like it’s ever just work.”

Lisa didn’t argue.

She never did when Carla was right.

Carla reached for the kettle, their arms brushing briefly, and she let herself linger there for a second longer than necessary.

“You don’t have to carry everything,” she said gently.

Lisa let out a breath that sounded tired rather than amused. “Bit late for that.”

Carla turned to face her fully then.

“Not with us, it isn’t.”

Us.

She saw it land the way it always did. Something soft shifting in Lisa’s expression, something that hadn’t been there before Carla.

It still mattered. After everything.

Before Carla could say anything else

A loud bang from upstairs.

Carla sighed softly, already knowing.

“And that,” she said, glancing toward the ceiling, “would be sixteen.”

Lisa huffed under her breath. “God help us.”

Carla smiled faintly.

But the worry was already there.

Because she’d seen it yesterday.

The distance. The quiet. The way Betsy had pulled into herself like she was trying not to take up too much space.

And Carla knew that kind of silence.

Far too well.

x

7:20 AM

Betsy looked like she hadn’t slept at all.

Carla clocked it instantly the shadows under her eyes, the way her hoodie hung off her shoulder, the lack of energy in every movement.

It wasn’t just tiredness.

Carla moved around the kitchen, keeping her tone light, steady.

“Eat.”

“I’m not”

“Eat,” she repeated, softer but firm.

Betsy stared at the toast like it was a personal insult, but eventually picked it up.

Small win.

Carla leaned against the counter, watching without making it obvious.

She’d learned that with Betsy too much attention, and she’d shut down completely.

Too little, and she’d disappear into herself.

Balance.

It was always about balance.

Lisa tried, carefully, asking about yesterday.

“Fine.”

Too quick.

Carla stepped in when the tension started to build, redirecting before it could snap.

“We’ve still got cake.”

Betsy glanced up, sceptical. “For breakfast?”

Carla shrugged lightly. “I’m pregnant. I can do what I want.”

That did it.

A flicker of a smile.

Small. Brief. But real.

Carla held onto that moment, even as Betsy rolled her eyes.

Because beneath everything the attitude, the deflection, the walls

She was still there.

Still reachable.

Carla just had to keep finding the right way in.

x

9:30 AM – The Factory

The factory should’ve grounded her.

It always had before.

Routine. Structure. Something she could control.

But today, her focus kept slipping.

Emails blurred together. Numbers didn’t quite land. Conversations felt distant, like she was only half-present in them.

Her hand rested against her stomach more often than she realised.

A subconscious habit now.

Protective.

Reassuring.

Across the office, Betsy sat curled into the sofa, phone in hand, but not really engaging with it.

Scrolling without seeing.

Carla watched her for a long moment before speaking.

“Bets.”

“Hmm?”

“You want to go out for a bit? Get some air? Maybe off the phone for a bit?”

A shake of the head. “I’m fine.”

Carla softened her voice. “You don’t have to be fine all the time.”

That hit something.

She saw it the tightening of Betsy’s jaw, the flicker of frustration.

“I’m not doing this today.”

“Doing what?”

“This,” Betsy gestured vaguely. “The… checking. The worrying.”

Carla exhaled slowly.

“That’s kind of my job.”

Betsy looked at her then.

Really looked.

And for a second, Carla saw everything she didn’t say.

The grief that hadn’t settled.

The fear that never really left.

“I just…” Betsy’s voice faltered. “I just want one normal day.”

Carla’s chest tightened painfully.

“I know,” she said softly.

She really did.

But normal wasn’t something they got anymore.

Not in the way other people did.

Carla pushed herself up from the desk and moved closer, crouching slightly in front of Betsy.

“Have you eaten anything since this morning?”

A pause.

Then, quieter “I had biscuits.”

Carla gave her a look.

“That’s not food.”

“It is technically food.”

“Not helpful food.”

Betsy huffed faintly, but there was less resistance now.

Carla stood again, heading toward the small kitchenette.

“Toast or sandwich?”

“Don’t want anything.”

Carla didn’t turn around. “Toast or sandwich, Bets.”

A longer pause this time.

“…toast.”

Another small win.

Carla busied herself making it, giving Betsy space while still staying close enough.

“You don’t have to talk,” she said gently. “Just… sit with me, yeah?”

Betsy didn’t respond.

But she didn’t leave either.

Carla brought the plate over, setting it down in front of her without a fuss.

“Eat what you can.”

She sat beside her then not too close, not too far.

Present.

That was what Betsy needed.

Not fixing.

Not pushing.

Just…present.

After a minute, Betsy picked up the toast.

Carla didn’t comment.

But relief settled quietly in her chest.

x

1:07 PM

Carla moved through the motions slowly, deliberately giving Betsy space, but not absent.

That balance had taken time to learn.

Too much pressure, and Betsy shut down.

Too much distance, and she disappeared into herself.

“You don’t have to talk,” Carla said, gently, as she looked over to her daughter still on the sofa doom scrolling. “Just…know I’m here for you and so is your mum. We love and care for you deeply and we don’t want you to feel like you can’t tell us what’s wrong.”

No answer.

But Betsy stayed.

And that mattered more to Carla.

Carla continued to speak, knowing that even though she wasn’t getting a response from her daughter, she was definitely listening to her.

“We...I don’t want you to ever feel like you are alone or need to hurt yourself to get rid of any pain. Please lean on us when you want to. Day or night. I love you darling.”

Carla lent back in her big office chair, picking up her phone. Breathing out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

Her gaze over to Betsy never leaving her.

Present.

Steady.

Watching without making it obvious.

Betsy stirred shortly after.

A small action.

But Carla felt the relief settle quietly in her chest anyway.

Because she knew her daughter heard her.

Betsy whispered back, “love you too mum. Don’t be getting all soppy now. Can’t let the machinists see the ice queen melt.”

Carla chuckled softly.

Satisfied with the response and acknowledgement from her daughter. Knowing there are still unhealed wounds too deep and a whole lot of grief from the past.

Carla unlocked her phone scrolling for her wife’s contact. Still feeling giddy every time she thinks as Lisa as her wife, even though they’ve been wives for 18 months.

Carla: You alive?

Lisa: Barely. Think I’ve read the same sentence about 12 times.

Carla: That sounds like a you problem.
Lisa: It is. Tragically.

And just like that, something in Carla softened. The warmth in her chest from the back and forth communication with the love of her life, no matter how boring or domestic it might be.

Carla: I’ve decided I deserve a medal for surviving today.
Lisa: It’s 1pm.
Carla: Exactly.

Carla’s lips twitched faintly, her gaze flicking briefly to Betsy still on the sofa, her leg bouncing.

Lisa: What’s happened?
Carla: Betsy says she’s “not hungry” but has eaten half a packet of biscuits without realising.
Lisa: That tracks.
Carla: I asked if she wanted cake.
Carla: She said no.
Carla: Suspicious behaviour.
Lisa: Criminal, even.
Carla: I might arrest her.
Lisa: Don’t. I’ll have paperwork.
Carla: You love paperwork.
Lisa: Don’t start.

Carla’s thumb hovered over the screen for a second.

The humour faded slightly.

Because underneath it all, there it was.

The real reason she’d messaged, but Lisa got there first.

Lisa: How is she… actually?

Carla didn’t reply straight away.

Her eyes moved back to Betsy.

Still quiet.

Still a little too far inside her own head.

But here.

Present.

Trying.

Carla swallowed lightly before typing.

Carla: …
Carla: Bit quiet.
Carla: Not in a dramatic way. Just… off.

She hated how familiar that felt.

Lisa: Yeah. Noticed this morning.
Carla: She stayed in her room after you left.
Carla: Said she was “tired” again.

Carla’s jaw tightened faintly as she sent it.

The word lingered.

Tired.

It was never just that.

Lisa: Right.
Carla: I’ll keep an eye.
Lisa: We both will.
Carla: Always do.

Carla read that one twice.

Always do.

And they did.

Between them, they always had.

Even when they didn’t say it out loud.

Her gaze softened as Betsy shifted slightly on the sofa, switching her leg to the other leg to bounce.

Still there.

Carla: You coming home tonight?
Lisa: Yes.
Carla: Properly?
Lisa: Properly.
Carla: Not “I’ll just finish this one thing” and it’s suddenly 10pm?
Lisa: I said yes, didn’t I?
Carla: You did.
Carla: Just checking.

Carla stared at the screen for a second after sending it.

It wasn’t just about time.

It was about presence.

About not doing this on her own.

Not tonight.

Lisa: I’ll be there.

Carla’s shoulders eased slightly.

But only slightly.

Carla:…okay.

A beat.

Lisa: Hey.
Lisa: I mean it.

Carla’s expression softened properly then.

Because she did believe her.

She just needed to hear it.

Carla: I know.
Carla: Just
Carla: Be careful, yeah?

Her thumb lingered.

There was more she wanted to say.

More she didn’t quite have the words for.

The worry.

The quiet fear that had been sitting under her skin all day.

But instead, she went with something simpler.

Something truer.

Carla: And…
Carla: come home.

A pause.

Then, before she could overthink it 

Carla: I love you, wife.

She stared at the message the second it sent.

Heart thudding just a little heavier than she expected.

No joke to soften it.

No deflection.

Just the truth.

Across the room, Betsy was now stretching and had placed her phone down for a minute to stretch.

Carla didn’t move.

Just observed.

Still there.

And for the first time that day, something inside her settled.

Not fixed.

Not gone.

But steadier.

At the station, Lisa picked up her phone again after she sent the last text. She looked at it for a moment longer than she should’ve.

Then, slowly, she turned her phone face down on the desk. Muttering under her breath, “wife, god I love my wife.”

And got back to work.

But the words stayed with her.

They always did.

x

2:25 PM

Something didn’t feel right.

Carla couldn’t explain it.

Everything looked normal. The factory ran as it always did. The world outside carried on.

But inside, there was a restlessness she couldn’t shake.

Her hand rested protectively against her stomach again.

A fragile kind of hope.

And a fear that sat right beside it.

Across the room, Betsy had gone quiet again.

Too quiet.

Carla was about to say something

When the phone rang.

She froze.

Just for a second. Letting it ring out, she didn’t recognise the number. She thought she would let it go to voicemail but felt a need to answer.

She then reached for it before the last ring.

“Hello?”

“Is this Mrs Connor-Swain?”

Her stomach dropped instantly.

“Yes. Who’s asking?”

The pause on the other end was too long.

Everything inside her seemed to still.

“I’m calling from Weatherfield Police Station…”

And just like that everything changed.

After the call ended she didn’t remember much.

Carla didn’t remember leaving the factory properly.

Only fragments.

Her keys in her hand.

Her heart racing.

Hands shaking while turning the engine on.

Her breath coming too fast.

She didn’t even realise she’d left Betsy behind until it was too late.

Until she was already driving.

Until the panic had taken over everything else.

And somewhere, in the back of her mind a single, fractured thought repeated over and over again.

Not again.

Please.

Not again.

x

2:50 PM – The Roadside

When Carla finally saw the wreckage.

Time stopped.

Her hand pressed instinctively to her stomach.

Their baby. A mini Connor-Swain growing.

She couldn’t lose her.

She couldn’t.

“Please,” she said, her voice breaking. “I’m her wife.”

Her wife. Carla always takes a second when she says wife now. Still not believing she married the love of her life.

The word barely felt real in that moment.

Because how could something so solid feel like it was slipping through her fingers?

Then.

“Mum!” Betsy shouts.

Carla turned, pulling her into her arms immediately, holding her tighter than she ever had before.

“I don’t know yet,” she whispered. “They’re working on her.”

Betsy’s voice cracked. “Working on her?”

Carla held her closer.

“It’s going to be okay.”

But even as she said it.

She wasn’t sure she believed it.

Because she felt it too.

That same thing that had been there all day.

That quiet, creeping sense that this wasn’t just another day.

That something had already shifted.

And nothing.

Nothing.

Was ever going to be the same again.

x

4:37 PM - Hospital

Betsy’s hand in hers.

Tight.

Shaking.

“I can’t lose her too.”

Carla swallowed hard, threading their fingers together.

“You won’t,” she said firmly. “We’re not losing her.”

But her other hand stayed on her stomach.

Protective.

Terrified.

Because now it wasn’t just about holding one person together.

It was about holding all of them.

And as the doctor stepped into the room

Carla felt it.

That moment.

The one where everything balanced on a knife edge.

Before.

And after.

And the question that sat between them louder than anything else.

Will life ever be the same?

Chapter Text

5:45 AM

It always started the same way. Not with the crash. Not with the words.

With the silence.

The kind that pressed in on her ears until it felt like she was underwater thick, distorted, wrong.

Betsy stood in the middle of the living room.

Only it wasn’t right.

The furniture was there, but not quite where it should be. The light was dim, flickering faintly like it couldn’t settle. The air felt heavy, like something had already happened like she was too late to stop it.

“Mum?” she called out.

Her voice echoed strangely, stretching too far.

No answer.

Her chest tightened.

She knew this.

Even before it happened she knew.

The door clicked open behind her.

Betsy turned too fast, hope flaring sharp and painful in her chest.

Lisa stood there.

Uniform still on. Face pale. Eyes…wrong.

Too soft.

Too careful.

That look.

“No,” Betsy said immediately, shaking her head.

“No don’t”

But Lisa stepped closer anyway.

Slow. Measured.

Like she was approaching something fragile.

Like she’d practiced this.

“Mum?” Betsy tried again, voice breaking now “Where’s Mum?”

Lisa didn’t answer straight away.

That was the worst part.

That pause.

That moment where everything still had a chance to be okay.

And then wasn’t.

“Betsy…” Lisa’s voice was gentle. Too gentle.

Her stomach dropped.

“No.”

Her hands started shaking.

“No, no, no just say it. Just say she’s fine.”

Lisa reached for her.

Betsy stepped back.

“Don’t”

But Lisa’s face God, her face.

“I’m so sorry, love.”

And there it was.

The words that shattered everything.

“There was an incident… on duty…”

Betsy couldn’t hear the rest.

Didn’t want to.

Her ears rang violently, drowning everything else out.

“No,” she whispered.

Lisa kept talking.

“…they did everything they could…”

“No!”

Her voice cracked, louder now, desperate.

“You’re lying you’re lying, she’s fine, she said she’d be back, she promised.” Lisa’s arms were around her now.

Holding her.

Too tight.

Too real. “I’m so sorry.”

Betsy pushed against her, frantic.

“Let go..LET GO”

Because if she didn’t hear it, it wouldn’t be real.

It couldn’t be real.

But Lisa’s grip didn’t loosen.

And then.

Everything changed.

The room shifted.

Twisted.

The walls closed in slightly, the light flickering harder now.

And suddenly.

Lisa wasn’t in uniform anymore.

She was in her hoodie.

Standing in the kitchen.

Like now.

Like today.

Only.

Her face was the same.

That same look.

That same expression.

No.

No no no no.

“Mum?” Betsy’s voice came out smaller this time.

Younger. Terrified.

Lisa stepped forward again.

“I’m sorry.”

Betsy’s chest seized.

“NO NOT YOU”

Her voice broke completely.

“You don’t get to. YOU DON’T GET TO LEAVE TOO.”

But Lisa was already fading.

Just like before.

Just like Becky had.

Gone before Betsy could reach her.

Gone before she could fix it.

Gone before she could be enough to make her stay.

“Please!” Betsy screamed, lunging forward. Her hands met nothing.

Empty space.

And then.

Darkness.

x

5:52 AM

Betsy bolted upright in bed.

Her breath came in sharp, uneven gasps, her chest rising too fast, like her body hadn’t realised it wasn’t running anymore.

Her room.

Her actual room.

Not the dream.

Not that moment.

Not that day.

But it didn’t feel different.

Not straight away.

Her hands were shaking.

She dragged them through her hair, pulling slightly at the roots just to feel something real.

“You’re fine,” she whispered to herself.

But her voice didn’t sound convincing.

It never did after those dreams.

Her eyes flicked toward the door. Half-expecting.

No.

She forced herself to breathe.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

But her chest still hurt.

Like something had cracked open again.

Like it always did.

Her gaze shifted to the faint light creeping through her curtains.

Morning. Which meant They were both still here.

Lisa.

Carla.

Still here.

Still alive.

For now.

That thought hit harder than it should have.

Betsy swallowed thickly, her throat dry. Because that was the problem, wasn’t it?

It wasn’t just the past. It was the waiting.

The constant, underlying fear that it would happen again.

That it could happen again.

Lisa still worked out there.

Still ran towards the things people like Becky did that caused her to die. Leaving her at just 12 years old.

Abandoned.

Betsy squeezed her eyes shut.

Stop.

But she couldn’t.

Not when her brain had already gone there.

Not when it always went there.

Her gaze dropped briefly to her arm, half-hidden beneath the sleeve of her hoodie from the night before.

Faint lines.

Old.

But not forgotten.

A reminder of the last time everything had felt too big to carry.

The last time the noise in her head had gotten so loud she’d needed something, anything to quieten the noise.

She hadn’t told them everything. Not really. She knew they knew about the self harming after she overdosed in May.

Her stomach was pumped and then in therapy for 3 months.

Finishing her sessions just before her 16th birthday which was on the 2nd September 2025.

Her mums were worried. Really worried. They both hovered more than usual. Asked how she was more often.

She would give short answers to draw away from her actual feelings.

They didn’t know about the nights like this. Not the mornings that followed.

Betsy pulled her sleeve down quickly, like she was hiding it from someone even though she was alone.

She rested her head back down in her pillow, closing her eyes softly but not falling back asleep. She lay there letting the hum of the house fill in the background noise around her. 

x

7:20 AM

By the time she made it downstairs, she felt…nothing. Or at least, that’s what she told herself.

It was easier than admitting she felt too much.

The kitchen looked the same.

Too normal.

Balloons still tied to chairs.

A banner half falling down.

Reminders of yesterday.

Sixteen.

It should’ve meant something. Should’ve felt different. But all she could think about was how things didn’t last.

How quickly everything could change. She knew that feeling all too well. People don’t seem to stay in her life or bad things just happen to her.

Some might even go as far a say she’s unlucky.

“Morning,” Lisa said.

Careful.

Always careful lately.

“Is it?” Betsy muttered, dropping into the chair.

She didn’t mean to sound like that. But she couldn’t help it.

Carla slid a plate in front of her.

“Eat.”

“I’m not”

“Eat.”

Softer. But firm.

Betsy stared at the toast. Her stomach twisted slightly. She wasn’t hungry. Hadn’t been properly hungry in days. But she picked it up anyway.

Betsy secretly loved how Carla would also be watching out for her when it came to eating and drinking. It showed she cared.

Betsy would never admit it, but Carla was the best thing to happen to her and her mum 4 years ago.

Betsy loved Carla, she looked up to her as her mum, but also as her very fierce, hardworking, protective boss.

Although she’s known as the ice queen at work she was her mum on every level, and now carrying her younger sibling that she never thought she’d get to experience.

Unborn Connor-Swain was soon to be growing at 5 months old in a few weeks.

Betsy drew herself back to reality and took small bites of her toast in front of her mums. It was easier than arguing.

Because Carla would worry. Because Lisa was already watching her like she might disappear if she looked away.

And that. That made something in Betsy tighten even more.

“How was yesterday?” Lisa asked.

“Fine.”

Too quick.

She knew it was too quick.

But she couldn’t go back and fix it.

Couldn’t suddenly open up and say.

I felt like I didn’t belong in my own birthday.

I felt like I was waiting for something bad to happen the whole time.

I felt like you might not come home.

This was Betsy’s biggest fear of all.

That her mum would not return home just like Becky. She knows her mum is aware of this fear,  but until she’s not working on the frontline she’ll never be satisfied.

The worry, fear and grief all wrapped in one.

Always lingered.

So instead

“Fine.”

Carla tried next. Gentler.

“We love you Bets, never forget that.”

No response.

Another wall.

Safer that way.

Lisa leaned forward slightly.

“Bets-“ Betsy cut her mum off before she could finish.

“I said it was fine,” she snapped.

Too sharp.

Immediately.

Regret flickered in her chest.

But she didn’t apologise.

She never did straight away. Because apologising meant acknowledging it.

And acknowledging it meant talking. And talking meant everything spilling out. She couldn’t do that.

Not today.

Betsy was never one for opening up about her feelings.

Not when her chest already felt like this.

Carla stepped in. Carla had always been the bridge between Betsy and Lisa.

“We’ve still got cake.” Carla said softly. 

Betsy glanced up despite herself. “For breakfast?”

“I’m pregnant. I can do what I want.”

A small smile slipped out before she could stop it.

There.

A crack in the wall.

“There it is,” Lisa murmured.

Betsy rolled her eyes quickly, shutting it down.

“Don’t make a thing out of it.”

But something had shifted.

Just slightly.

For a second.

It felt almost normal.

And that scared her more than anything.

Because normal didn’t last for her. It never did.

x

9:05 AM

Betsy watched Lisa by the door. Keys in hand.

Hovering.

Like she didn’t want to leave.

“Don’t..” Betsy wanted to say.

“Just stay. Just stay here where it’s safe.” But she didn’t. Because she wasn’t 12 anymore.

Because people left anyway.

“You’ll be back later?” she asked instead.

Trying to sound casual.

Like it didn’t matter.

Lisa looked at her properly then.

“Yeah. Course I will.”

Betsy nodded.

Didn’t quite meet her eyes. Because she’d heard promises before.

Carla stepped in, grounding as always.

“Be careful.”

“Always am.”

Betsy almost scoffed at that. Always.

That word didn’t mean anything. Not really.

“We’ll do something tonight,” Lisa said. “Properly.”

“Yeah. Okay.” Betsy shrugged. Because hoping felt dangerous.

Lisa squeezed her shoulder.

“Love you, kid.”

There was a pause.

A small one.

But it felt huge.

“…yeah. Love you too.” The words felt fragile. Like if she said them too loudly, something would break.

Lisa lingered.

Then she left.

The door clicked shut.

And just like that

The house felt wrong.

Too quiet.

Too empty.

Betsy swallowed hard.

That familiar unease creeping back in.

The same one from the dream.

From before.

From 2021.

From everything she hadn’t really dealt with.

She glanced towards Carla.

Still here.

Still safe.

For now.

But the thought wouldn’t leave her.

It never did.

What if her mum doesn’t come back?

And no matter how much she tried to push it away.

That question stayed.

Loud.

Persistent.

Waiting.

Just like it always had.

x

11:05 AM – The Factory

The factory has always felt safe for Betsy. She loved it. It meant spending more time with Carla, and seeing her mum be the badass boss she is.

More recently though it’s not felt somewhere Betsy saw as a safe place. Not since May where everyone found out about her overdose and how it impacted her mums.

Nonetheless, Betsy would also be at the factory when Carla was there.

It still grounded her even on her worst days.

But since May it felt too loud. Too busy. Too… alive in a way she didn’t feel.

Machines hummed constantly, voices overlapping, footsteps echoing against the hard floors. It should’ve been distracting should’ve pulled her out of her own head.

But it didn’t.

Nothing really did.

Betsy sat curled into the emerald green sofa in Carla’s office, knees tucked slightly toward her chest, her phone in her hand. Her thumb moved automatically, scrolling, liking, swiping.

Doomscrolling, boomers would say.

But she wasn’t taking anything in.

Just noise. Just something to fill the space.

Her mind kept drifting. Back to the dream.

Back to that moment. Back to the way Lisa had looked. That same look. That same tone.

Betsy’s chest tightened.

Stop.

She pressed her lips together, blinking harder at her screen like that might force her brain to shut up for five minutes.

It didn’t.

x

12:43 PM

Across the room, Carla moved around her desk, trying to focus on work. Betsy could tell she wasn’t really managing it though.

She kept pausing.

Re-reading things.

Her hand drifting to her stomach without her even realising.

Betsy noticed that.

She always noticed.

Four months, almost five.

It still felt…strange.

Not bad.

Just…Big.

Too big, sometimes.

Betsy could hear Carla muffling words to her. Something about her mums being there for her, not wanting her to feel alone or in pain. But Betsy’s mind was far too scrambled to make sense or respond to her mum.

She knew Carla wouldn’t take offence to her not responding. They read each other like a book and that’s what she loved about Carla. As well as her fashion sense, elegance and warmth that radiated from her.

It grounded her.

Betsy knew she was loved, deep down. 

At the beginning, when her mums had first told her about having a baby Betsy had smiled.

She had.

Said the right things.

Acted excited.

Because she was…a bit.

A sibling.

A baby.

Something new.

Something good.

But underneath that

There had been something else.

Something she hadn’t said out loud.

What if I’m not enough anymore?

The thought had come quietly.

But it had stayed.

What if this baby this perfect, tiny, new thing became everything?

What if Carla didn’t need her the same way anymore?

What if Lisa didn’t either?

What if she got… left behind?

Replaced. Abandoned again.

The again sat heavy in Betsy’s chest. She thought how many times can a 16 year old feel abandoned.

The word made her stomach twist now just like it had back then. When she was 12 years old.

But the thing was, Carla hadn’t let that happen.

Not even close.

Betsy glanced up at her now.

Carla was frowning slightly at her screen, clearly trying to concentrate, but there was something soft about her still. Something…steady.

Safe.

She’d come into Betsy’s life at a time where everything had already been broken.

And she hadn’t tried to fix it.

Hadn’t tried to replace anything.

She’d just…stayed.

Consistent.

Patient.

Even when Betsy pushed her away.

Even when she snapped.

Even when she shut down completely.

Carla never left.

That meant more than to her than Betsy would ever say out loud.

More than she probably even realised.

“Mum.” The word slipped out before she could stop it.

Carla looked up instantly.

“Hmm?”

Betsy hesitated.

She hadn’t meant to say anything.

Hadn’t meant to draw attention to herself.

“Nothing.”

Carla didn’t push.

Just nodded slightly.

But she was watching her now.

Carefully.

That familiar look.

Betsy looked away quickly, dropping her gaze back to her phone.

Because that look, it made something in her chest feel too tight.

Too exposed.

“What is it kiddo?”

Betsy shook her head. “Doesn’t matter.”

Lie.

But easier.

Safer.

“It’s okay not to be okay.”

There it was.

That soft push.

That attempt to open the door just slightly.

Betsy felt her jaw tighten instantly.

“I’m not doing this today.”

“Doing what?” Carla snapped back.

“This,” she gestured vaguely. “The… checking. The worrying.” Carla softened immediately.

“That’s kind of my job sweetheart.”

Betsy let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh, but there was no humour in it.

Of course it was.

Carla cared.

Too much, sometimes.

It made things harder.

Because it made Betsy want to tell her.

Made her want to say, I’m not okay.

I haven’t been okay for a while.

I’m scared all the time.

I don’t think I know how to stop feeling like this.

But the words stayed stuck.

Because once you said things like that

They became real.

And real meant consequences.

Worry.

Questions.

Being watched even more closely.

Maybe being treated differently.

Maybe being too much.

“I just…” Betsy started, then stopped.

Carla waited.

Didn’t interrupt.

Didn’t rush her.

“I just want things to go back to before everything changed.” Betsy finished quietly.

Carla’s expression softened in a way that made Betsy’s chest ached. “I know.”

But they both knew that wasn’t really possible.

Not for them.

Not anymore.

Carla then stood, moving towards Betsy, kneeling down to her level next to the sofa.

“You’re allowed to worry but don’t let it consume you. I worry about you everyday and so does your mum.”

A short pause.

”Let us in when you’re ready. We’ll both be here to hold you and guide you.”

Betsy hesitated.

She then lent forward, almost knocking the wind out of Carla, to give her mum a hug.

It felt grounding but tight. Carla almost lost her balance, but Betsy pulled her in closer.

Betsy whispered, catching her breath, into Carla’s shoulder.

“Thanks mum.”

And something settled in her chest.

Just slightly.

Because even with everything

Even with the fear.

The anxiety.

The thoughts that never really stopped. Carla was here.

Still here.

Still choosing her.

Still making sure she ate, was heard and present.

Still noticing the things Betsy tried to hide.

Even if she didn’t see all of it.

Even if she didn’t know how bad it could get for her.

Even if she didn’t see the nights.

The thoughts.

The memories.

The marks.

She saw enough.

And she stayed anyway.

Just…care.

And somewhere, buried underneath everything else.

There was a quiet, fragile thought.

Maybe I’m not second best.

Maybe there’s still space for me here.

It didn’t last long.

Thoughts like that never did.

But it was there.

For a moment.

And sometimes, that had to be enough.

Chapter Text

2:31 PM

It happened too fast. One second, Carla was there. The next, she wasn’t.

Betsy didn’t even process the phone ringing properly at first not just the way Carla froze when she answered it, the way her voice changed, tight and unfamiliar.

“Hello?” There was a pause. Then, quiet and strained, “Yes.” Something in Betsy’s chest shifted immediately. She sat up slightly, her phone slipping from her hand onto the sofa beside her. Carla wasn’t moving. Wasn’t breathing properly. Betsy could see it, even from across the room. And then, barely audible, “No,” Carla whispered.

Everything inside Betsy dropped. Cold. Sharp. Wrong.

“Mum?” she said, pushing herself up. “What is it? What’s happened?” Carla didn’t answer. Didn’t even look at her. She just grabbed her keys and left, just like that.

The door slammed behind her. Silence. Heavy.

Suffocating.

Betsy stood there, frozen, her brain lagging behind reality. Because that didn’t make sense. Carla didn’t just leave like that not without saying something, not without explaining, not without her.

“Mum?” Betsy tried again, softer this time, but she already knew. Carla wasn’t there. The office suddenly felt too big, too quiet. The hum of the machines outside sounded muffled, distant, like everything had been pushed underwater again, just like the dream.

No. No, no, no. Betsy forced herself to move, grabbing her phone with shaking hands.

She opened her messages and typed quickly.

Betsy: Where are you? I’m worried.

Sent.

Delivered.

No response.

She stared at the screen, waiting, watching. Nothing. Her leg started bouncing faster and faster, her chest tightening with every second that passed.

“Come on,” she muttered under her breath. “Come on, just… just reply.” Nothing. Her throat felt dry. She hit call. The dial tone rang once. Twice. Then voicemail. Betsy pulled the phone away slightly, staring at it like it had betrayed her. “No.” She tried again. Call. Ring. Voicemail. Her breathing started to pick up, too fast, too shallow.

“No, no, no, why is it going to voicemail?”

Her fingers fumbled as she opened the

Find My Friends.

Carla’s icon, Loading. Loading.

There.

A small dot on the map.

Betsy’s stomach dropped.

“She’s stopped…” Her voice came out barely a whisper. More for herself than anyone. Twenty minutes away, on the side of a road.

Not moving. Not moving. Her heart slammed violently against her ribs.

“No.” Her brain didn’t ease into it. It jumped straight there, straight to the worst, because that’s what it had learned to do. Because that’s what had happened before.

Car accident.

On duty.

We did everything we could. Her chest seized. “No, she’s fine. She’s fine. She’s just…traffic, maybe…”

But the thoughts didn’t listen.

They never did. They spiralled fast, relentless. What if she’s hurt? What if she’s already gone? What if you’re too late again?

“I can’t,” Betsy pressed her hand hard against her chest, as if she could physically stop it from caving in. “I can’t do this again…” Her breathing hitched.

Tears stung her eyes, blurring the screen. Because it wasn’t just Carla. It was everything.

Mason.

Becky.

That day. That moment. That sentence.

Now, Carla leaving like that. She never left like that before. Not without her. The phone. The location. The silence. It all felt the same. Too similar. Too familiar. Her brain didn’t care there might be another explanation. It had already decided. You’re about to lose another mum.

A broken sound left her throat. “No, please no.” Her hands were shaking so badly now she could barely hold onto her phone. Her hands clammy. Her skin had flushed and she was pale.

Because if she lost Carla or Lisa, that was it.

That was everything.

Broken.

Lost.

Abandoned again.

That landed heavier than expected. Betsy knew it. She’d seen what losing someone did one too many times. What it continued to do. Lisa carried it every day, quietly, heavily. If she lost Carla too, Betsy swallowed hard, her chest tightening painfully. “She wouldn’t survive it…” The thought came uninvited, but it stayed, because Betsy could see it.

Lisa standing in that kitchen again, that same look on her face, that same sentence. Only this time, there’d be no one to catch her. No one to ground her.

No Carla.

Not steady.

Not safe.

Just loss.

Again.

And then the baby. Betsy’s eyes dropped briefly, unfocused. A tiny, fragile life that hadn’t even started properly yet. “What happens to them?” she whispered to herself, her voice cracking. “What happens to us?” A newborn. Grief. Trauma. She still woke up from nightmares, shivers and sweats. Just like this morning.

She still had thoughts she didn’t tell anyone about. She still sometimes…Her fingers instinctively tightened around her sleeve. No. Don’t go there. But the thought was already there. You won’t be able to cope. You’ll make it worse. You’ll be too much.

Tears slipped down her face unchecked. Because if either of her mums was gone, there’d be no one to soften the edges, no one to sit beside her and say, “Eat.” No one to notice the quiet things. No one to stay steady when everything else wasn’t.

“I can’t lose them,” Betsy whispered, her voice breaking completely. “I can’t.” But the world didn’t stop just because she needed it to.

A sudden knock on the office door pierced through Betsy’s trail of thoughts.

Sarah called in, “Bets, are you okay? Where’s Carla? I saw her dart out.” Betsy froze for a minute before catching Sarah’s eyes. “Somethings happened. I don’t know.” Betsy glanced back down at her phone in her hands.

The dot on the screen hadn’t moved. The phone didn’t ring. And the silence the silence was the worst part, because it left too much room for everything else, for the memories, for the fear, for the thoughts that spiralled faster and faster until they felt like truth.

Betsy wiped her face roughly with the sleeve of her hoodie, forcing herself to move.

Sarah looking puzzled at Betsy’s presentation, unsure what to do.

“I have to go,” Betsy said out loud, because sitting still, waiting that was worse wasn’t any better. That’s what she did last time. Last time, she’d lost everything. Mason. Becky.

Her chest tightened again, but this time there was something else underneath it. Not calm, not control, but urgency, desperation.

“I’m not being too late again” and with that, she grabbed her coat and ran.

Sarah remained puzzled, her heart fell to her stomach.

x

4:37 PM

Betsy knew that feeling. That split second before everything breaks, the inhale before the world rearranges itself into something unrecognisable.

She had lived there once before, stood in a too-bright corridor, watched an adult’s face carefully fold into something rehearsed and gentle, heard words that didn’t make sense until they did. She had been twelve, her feet not quite touching the floor as she sat in a chair too big for her body, swinging slightly as if movement could stop what was coming. Now here she was again.

Older.

Supposedly stronger. Supposedly better. But the fear felt exactly the same.

No, that wasn’t true. It felt worse. Because this time, she knew what came after.

The doctor’s voice blurred almost instantly, words dissolving into fragments Betsy couldn’t quite catch. Something about trauma, about impact, about doing everything they could.

Her ears rang. Her chest tightened. Not again.

Her hand instinctively tightened around Carla’s, gripping so hard her knuckles ached, like if she let go even slightly, something irreversible would happen. She couldn’t lose her too. Her mind didn’t stay in the present. It never did when things got like this. It slipped uninvited into the spaces she tried so hard to keep locked away.

The word accident. Her mum had been on duty. That was always the part that stuck, twisted itself into something sharp inside her chest. She hadn’t just died. She had been taken in the middle of being needed, in the middle of being strong, in the middle of being someone Betsy thought was untouchable.

“I can’t,” Betsy’s breath caught, her voice splintering as panic crept in fast and familiar. “I can’t do this again.”

The hospital walls felt like they were closing in, the air too thin, her thoughts too loud.

Four months.

It had only been four months since May, four months since she’d sat on her bedroom floor, the world pressing down on her so heavily she thought the only way out was silence.

She hadn’t wanted to die, not really. She just hadn’t known how to keep living with the noise in her head, the what-ifs, the constant ache of missing someone she couldn’t get back. And Carla. Carla had been the one to find her. Carla had been the one who stayed. Through the quiet. Through the anger and the guilt and the unbearable weight of coming back when part of her hadn’t wanted to. Carla had never once let go.

“Betsy.” Carla’s voice cut through the spiral, firm but soft in that way only she could manage. Grounding.

Real.

Betsy shook her head, tears spilling unchecked. “It’s the same. It’s exactly the same. They say the same things, they stand the same way, and then they…” Her voice broke completely. “They take her anyway.”

Carla moved then, not hesitantly, not cautiously, but fully. One hand came up to stroke Betsy’s cheek, steadying her, forcing her to focus. “Look at me.” Betsy didn’t want to, because if she looked, if she really looked, she’d see it. That same fear people tried to hide. But Carla wasn’t letting her drift. “Betsy,” she said again, quieter now but unmovable. “Look at me.” And she did.

And there it was. Not the rehearsed softness, not the distance she remembered from years ago. Carla was right there.

Present.

Anchored.

Solid.

“This isn’t then,” Carla said gently, her thumb brushing away tears Betsy hadn’t even noticed falling. “You’re not twelve anymore. And you’re not sitting in that waiting room on your own.” Betsy’s breath hitched. “You’ve got me.” The words landed somewhere deeper than the panic, because that was the difference, wasn’t it? Back then, everything had been taken in one moment her mum, her safety, the version of the world that made sense.

But Carla hadn’t been taken. Carla had stepped in. Four years of quiet, steady love. Of showing up. Of learning Betsy in all the ways that mattered. Not trying to replace, never forcing, just staying. Present. Even when Betsy pushed. Even when she shut down.

Even in May, when Betsy had nearly slipped too far away to come back. Carla had been there. Her anchor. The thing that held when everything else threatened to drift.

“I can’t lose you,” Betsy whispered, raw and unfiltered. “I won’t survive that.” Carla’s expression shifted, something deeper, almost fierce.

“You’re not going to,” she said, no hesitation, no space for doubt, just certainty built on love. “I’m not going anywhere.” A what-if tried to push in. What if this is how it happens again? What if you’re not enough to keep anyone? Betsy squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head as if she could physically push the thoughts away. “Hey,” Carla murmured, pressing her forehead lightly against Betsy’s. “Stay with me. Not there. Here.”

Here.

Not the past.

Not the imagined future.

Here, in the space where Carla’s hand was warm in hers, where her voice was steady, where she wasn’t alone in a plastic chair waiting for her world to end. Betsy focused on that instead, on Carla’s breathing, on the way her thumb kept tracing the same small, absent-minded pattern against her skin, on the fact that she was still here, still hers, still fighting.

The doctor was still speaking, something about the next few hours, about monitoring, about uncertainty.

Betsy didn’t catch all of it. But for the first time since the door had opened, she felt something shift, just slightly. Not hope. Not yet. But something quieter, steadier. She tightened her grip on Carla’s hand again, not out of panic this time, but intention. Holding on. Because if there was one thing Betsy knew, one thing she had learned the hard way, it was that the what-ifs would always be there, waiting, whispering, pulling her back into places she didn’t want to go. But Carla. Carla was real. Carla was now, grounding. As long as she could feel her hand in hers, as long as she could hear her voice cutting through the noise, Betsy could stay here too.

Even if it hurt. Even if it was hard. Even if she was terrified of what came next.

She wouldn’t let herself drift.

Not this time.

Chapter Text

The house felt different.

Not in a way anyone could name, nothing had physically changed but the air carried something new. A quiet tension sat beneath everything, a low hum that never quite settled.

Waiting.

That was the only way to describe it.

Outside, late spring had settled in gently. The morning was soft and bright, sunlight slipping through half-open blinds and warming the kitchen in quiet patches. The air drifting in through the open window carried birdsongs and the distant rhythm of passing cars, the kind of calm that made everything feel deceptively still.

Inside, everything revolved around waiting.

Carla stood in the kitchen, staring at the kettle like it had personally offended her. It had boiled twice, and still she hadn’t poured it.

“Are you planning on making that tea or just intimidating it?” Lisa’s voice came from behind her, dry as ever.

“I’m thinking,” Carla replied without turning.

“You’ve been thinking for five minutes.”

“It’s a big day.”

Something in Lisa softened at that. She stepped forward, switching the kettle off with a quiet click before gently nudging Carla aside.

“Go sit down.”

“I am perfectly capable of standing in my own kitchen.”

“Debatable.”

Carla shot her a look, but didn’t argue. Instead, she leaned back against the counter, arms folded, watching Lisa move around the kitchen with easy familiarity.

It still caught her off guard sometimes, this life they had built. It was ordinary in all the ways that mattered, steady and real. Even now, part of her still waited for it to disappear.

Lisa handed her a mug. “Drink. Gotta keep hydrated.”

Carla wrapped both hands around it, grounding herself in the warmth.

They didn’t speak after that. They didn’t need to. The thought sat between them, heavy and unspoken.

Today.

The quiet didn’t last long.

Betsy burst into the kitchen, slightly flustered, hair pulled back into a high ponytail and her front curving the shape of her face. Bringing an organised chaos type of energy into the domestic morning routine, Carla and Lisa had built.

“Where’s my charger, why is there no milk, and who finished the cereal?”

Lisa didn’t even look up. “Good morning to you too.”

Betsy grabbed a spoon, peered into the empty cereal box, and sighed dramatically. “This is actually a crisis.”

“A crisis?” Carla echoed.

“Yes. I have work experience today. I need sustenance.”

“You’ll survive,” Lisa said.

“Barely.”

Carla smiled despite herself. This chaos, this noise, this constant movement, it was normal. It was theirs.

“You’ve got toast,” she offered.

“That’s not the same.”

“It is if you eat it,” Lisa replied.

Betsy rolled her eyes but grabbed a slice anyway, perching on the edge of the counter.

“You nervous?” Carla asked.

Betsy shrugged, aiming for casual. “It’s just the factory. I basically live there anyway.”

Carla raised an eyebrow. “That’s not the glowing review I was hoping for.”

“I’ll try not to bring the business down in one day.”

“Appreciated.” Carla glances to Lisa with a knowing look. 

Lisa watched them quietly, something soft settling in her chest. They made it look easy sometimes, like this was how it had always been.

By the time they stepped outside, the day had opened up. The sky stretched pale blue above them, thin clouds drifting lazily across it. The air held a gentle warmth, balanced by a light breeze that brushed against their skin.

Betsy was already halfway down the path.

“Plan for the day?” Lisa called after her.

“Factory. Then I’m meeting Lauren.”

“Text if you need anything.”

“I won’t.”

“Text anyway.”

“You’re very controlling.”

“Occupational hazard.”

Carla stepped in then, pressing a quick kiss to Lisa’s lips. “We’ll call later.”

Lisa met her eyes, returning the kiss. “Yeah. We will.”

The moment lingered for a second too long, quiet and heavy with everything they weren’t saying.

Betsy broke it with a groan. “Gross..You’re both being weird.”

Lisa smirked. “We’re always weird.”

“Yeah, but this is extra.”

Carla laughed softly, and just like that, the moment slipped away.

x

The factory was everything the morning had not been. It was loud, busy, full of movement that never seemed to stop.

Betsy stood in the middle of it, arms folded, trying to look like she knew what she was doing. She didn’t, not really, but she wasn’t about to admit that.

“You alright there?” Fiz called.

“Yeah,” she said quickly. “Just observing.”

“Observing what?”

She paused. “The process.”

That earned a laugh, but she didn’t mind. As the hours passed, she found herself watching more than she expected. The way everything moved, the way people worked around each other, the way something that looked chaotic somehow held together.

It reminded her of home in a strange way. Messy, unpredictable, but it worked.

From the quiet of her office Carla found herself watching without meaning to. Through the glass, she could see Betsy moving through the space shoulders a little straighter than usual, her usual edge softened into something more careful, more considered.

The same girl who met the world with sarcasm and attitude, who pushed back just for the sake of it, was listening now. Watching. Taking it all in. Carla noticed the way her hands brushed over fabrics as she passed, the way she paused at conversations, trying to understand rather than interrupt. There was something almost unfamiliar about it, and yet completely not. Beneath all the sharpness, all the fight, this had always been there.

Carla knew without needing to ask that part of it was for her. That quiet, unspoken effort. The need to do well. To be seen. To make her proud, even if she’d never say it out loud. Carla swallowed slightly, her chest tightening as she watched her daughter for just a second longer than she should have, before forcing herself to look away, carrying that moment with her.

By lunch, Betsy had fully relaxed into the routine and rhythm of the day in the factory.

The afternoon sun had warmed properly now. The breeze had softened, carrying the low hum of the day with it.

x

Betsy’s phone buzzed.

Lauren needed help. Of course she did.

Betsy smiled as she typed back, the exchange easy, familiar. The kind of conversation that didn’t need thinking about.

Betsy not wanting Carla to catch her on her phone because she didn’t want to be treated differently at the factory, just because she was the bosses daughter. 

Betsy hovered awkwardly by the office door before knocking lightly and leaning in.

“Hypothetically,” she started, already suspiciously casual, “how early is too early to leave on work experience?”

Carla didn’t even look up at first.

“Depends. Hypothetically, how urgent is this escape plan?”

Betsy stepped in properly now, folding her arms.

“Lauren’s having a full-scale wardrobe meltdown. There are apparently no acceptable outfits in existence, and I’ve been called in as emotional support.”

Carla raised an eyebrow, finally meeting her eyes.

“Ah. A crisis.” “A serious one,” Betsy nodded.

“Lives could be ruined.” Carla tried to hold it together, but a smile slipped through.

“Go on then. But if the business collapses in your absence, I’m blaming Lauren.” Betsy grinned.

“Fair. I’ll let her know the pressure she’s under.”

Later, Lauren’s room was exactly what she expected. Clothes everywhere, chaos in every corner.

“This or this?” Lauren asked, holding up two tops.

“Neither,” Betsy said without looking up.

“Rude.”

“You asked.”

When she did look properly, she pointed to one. “That one. With jeans.”

Lauren studied her. “You’ve thought about this.”

“I haven’t.”

“You have.”

Betsy rolled her eyes, but there was no bite to it. For a while, everything felt light. Just two girls talking nonsense while the late afternoon light stretched long and golden across the room.

“You okay?” Lauren asked suddenly.

Betsy hesitated. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Lauren nodded and didn’t push.

x

Back at the house, the evening had begun to settle in. The light outside softened, the warmth of the day easing into something cooler, quieter.

Carla paced.

Lisa watched.

“You’re pacing.”

“I’m aware.”

“You’re going to wear a hole in the floor.”

“I can’t just sit.”

Lisa stepped closer. “You can. You just don’t want to.”

Carla let out a breath. “What if it hasn’t worked?”

“We don’t do what ifs,” Lisa said gently.

“And if it hasn’t?”

“Then we try again.”

Carla nodded slightly. “I hate this part.”

“Yeah,” Lisa admitted. “Me too.”

They stood there together, the weight of the day pressing in around them, the quiet stretching longer with every second.

Then the phone rang.

Both of them froze.

Lisa glanced at Carla. “Do you want me to?”

“No.” Carla was already reaching for it.

Her hand trembled slightly as she answered.

“Hello?”

Lisa watched her closely, tracking every shift in her expression.

There was a pause.

Then Carla’s breath caught.

“What is it?” Lisa asked softly.

For a moment, Carla couldn’t speak. Then the words came, barely steady.

“It worked.”

Lisa blinked. “What?”

Carla let out a breathless laugh. “It worked. I’m pregnant.”

Everything else disappeared in that moment.

Lisa crossed the room and pulled her into a tight embrace. “Are you sure?”

Carla nodded against her. Before pulling away slightly to make eye contact with her wife “Yeah.”

Lisa exhaled slowly, like she’d been holding it all day.

And just like that, everything changed.

By the time Betsy walked through the door, the sky outside had dimmed into a soft evening blue.

She stopped when she saw them, something immediately different.

“What?” she asked. Not meaning for it to come out as sharply as it did. “Why do you both look like that?”

“Like what?” Lisa replied.

“Like you’re about to tell me something.”

Carla glanced at Lisa, then back at Betsy. “Come here.”

Betsy frowned but stepped closer.

Carla took her hand, hesitating for just a second before saying it.

“We’re having a baby.”

Silence followed.

“Wait… what?”

Lisa laughed softly. “Yeah.”

Betsy looked between them, once, then again.

“Seriously?”

Carla nodded, her eyes shining.

There was a pause, and then Betsy smiled. A real one.

“Okay,” she said. “That’s actually really cool.”

“Just cool?” Lisa teased.

Betsy shrugged, but her grin widened. “Alright. Really cool.”

Carla pulled her into a hug, and for a moment, everything felt complete.

Like nothing could touch them.

They didn’t know then how much would change, or how fragile that happiness really was. They didn’t know how quickly life could split into before and after.

But for that one evening, as the last of the spring light faded beyond the windows, they were just a family.

And everything was exactly as it should be.

For now.

Chapter Text

The evening settled gently over No. 6, not loud or heavy, but soft in a way that felt almost earned. The kind of quiet that only came after a long stretch of holding everything together. Carla stood at the kitchen counter, stirring her tea long after the sugar had dissolved, her movements slow and absentminded. The window was slightly open, letting in the cool evening air, and somewhere in the distance, a car passed by, tyres humming faintly against the road. Behind her, the house felt full not with noise, but with presence.

Lived in.

Safe, at least on the surface.

Lisa’s arms wrapped around her waist from behind, familiar and grounding. Carla didn’t startle; she never did anymore. She leaned back instinctively, letting herself settle into the warmth of her.

“You’ve been stirring that for about five minutes,” Lisa murmured, her voice soft against Carla’s shoulder.

Carla huffed a quiet breath. “It’s a very important stir.”

Lisa’s breath brushed her neck. “Life or death, is it?”

“Obviously.”

There was a pause, then Lisa’s voice shifted, quieter now, threaded with something more observant. “You alright?”

Carla stilled slightly at that. It always landed differently when Lisa asked. Lisa didn’t ask out of habit she asked because she noticed. Even when Carla tried to hide it.

She set the spoon down, her hand drifting instinctively to her stomach. “Yeah,” she said softly. “Just thinking.”

Lisa’s arms tightened, just slightly. “About?”

Carla leaned back into her again, letting herself rest there for a moment. “The baby.”

It still felt strange saying it out loud. Real in a way that hadn’t quite settled yet.

Lisa’s hand shifted, covering Carla’s where it rested on her tummy, warm and steady. “Good thinking or…?”

Carla gave a faint smile. “Bit of both.”

Lisa hummed gently. “Go on.”

Carla hesitated before exhaling slowly. “I just… keep wondering what they’re going to be like.”

Lisa’s grip softened. “Hopefully less dramatic than you.”

Carla let out a quiet snort. “Rude.”

“Accurate.”

Carla nudged her lightly, but the humour faded quickly, her thoughts already pulling her somewhere deeper. “I mean it,” she said more quietly. “I think about everything. What kind of mum I’ll be. What kind of life we’re bringing them into. Whether I’ll get it right or…”

“You will.” Lisa’s certainty cut through immediately, firm and unwavering. Carla stilled at the conviction in her voice.

“You already are,” Lisa added, resting her chin against Carla’s shoulder.

Carla swallowed, the words settling somewhere deeper than she expected. “You say that now,” she murmured.

“I say that because it’s true.”

Then, lighter, with a small attempt to ease the weight, “And because I’ve seen you bully a sixteen-year-old into eating toast. That’s solid parenting.”

Carla let out a soft laugh, but it didn’t last. Because her mind had already gone there.

Betsy.

Lisa felt the shift too. Of course she did. Her arms loosened slightly, though she didn’t pull away entirely.

“She’s been off,” Lisa said quietly.

Carla nodded. There was no point pretending otherwise. They had both seen it. The shift had been subtle at first, easy to brush off as moodiness, as something typical and fleeting. But it hadn’t passed. If anything, it had deepened, settling into something heavier.

“She didn’t sleep last night,” Carla added. “I could hear her moving around.”

Lisa’s jaw tightened. “She said she was tired this morning.”

“Yeah,” Carla murmured.” But not the kind of tired that sleep fixes.”

Silence followed, thoughtful and heavy. Lisa’s hand rested absentmindedly against Carla’s stomach again, but her attention had already drifted upstairs.

To Betsy.

“I don’t think she’s telling us everything,” Lisa said.

Carla’s gaze dropped slightly. “No. I don’t think she is either.”

A pause lingered between them before Carla spoke again, quieter this time. “I don’t think she knows how to.”

That landed in a way neither of them could ignore. Because it felt true. Betsy had always been like that holding things in, pushing them down, carrying more than she should without ever quite knowing how to ask for help.

Lisa exhaled slowly. “I don’t want to push her. Every time I try, she just… shuts down.”

Carla turned in her arms, facing her properly now. “You’re not wrong,” she said gently. “She does.”

“So what are we meant to do?” Lisa asked, frustration flickering beneath the surface. “Just wait?”

Carla shook her head, reaching for her hand. “No. Not wait.”

She threaded their fingers together, grounding them both. “Stay.”

Lisa frowned slightly. “Stay?”

“Be there,” Carla said softly. “Keep showing up. Keep the door open without forcing her through it.”

Lisa studied her for a moment. “You’re better at that than I am.”

Carla’s smile was faint, but knowing. “That’s because I’ve been her.”

Lisa stilled at that, really hearing it. Carla didn’t say it lightly.

“I know what it’s like,” Carla continued, “to feel like everything’s too much… and not know how to explain it without making it worse.”

Lisa’s grip tightened around her hand.

“And the worst thing,” Carla added, “is when people try too hard to fix it.”

That hit its mark, because Lisa was a fixer it was instinct, profession, love all wrapped into one.

“I just don’t want to miss something,” Lisa admitted.

Carla’s expression softened immediately. “You won’t.”

“What if I already am?”

Carla stepped closer. “You’re not,” she said firmly but gently. “You notice everything about her.”

Silence fell.

“Sometimes…she just doesn’t let you in on it.”

Lisa swallowed, the truth of that settling heavily between them.

Carla lifted her hand, brushing her fingers along Lisa’s jaw. “You’re a good mum,” she said quietly.

Lisa let out a breath that sounded like she didn’t quite believe it. “Trying to be.”

“You are.”

Lisa’s gaze dropped briefly to Carla’s stomach. “Our baby’s got no chance,” she murmured. “Two of us worrying like this.”

Carla smiled faintly. “They’ll be fine.”

“That confident?”

Carla nodded. “Because they’ve got you.”

Lisa huffed softly. “You’ve got very low standards.”

Carla laughed, light but genuine this time. “Please. I married you. My standards are clearly questionable.”

Lisa smirked, leaning in as Carla pressed a soft kiss to her lips. The moment was slow, familiar, grounding. When they pulled apart, their foreheads rested together, a quiet pause that didn’t need words.

Then Lisa spoke again. “What do you think we should do about Bets?”

Carla exhaled slowly. “Small things. Keep it normal where we can.”

“Yeah…She’s pretends she doesn’t care.” Lisa let out a sigh while Carla catches her sentence.

“She does,” Carla replied immediately.

“I know.”

“And we keep checking in,” Carla continued. “Gently. Not all at once.”

Lisa nodded. “Let her come to us.”

“Exactly.”

Lisa studied her for a moment. “You’re good at this.”

Carla raised an eyebrow. “At what?”

“Knowing what people need without them saying it.”

Carla’s smile softened. “Not always.”

“Yeah,” Lisa said quietly. “You are.”

A pause followed, before Lisa added, softer still, “She needs you.”

Carla’s chest tightened slightly. “Not just me.”

“Us,” Lisa corrected.

Carla nodded. “Us.”

And for a moment, everything felt steady. The baby. The future. The uncertainty. The quiet worry that lingered beneath it all. It didn’t disappear, but it didn’t overwhelm either.

x

Upstairs, though, the quiet felt different.

Betsy lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling, her room dim except for the faint glow of her phone screen discarded beside her. She hadn’t touched it in a while. Messages sat unopened. People she didn’t have the energy to reply to. People who didn’t know how heavy everything felt.

Her chest ached in that familiar, dull way constant, background, like something she’d learned to carry without questioning anymore.

The word baby echoed in her head, over and over, like it had been on a loop since earlier.

A baby.

Their baby.

She squeezed her eyes shut, pressing the heels of her hands against them as if she could block the thought out entirely.

She should be happy.

That’s what kept circling back, sharper each time. She should be happy for them. For her mums. They deserved this. Something good. Something new.

So why did it feel like everything inside her was cracking open again?

Her throat tightened as another thought forced its way in uninvited, but impossible to ignore.

Mason.

The name alone was enough to make her chest constrict. The grief hadn’t gone anywhere. It hadn’t softened the way people said it would. If anything, it had just… buried itself deeper. Quieter. Harder to explain.

She hadn’t told them that.

Not properly.

Not how bad it had been.

The nights she didn’t sleep. The moments she couldn’t breathe properly. The way everything felt pointless sometimes, like she was just moving through it because she had to.

They knew she was sad.

They didn’t know she was breaking.

And now this… a baby, this new beginning it made her feel like she was being left behind in something she hadn’t even finished grieving yet.

Like there wasn’t space for both.

Her stomach twisted, guilt creeping in immediately after. Because that thought alone felt selfish. Ugly.

She sat up abruptly, dragging her hands through her hair, her breathing uneven. “Get a grip,” she muttered under her breath, the words harsher than she intended but familiar all the same.

That was the problem.

She didn’t know how to say any of this out loud.

Didn’t know how to explain it without sounding ungrateful. Without worrying them. Without making it worse.

So she didn’t.

Instead, she stayed quiet. Snapped when she shouldn’t. Pulled away when they got too close. Pretended she was just tired. Just busy. Just… fine.

But even she could feel it slipping now.

The cracks showing in ways she couldn’t fully hide anymore.

Downstairs, Carla and Lisa sat in a fragile calm, holding onto the belief that staying close would be enough.

Upstairs, Betsy lay back against her pillow, staring at nothing, her thoughts too loud, her chest too tight.

And despite how much they all loved each other

They were still missing each other entirely.

Chapter Text

At first, it felt…good.

That was the part Betsy couldn’t quite make sense of. She lay on her bed later that night, staring up at the ceiling, replaying the moment over and over again like if she ran it enough times, it might settle into something clearer.

Something she could actually understand.

We’re having a baby.

She’d smiled when they told her.
She knew she had.

And it hadn’t been fake, either. That was the confusing bit. It had come naturally, instinctively. A real reaction.

She was happy…wasn’t she?

She rolled onto her side, tugging the sleeve of her hoodie down over her hand, pressing the fabric lightly against her mouth as if it might quiet the noise building in her head.

A baby.

A real baby.

In their house.

Her house.

Everything was going to change.

That thought landed differently each time it circled back, heavier with every pass.

At first, it had sounded like something exciting. Like something you told people about. Like something that made everything feel fuller.

But now…Now it felt like a shift. Like something sliding out of place.

Like she was standing in a room where the furniture was being rearranged around her, and no one had told her where she was supposed to stand.

Later that night, she could hear them downstairs.

The faint murmur of voices drifting up through the floorboards, soft enough that she couldn’t make out the words just the tone.

Carla laughing.

Lisa replying, quieter, something low and warm.

It sounded…easy.

Light.

Different.

Betsy squeezed her eyes shut.

They sounded happy.

Happier than they had in a while.

And something in her chest twisted in a way she hadn’t expected.

It wasn’t jealousy. Not really.

It wasn’t even resentment.

It was just…Uncomfortable.

A feeling she couldn’t quite name, and didn’t want to look at too closely in case it turned into something worse.

Because if she did look at it, if she really let herself follow that feeling to the end, it said something she didn’t want to hear.

They don’t need you for this.

Her eyes snapped open again.

“No,” she muttered under her breath, like saying it out loud might shut it down.

But the thought had already rooted itself.

They had each other.

Now they’d have the baby.

Where did that leave her?

She turned onto her back again, staring at the ceiling like it might give her answers it didn’t have.

She wanted to feel happy.

That’s what kept catching in her chest.

She just didn’t understand why it didn’t feel…simple.

Because happiness, in her experience, didn’t stay uncomplicated for long.

It changed.

It got taken.

Or worse, it shifted just enough that you didn’t realise you were losing something until it was already gone.

x

“Morning,” Lisa said gently the next day as Betsy walked into the kitchen.

Betsy paused slightly in the doorway before stepping in, her eyes flicking over them both almost instinctively.

There was something different.

Or maybe she was just noticing more now. Looking harder. Reading into things she wouldn’t have clocked before.

Tracking.

That’s what it felt like.

Like her brain had quietly switched into something sharper, more alert. Picking up on tone, glances, distance. Measuring things she didn’t used to measure.

Are they closer?
Do they look happier?
Is that because of the baby?

“How are you feeling?” Carla asked, glancing up from where she stood.

Betsy blinked. “Me?” she said lightly. “I’m not the one growing a human.”

Carla smirked faintly. “Still allowed to ask.”

Betsy shrugged, moving past them to grab a glass. “I’m fine.”

It came out automatically. Too quickly.

Carla and Lisa exchanged a brief look.

Betsy caught it instantly.

That look.

The one adults always thought went unnoticed.

Her stomach tightened.

There it is again.

Proof.

Not actual proof but enough for her brain to latch onto.

They were communicating without her.

Understanding things she wasn’t saying.

Seeing things she couldn’t control.

“I said I’m fine,” she added, sharper this time, before she could stop herself.

Carla’s expression softened rather than reacting. “We know.”

Do you?

The thought came immediately, sharp and uninvited.

Because “fine” had become more than a word.

It was a strategy.

A way to stay in control.

Because if she didn’t say what she was thinking, they couldn’t confirm it.

Couldn’t respond to it.

Couldn’t accidentally prove her right.

Everything felt louder lately.

More irritating.

People talking about things that felt pointless homework, relationships, gossip like the world hadn’t just shifted under her feet.

Like nothing had changed.

But for Betsy, everything had.

Not externally.

Not in a way anyone else could point to yet.

But internally, it felt like something had been unsettled.

Like the ground wasn’t as solid as she’d thought.

x

“Are you even listening?” Lauren nudged her later.

“Yeah,” Betsy said quickly, blinking back into the moment.

Lauren raised an eyebrow. “You’re miles away.”

Betsy forced a small smile. “Just tired.”

That was her go-to.

Tired.

It covered everything. Said enough without saying anything at all.

Lauren hesitated, watching her more closely now. “You sure you’re okay?”

Betsy nodded.

Because explaining it felt impossible.

How did you even begin to say something like I think I’m about to be replaced but I don’t have any actual evidence and I hate myself for even thinking it.

You didn’t.

So instead

“I’m fine.”

x

That evening, Carla was sitting on the sofa with a blanket draped loosely over her legs, one hand resting absentmindedly on her stomach again. Lisa sat beside her, scrolling through something on her phone, their shoulders brushing every now and then.

They looked…right.

Like this was how things were meant to be.

Like this had always been part of the plan.

Betsy lingered in the doorway longer than she needed to, watching them quietly.

And without meaning to, she started imagining the future.

The baby on Carla’s lap.

Lisa leaning in the same way she was now.

Both of them focused there.

Smiling there.

Looking there.

Not looking at her.

Her chest tightened.

“Come here,” Carla said, glancing up as she noticed her.

Betsy hesitated for a fraction of a second before crossing the room and perching on the arm of the sofa instead of properly sitting down.

Not quite in.

Not fully out.

Somewhere in between.

Lisa looked up. “We were just looking at names.”

Betsy raised an eyebrow. “Already?”

Carla smiled faintly. “Too soon?”

“Very.”

Lisa smirked. “Noted.”

A small silence followed, the kind that wasn’t quite awkward but wasn’t easy either.

Then Carla spoke again, more gently this time.

“Are you okay with this?”

There it was.

The question Betsy had been half expecting and half dreading.

She shrugged, eyes dropping to her sleeve as she picked at the fabric. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Because saying no would mean explaining why.

And explaining why would mean saying it out loud.

And saying it out loud would make it real.

Carla tilted her head slightly, studying her. “You just seem a bit quiet.”

“I’m always quiet,” Betsy muttered with a sigh.

Lisa leaned forward slightly. “Not like this.”

Betsy’s chest tightened at that.

She hated this part.

Being seen.

Because being seen meant being known.

And being known meant being vulnerable to change.

“I just..” she started, then stopped, her fingers tightening slightly in her sleeve. “It’s just a lot, that’s all.”

Carla nodded immediately. “It is.”

Another pause stretched between them.

And then, before she could stop it

“So what happens now?”

Lisa frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

Betsy looked up, her expression more open than she intended.

“Like…when the baby’s here,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “Everything’s going to be about them, isn’t it?”

And there it was.

Not the full thought.

But close enough.

Carla’s face softened instantly and her best tightening slightly reading between the lines and know more of what Betsy is trying to say without saying it. “Betsy—“

“No, it’s fine,” she interrupted, the words tumbling out too quickly. “I get it. Babies need attention and stuff.”

And I don’t anymore.

Lisa shook her head. “That doesn’t mean you don’t.”

Betsy let out a small, humourless laugh. “Yeah, but it’s different, isn’t it?”

Because babies don’t get left.

Babies don’t get outgrown.

The silence that followed wasn’t dismissive.

It was understanding, bcause they both heard what she hadn’t quite said.

Will I still matter the same?

Carla reached for her hand, her grip warm and steady. “You are not being replaced,” she said firmly.

Betsy swallowed, her throat tight. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to,” Carla replied gently.

Lisa shifted closer too. “You’re our daughter,” she said. “That doesn’t change.”

Betsy nodded.

But the feeling didn’t leave, because reassurance didn’t erase pattern.

Betsy’s brain, it worked in patterns.

You get attached.
You feel safe.
Something changes, then you lose it.

She’d seen it before.

Lived it.

Survived it.

But surviving it didn’t make it less likely in her mind.

If anything, it made it feel inevitable.

That night, Betsy lay awake, staring at the ceiling as the house settled into silence around her.

But her mind didn’t.

It kept running.

Faster now.

More specific.

More brutal.

What if they don’t need me the same?
What if everything becomes about the baby?
What if I become…optional?

Her chest tightened painfully at the thought.

Optional.

That word sat heavier than anything else.

Because optional things could be left behind.

Replaced.

Forgotten.

She turned onto her side, pulling her knees up slightly, curling into herself like it might hold something together inside her that felt like it was slipping.

She hated that her brain worked like this.

That it couldn’t just let something good be good.

That it always had to scan for the exit.

For the loss.

For the moment everything might fall apart.

But that was what grief did.

It didn’t just take.

It rewired.

It taught you that nothing stayed.

That love, no matter how solid it felt, could shift or disappear.

Once you learned that, you didn’t unlearn it.

You just got better at bracing for it.

Mason’s name hovered at the edge of her thoughts again, unspoken but present, the ache of it as sharp as it had been months ago.

She still hadn’t told them how bad that loss had been.

Not really.

Not the sleepless nights.

Not the heaviness that sat in her chest most days.

Not the way everything still felt slightly out of focus, like she wasn’t fully in her own life anymore.

They knew she was struggling.

They didn’t know she was still drowning in it.

Now there was a baby coming.

Something new. Something bright. Something that demanded attention, energy, joy.

And she didn’t know where her grief was supposed to go in all of that.

Where she was supposed to go.

Betsy squeezed her eyes shut.

“I am happy,” she whispered into the quiet.

And she meant it.

Mostly.

That was the part that scared her the most,  because if she could feel happy, and still feel like this then maybe the fear wasn’t going anywhere.

Maybe it would just sit beside everything good, quietly waiting.

Watching.

Ready.

For the moment she’d have to find out if she was right.

Chapter Text

It had been ten days since Betsy was told about the baby. Ten days of things shifting quietly, steadily like the house itself was learning a new shape without asking her first.

It wasn’t obvious at the start. Not all at once. Just little things. A book left on the coffee table What to Expect in the First Year. Another on the arm of the sofa Baby Sleep Solutions. A neat stack by Carla’s side of the bed, bookmarks peeking out like they were already halfway into a life Betsy hadn’t caught up to yet.

Baby books. Everywhere.

Like reminders. Like plans. Like something already in motion that didn’t need her to keep going.

At first, she told herself it didn’t matter. They were just books. Just information. Just preparation.

But by day ten, it felt like more than that.

It felt like proof.

It started over nothing.

That was the worst part. Nothing big. Nothing dramatic. Nothing that should’ve turned into what it did.

“Betsy, can you grab those books from the spare room?” Carla called from downstairs.

Betsy paused, one headphone half-off, her music still playing faintly in the background. “What books?”

“The ones on the chair. Baby ones. I was sorting them earlier.”

Baby ones. Of course.

“Yeah,” Betsy called back. “In a minute.”

She didn’t move. Her phone dimmed in her hand, the screen going black as she stared at her own reflection for a second too long.

In a minute.

She said that a lot now. It bought her time to breathe, time to not feel whatever it was sitting heavy in her chest.

“Betsy?” Closer this time. A knock on the door.

“Yeah,” she said quickly, pulling the headphones off. “Coming.”

She stood slower than she needed to and made her way to the spare room. The door was already open.

And that was enough.

x

The room didn’t look like a spare room anymore. Not really. There were no boxes, no piles of clothes, just books. Stacked neatly on the chair. Lined along the windowsill. A few already placed on a small shelf that definitely hadn’t been there last week.

Soft pastel covers. Titles about feeding, sleeping, development.

All of it so…intentional.

Betsy hovered in the doorway, her chest tightening again. It was ridiculous. It was just reading material.

So why did it feel like something was being built in here? Something permanent. Something that didn’t include her.

She grabbed the stack a little too quickly, holding them tighter than she needed to, and headed downstairs.

Lisa was in the kitchen. Carla sat at the table, another book open in front of her, a pen tapping lightly against the page.

Everything looked calm. Focused. Like they knew what they were doing.

“Got them?” Carla asked, glancing up with a small smile.

Betsy dropped the books onto the table a little harder than she meant to. “Yeah.”

The sound was louder than it should’ve been.

Lisa looked over. “Careful.”

“I am careful.”

It came out sharp. Too sharp.

Lisa’s brow furrowed slightly. “Alright…”

There it was. That shift small, but noticeable.

Carla picked up one of the books, flipping it over. “This one’s supposed to be really good. Covers the first six months.”

Betsy shrugged, not really looking. “Right.”

“You could have a look too, if you want,” Carla added gently. “Might help it feel a bit less unknown?”

That did it.

Something in Betsy snapped, not loudly, not explosively but enough.

“I’m good,” she said quickly. “I don’t need to read baby manuals.”

Carla blinked, slightly taken aback. “I didn’t mean—”

“I know what a baby is,” Betsy added, her tone tightening. “It cries. It sleeps. It takes over everything.”

Silence. Heavy. Immediate.

Lisa straightened slightly. “Betsy—”

“I’m just saying,” Betsy cut in, her voice edged now. “You’re acting like there’s some kind of exam you have to pass.”

Carla’s expression softened, but there was something hurt underneath it now. “I’m just trying to be prepared.”

“Yeah, well,” Betsy muttered, “seems like you’ve got it covered.”

Lisa stepped forward slightly. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

“Doesn’t sound like nothing.”

Betsy exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair. “Can we not do this?”

“Do what?” Lisa asked, more direct now.

“This,” Betsy said, gesturing vaguely. “Where everything I say gets picked apart.”

Carla shook her head gently. “We’re not picking you apart, Bets—”

“You are,” Betsy snapped, louder now, her eyes fixed firmly on the floor. “You keep looking at me like I’m about to say the wrong thing.”

Lisa’s expression hardened slightly. “Maybe because you keep snapping at us.”

“I’m not—” Betsy started, then stopped, because she was.

She knew she was.

And somehow that made it worse.

“I’m not trying to,” she said instead, quieter but strained.

Carla softened immediately. “Hey… we know that.”

But Betsy shook her head.

“No, you don’t.”

Because if they did, they’d understand this wasn’t about the books. Or the room. Or even the baby.

It was the feeling underneath all of it the constant, low-level panic she couldn’t switch off. The tightness in her chest with no clear reason. The sense that everything was suddenly fragile, like one wrong move and she’d lose something she couldn’t get back.

Lisa crossed her arms slightly. “Then help us understand.”

And there it was again. The question she didn’t have a clean answer for.

Betsy swallowed. “I just…” she started, then stopped.

Because the truth sounded stupid out loud.

I feel like I’m disappearing. I feel like there’s no space for me anymore. I feel like I’m already being left behind.

Instead, she sighed heavily. “You don’t need me.”

Carla frowned immediately. “What?”

“You’ve got everything sorted,” Betsy went on, words coming faster now. “Books, plans, schedules like…where do I fit in that?”

“You’re part of this,” Carla said, firm but gentle.

“It doesn’t feel like it.”

Lisa stepped in. “That doesn’t make it true.”

Betsy let out a hollow laugh. “Right.”

“Betsy,” Lisa said, sharper now, “you don’t get to push us away and then say we’re leaving you out.”

“I’m not pushing you away!” Betsy shot back.

“You are,” Lisa said. “Every time you shut down or bite back instead of just telling us what’s going on.”

“I am telling you!” Betsy insisted, her voice cracking. “You just don’t like what I’m saying!”

“That’s not it…”

“Yes, it is!” Betsy snapped.

And then. The moment.

The one she couldn’t take back.

“Maybe you just don’t notice because you’re too busy with the baby,” she said, her voice shaking now, “that isn’t even here yet. How is it actually going to be once it arrives and needs all your attention?”

Silence.

Carla flinched.

Actually flinched.

And Betsy felt it immediately that sharp, sinking drop in her stomach.

“I didn’t mean…” she started, but the words tangled.

Lisa stepped forward, voice low and controlled. “Don’t do that.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Betsy said quickly, panic creeping in.

“But you said it,” Lisa replied.

“I know, I just—” Betsy pressed her hands to her forehead. “I don’t know why everything’s coming out wrong.”

Carla’s voice was soft, but steady. “Then slow down.”

Betsy looked at her.

And that made it worse.

Because Carla wasn’t angry.

She was hurt.

And patient.

And still trying.

And Betsy felt like she was ruining it anyway.

“I’m trying,” she said, her voice smaller now. “I just…everything feels…”

Too much. Too loud. Too different.

“…off,” she finished weakly.

Lisa’s expression shifted, just slightly.

Carla took a small step closer. “Is it the baby?”

Betsy hesitated.

Because the answer was yes.

And no.

“It’s not just that,” she admitted quietly.

Lisa softened a fraction. “Then what is it?”

Betsy shook her head almost immediately. “I don’t know.”

Another lie.

Or maybe not.

Just something she didn’t have the words for yet.

“I just feel…” she tried again, then stopped, frustration rising. “I don’t know, okay?”

Her voice lifted again, defensive without meaning to be.

Lisa sighed. “We’re trying to meet you halfway, Bets.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” Betsy muttered.

And there it was.

Another thing she didn’t mean.

Carla’s face fell slightly. “That’s not fair.”

“I know,” Betsy said quickly, guilt hitting fast. “I know, I just—”

She stopped.

Because nothing she said was fixing it.

Everything just made it worse.

“I’m going to my room,” she said abruptly.

“Betsy—” Carla started.

But Betsy was already turning away.

Because staying meant saying something else she’d regret.

And she’d already done enough.

x

The door closed behind her.

The silence hit instantly.

Betsy leaned back against it, her breathing uneven, hands shaking as she dragged them through her hair.

“Why do I keep doing that?” she whispered.

Her chest ached.

Guilt settled in hard, heavy waves.

Because she didn’t mean it. Not the tone. Not the words. Not the way she kept pushing when all she really wanted was comfort, reassurance something to tell her she wasn’t being left behind.

“You’re such an idiot,” she muttered.

Her thoughts turned quickly. Too quickly.

You upset her. You upset both of them. You always do this. You make everything harder.

She slid down to the floor, pulling her knees in, pressing her forehead against them.

“I didn’t mean it,” she whispered again.

But that didn’t undo it.

Didn’t take back the look on Carla’s face.

Didn’t soften the edge in Lisa’s voice.

Her breathing hitched.

“I’m fine,” she said out loud.

The same lie.

The only one she knew how to use.

Because anything closer to the truth felt too big. Too messy. Too much.

Downstairs, Carla sat quietly at the table, one of the books still open but unread.

Lisa exhaled slowly, rubbing her face.

“That didn’t go well,” Carla said softly.

Lisa shook her head. “No.”

A pause.

Carla glanced toward the stairs. “She didn’t mean that.”

“I know,” Lisa said. “But she still said it.”

Carla nodded faintly. “She’s scared.”

Lisa was quiet for a second. Then, softer “Yeah.”

Another pause.

“I don’t think it’s just about the baby,” Carla added.

Lisa looked toward the ceiling, toward Betsy’s room.

“No,” she said quietly. “I don’t think it is either.”

x

Upstairs, Betsy lay back on her bed, staring at the ceiling.

Same position. Same room. Same thoughts.

But heavier now.

Because this time, she’d let some of it slip.

Not all of it. Not the full truth.

But enough.

Enough for them to see something wasn’t right.

And that terrified her.

Because if they asked again, if they really saw he she didn’t know if she could keep saying I’m fine.

And if she stopped pretending, everything might shift again.

And she wasn’t sure she could handle that too.

Chapter Text

The silence after Betsy left wasn’t quiet. It settled heavily into the house, pressing into the walls, stretching into every corner. The air felt different. Thicker somehow, like something had shifted and couldn’t be put back.

Lisa stood in the kitchen, staring at the doorway where Betsy had disappeared. Her mind was already moving too fast, replaying everything, pulling it apart, trying to make sense of it before it got worse.

“She’s escalating. That’s not her, she needs fixing,” Lisa said quietly.

Carla blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

Lisa turned toward her, already halfway into explanation. “That wasn’t just a bad mood. It’s a pattern. Withdrawal, avoidance, then confrontation when she’s pushed. It’s building. She needs fixing.”

Carla didn’t respond straight away. She just looked at her, taking in the tone, the distance, the way Lisa had already stepped out of the moment and into analysis.

“We can’t fix her. She needs help though,” Carla said quietly.

Lisa frowned. “Well we have to try and fix her. She can’t behave like that.”

“I hear what you’re saying, but you can’t keep talking as though she’s something that can be fixed overnight. You’re over-analysing her,” Carla replied firmly.

“I’m trying to understand her.”

“You’re treating her like a case,” Carla said. “Not our daughter.”

Something tightened in Lisa’s expression. “I am treating her like our daughter.”

“Then stop breaking her down like she’s something to fix.”

The words landed between them, and the tension shifted. It wasn’t just about Betsy anymore. It was about them.

Lisa ran a hand through her hair, frustration rising quickly. “So what, we just ignore it? Pretend she didn’t just stand there and say she feels replaced?”

“She didn’t say it to hurt us,” Carla said gently. “She said it because she’s scared.”

“And we’re just supposed to let that spiral?” Lisa shot back.

Carla stepped closer, steady but firm. “No. We’re supposed to meet her in it. Tell her we’re listening and here for her.”

“That’s not how this works.”

“It is with her.”

The space between them felt smaller now, tighter. The tension had been building long before this moment, sitting quietly under the surface, waiting for something to tip it.

Lisa shook her head. “She’s already learned how to shut people out. When things get too much, she pulls back…”

“She lost her mum,” Carla cut in sharply. “That’s not behaviour, Lisa. That’s grief.”

“And grief has patterns…”

“Stop.” Carla’s voice cut through, and the room went still.

“Don’t do that,” she added, shaking her head. “Don’t reduce her to something you can control.”

Lisa turned away, pacing, the energy in her with nowhere to go. “I’m not trying to control her. I’m trying to stop this getting worse.”

“And I’m telling you,” Carla replied, her voice tightening, “that the way you’re doing that is going to push her further away.”

Lisa turned back sharply. “And what would you suggest, Carla?”

“Listening.” Carla said sharply.

“I am listening.”

“No,” Carla said, quieter now, but more cutting. “You’re preparing.”

Lisa frowned. “For what?”

“For the worst-case scenario,” Carla said. “Like you do at work. You’re already five steps ahead, and she’s still trying to tell you where she is now.”

The truth of it hung in the air. Lisa felt it and hated it, because deep down Carla was right. Lisa wanted a solution, something to hold onto, when this wasn’t the moment for one.

“I can’t just sit back and hope it fixes itself,” she said, her voice rising. “We’ve got a baby on the way, you’re exhausted half the time, and now she’s—”

“She’s what?” Carla challenged.

Lisa hesitated. Just for a second, but it was enough.

Carla saw it. “She’s what, Lisa?”

Lisa exhaled sharply. “She’s struggling, alright? And it’s going to get worse if we don’t step in properly.”

“We step in by supporting her,” Carla said. “Not managing her.”

“And when does that stop?” Lisa snapped. “When do we actually parent?”

“That is parenting.”

The words collided, neither of them really listening now. The tension sharpened, pulling tighter between them.

Lisa shook her head, frustration spilling over. And then she said it.

“Don’t tell me how to parent my daughter.”

The room fell silent.

Carla physically stepped back, like the words had hit her.

“Our daughter,” she said quietly.

Lisa didn’t respond. Didn’t move. And that silence said more than anything else.

Carla’s breath caught. “I see,” she said, her voice shaking. “Is that how it is?”

“Carla…”

“After four years,” Carla continued, emotion breaking through, “you still don’t see me as her mother?”

Lisa’s expression shifted immediately, panic flickering in. “That’s not what I meant. I didn’t mean it like that. Carla, listen…”

But Carla shook her head. The damage had already landed.

“She is yours,” Lisa rushed, stumbling over her words. “Of course she is. She’s ours. I know that. Betsy adores you, Carla. You’re more of a mum to her than Becky ever was. God she loves you. I just—”

“You don’t get to say stuff like that when things get tough,” Carla cut in.

Her voice was quiet, but it carried.

“You can’t keep treating Bets like one of your cases to analyse.”

Silence settled again, heavier this time. The kind that sits in your chest and doesn’t shift.

Lisa opened her mouth, then closed it. She didn’t know how to fix this. Not quickly. Not cleanly.

Carla stood there, her chest rising and falling unevenly. She knew Lisa didn’t mean it like that. She could see the fear underneath it, the way everything was starting to overwhelm her.

But knowing that didn’t stop it hurting.

“You don’t get to say that and then take it back,” Carla said quietly.

“I didn’t mean it…”

“But you said it.” Carla cut in.

There was no way around that.

Lisa exhaled shakily, her walls starting to come back up, retreating into something safer, more controlled.

“I’m trying to hold this family together,” she said. “Someone has to think clearly.”

Carla’s expression fell. “There you go again,” she whispered.

Lisa didn’t respond. Or couldn’t. Because it was easier to step back into that version of herself than stay in this moment where everything felt exposed.

x

The house felt colder now. The warmth that had been there earlier replaced by something strained, something fragile that could splinter further at any moment.

Upstairs, Betsy sat frozen on her bed, every raised voice carrying through the floorboards. Each word landed harder than the last.

My daughter. Not mine. Something’s going to give.

Her breathing quickened, panic rising fast.

This is my fault.

The thought looped, over and over, tightening in her chest.

Downstairs, the argument had burned itself out, leaving only the aftermath behind.

Lisa stood still, the weight of what she’d said finally catching up with her. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

Carla didn’t respond straight away. She couldn’t. Because if she spoke too soon, she wasn’t sure what would come out.

Instead, she reached for her keys.

Lisa’s head snapped up. “What are you doing?”

“I need some space.”

“Carla, don’t.”

There was something raw in Lisa’s voice now, something unguarded.

“I can’t stay here,” Carla said, her voice shaking. “Not like this.”

Lisa stepped closer. “We can fix this.”

Carla looked at her. Really looked at her. At the distance, the fear, the way neither of them quite knew how to reach each other anymore.

“I don’t think you know how to right now,” she said softly.

That landed deeper than anything else.

For a second, it looked like she might stay.

Instead, she stepped closer.

Her hand lifted, familiar and gentle, and she pressed a soft kiss to Lisa’s temple. It lingered, full of everything they couldn’t say out loud.

Lisa closed her eyes briefly, but she didn’t reach for her.

And that was the moment something shifted.

Carla stepped back, turned, and walked to the door. She opened it and left, the sound of it slamming behind her echoing through the house.

x

Upstairs, Betsy flinched, tears spilling over.

Because it had happened. The thing she had been most afraid of.

Change. Loss. Everything starting to come apart.

And she was right in the middle of it.

Downstairs, Lisa stood alone in the quiet, the tension still hanging in the air like it hadn’t quite settled.

For the first time, she wasn’t analysing. Wasn’t solving. Wasn’t trying to stay ahead of it.

She was just standing there, realising she might have just pushed away the two people she was trying hardest to protect.

A few minutes later, the house creaked softly as Betsy came down the stairs.

Slow steps.

Careful.

Like she wasn’t sure what she was walking into.

Lisa was leaning over the kitchen island, her head bowed, her hands braced against the surface.

Her shoulders were shaking.

Quietly.

Betsy hesitated in the doorway. “Mum…?”

Lisa didn’t respond.

Didn’t move.

Betsy stepped closer, her voice smaller now.

“Is Mum coming back?”

The question hung there.

Fragile.

Lisa closed her eyes, her breath catching before she answered.

“I don’t know,” she said finally, her voice rough. “She just…needed some space.”

Something in Betsy tightened.

Shifted.

“So you just let her go?” she snapped, the edge back before she could stop it.

Lisa straightened slightly, turning to look at her.

There was something different in her expression now.

Tired.

Worn down.

“Don’t start on me,” she said, her voice low. “I’m not in the mood.”

Betsy went to speak again, but Lisa didn’t let her.

“I know you’re struggling,” she continued. “I do. I can see it. But that doesn’t give you the right to say things that hurt us.”

Betsy froze.

“I know you’re not trying to hurt us,” Lisa added, softer but still firm. “But this can’t keep happening.”

The words settled between them.

Heavy.

Honest.

“We love you,” Lisa said. “And we want to support you with whatever this is. But you have to talk to us. Not lash out.”

Silence followed.

Not empty.

But full.

The kind of silence that sat in the room, pressing into both of them. The fridge humming in the background. The faint ticking of the clock.

Everything else held still around it.

Betsy didn’t say anything.

Instead, she stepped forward.

Slowly.

And wrapped her arms around Lisa.

Lisa tensed for a second.

Then softened.

Betsy pressed her face into her shoulder, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“I’m sorry.”

Chapter Text

Carla didn’t remember the drive properly. Not in a way that made sense.

Just fragments.

Headlights streaking past like comets. The low hum of the engine sitting too loud in the silence. The road stretching endlessly ahead, bending and blurring in ways she couldn’t quite track.

Her hands were locked around the steering wheel.

Too tight.

Her knuckles had gone pale, tendons sharp beneath her skin, like if she loosened her grip even slightly, everything would slip. Not just the car.

Her breathing wouldn’t settle.

Short. Uneven.

Like her body had forgotten how to do it naturally and now every inhale had to be forced, dragged in against the tightness in her chest.

If she slowed down.

If she stopped.

It would all catch up with her.

The words. The look on Lisa’s face. The sound of her own voice as she’d walked out.

She wasn’t ready for that.

Not yet.

So she kept driving.

Further than she needed to.

Past familiar turns. Past the point where instinct should have told her to stop.

Until eventually, she didn’t remember deciding to pull up outside Michelle’s.

The engine cut.

Silence rushed in and suddenly there was nowhere left to run.

Carla sat there for a second, her hands still gripping the wheel even though the car had stopped moving.

Her chest rose and fell too quickly.

Too shallow.

“Breathe,” she whispered to herself.

But it didn’t work. It never worked when she said it like that.

Her fingers finally loosened.

Just enough.

She reached for the door handle. Stepping out, the cold air hit her face, sharp and grounding, but it didn’t steady her the way she’d hoped. If anything, it made everything feel more real.

Her legs felt unsteady as she walked up the path. Each step heavier than it should have been.

By the time she reached the door, her throat was tight, her chest aching with everything she hadn’t let herself feel yet.

She lifted her hand to knock.

The door opened before she could.

Michelle stood there, already watching her.

Like she’d known. Like she’d been expecting this exact version of her.

“Hey.” That was all Michelle managed.

No questions.

No confusion.

Just that.

And it was enough.

Carla stepped forward and everything unravelled.

“I messed it up,” she said, the words breaking apart as they left her mouth.

Her voice cracked under the weight of it.

Michelle didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t ask what happened.

Didn’t try to fix it.

She just pulled Carla into her arms.

And held her.

Firm. Steady. Certain.

Carla folded into it like something giving way.

x

“I shouldn’t have left,” she said into Michelle’s shoulder, her words muffled, breath uneven. “I shouldn’t have walked out. I just…I couldn’t stay. Not after what she said.”

“Hey,” Michelle murmured, one hand coming up to the back of her head, grounding her. “Breathe first.”

Carla shook her head, pulling back just enough to look at her, tears already slipping down her cheeks.

“She told me not to tell her how to parent her daughter.”

Michelle stilled.

Just slightly.

“Right…”

Carla let out a hollow, disbelieving laugh, wiping at her face but not managing to stop the tears.

“Yeah,” she said. “Her daughter.”

The words sat between them.

Heavy.

Loaded with everything they weren’t saying out loud.

“I know she didn’t mean it,” Carla rushed on, already pacing now, energy spilling out of her in restless movement. “I know she’s stressed, and scared, and everything’s a mess right now, but…”

She stopped mid-step.

Her voice dropped, quieter now.

“But it still came out.”

Michelle nodded slowly, watching her.

“Yeah,” she said gently. “And that’s why it hurts.”

Carla pressed her lips together, trying to steady the tremor there.

“I don’t think she trusts me,” she admitted, the words quieter than everything else she’d said so far. More honest. More dangerous.

“That’s not true,” Michelle replied immediately.

Carla looked at her, something sharp flickering in her expression.

“You didn’t hear it.”

“No,” Michelle said, softer now, taking a small step closer, “but I know her. And I know how she looks at you when you’re not watching. That’s not someone who doesn’t trust you.”

Carla swallowed.

Her chest still tight.

Still aching.

“Then why did it feel like that?”

Michelle reached for her, resting a steady hand against her arm, guiding her gently toward the sofa.

“Because you’re already feeling uncertain,” she said. “Everything’s changing. You’re not just reacting to what she said, you’re reacting to what it represents.”

Carla sank down onto the sofa, the weight of it all finally settling into her bones.

“That things aren’t as steady as I thought,” she said.

Michelle nodded. “Yeah.”

Carla stared down at her hands, turning them slightly like she didn’t quite recognise them.

“I’ve built everything around them,” she said. “Around us. And now it just feels like…I don’t know where I fit anymore.”

Michelle’s expression softened, something deeply certain in the way she looked at her.

“You fit right in the middle of it,” she said. “You always have.”

Carla shook her head faintly.

“She’s already thinking ahead,” she said. “Planning for what happens if Betsy gets worse. Trying to control it.”

Michelle huffed lightly, a small, knowing sound. “Of course she is. It’s Lisa.”

That pulled the smallest almost-smile from Carla.

But it faded quickly.

“She’s scared,” Carla said.

“Terrified,” Michelle corrected gently.

Carla nodded.

“And instead of saying that,” she added, “she pushes. Or shuts down. Or says things she doesn’t mean.”

Michelle tilted her head slightly, watching her closely.

“And you walk away.”

Carla met her gaze.

“Because if I stay,” she said quietly, “I’ll say things I don’t mean too.”

The truth of it settled between them.

Heavy.

But clean.

Michelle didn’t argue with it.

Didn’t soften it.

She just nodded, then after a moment. “You two made a promise, didn’t you?”

Carla frowned faintly. “What?”

“To not go to bed angry,” Michelle said. “You told me that ages ago. When things got rough early on.”

Carla stilled, because she remembered.

Late nights.

Tired honesty.

The way they’d held onto each other instead of letting things fracture.

We don’t leave things like this.

Her chest tightened.

“You’re allowed to be hurt,” Michelle said gently. “What she said wasn’t okay.”

Carla nodded faintly.

“But that doesn’t mean you disappear.”

Carla’s gaze dropped again.

“I didn’t disappear,” she said quietly.

“You left,” Michelle replied. “Same difference when someone’s already scared of losing people.”

That landed.

Hard.

Because it wasn’t just about Lisa.

It was about Betsy too.

The silence that followed wasn’t tense.

It was heavy with understanding.

“Text her,” Michelle said.

Carla looked up. “What?”

“Text her,” she repeated. “You don’t have to fix it tonight. You don’t have to solve anything. Just let her know you’re okay.”

Carla hesitated.

Her fingers twitching slightly like they already knew what to do, even if the rest of her didn’t.

“I don’t know what to say.”

Michelle gave a small shrug. “Start small.”

Carla reached for her phone.

It felt heavier than it should have, like it carried more than just messages.

She stared at the screen for a long moment.

Then typed.

Carla: I’m at Michelle’s. I’m safe.

Her thumb hovered.

Then pressed send.

The reply came quickly.

Lisa: Thank you for letting me know. I’m sorry, Carla. For everything I said. I didn’t mean it like that.

Carla’s chest tightened as she read it.

The apology didn’t fix it.

But it mattered.

She didn’t reply straight away.

Didn’t trust herself to say the right thing yet.

Another message came through.

Lisa: Are you okay?

Carla exhaled slowly.

Then typed.

Carla: No. But I will be.

A pause.

Lisa: I hate that I’ve hurt you.

Carla’s eyes filled again.

Her fingers moved more carefully this time.

Carla: I know you didn’t mean it. But it still hurt.

The typing dots appeared.

Disappeared.

Lisa: I know.
Lisa: I’ll fix it. I promise.

Carla stared at the message.

Because part of her believed it.

Part of her always did.

x

Across town, back at home, Betsy sat on her bed with her phone clutched in both hands.

Her room was quiet.

Too quiet.

The kind that made every thought feel louder.

She’d been staring at the screen for ten minutes.

Typing…

Deleting…

Typing again.

Her chest felt tight.

Heavy.

Like something was sitting on it.

This is my fault.

The thought kept looping.

Over and over.

She squeezed her eyes shut briefly, like she could shake it loose.

But it stayed.

It always did.

Finally, she typed.

Betsy: Are you okay?

She stared at it.

Then added… 

Betsy: I’m sorry.

And hit send before she could stop herself.

Carla’s phone buzzed again.

She glanced down.

And her breath caught.

Betsy: Are you okay?
Betsy: I’m sorry.

Carla closed her eyes briefly.

Because there it was.

Exactly what she’d been afraid of.

Betsy taking it on.

Carrying something that was never hers to hold.

She typed quickly this time.

Carla: Hey you. None of this is your fault. I promise. xx

A pause.

Betsy: It feels like it is. x

Carla’s chest tightened painfully.

Carla: I know it does. But it isn’t. Grown-ups mess things up sometimes. That’s on us, not you.

Another pause.

Longer this time.

Carla could almost picture her sitting there, thinking too much, feeling too much.

Betsy: Are you coming back? xx

Carla swallowed hard.

Her eyes flicked to Michelle for just a second.

Then back to the screen.

Carla: Of course I am.
Carla: I’m not going anywhere. xx

Three dots appeared.

Disappeared.

Betsy: Okay. I love you mum. xx

Simple.

Soft.

But fragile.

Carla set her phone down slowly.

Her hand instinctively resting against her stomach again.

Michelle watched her quietly from across the room.

“Well?” she asked.

Carla exhaled.

“I’ve not lost them yet,” she said.

Michelle smiled softly. “You were never going to.”

Carla nodded faintly.

But she knew it wasn’t that simple.

Not really.

Because love didn’t stop things from breaking.

It just gave you something worth fixing.

And tonight

That was enough to hold on to.

Chapter Text

Lisa didn’t wait long. She tried. Tried to sit with it and give Carla space. That’s what she asked for and she was respecting that. Tried to be rational; but it lasted thirty five minutes.

Thirty five minutes of pacing the kitchen.
Thirty five minutes of replaying every word she’d said.

Thirty five minutes of hearing the front door slam over and over again in her head. We don’t go to bed angry at each other, that was our promise, no matter what. Lisa mutter under her breath to herself.

And then she grabbed her keys, this one she felt.

Every second of it.

Every red light that stayed red too long.
Every turn that felt like it was taking forever.

Her hands tightened on the wheel.

Don’t tell me how to parent my daughter.

Lisa winced “Yeah,” she muttered to herself. “Nice one.”

Too far.

Way too far.

The lights were on.

Of course they were.

Lisa stood at the door for a moment, her hand hovering before she knocked, because this was the hard part.

Not the arguing.

Not the snapping.

But this.

Owning it.

She knocked and Michelle opened it taking one look at Lisa raising an eyebrow.

“Thought you’d be here.”

Lisa huffed a breath. “Yeah. I deserve that.”

Michelle stepped aside. “You do,” but she let her in anyway.

Carla was on the sofa curled slightly into herself.

Phone in her hand, looking at her lock Screen showing a family selfie taken during their honeymoon in Greece, Betsy front and centre of the photo where she belonged. 

She looked up when Lisa walked in and everything in Lisa’s chest tightened because she looked…

Small.

Not physically.

But emotionally.

Guarded.

Hurt.

“Hi,” Lisa said, softer than anything she’d said all night. Carla didn’t respond straight away.

Michelle glanced between them.

“Right,” she said, clapping her hands lightly. “I’m going to make tea. Loudly. In the kitchen. Where I definitely won’t be listening.”

Neither of them argued.

Lisa took a few steps forward, stopping, not to get too close. Still respecting Carla’s space and wishes. Although it was killing her as personal space had never been something they did. They would usually be joined at the hip.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

No build-up.

No deflection.

Just…

There it was.

Carla let out a slow breath.

“You’ve already said that.” Bit harsh but factual.

“I know,” Lisa replied. “I just…needed to say it in person.”

Carla nodded slightly.

Still guarded.

Lisa swallowed and didn’t move to sit down.

Not yet.

It felt…earned, somehow. Like she hadn’t quite earned the right to take up space beside her wife again. So she stayed where she was for a second, longer than necessary, fingers tightening around her keys almost as if it was grounding her.

Carla noticed.

Of course she did. She always noticed the small things.

“Lisa,” she said quietly, not unkindly, “you can sit down.”

It wasn’t an invitation so much as a careful offering. Lisa nodded once, like she needed permission, and lowered herself onto the opposite end of the sofa. Not too close. Not yet.

The distance sat between them.

Heavy.

Measured.

Carla tucked one leg slightly under herself, fingers still curled around her phone but not really holding it anymore. Her attention wasn’t there. It hadn’t been since Lisa walked through the door.

“I hate this,” Lisa muttered after a moment, more to herself than to Carla.

Carla’s brow furrowed faintly. “Hate what?”

“This bit,” Lisa said, gesturing vaguely between them. “The…space. The not knowing where I stand with you.”

Carla let out a slow breath.

“That’s how I felt earlier,” she said with some bite to it but not unkindly.

The words landed.

Lisa flinched rubbing her fingers tighter over her keys.

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “I know.”

Silence crept back in, softer this time but still present, still pressing at the edges.

From the kitchen, there was the deliberate clatter of a spoon hitting the side of a mug. Then a cupboard door. Then another.

Michelle.

Not subtle.

But not intrusive either.

Just…there.

A buffer.

A witness who wasn’t watching.

Carla glanced briefly towards the sound, then back to Lisa.

“You don’t get to panic and decide I’m the problem,” she said, her voice still calm but steadier and softer now. “That’s the part that…got me.”

Lisa’s grip tightened around her mug.

“I didn’t think you were the problem.”

“It felt like you did.” Carla sighed.

“I know,” Lisa said quickly, then caught herself, forcing her voice softer. “I know it did. I just…” She exhaled sharply. “I felt like I was losing control of everything, and you were…coping. Handling it. Being what she needed.”

Carla’s expression flickered.

“And that made you angry?”

Lisa shook her head. “No. It made me feel useless.”

That sat differently.

Carla’s shoulders dropped a fraction, some of the tension easing out of them without her fully realising.

“You’re not useless,” she said, quieter now.

Lisa huffed a small, humourless laugh. “Didn’t exactly sound like you believed that earlier.”

Carla held her gaze. “Because you didn’t give me a chance to.”

Another beat.

Another shift.

Lisa looked down at her hands, her keys still firmly grounding her without her realising it. “I keep thinking I’ve got this,” she admitted. “That I can handle pressure, make decisions, hold everything together. That’s my job, right? That’s what I do.”

“Yeah,” Carla said softly. “It is.”

“But this isn’t a job,” Lisa added, her voice tightening slightly. “There’s no training for this. No clear right answer. And when I get it wrong…” She swallowed “It’s not just paperwork or a case file. It’s…her. It’s us.”

Carla’s throat bobbed slightly.

She understood that fear. Too well.

“And instead of saying that,” Carla said, “you lash out.”

Lisa nodded “Yeah.”

There was no defence in it this time. No justification. Just truth.

From the kitchen, the kettle clicked again unnecessarily. It hadn’t been long enough to need reboiling.

Michelle, still not listening.

Carla’s lips twitched faintly despite herself, then settled again.

“You really hurt me,” she said, more vulnerable now. “Not just with what you said. With how easily you said it.”

Lisa’s head lifted quickly. “It wasn’t easy.”

“It sounded like it was.”

“It wasn’t,” Lisa repeated, firmer this time. “It was panic. It was…saying the thing I knew would hit, because I didn’t know how else to say ‘I’m struggling.’”

Carla absorbed that. Slowly.

“That’s not fair,” she said after a moment.

“I know.”

“It’s not fair to make me the target just because I’m…steady in that moment.”

“I know,” Lisa said again, quieter.

“And you don’t get to weaponise the fact that she’s your daughter.”

Lisa winced, sharper this time.

“I’m not trying to take that away from you,” she said quickly. “I would never…she is yours in every sense of the word mother, even legally now.”

“But you did,” Carla cut in, not harshly, but firmly enough to stop her.

And there it was again.

That line.

That bruise.

Lisa didn’t argue this time.

She just nodded “I did.”

The honesty settled between them, uncomfortable but necessary.

A long pause followed.

Not empty.

Processing.

Carla shifted slightly, her fingers finally setting the phone down beside her. A small thing, but it meant she was here now. Fully.

“No one’s asking you to get it right all the time,” she said after a while.

Lisa let out a quiet breath. “Feels like they are.”

“I’m not. Lisa looked at her.

Carla held her gaze. “I’m asking you to stay,” she said. “Even when you feel like you’re getting it wrong.”

That hit somewhere deeper. Lisa’s chest tightened.

“I’m trying,” she said, and for the first time, it sounded less like a defence and more like a promise she wasn’t sure she could keep.

Carla saw that too.

“I know you are,” she said gently. “But trying doesn’t mean pushing me away when it gets hard.” Lisa nodded slowly. “Okay.”

Another small shift.

Not fixed.

But forward.

From the kitchen, Michelle’s voice floated through again, deliberately casual.

“I’ve started on the biscuits. Emotional support Hobnobs. Not eavesdropping, just…sustaining myself.”

Carla let out a soft, unexpected laugh, the tension cracking just enough to let it through.

Lisa smiled, faint but real. “Of course she has,” she murmured.

The room felt different now.

Still fragile.

Still careful.

But warmer.

Lisa glanced back at Carla, hesitation flickering again.

“I don’t want to lose this,” she said quietly.

Carla’s expression softened in a way it hadn’t before.

“You won’t,” she said. “Not from one argument.”

Lisa searched her face. “Even one like that?”

Carla held her gaze.

“That depends on what you do after it.”

Lisa nodded.

“Then I’ll do better.”

Carla didn’t rush to reassure her this time.

Didn’t smooth it over.

But she didn’t pull away either and when Lisa, tentatively, shifted just slightly closer, not touching, just closing the space by an inch Carla didn’t move away.

It wasn’t forgiveness.

Not fully.

Not yet.

But it was something quieter.

Something building.

In the kitchen, another mug clinked loudly against the counter.

Michelle, still very much not listening, allowed herself the smallest smile, because she could hear it in the silence between them. They were finding their way back.

Slowly.

But properly.

And this time neither of them were running.

Carla almost smiled.

There was a pause.

Then Lisa asked quietly “Are you coming home?”

Carla hesitated.

Looked down at her hands.

At the faint tremble still there.

“I will,” she said. “Just…not tonight.”

Lisa nodded.

It wasn’t what she wanted.

But it was fair.

“Okay.”

Carla looked back at her.

“I know you didn’t mean it,” she said. “But it shook something. I’m not angry and I’m glad you came round but I still need time and space.”

Lisa’s chest tightened.

“I’ll fix it,” she said.

Carla tilted her head slightly.

“Don’t fix it. A small silence “just…don’t run from it.”

Lisa nodded slowly.

“I can do that.”

Lisa stepped back into her space, pausing before lifting herself off from the sofa, keys still in handing.

Grounding.

Not leaving yet.

Not fully.

But giving space.

Michelle reappeared, handing them both tea like nothing monumental had just happened.

“Progress?” she asked lightly.

Carla and Lisa exchanged a look.

Tired.

Emotional.

But still connected.

“Something like that,” Carla said.

Lisa nodded.

“Yeah.”

Outside, the night felt quieter.

Less sharp.

Not healed.

Not whole.

But not broken either.

And for now that was enough.

Chapter Text

Carla opened the front door softly, easing it shut behind her with a quiet click.

For a moment she stood in the foyer, still in yesterday’s clothes, her handbag hanging from her shoulder. The house smelled faintly of fabric softener and coffee.

Familiar.

Safe.

Painfully familiar.

She closed her eyes briefly and gathered herself before stepping further inside.

In the kitchen, Lisa was standing by the counter, sorting washing into neat piles. Towels, tops, jeans, everything in between. Her movements were careful, methodical, like if she focused hard enough on folding clothes she could keep everything else from spilling apart.

She heard the door, but she didn’t turn around.

In the living room, Betsy sat curled up under a blanket watching Married at First Sight, though from the way she’d been staring blankly at the television, Carla doubted she had taken any of it in.

Betsy heard her first. “Mother, you’re back,” she called, the word mother dripping with sarcasm.

Despite everything, Carla half smiled.

“Mother is it? Of course I’m back, my love.”

She opened her arms and Betsy was off the sofa in a second, crossing the room and folding herself into Carla’s chest. Carla wrapped her up tightly, holding her just that little bit longer than usual, like she needed to reassure herself that her daughter was really there.

Betsy leaned into her, small and warm and familiar.

From the kitchen doorway, Lisa watched them.

The sight made something twist painfully in her chest. It felt, absurdly, like her heart was being ripped out and stitched back together all at once.

Betsy’s voice was quiet against Carla’s jumper.

“Have you and Mum made up? I’m sorry again.”

Carla winced, just slightly, and pulled back enough to look at her daughter.

“Hey, you. Stop saying sorry.”

“But….”

“No.” Carla brushed Betsy’s hair back gently. “We’ll figure it out. I love you, and me and your mum will talk more today. Adult conversations that you don’t need to worry about.”

Betsy looked between them uncertainly.

“We both love you very much,” Carla continued softly, “and we want you to be okay no matter what. I know change is hard. God, I know it more than anyone, so does your mum.” She swallowed. “Sometimes people say things that hurt a lot in the moment, but your mum and I love each other greatly, we love and adore you too. That’s never changed, and it’s never going to change. That’s a promise.”

Betsy nodded slowly. “Okay.”

Carla kissed the top of her head. “Love you.”

Betsy leaned in further to her mums hug, softly, “I love you too mum.”

x

A short time passed after that.

Betsy drifted back into the living room, the television still murmuring in the background. Lisa carried folded washing upstairs and brought the empty basket back down again. Carla made tea neither of them drank.

They moved around one another carefully, tension hanging in the air between them. Not close, but constantly in each other’s space. Carla stepped aside so Lisa could get to the cupboard. Lisa passed Carla the sugar without either of them asking. Their hands brushed once and both of them froze.

Even now, even like this, they were still in sync.

That had always been the foundation of them. Not just love, but the way they moved through the world together. The way one always knew where the other would be. The way they communicated without thinking.

Though right now, that felt like the very problem.

Carla set her mug down on the counter and looked at Lisa.

“Can we talk?”

Lisa glanced up immediately. “Of course.” Her voice was quiet. “Sofa?”

Carla nodded. “Yeah.”

They walked into the living room together, instinctively matching pace. Carla sat at one end of the sofa at first, Lisa at the other, a careful stretch of space between them.

For a moment neither of them spoke.

The clock ticked loudly in the silence, Betsy had gone to her room with her headphones on while FaceTiming Lauren.

Then Carla let out a shaky breath.

“I hated last night.”

Lisa looked down at her hands. “Me too.”

“I was angry,” Carla said. “And scared. But mostly I was hurt.”

Lisa‘s eyes lifted to hers.

Lisa twisted her fingers together in her lap. “Everything’s changing and I don’t know where I fit in it anymore and instead of saying that, I just...” She laughed bitterly. “I lashed out.”

“You didn’t deserve to feel like that. I should’ve talked to you sooner. Properly. I think I convinced myself that if I kept everything in my head, I could protect everyone from it.”

Carla looked at her sadly. “You don’t have to protect me from your thoughts, Lisa.”

“I know.”

“No, I don’t think you do.” Carla went still.

Carla’s voice softened. “You’ve been carrying everything on your own for so long. You decide what everyone needs and what everyone can handle and then you shut me out because you think you’re helping, and then lash out when it gets heighten. I won’t tolerate that.”

Lisa blinked quickly, tears stinging her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Lisa shifted closer, only slightly.

“I’m sorry. I really am, you know you are her mother in every sense. I didn’t mean it.” Tears streaming from Lisa’s eyes.

”I’m sorry for what I said. For making you feel like Betsy wasn’t yours.”

Carla looked at her then, properly looked at her, and suddenly Lisa was right there. Tired eyes. Tear tracks. The woman she had loved for years. The woman who still knew her better than anyone else in the world.

“We used to talk about everything,” Carla said quietly.

“I know.”

“Every stupid little thing.”

“You used to tell me if someone looked at you funny in Tesco.” Lisa laughed through her tears. “You used to ring me from work because you couldn’t decide what to have for lunch.”

“I still can’t.”

They both smiled then, small and fragile, but real.

Carla reached for her hand.

“We need to stop acting like mind readers,” she said softly. “You don’t have to guess what I’m thinking, and I can’t keep pretending I know what’s going on in your head if you won’t tell me.”

Carla squeezed her hand.

“And we do this together,” Carla continued. “Not apart.”

“Together,” Lisa echoed.

“No shutting each other out.”

“No assuming.”

“No bottling things up until we explode.”

Lisa smiled weakly. “That one might take me some practice.”

Carla’s mouth twitched. “Then I’ll remind you.”

“And I’ll remind you not to go silent and pretend you’re fine when you’re absolutely not.”

“Deal.”

For a second they just sat there, hands tangled together, the silence between them softer now. Familiar.

Then Lisa reached up and brushed her fingers gently along Carla’s cheek.

Carla leaned into the touch without thinking.

When they kissed, it was soft. Careful. A promise more than anything else.

And when they pulled apart, foreheads resting together, they held onto one another like they were finally remembering that they were on the same side.

x

Later that evening Betsy stared at the ceiling of her bedroom. It had become a habit.

Lying there, phone discarded somewhere near her pillow, lights off but sleep nowhere near close. The darkness didn’t feel restful. It felt loud.

Too loud.

Her thoughts filled every inch of space. She was tired. Exhausted, actually, but her brain didn’t seem to care.

It just kept going, replaying things, overthinking things. Creating things that weren’t even real yet but felt just as heavy.

Betsy’s chest rose and fell unevenly as she shifted onto her side, pulling her duvet tighter around her like it might somehow hold everything together.

Her mind flicked, uninvited, to earlier that evening.

Carla laughing in the kitchen.

Lisa rolling her eyes but smiling anyway.

The easy way they moved around each other. The way everything felt…steady.

Good.

Safe.

Resolved. 

Everything Betsy should feel grateful for, and she was. That was the worst part, because she was grateful. She loved them. More than anything.

Which made everything else feel worse.

So why do you feel like this?

Her throat tightened, she didn’t have an answer or at least, not one that made sense.

Her life wasn’t bad.

It wasn’t broken anymore.

She wasn’t alone.

So why did it still feel like something inside her was?

Her eyes burned slightly as she blinked hard, turning onto her back again.

“Just sleep,” she whispered to herself.

But the moment she closed her eyes her chest tightened again.

That familiar feeling.

Like something was pressing down on her. Not enough to stop her breathing. Just enough to make every breath feel heavier than it should.

x

Betsy inhaled slowly.

Then out.

Again.

Trying to calm it.

Trying to control it.

It didn’t work.

It never really did.

Her hand drifted unconsciously to her arm, fingers pressing lightly over old marks hidden beneath her sleeve.

Not fresh, but not forgotten.

A quiet reminder of where her head went when things got too much.

She pulled her hand away quickly.

No.

Not again.

She wasn’t going there again, she couldn’t.

Not now.

Not with everything else.

Not with them.

Carla.

Lisa.

The baby.

Her chest tightened again at the thought.

Everyone was excited.

Looking forward.

Betsy felt like she was standing still.

Stuck.

Like the world was moving forward without her and she didn’t know how to catch up. Or if she even could.

Her phone buzzed suddenly beside her.

The sound made her flinch slightly.

She grabbed it quickly, more out of distraction than anything else.

Lauren:
you still awake?

Betsy hesitated for a second.

Betsy:
yeah

Almost instantly

Lauren:
thought so lol

A pause.

Lauren:
you okay? you were quiet earlier

Betsy stared at the message.

Her thumb hovered over the screen.

Say yes.

That was the easy answer.

The expected one.

The one that didn’t open anything up.

But instead… 

Betsy:
not really

The words sat there.

Heavy.

Real.

Lauren’s reply came slower this time.

Lauren:
what’s going on?

Betsy swallowed.

Her chest tightening again because now she had to decide how honest to be.

Her fingers moved slowly.

Betsy:
i don’t know. just feel…off all the time.

She hit send before she could overthink it.

Three dots appeared and disappeared.

Lauren:
off how?

Betsy exhaled shakily.

How did you explain something you didn’t fully understand yourself?

Betsy:
like…tired but not just tired and my head won’t shut up. Everything feels too much but also nothing at the same time.

She stared at the message after sending it.

It looked stupid written out.

Dramatic.

Like something she should just be able to get over.

Lauren replied.

Lauren:
that doesn’t sound stupid you know.

Betsy blinked.

Like Lauren had read her mind.

Lauren:
have you told your mums?

There it was.

The question she’d been avoiding.

Her stomach dropped, her fingers stilled over the screen.

Betsy:
not everything. They know I’m terrified of the change.

A pause.

Lauren:
why not?

Betsy’s chest tightened again. The answer wasn’t simple. It wasn’t just one thing. It was everything.

Her fingers moved slower this time.

Betsy:
they’ve got enough going on.

She hesitated.

Then added.

Betsy:
the baby and work and everything.

Her throat felt tight.

Betsy:
i don’t want to make it worse. Look what happened last night when I told them I feel replaced.

The message sent.

And with it a wave of guilt, because that was the truth. Or at least part of it.

Lauren’s reply came quickly this time.

Lauren:
bets that’s not how it works.

Betsy frowned slightly.

Lauren:
you’re not “making it worse” by not being okay

Her jaw tightened, because logically she knew that.

But it didn’t feel true. Not really.

Betsy:
it is though.

She typed.

Then… 

Betsy:
they finally have something good happening
i don’t want to ruin it.

Her eyes stung again.

Betsy:
they deserve to just be happy.

There was a longer pause this time.

Lauren:
and you don’t?

That hit harder than anything else.

Betsy stared at the screen because she didn’t have an answer for that.

Not a real one.

x

She turned onto her side again, pulling her duvet tighter around her.

Her chest still felt heavy.

Her mind still loud.

But now, there was something else mixed in. Something sharper, a question she couldn’t quite shake.

Do I deserve to be okay?

The worst part was that she didn’t know.

The conversation didn’t end.

It just…slowed.

Like neither of them quite knew what to say next.

Betsy stared at her phone, the glow of the screen the only light in the room.

Lauren:
you’re not ruining anything by struggling. Your mums love you and would want to help you if they knew how much you’re actually struggling.

Another message.

Lauren:
you’re allowed to not be okay bets.

Betsy swallowed.

Her chest tightening again, because that sounded nice, but it didn’t feel true.

Not when it came to her.

Betsy:
it doesn’t feel like that. I always seem to loose people I love. Maybe it’s the universe telling me I’m not allowed to be okay. 

She typed slowly.

Then… 

it feels like i should be fine… 

Her fingers hovered.

Then continued…

i have everything

Her throat tightened.

they’re good to me, like really good.

She paused again.

Because this part mattered.

i don’t want them thinking i’m ungrateful

She then deleted the other parts of the message.

And immediately regretted it.

Lauren replied quickly.

Lauren:
betsy having mental health stuff doesn’t make you ungrateful.

Betsy squeezed her eyes shut briefly.

Betsy:
it feels like it does.

She admitted.

Because how could she explain it properly?

That constant comparison in her head.

Other people have it worse.

Other people don’t have what you have.

So why are you struggling?

It didn’t make sense.

But it was there, all the time.

Lauren’s typing bubble and three dots appeared again.

Lauren:
have you thought about like…talking to someone? properly?

Betsy’s stomach twisted.

“No,” she whispered aloud before even replying.

Her fingers moved anyway.

Betsy:
i don’t know how.

That was the truth.

Not just the how of it.

But the what.

What would she even say?

Where would she start?

How do you explain something that doesn’t have a clear reason.

That just…exists?

Lauren replied slower this time.

Lauren:
you don’t have to know everything to start.

Betsy stared at that, because it sounded simple.

But it wasn’t. Nothing about this felt simple.

Her chest tightened again. That familiar, heavy pressure.

And beneath it, something else.

A quieter thought.

But more dangerous.

What if it doesn’t get better? Maybe I’m better off not being here? The pain won’t be as bad then and the noise not so loud. 

Her breath caught slightly.

Because that was the part she didn’t say out loud.

Not to anyone.

Not even to herself properly.

The fear that this feeling.

This heaviness.

This constant noise wasn’t temporary.

Wasn’t just a phase.

What if this was just…her?

Her fingers hovered over the screen.

Betsy:
do you ever feel like it’s just always going to be like this?

The message sent before she could stop it.

There.

Out in the open.

Lauren didn’t reply straight away.

In that silence Betsy’s mind filled the gap.

See? Even she doesn’t know what to say.

Because it’s true.

Because it doesn’t get better.

Her chest tightened further.

Her breathing uneven again.

Lauren:
no

Betsy frowned slightly.

Another message came through quickly after.

Lauren:
i don’t think it’s meant to feel like this forever

A pause.

Lauren:

but i think it feels like that when you’re in it

Betsy stared at the words.

Something about the way it was phrased made her chest loosen just slightly.

Not fixed.

Not better.

But…understood.

She exhaled slowly.

Her eyes heavy now.

Not from sleep.

But from everything else.

“I don’t know how to fix it,” she whispered into the quiet room.

And that was the truth.

She didn’t know how to move forward. Can she continue living when the noise in her head is too loud.

Didn’t know how to tell her mums.

Didn’t know how to stop feeling like she was failing them somehow just by not being okay.

Didn’t know how to carry all of it without breaking.

But for the first time in a while she‘d said some of it.

Even if it was messy, didn’t fix anything and just to Lauren.

It was something.

Small.

Fragile.

But something.

Betsy finally set her phone down beside her and stared back up at the ceiling. That same question lingered.

Still unanswered.

Still heavy.

Is life meant to feel like this? Can I keep living with all the noise in my head? I don’t want to disappoint my mums.

She didn’t know.

Not yet.

Chapter Text

Morning light filtered into the kitchen as Carla moved between the counter and the kettle.

Her movements automatic, while Lisa stood nearby finishing her coffee, both of them half-focused on the day ahead.

The usual rhythm of work morning chatter filled the space.

What time they’d be home.

Reminders about dinner.

Small things that felt steady and normal.

Shortly after Carla and Lisa settled into their breakfast. Betsy descends down the stairs, rubbing her eyes. Her hair sticking up from the night before.

Betsy slumps into the chair along the island, curled into herself in her pyjamas, elbows on the table, face in her palms. 

“I don’t feel well this morning,” she mumbled, not quite meeting her mums eyes.

“I think I’ll stay home today. I’m tired.”

Carla paused briefly, studying her, but Betsy gave a small shrug that seemed to close the conversation down before it could open.

Lisa exchanged a glance with Carla uncertain, but not alarmed and after a quick check-in and a reminder to rest, they let it go.

The front door closed behind them soon after, leaving the house quiet in a way that felt heavier than it should have. Telling Betsy they’ll be checking in on her throughout the day via text.

Betsy nodded but not making eye contact.

Lauren had read the messages three times, then a fourth, before locking her phone and dropping it onto her bed, staring up at the ceiling as if the words might rearrange themselves into something easier to understand.

They didn’t.

They stayed the same, heavy, wrong.

Do you ever feel like it’s just always going to be like this?

She squeezed her eyes shut, muttering under her breath that it wasn’t normal or maybe it was for someone struggling, but that didn’t make it okay, didn’t make it something she could ignore.

Turning onto her side, she grabbed her phone again, scrolling back through every message, every pause, every gap filled with things Betsy hadn’t said.

Lauren knew her, really knew her.

The way she deflected when things got too real, the way she joked to soften discomfort, the automatic “I’m fine” that never meant anything. But last night hadn’t been fine.

It had been something deeper, darker, and Lauren could feel it twisting in her chest.

She’d asked casually, Have you told your mums like it was simple, like it was obvious.

But the answer had been just as expected.

“Course you haven’t,” Lauren whispered now, dragging a hand through her hair. That was Betsy all over, hold it in, deal with it alone, don’t make it anyone else’s problem.

Except it was a problem, and Lauren could feel that creeping certainty settling in. Her eyes fixed on one message in particular… 

I don’t want to ruin it. Ruin what?

But she already knew, the baby, the house, the life Betsy had now.

The good things. That was the part that scared her most. Not just that Betsy felt bad, but that she felt like she wasn’t allowed to.

 x

Later that day at school, Betsy didn’t show up, and Lauren noticed immediately.

She kept glancing at the door during class, half-expecting her to walk in late, to brush it off like nothing, to prove everything was fine.

But she didn’t come, and the sinking feeling in Lauren’s chest only deepened.

By lunchtime, she’d checked her phone countless times. No messages, no replies, nothing.

Her other friends suggested Betsy was probably just ill, and Lauren nodded automatically, but it didn’t sit right.

Betsy would have said something, even just a quick message. Which meant something was off.

Again.

Her mind drifted back to the night before…

I don’t know how to fix it.

That wasn’t just a bad day.

That was someone who felt stuck.

And people who felt stuck…Lauren swallowed hard as the thought forced its way in, sharp and unwelcome.

What if she’s self-harming again?

She hadn’t seen anything, no obvious signs, but that didn’t mean anything.

People hid things. Betsy definitely would.

The pull between her choices tightened in her chest. Tell someone, or keep Betsy’s trust.

Neither felt right.

If she told Carla or Lisa, Betsy might feel betrayed, might shut down completely. But if she didn’t, and something happened…Lauren’s breath caught.

“I couldn’t live with that,” she whispered, the answer landing before she could question it.

By late mid-afternoon, she’d made up her mind not confidently, not completely, but enough. She told herself she was just checking, just making sure, as she grabbed her bag and left early.

The walk to the factory felt longer than usual, each step tangled with doubt.

What if I’m overreacting? What if she’s fine? What if she hates me for this?

“Better that than…” she started, but didn’t finish.

She didn’t need to.

The factory was loud, normal, almost jarringly so. Machines hummed, voices overlapped, everything carrying on as if nothing was wrong.

Lauren hesitated at the entrance, her eyes scanning until she spotted Carla across the floor, focused, unaware.

“Hi, love, you alright?” Carla asked.

Lauren nodded quickly, though the words stuck in her throat.

The shift in Carla’s expression came almost immediately. “What is it?” she asked, concern creeping in.

Lauren swallowed hard. This was the line once she said it, she couldn’t take it back.

“I’m probably overthinking,” she started, “but I just wanted to check if Betsy’s okay?”

Carla frowned slightly. “She’s at home. Said she felt poorly, tired. Why?”

Lauren’s stomach dropped.

At home.

Alone.

“Has she messaged you today?” Carla shook her head slowly, and the feeling in Lauren’s chest sharpened.

Carla’s posture changed instantly, not panic, but alert. “Lauren, talk to me. There’s more to this?”

A pause.

Silence deafening.

“Yeah...” The noise of the factory seemed to fade into something distant as Lauren murmured.

Lauren hesitated, then forced herself to continue. “There is more...”

Carla looked at her properly now, waiting, and that made it harder.

“She messaged me last night,” Lauren said, her voice unsteady.

“She said things feel like too much. That she doesn’t want to stress you out with the baby and everything.”

Carla’s hand instinctively moved to her stomach, protective, but her focus didn’t waver.

“What kind of things?” she asked carefully.

Lauren hesitated, then said it quietly, “She feels stuck. Like it’s not going to get better. That she doesn’t deserve to be happy.”

Carla’s face drained slightly, and Lauren rushed to add, “I don’t know for sure, but I think she might be…hurting herself again.”

The words hung heavy between them.

Carla inhaled slowly, steadying herself, but the shift was unmistakable. This wasn’t just a feeling anymore it was real.

She grabbed her phone, thanking Lauren as she moved, already calling, already heading for the door.

Then her expression changed sharp, wrong.

“She’s not answering.” Her breathing quickened.

“I’m going home.”

“I’m coming with you,” Lauren said immediately, and Carla didn’t argue.

They moved fast out of the factory, onto the cobbles. The warmth of the May air hitting them sharply.

The silence between them thick with everything they didn’t want to say.

Lauren’s heart pounded as Carla tried again and again, each call going straight to voicemail.

“Come on, Bets,” Carla whispered, her voice breaking. “Pick up…Just pick up.”

But she didn’t.

As they ran through the streets, worst-case scenarios taking shape in both their minds, neither of them knew they were already too late.

Upstairs, behind a closed bedroom door, Betsy lay still and the silence was absolute.

The front door barely made it halfway open before Carla was through it, her voice already breaking as panic tore through her chest.

“Betsy!” she shouted, the sound echoing sharply through the house.

Too loud against the suffocating silence that followed.

Behind her, Lauren stumbled in, her heart hammering as the stillness hit her just as hard wrong, unnatural, like the house itself was holding its breath.

Carla didn’t wait, calling Betsy’s name again, louder, more desperate, before moving straight for the stairs, taking them two at a time, her grip tight on the banister as if it could steady the fear threatening to consume her.

“Please…” she whispered under her breath, the word fragile, already unraveling.

She pushed the bedroom door open and everything stopped.

Betsy lay on the bed, too still, too quiet.

“Bets…darling mum’s here.” Carla’s voice cracked as she dropped to her knees beside her, her hands hovering for a split second before touching her face, tapping gently, then harder.

“Wake up…come on, wake up…” There was no response.

Her skin was clammy, her breathing shallow and uneven, and panic surged, sharp and uncontrollable.

Lauren froze in the doorway, her body going cold as the reality of it hit.

“Oh my God…”

Carla’s eyes darted around the room, searching for something, anything to make sense of it, and then she saw the empty packet on the floor.

“No…no, no…”

The word broke apart as her fingers rushed to find a pulse.

It was there, faint, but there and the brief flicker of relief only made the fear that followed more intense.

“Lauren, call an ambulance. Now!”

Lauren didn’t move at first, her mind lagging behind what she was seeing, but Carla’s voice snapped her back.

Hands shaking, she fumbled for her phone, her voice trembling as she spoke to the operator, while Carla gently turned Betsy onto her side, supporting her, her own voice soft and desperate now.

“Stay with me…come on, baby…stay with me…”

Her hand pressed instinctively against her stomach.

For a moment everything felt like it was slipping at once.

Lauren’s words blurred in the background “She’s unconscious…I think she’s overdosed…” but Carla barely heard.

All she could see was Betsy. “You’re okay…Mum’s here…” she whispered, though the words felt uncertain, fragile, like they might shatter under the weight of the truth.

The sirens came quickly, though not quickly enough, and the room filled with paramedics, their calm urgency replacing the stillness with movement and noise.

Questions came fast.

“what had she taken?”

”when?”

”how long?”

Carla could barely answer, her voice shaking, her grip on Betsy unrelenting even as they tried to guide her back.

Lauren stood pressed against the wall, pale and silent, tears streaming as guilt took hold, heavy and relentless.

This is my fault.

The thought looped, but there was no space for it now only Betsy mattered.

Everything else disappeared into the blur.

The ambulance ride fractured into sharp, disjointed moments flashing lights, overlapping voices, the steady, terrifying rhythm of machines.

Carla sat beside the stretcher, gripping Betsy’s cold hand, her other hand pressed tightly to her stomach as if she could hold everything together through sheer force.

“Stay with me…please…” she whispered over and over, her voice breaking.

“I’m so sorry…I didn’t see how bad it was…” The guilt cut deep because the signs had been there the quiet, the distance, the slipping she hadn’t realised was this far gone.

Carla’s hand shook as she reached for her phone, needing Lisa, needing something solid to hold onto.

The station was loud phones ringing, voices overlapping, papers shifting across desks in a constant rhythm of movement and noise.

Normal.

Too normal.

Lisa sat at her desk, staring at a report she’d already read three times, none of it sinking in.

Her pen tapped absently against the surface tap, tap, tap a steady rhythm she didn’t realise she’d fallen into.

Her phone lit up briefly with a message from a colleague, but she ignored it. Her mind wasn’t there.

It kept drifting back home, to the kitchen that morning, to Betsy. The way she’d avoided eye contact. The hesitation before saying “love you too.”

Small things.

Easy to miss.

But Lisa didn’t miss things.

Not usually.

Her jaw tightened. “She’s off,” she muttered quietly, that familiar instinct settling uneasily in her chest the same one she trusted every day in her job, the one that told her when something wasn’t right.

And she’d felt it.

She’d known.

Still, she’d left.

Gone to work.

Told herself she’d deal with it later. Her grip tightened around the pen. “Later,” she repeated under her breath, the word suddenly hollow.

Then her other phone rang sharp, loud, cutting through everything.

Carla.

Lisa answered immediately. “Carla?” There was something in the silence on the other end something wrong.

“Lise…” Carla’s voice broke, and everything inside Lisa dropped, cold and fast.

“What’s happened?” she asked, already on her feet.

“It’s Bets…” Her heart slammed violently.

“What about her?” “She’s taken something,” Carla said, words rushed and uneven. “We found her, she wasn’t responding they’re taking us to the hospital now.”

Lisa didn’t think.

Didn’t process.

Didn’t breathe properly.

She just moved keys, door, car.

“Is she breathing?” she asked, her voice tight but controlled.

“Yes, but it’s not right Lisa, she won’t wake up”

Lisa closed her eyes for half a second, grounding herself, forcing focus.

Be what they need. “I’m on my way. Which hospital?”

Carla told her.

“I’m coming now. Stay with her.”

She ended the call and then she ran.

Carla lowered the phone slowly, her hand trembling.

“She’s coming. Mum’s coming.” she whispered, as much to herself as to Betsy, because Lisa always came.

The ambulance roared through the streets, sirens cutting through everything.

Chapter Text

The drive blurred into fragments for Lisa. Red lights, traffic, noise, none of it registering properly.

Lisa’s hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white, her breathing uneven despite every attempt to steady it.

She’s taken something.

The words repeated over and over, each time hitting harder. Her little girl. Alone. In her room. In pain and Lisa hadn’t been there.

Her chest tightened painfully. “How did I not see it?” she whispered, but she had. That was the worst part.

She had seen it.

The quiet.

The withdrawal.

The tension in Betsy’s shoulders.

The way she’d said she just wanted one normal day. Lisa swallowed hard. “She was telling me,” she said, her voice breaking. “She was telling me and I…”

She hadn’t listened properly.

Not in the way that mattered.

She’d filed it away, told herself she’d come back to it later. Her grip tightened further on the wheel.

“There might not have been a later,” she breathed, the thought hitting like a punch to the chest.

If Carla hadn’t found her, if Lauren hadn’t said something, Lisa’s stomach turned. “No,” she said firmly, shaking her head, trying to push the thought away, but it didn’t listen.

Her mind dragged her to the worst-case scenario anyway.

Her chest constricted. “I was meant to protect you,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “That’s my job…”

Detective.

Mother.

Protector.

She’d failed at the one that mattered most.

A tear slipped down her cheek, unnoticed. “I should’ve stayed,” she said, the words tumbling out, unanswered questions following close behind.

Pushed harder?

Asked more?

Not left at all?

She didn’t know and now it felt like there wasn’t time left to figure it out. Her breath hitched. “She was hurting…and I didn’t take it away.” That was all she’d ever wanted, to take it away.

Every piece of pain, every bit of grief, everything Betsy had already carried.

She’d promised herself, after everything before, that Betsy would never feel that alone again. Yet she had been. Alone in her room, hurting enough to…Lisa shook her head sharply.

“No. She’s still here. She’s still here.” She clung to that, because the alternative was unthinkable.

The hospital came into view, too slow and too fast all at once. Her foot pressed harder on the accelerator, urgency overtaking everything else.

“Just hold on,” she whispered, as if Betsy could hear her. “Please, just hold on…” Nothing else mattered, not her job, not consequences, not anything.

Just her daughter.

Her little girl, who had been carrying something too heavy for too long.

Lisa would do anything, anything, to take that pain away, even if it meant carrying it all herself.

x

Lauren didn’t go in the ambulance, but was in constant communication with Carla for updates.

At the hospital, everything sped up again in a rush Carla couldn’t process doors bursting open, voices calling instructions, hands taking Betsy from her before she was ready to let go.

“Suspected overdose prepare for gastric lavage.”

Carla followed until she couldn’t anymore, until someone stopped her and the doors swung shut, cutting her off completely.

“No, I…” But it was too late. Betsy was gone, and the silence that followed felt deafening.

Time lost its shape after that, stretching unevenly as Carla sank into a chair, her body still shaking with adrenaline that had nowhere to go.

Footsteps echoed down the corridor fast, urgent and Lisa appeared, breathless, her eyes scanning until they landed on Carla.

“Where is she?” she asked, and Carla told her, the words catching as she explained what they were doing.

Lisa’s expression shifted instantly, fear breaking through whatever composure she’d tried to hold, and she crossed the space between them, pulling Carla into her.

“I’ve got you,” she murmured, holding her tightly as Carla finally broke.

“She wouldn’t wake up,” she whispered.

“Lise… she wouldn’t wake up…” Lisa held her closer, steadying her even as her own fear threatened to surface.

“We’re here now,” she said firmly. “We’re here.”

“She’s going to be okay,” Lisa said, though her voice wavered, betraying the fear underneath.

Carla nodded against her, tears still falling, because she had to believe it.

Something had shifted clear, undeniable. This wasn’t just a bad day, not just something they could brush off or miss again.

This was real.

They had missed this one, but not anymore. Now they saw it. All of it and Betsy came back to them, because she had to, they wouldn’t look away again.

They wouldn’t let her carry it alone.

She wasn’t a problem, wasn’t something to fix she was their daughter, and they loved her.

Right now, that was the only thing that mattered.

x

Betsy lay in the hospital bed, her small body curled beneath the crisp white sheets. The beep of the heart monitor was steady, a quiet rhythm that seemed to soothe the tension in the room.

Sunlight streamed faintly through the blinds, casting soft stripes across the floor.

Outside, the world moved on, oblivious to the small crisis that had almost torn their family apart.

Lisa and Carla sat in chairs either side of the bed, stroking their daughters arms.

Neither had moved since the nurse left, and neither wanted to break the fragile silence that had settled over them.

The door opened quietly, and Dr. Wilson stepped in, his expression a careful mix of reassurance and gravity.

“Good afternoon,” he said softly, nodding at Lisa and Carla. “I just wanted to speak to you about Betsy.”

Carla’s chest tightened; she had barely breathed for the past hour.

Dr. Wilson continued, “She was extremely lucky. The timing of her being found and brought in made all the difference.

The stomach pumping was successful, and, as far as we can tell, there’s minimal long-term damage.”

Lisa exhaled slowly, a shudder passing through her. “Minimal damage…thank God,” she whispered, voice thick with relief.

“But,” Dr. Wilson added gently, “I’m recommending a referral to MindWorks. Therapy will be important not just for Betsy’s physical recovery, but for her emotional well-being. She needs a safe space to process what happened.”

Carla nodded, biting her lip, trying not to break down. “Of course. We’ll do whatever she needs” her voice trembling.

Lisa cut in, squeezing her wife’s hand “we can go private if need be. No delays. She’s our priority.”

Dr. Wilson gave them a compassionate look. “You did the right thing. Being there when she needed you most, that saved her. Just…keep being present. That will matter more than anything else.”

Lisa asked Dr. Wilson if she can be discharged home today? He responded and said “ideally if she can stay for observations that would be better, for at least the night and then plan for discharge in the morning.”

Carla and Lisa nodded with an understanding. 

After he left, the room seemed impossibly quiet.

Lisa and Carla stayed seated, next to each other this time, fingers intertwined, the weight of what had happened settling heavily between them.

“I can’t believe this happened,” Carla said finally, voice barely more than a whisper. “I keep thinking…if I had just noticed sooner, if I…”

Lisa shook her head, holding Carla’s hands tighter. “It’s not your fault. None of this is on you. You know that, right? Betsy…she’s here, she’s alive. That’s what matters.”

Carla buried her face against Lisa’s shoulder, the tears spilling freely now. “I feel like I failed her. I wasn’t there when she needed me.”

“You were there,” Lisa said firmly, stroking Carla’s hair. “We’re both here, and you acted. You got help. That’s what love looks like, messy, panicked, terrified, but showing up anyway.”

They stayed like that for a long moment, silent except for the quiet sniffles and the occasional beep of the monitors.

The shared grief and relief formed a fragile bond, a silent acknowledgment of the vulnerability they had faced together.

Then, a small sound stirred from the bed. Betsy’s eyelids fluttered, and she blinked up at them, the room slowly coming into focus.

Her gaze found hers mothers’ faces, sorrow and love mingling in her eyes.

“Mum…Mum…” she whispered, her voice weak but steady.

Lisa leaned forward, brushing a strand of hair from Betsy’s forehead. “Hi, sweetheart. You’re safe now.”

Betsy’s lips trembled as she looked from Lisa to Carla, a tidal wave of emotion in her eyes. “I’m so sorry mum. How…how do I move on from this…now that you know?”

Carla leaned close, pressing a gentle kiss to her daughter’s hand. “We move on together. One step at a time. We’ll get through it, Bets. You’re not alone.”

Betsy’s eyes glistened with tears, but this time there was a flicker of hope too.

She squeezed their hands weakly, a quiet promise passing between them.

A promise that, no matter how dark the moment had been, they would face the next days and all the ones after together.

x

Just after lunchtime the following day Betsy was cleared for discharge. Carla and Lisa didn’t leave her side overnight. Lisa popped home in the early evening to get some comfy clothes and snacks.

Other than that they remained by her bedside.

The discharge felt too simple for something that had nearly broken them. A clipboard signed, a few final checks, a soft “take care” from the nurse and just like that, they were leaving.

Betsy walked between Lisa and Carla, smaller somehow, like the hospital had taken something from her and hadn’t quite given it back.

Carla kept close, her hand hovering near Betsy’s back as if she might disappear if she let too much space form between them.

The car ride home was silent.

Not the comfortable kind, not the familiar hum of everyday life, but something heavier. Something thick with everything unsaid.

Lisa reached across the centre console and rested her hand gently on Carla’s lap.

Carla didn’t look at her, but her fingers shifted slightly, pressing into Lisa’s hand in quiet acknowledgement.

It was grounding.

Necessary.

In the back seat, Betsy sat with her headphones in, staring out the window. The world passed by in a blur, people walking dogs, children laughing, cars stopping at lights.

Normal life.

It felt so far away from her.

She didn’t listen to anything. The headphones were just a barrier. A way to not have to speak.

When they pulled up outside No.6, no one moved for a moment.

Home.

It didn’t feel like it used to.

Carla eventually turned off the engine. “We’re here,” she said softly, though it was obvious.

Inside, the house felt still, untouched like it had been waiting for them.

Lisa suggested food, her voice gentle, careful. “I’ll order a Chinese, yeah? Something easy.”

No one argued.

They ate at the table, but it wasn’t really eating.

It was picking.

Moving food around.

Occasional small bites that tasted of nothing. The usual chatter that filled their dinners was gone, replaced by long stretches of silence.

Betsy sat with her shoulders slightly hunched, her eyes fixed on her plate.

Then, quietly, “I love you.”

Lisa and Carla both looked up immediately.

Betsy’s lip trembled, and suddenly the words rushed out, tangled and raw.

“I’m so sorry…I’ve just…I’ve messed everything up. I’ve disappointed you both so much.”

“Hey.” Carla started firmly, but Betsy shook her head, tears spilling now.

“I have,” she insisted, her voice cracking. “And it just…it hurts all the time. Sometimes I think it would just be easier if I didn’t have to feel it anymore. If I didn’t have to be here.”

The words landed like a physical blow.

Lisa was beside her in an instant, arms out, cupping Betsy’s face. “Don’t you ever think that you’re a disappointment,” she said, her voice firm but thick with emotion. “You hear me? Never.”

Carla moved too, wrapping her arms around Betsy from the side, pulling her in close.

“You’re our girl,” she whispered, pressing her cheek to Betsy’s hair.

“Nothing you do could ever change that. Nothing.”

Betsy broke then, properly sobbed shaking through her as she clung to them both.

“I don’t know how to fix it,” she cried.

“You don’t have to fix it,” Lisa said softly, brushing tears from her cheeks.

“We’ll figure it out together. One step at a time. That’s all we need.”

“We’ve got you,” Carla added. “Always. We’re not going anywhere. You’re not a problem.”

They stayed like that for a long time, holding her, grounding her, letting her cry it out in the safest place she had.

x

Later, as the evening drew in and the house darkened, Betsy stood in her bedroom doorway.

Everything looked the same. Her bed. Her duvet.

The small familiar things that should have brought comfort.

But it didn’t.

She climbed in anyway, pulling the covers up, curling onto her side. Her eyes stayed open, fixed on the wall. The silence in the room felt too loud, her thoughts too close.

After a while, she sat up, her chest tight.

She couldn’t do it. Not tonight.

In their room, Lisa lay on her side, absentmindedly tracing soft circles on Carla’s stomach beneath her top.

It was a quiet, grounding motion.

Familiar.

Something to hold onto.

Carla let out a slow breath. “Do you think she’ll be okay?” she asked, her voice low, fragile in a way she didn’t often allow.

Lisa paused for a moment, then resumed the gentle pattern. “I think…she’s hurting. A lot. But she’s still here. That means there’s something to hold onto.”

Carla placed her hand over Lisa’s, keeping it there. “We need to protect her.”

“We will,” Lisa said softly.

There was a small pause before Lisa added, almost as a whisper, “And this little one too.”

Carla’s expression shifted, something tender and complicated flickering across her face as she glanced down.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “Them too.”

The weight of everything sat between them, their daughter, their fear, their future.

Then… 

A soft knock at the door.

Both of them stilled.

Lisa sat up slightly. “Come in.”

The door opened just enough for Betsy to peek through. She looked small again, vulnerable in a way that cut straight through them.

“Can I…can I stay with you?” she asked quietly. “I just…I need to be held.”

There wasn’t even a second of hesitation.

“Of course you can,” Carla said immediately, pulling back the covers.

“Come here, sweetheart,” Lisa added, her voice warm and certain.

Betsy crossed the room quickly, climbing into the bed between them. As soon as she was there, Carla wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close, while Lisa’s hand came up to stroke gently through her hair.

The tension in Betsy’s body slowly began to ease.

“You’re safe,” Lisa murmured.

“We’ve got you,” Carla echoed softly.

Betsy didn’t respond, but her breathing started to slow, her body relaxing as the steady rhythm of her mums’ touch anchored her.

Within minutes, she was asleep.

Lisa and Carla stayed awake a little longer, holding her between them, their hands never still stroking her hair, her arm, small reassurances spoken without words.

Neither of them said it out loud, but they both knew tonight wasn’t about answers.

It was about keeping her close.

And for now, that was enough.

Chapter Text

Morning came too quickly. It wasn’t the gentle kind that eased its way in, it arrived sharp and quiet, slipping through the curtains and settling over the house like something uncertain.

For a moment, everything felt still.

Then reality followed.

Betsy stirred first.

She was aware of warmth before anything else, steady, grounding warmth on either side of her. One arm draped over her waist, fingers loosely curled into the fabric of her t-shirt.

A hand in her hair, slow, absent strokes that hadn’t stopped, even in sleep.

She didn’t open her eyes straight away.

For a few seconds, she just stayed there, held between her mums, listening to their breathing.

Safe.

Then the memories crept back in.

The hospital.

The fear.

The words she’d said.

A quiet heaviness settled in her chest again, her eyes opened slowly staring at the soft light filtering into the room.

She shifted slightly, careful not to wake them but Carla stirred anyway, her arm tightening instinctively.

“You okay?” Carla murmured, voice thick with sleep.

Betsy hesitated. “Yeah…I think so.”

Lisa was already half-awake, her hand pausing briefly in Betsy’s hair before continuing. “You don’t have to pretend with us,” she said softly.

“I know,” Betsy whispered.

And she did.

That was the difference now.

They didn’t rush the morning.

Everything moved slower, softer like the house itself understood that it needed to tread carefully.

Carla was the first to properly get up, pressing a gentle kiss to Betsy’s temple before slipping out of bed.

Lisa followed not long after, but not before brushing Betsy’s hair back and giving her a look that said everything words couldn’t.

“We’re just downstairs,” she said.

Betsy nodded, pulling the duvet closer around herself.

She stayed there for a while after they left.

Not because she didn’t want to get up but because getting up meant facing everything again.

The normal world.

The version of herself that existed in it.

Eventually, she reached for her phone.

The referral sat there in her messages.

A link.

A number.

A next step.

Her thumb hovered over it, her stomach twisting.
She didn’t feel ready but then again…she hadn’t felt ready for any of this.

Taking a slow breath, she clicked.

Downstairs, the kitchen smelled faintly of toast, coffee and ginger tea, though Lisa hadn’t quite figured out yet if it was helping.

Carla leaned against the counter, pale, one hand pressed lightly to her stomach.

“You alright?” Lisa asked, watching her closely.

Carla gave a small, humourless laugh. “Morning sickness, apparently. Though morning feels like false advertising when it continues past 10am.”

Lisa smiled gently, stepping closer. “Come here.”

Carla didn’t argue, letting Lisa guide her to sit. Lisa’s hands were warm as they rested briefly against Carla’s sides before one moved instinctively to her stomach.

“You and your timing,” Lisa murmured softly, almost to the baby.

Carla huffed a quiet breath, though there was something fond beneath it. “Yeah…really picked the week, didn’t they?”

Lisa leaned down, pressing a light kiss just above where her hand rested. “We’ll manage,” she said. “We always do.”

Carla reached up, threading her fingers through Lisa’s. “Yeah. We do.”

It was a small moment but it mattered.

Because despite everything, there was still this. Still them.

Later that Betsy hovered in the doorway for a moment before stepping into the kitchen.

Both Lisa and Carla looked up immediately.

“Hey,” Lisa said gently.

“Morning, sweetheart,” Carla added.

Betsy gave a small nod, her hands tucked into the sleeves of her hoodie. “Morning.”

There was a pause…not awkward, just careful.

Then Betsy spoke again, quieter this time. “I…I booked it.”

Lisa frowned slightly. “Booked what, love?”

“The therapy,” Betsy said, her voice tight but steady. “For next week.”

Carla’s expression softened instantly. “That’s really brave, Bets.”

“It doesn’t feel brave,” she admitted.

Lisa stepped closer. “It doesn’t have to feel brave to be brave.”

Betsy swallowed, nodding slightly.

“That’s a big step,” Carla said. “We’re really proud of you.”

Betsy looked down at the floor, but there was the faintest shift in her shoulders, maybe, just maybe, she believed them a little.

The quiet of the morning didn’t last long.

By midday, there was a knock at the door firmer this time, familiar.

Lisa opened it to find Michelle standing there, arms already half-open.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Chelle said, pulling her into a hug before Lisa could even say hello.

Behind her stood Lauren and Sarah, both offering soft, reassuring smiles.

“We brought supplies,” Lauren said lightly, holding up bags.

“And emotional support,” Sarah added.

Lisa let out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. “Come in.”

They filled the house quickly but not in an overwhelming way.

It was warm.

Grounding.

The kind of presence that didn’t demand anything but offered everything.

Betsy stayed back at first, lingering near the stairs.

Until Michelle spotted her.

“There she is,” she said gently, her voice softening. “Come here, my girl.”

Betsy hesitated, just for a second before crossing the room.

Michelle pulled her into a hug, tight and unyielding but careful all at once.

“You gave us all a scare little madam” she murmured into her hair, little madam layered with a lace of sarcasm.

“I know,” Betsy whispered.

“But you’re here,” Michelle said, pulling back just enough to look at her. “That’s what matters. Love you kiddo.”

Lauren stepped forward next, squeezing Betsy’s hand. “We’re not going anywhere, okay?”

“Not a chance,” Sarah added.

Something in Betsy’s chest loosened, just slightly.

The day unfolded gently after that.

Cups of tea.

Soft conversations.

Moments of quiet where nothing needed to be said.

Carla disappeared briefly at one point, only for Lisa to find her leaning over the upstairs bathroom toilet again.

“Still bad?” Lisa asked, rubbing her back.

Carla groaned. “I take back everything I ever said about pregnancy being beautiful.”

Lisa laughed softly. “You’re doing amazing.”

“Debatable,” Carla muttered, though she leaned into Lisa’s touch. Lisa pressed a kiss to her shoulder.

“Still. Amazing.”

By the afternoon, Betsy found herself sitting on the sofa, surrounded but not suffocated.

For the first time since everything happened, the house didn’t feel heavy.

It didn’t feel fixed.

But it felt…held.

Maybe that was enough for now.

Betsy glanced toward her mums, Lisa perched beside Carla, one hand resting absentmindedly on her stomach, the other wrapped around Carla’s fingers.

They looked tired but steady.

Betsy took a quiet breath.

Next week felt terrifying.

Everything still did but for the first time, there was something else there too.

Something small.

Something fragile.

Something that might, eventually, grow into hope.

x

The days leading up to the appointment felt longer than they should have.

Time didn’t move normally anymore it stretched, lingered, pressed itself into the quiet spaces of the house. Every morning Betsy woke with the same thought sitting heavy in her chest:

I have to talk about it. Every night, she went to sleep wondering if talking about it would somehow make everything worse.

By midweek, the anxiety had settled in properly.

It showed up in small ways at first, picking at her sleeves, losing focus halfway through conversations, disassociating.

The way she’d pause before answering even the simplest questions.

Lisa noticed it immediately.

She always did.

“You don’t have to say everything all at once,” Lisa said one afternoon, sitting beside Betsy on the sofa. Her voice was gentle, measured.

“Therapy isn’t about getting it perfect. It’s just about…starting.”

Betsy stared ahead, her fingers twisting in the fabric of her hoodie.

“What if I say it out loud and it just…makes it more real?”

Carla, leaning in the doorway, spoke softly. “It already is real, sweetheart. Saying it doesn’t make it worse. It just means you won’t be holding it on your own anymore.”

Betsy swallowed hard.

That was the part that scared her most.

Letting it out.

Letting them see all of it.

The night before the session, sleep didn’t come easily.

Betsy lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, her thoughts looping endlessly.

What if they think I’m stupid?

What if I can’t explain it properly?

What if it makes Mum and Mum worry more?

Her chest tightened before she could stop herself, she pushed the covers back and slipped out of bed, padding quietly down the hallway.

She didn’t knock this time.

She just opened the door slightly.

Lisa looked up first. “Hey…”

Betsy hovered. “Can I…?”

Carla was already lifting the duvet. “Always.”

Betsy climbed in between them, curling into Lisa’s side this time. Lisa’s arm wrapped around her instantly, pulling her close, while Carla’s hand found hers under the covers.

“I don’t think I can do it,” Betsy whispered.

Lisa pressed her lips to the top of her head. “You can.”

“I’m scared.”

“I know,” Carla said softly. “That’s okay. You can be scared and still go.”

Betsy’s grip tightened slightly. “Will you stay?”

“Right there,” Lisa said. “The whole time.”

“Not going anywhere,” Carla added.

It wasn’t a solution.

But it was enough to let her eyes close.

The morning of the appointment felt quieter than usual.

Not tense just…careful.

Lisa made coffee she didn’t drink. Carla moved slower than usual, one hand occasionally pressing to her stomach as the nausea lingered in waves.

“You okay?” Lisa asked, watching her closely.

Carla nodded, though she looked pale. “Yeah. Just…one of those mornings.”

Lisa stepped in closer, brushing her hand lightly over Carla’s stomach. “You’re doing alright,” she murmured.

Carla leaned into her for a second. “We both are.”

Betsy came downstairs dressed, which in itself felt like a small victory.

She hovered by the table. “What time are we leaving?”

“In about ten minutes,” Lisa said gently.

Betsy nodded, her jaw tightening slightly.

Carla stepped forward, resting a hand briefly on her shoulder. “We’ll take it slow, yeah? No rushing.”

“Okay.” Betsy replied almost too quiet for her mums to hear.

The drive was quieter than usual but not as heavy as before.

Lisa sat in the passenger seat this time, her hand once again resting on Carla’s lap, grounding them both. Carla’s fingers tapped lightly against hers, a small, unconscious rhythm.

In the back, Betsy didn’t wear headphones today.

She just watched the road ahead through the gap between the seats.

Every mile felt like a step closer to something she couldn’t quite name.

When they arrived, Lisa turned in her seat. “We’ll be right nearby, okay? There’s a café just down the road.”

Betsy nodded, though her hands had started to tremble slightly.

Carla reached back, squeezing her knee gently. “You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for. Just…show up. That’s enough.”

Betsy let out a shaky breath. “Okay.”

They walked her in together.

Lisa stayed close, her hand brushing against Betsy’s back as they approached the reception desk. Carla stood on her other side, a steady presence.

“You’re not alone,” Lisa murmured.

Betsy nodded.

Then after one last look at them both, she stepped forward.

Chapter Text

Lisa and Carla didn’t go far.

The café was warm, quiet, filled with the soft hum of conversation and the clink of cups. Lisa ordered a coffee more out of habit than anything else and Carla ordered a ginger tea.

Neither of them drank much of it.

“You think she’s okay?” Carla asked, staring down into her cup.

Lisa exhaled slowly. “I think she’s doing something really hard.”

They fell into a gentle silence as they walked afterwards, choosing movement over sitting still.

Carla slipped her hand into Lisa’s as they wandered down the street.

“I keep thinking about the future,” Carla admitted. “About both of them.”

Lisa glanced at her, curiously “Betsy and…?”

Carla gave a small smile, placing Lisa’s hand more firmly against her stomach. “Our little mini Connor-Swain.”

Lisa’s expression softened instantly. “That still sounds surreal.”

“Yeah,” Carla said quietly. “But also…right.”

They walked a little further, the weight of everything easing slightly in the fresh air.

Carla slowed, her expression shifting.

“What?” Lisa asked gently.

Carla hesitated, then gave a small, almost shy smile. “This is going to sound ridiculous given everything but…”

Lisa raised an eyebrow. “Go on…”

Carla leaned in slightly, her voice lower. “I just…feel close to you right now. Like, really close.”

Lisa’s lips curved softly. “That’s not ridiculous.”

Carla huffed a quiet laugh. “No, I mean…really close.”

It took Lisa a second but when it clicked, her expression softened even more, something warm and familiar flickering there.

“Right” she said gently.

Carla looked slightly embarrassed now. “Blame hormones.”

Lisa stepped closer, brushing her fingers lightly along Carla’s arm. “Hey…nothing wrong with that. I know we’ve been so tied up with Bets we’ve lost time for ourselves recently.”

Carla leaned into her, just for a second, their foreheads almost touching.

It wasn’t about urgency.

It was about connection.

About grounding themselves in something that wasn’t fear. Lisa pressed a soft kiss to her lips. “We’ll go home later,” she murmured. “Take a moment for us.”

Carla smiled, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “I’d like that.”

They started walking back slowly.

Neither of them said it out loud but both were thinking the same thing.

She’s in there right now, all they could do was trust that this was the beginning of something better.

x

The room was quieter than Betsy expected.

Not clinical.

Not cold.

Just…calm.

There was a softness to it the kind that didn’t demand anything from her.

A chair angled slightly towards another, a small table with tissues placed within easy reach, a window letting in muted light.

Nothing overwhelming.

Nothing sharp.

Still, her chest felt tight.

Her hands stayed tucked into the sleeves of her hoodie as she sat down, shoulders slightly hunched, like she was trying to take up less space.

The therapist smiled gently. “Hi, Betsy. I’m glad you came in today. My name’s Dr Thompson but you can call me Sam.

Betsy nodded, but didn’t speak.

“That’s okay,” Sam added, as if she’d expected that. “We can go at your pace. There’s no rush here.”

A pause settled between them.

Not uncomfortable.

Just…open.

Betsy stared at a spot on the carpet.

Her mind was loud, but her voice felt far away.

It took a few minutes before anything came out.

“I didn’t think I’d actually come,” Betsy admitted quietly.

Sam nodded. “What made you decide to?”

Another pause.

Betsy swallowed. “My mums,” she said eventually.

“They…they were there. The whole time and I think…” She hesitated, her fingers tightening in her sleeves. “I think…I scared them.”

Sam’s voice stayed soft. “And how does that feel, knowing that?”

Betsy let out a shaky breath. “Bad, really bad. My mum’s pregnant, my other mum works as a DS in the police and I always worry she’s going to be hurt in duty.” Betsy’s emphasis on always. 

Silence again.

But this time, it shifted.

Something was loosening.

“I don’t really talk about things,” Betsy said after a while. “Not properly.”

“What makes it hard to talk?” Sam asked.

Betsy shrugged slightly, though the movement felt heavy. “I don’t know where to start.”

Sam gave a small nod.

“That makes sense. Sometimes it’s not about starting at the beginning. It’s about starting with what feels closest right now.”

Betsy’s eyes flickered up briefly, then back down.

“What feels closest?” the therapist asked gently.

There was a long pause.

Long enough that Betsy almost said nothing at all.

Then…

“I don’t want to feel like this anymore.”

Her voice cracked slightly. The words hung in the air. Sam didn’t rush in. Didn’t fill the silence.

Just let it sit.

“What does this feel like?” she asked after a moment.

Betsy’s throat tightened.

“Like…it doesn’t stop,” she said slowly. “Like it’s always there. Even when things are okay, it’s still there underneath.”

She pressed her lips together.

“It’s exhausting.”

Another pause.

Then Sam asked gently, “Has it always felt like that?”

Betsy’s chest rose and fell unevenly.

She didn’t answer straight away.

Her mind had already gone somewhere else.

Back.

“I lost my mum when I was twelve.”

The words came out quieter this time.

More fragile.

Sam’s expression softened, but she didn’t interrupt.

“She was on duty,” Betsy continued, her gaze fixed firmly on the floor now. “It wasn’t supposed to happen. It was just…a normal day.”

Her voice wavered.

“And then she was just…gone.”

The room felt heavier.

“I didn’t really understand it properly at the time,” Betsy said. “Everyone kept saying how brave she was, how proud I should be. And I was…but…” She swallowed hard. “I just wanted her back.”

A tear slipped down her cheek before she could stop it. She wiped it quickly, like it wasn’t allowed to be there.

Sam leaned forward slightly, her voice still calm. “That’s a huge loss, Betsy. Especially at that age.”

Betsy nodded, but her jaw tightened.

“I think that’s when it started,” she said quietly.

“What started?”

Betsy hesitated.

“The fear.”

The word lingered.

“What kind of fear?” Sam asked gently.

Betsy let out a breath that felt like it had been sitting in her chest for years.

“That it’s going to happen again.” Her voice trembled now.

“With my mum, Lisa. She’s on duty too, and every time she leaves, I think…” She stopped, her throat tightening.

Sam didn’t push.

Betsy took another shaky breath.

“I think she’s not coming back.”

The admission seemed to take something out of her.

“I don’t say it out loud,” she added quickly. “I don’t want to make it real. But it’s always there.”

Silence again.

But it wasn’t empty.

It was full of everything she’d been holding in.

“And then this year…” Betsy’s voice dropped even lower. “It just got worse.”

Sam waited.

“My boyfriend,” Betsy said, her fingers gripping tighter into her sleeves. “He…he got stabbed.”

The words felt jagged coming out.

Her breathing faltered. “And he died.”

The room seemed to still completely.

Betsy’s eyes filled again, but this time she didn’t wipe the tears away.

“I didn’t even get to say goodbye,” she whispered. “One minute he was there and then…” She shook her head slightly. “He was just gone. Like my mum.”

The pattern sat heavily between them now.

Loss.

Sudden.

Violent.

Final.

“What did that bring up for you?” Sam asked carefully.

Betsy let out a hollow laugh. “Everything.”

She looked up briefly this time, her eyes red.

“It felt like proof,” she said. “Like…see? It happens. People you love just disappear. You don’t get to keep them.”

Her voice cracked again.

“So what’s the point in getting close to anyone if it just ends like that? When I loose someone I love it feels as though I’m being abandoned all over again.”

Sam let that sit for a moment. “That sounds incredibly painful,” she said softly.

Betsy nodded.

“It is.”

Another pause.

“And now there’s the baby.” Her voice shifted slightly. More uncertain.

Sam tilted her head gently. “Tell me about that.”

Betsy hesitated again.

This one felt harder to say out loud.

“I’m happy,” she said quickly. “I am. I really am.”

Sam nodded, encouraging her to continue.

“But…” Betsy’s voice dropped. “I’m scared too.”

“What are you scared of?” The question hung there.

Betsy stared at her hands. “That I won’t matter anymore.” The words came out almost in a whisper.

“That they’ll have this new baby and…I’ll just be extra. Like…something they have to deal with on top of everything else.”

Her breathing picked up slightly.

“They’ve already got so much. Work, the baby, everything that happened with me…” She shook her head. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

Sam’s voice stayed steady. “And what happens if you feel like a burden?”

Betsy’s eyes filled again.

“I disappear,” she said simply.

The honesty of it sat heavy in the room.

Another long pause.

This one deeper.

More revealing.

“I think I just want the pain to stop,” Betsy said eventually.

Not dramatic.

Not loud.

Just…tired.

Sam nodded gently. “That makes a lot of sense. When you’ve experienced that much loss and fear, your mind tries to find ways to protect you from feeling it.”

Betsy frowned slightly. “It doesn’t feel like protection.”

“No,” Sam agreed softly. “Because it’s overwhelming. But the thoughts, the fear of abandonment, the need to not be a burden they come from somewhere real. From what you’ve been through.”

Betsy sat with that.

Processing it slowly.

“For a long time,” Sam continued, “you’ve been holding all of this on your own. The grief from losing your mum, the trauma from your boyfriend, the fear around Lisa, and now the uncertainty about the baby…”

Betsy’s chest tightened.

“When things build up like that,” the therapist said, “it can start to feel unbearable.”

Betsy nodded faintly.

“That’s when people often start to think about escaping the feeling not because they want to disappear, but because they don’t know how else to stop the pain.”

Tears slipped down Betsy’s face again.

“That’s exactly it,” she whispered.

Another pause.

But this one felt different.

Lighter.

Not because the pain was gone, but because it wasn’t hidden anymore.

“I didn’t realise…” Betsy said slowly, her voice quiet with something close to surprise. “How much I needed to say it out loud.”

Sam smiled gently. “You did really well today.”

Betsy shook her head slightly, though there was no resistance in it. “It didn’t feel like it.”

“It doesn’t always,” Sam said. “But you showed up, you shared things that are really hard to carry.”

Betsy looked down again, but this time, her shoulders weren’t as tight.

As the session began to come to a close, the therapist spoke softly.

“We’ll keep working through this together, at your pace. You don’t have to carry it all at once anymore.”

Betsy nodded.

For the first time, the idea didn’t feel impossible.

When she stepped back outside, the air felt different.

Not lighter.

But clearer.

Lisa and Carla were exactly where they said they’d be.

Waiting.

Betsy looked at them for a moment before walking over.

“You okay?” Lisa asked gently.

Betsy hesitated.

Then nodded.

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “I think…I will be.”

Carla pulled her into a hug without hesitation, Lisa joining them a second later.

Held again.

But this time, something had shifted.

Betsy still carried the weight but it wasn’t pressing quite as hard against her chest.

Now someone else knew how heavy it was and she didn’t have to hold it alone anymore.

Chapter Text

The smell of fish and chips filled the car before they’d even pulled away.

It was familiar.

Comforting.

Normal in a way that felt almost fragile after everything that had come before. Lisa balanced the paper bag on her lap, the warmth seeping through as vinegar and salt lingered in the air.

Carla drove, one hand steady on the wheel, the other resting loosely near the gearstick close enough that Lisa’s fingers brushed against it every now and then.

In the back, Betsy sat a little more upright than she had that morning. Not completely at ease.

But…different.

Back at No.6, the house welcomed them in with its quiet familiarity. Lisa put on music without really thinking about it something soft, something known.

Fleetwood Mac.

The gentle hum of Dreams filled the space, low and steady, like it belonged there. They ate in the living room this time. Plates balanced on laps, paper crinkling softly, the rhythm of the music threading through the quiet.

Dinner was slow.

Not forced.

Not heavy.

Just…mindful.

Betsy took small bites at first, but she ate. Properly, not just picking like before. Lisa noticed it immediately.

Carla did too.

They didn’t say anything but their eyes met briefly across the room.

Did you see that?

Yeah…I did.

“So…can I ask how it went?” Lisa asked gently after a while. Not pushing.

Just opening the door.

Betsy paused, chip halfway to her mouth.

“It was…weird,” she admitted.

Carla smiled softly. “Weird how?”

Betsy shrugged slightly. “I didn’t think I’d say anything. But then I just…did.” Lisa’s expression softened. “That’s a big step.”

Betsy nodded, looking down at her plate. “Yeah.”

A small pause. “It helped. I think.” The words were quiet. But they landed. Lisa felt something shift in her chest.

Carla glanced at her again.

Another look.

Is this it?

Is this the start?

Neither of them said it out loud. But they were both thinking the same thing

Maybe we’re getting her back.

They didn’t rush the moment.

They let it sit, let it breathe.

Betsy even spoke again small things, simple things but more than she had in days. Every time she did, Lisa and Carla noticed.

Every time.

After dinner, the house settled into a gentle quiet.

Betsy took her plate through without being asked, offering a small, “Thanks for dinner,” before heading upstairs. Lisa watched her go, her chest tightening slightly but not with fear this time.

With something softer.

Hope.

x

In the kitchen, the tap ran softly as Lisa rinsed plates, stacking them into the dishwasher. Fleetwood Mac still played in the background, the music carrying faintly through the house.

Carla lingered in the doorway for a moment.

Watching.

Taking in the normality of it.

Lisa, sleeves pushed up slightly, moving around the kitchen like she always did.

Grounded.

Safe.

Here.

Carla’s chest tightened but not in the same way it had the past few weeks.

This was different.

Warmer.

She stepped forward quietly.

Without a word, she slipped her arms around Lisa’s waist from behind, pulling her gently back against her. Lisa stilled for half a second then relaxed into her instantly.

“Hey,” she murmured softly.

Carla pressed her face briefly into the side of Lisa’s neck. “Hi.”

They stayed like that for a moment.

Just breathing.

Just being close.

The music shifted soft, familiar, something they both knew by heart. Carla’s grip loosened slightly, her hands finding Lisa’s.

“Dance with me,” she said quietly.

Lisa smiled, turning in her arms.

“Now?”

“Now.”

They moved slowly at first.

Barefoot on the kitchen floor, swaying gently in time with the music.

It was something they used to do all the time back when everything felt simpler. Before responsibilities stacked up, before life became so full.

Lisa rested her head lightly against Carla’s shoulder. Carla’s hand settled at her waist, the other laced through her fingers.

For a moment, everything else fell away.

But then something shifted.

Subtle.

Carla’s grip tightened slightly.

Her breath changed.

Lisa felt it instantly.

She pulled back just enough to look at her.

Carla’s eyes were different now softer, but deeper. Charged with something she hadn’t let herself feel all week.

“Car…” Lisa murmured gently.

Carla let out a quiet breath, almost a laugh. “I know. Timing’s not exactly ideal.” Lisa’s lips curved slightly. “No…but I get it.”

Carla stepped closer again, her voice lower now.

“I just need you. Us.”

That was all it took. They didn’t rush but they didn’t linger either. It was instinct.

Familiar.

They to turn the music off and then moved upstairs quietly, hands intertwined, hearts beating a little faster. As they passed Betsy’s room, they both noticed the soft glow of her lamp under the door.

A quiet voice drifted out, Betsy talking softly.

“…yeah, I’m okay…it was actually alright…”

Lauren, Lisa realised.

She felt Carla glance at her.

Another small, shared moment.

She’s talking.

They kept moving.

Inside their bedroom, the door closed softly behind them. The world narrowed.

Clothes fell away in quiet haste laced with urgency, laughter under their breath as they stumbled slightly, finding each other again after everything.

Carla’s hands were warm, grounding, urgent but not rushed. Lisa responded instinctively, meeting her, holding her, anchoring her.

There was something deeper in it tonight.

Not just desire.

Relief.

Connection.

A reminder that they were still them.

Carla exhaled shakily, her forehead resting briefly against Lisa’s. “So close…I’ve missed you Lise” she whispered and groaned.

Lisa smiled softly, brushing her hand along Carla’s side. “I know.”

They were careful.

Always mindful.

The house was quiet, the walls thin, their daughter just down the hall. Everything softened no less meaningful.

And then…

A sudden knock at the door.

Sharp enough to startle them both.

Carla froze. “…you’re joking.”

Lisa let out a breath, half-laughing despite herself. “Wait, just…”

Another knock.

“Mum?”

Betsy’s voice.

Carla dropped her head back slightly. “Of all the moments…”

Lisa called out quickly, trying to sound normal, “Just a second, love!”

There was a small pause.

Then Betsy’s voice again, softer this time. “I just wanted to say thank you…and I love you both. Before bed.”

Everything stilled.

Carla’s expression softened instantly. Lisa smiled, her heart pulling tight in the best way. “We love you too, darling,” Lisa called back. “Sleep well kiddo. Love you.” Carla added.

“Night, love you too” Betsy replied.

Her footsteps retreated down the hall.

Silence.

They both broke into quiet laughter. “That was close,” Lisa whispered. Carla shook her head, still smiling. “Teenager nearly caught us out.”

Lisa grinned. “Is this what it’s going to be like when we have a toddler?”

Carla laughed softly, pulling her closer again. “At least the teenager knocks. I don’t think mini Connor-Swain will be quite as polite when they want mummy cuddles.”

Lisa laughed properly at that, resting her forehead against Carla’s again.

“Fair point.”

They slipped back under the covers, the urgency softened now into something slower, gentler. The house settled around them.

Down the hall, Betsy’s light eventually clicked off.

Outside, the soft golden glow of the streetlights filtered through the curtains, casting a quiet warmth over No.6.

Inside, everything felt…calmer. Not fixed but steadier. Held together by small moments. By love, the quiet, growing sense that maybe, just maybe they were going to be okay.

Chapter Text

Early August had settled into that soft, golden rhythm where everything felt slower, warmer like the world itself was encouraging people to breathe a little deeper.

For the first time in a long time, things felt…almost normal.

The factory hummed with its usual energy.

Voices, machinery, the steady rhythm of work being done it was familiar, grounding. Carla stood just off to the side of the main floor, clipboard in hand, scanning over paperwork she’d brought in to finish.

But her attention wasn’t fully present. It flicked up every so often towards Betsy.

Betsy stood a few stations away, sleeves rolled slightly, focused on what she was doing. Sarah hovered nearby not obviously, not in a way that would make Betsy feel watched but present.

Steady.

Carla didn’t hover either. She made a conscious effort not to.

But she watched.

Not because she didn’t trust Betsy but because she loved her. Somewhere along the way, Betsy had become hers in a way that went beyond titles or biology.

Her daughter.

Fully.

Completely.

She deserved the best. Carla’s chest softened slightly as Betsy laughed at something Sarah said quiet, but real. That hadn’t always been there. That lightness and ease.

Not fully back.

But…returning.

Sarah caught Carla’s eye briefly and gave her a small nod.

She’s alright.

Carla nodded back.

I know.

When it was time for Carla to leave, Carla made her way over, keeping her tone casual. “Alright, superstar,” she said lightly. “You all set for your sleepover later?”

Betsy smiled a proper one this time, small but genuine. “Yeah. Lauren said we’re ordering pizza and watching rubbish films.”

“Sounds perfect,” Carla said.

There was a brief pause.

Then Carla leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Betsy’s cheek. “Proud of you,” she murmured quietly.

Betsy stilled for a second then leaned into it just slightly. “Thanks,” she said, her voice soft.

A few minutes later, Lisa arrived.

She stepped onto the factory floor with that familiar presence calm, steady, instantly clocking where both her girls were.

Her eyes found Betsy first.

“Hey, you,” Lisa said gently as she approached. Betsy looked up, “Hi.” Lisa didn’t hesitate she leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Betsy’s temple.

“I love you,” she whispered.

Then, just as softly, “I’m proud of you.”

Betsy’s throat tightened slightly, but she nodded.

“Love you too.”

It was a small moment but it meant everything because this was the first night since everything happened that Betsy would be away from home, without them and she was doing it.

“You’ve got this,” Carla added, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“I know,” Betsy said and this time, she sounded like she meant it.

Betsy stayed at the factory with Sarah until Lauren came to pick her up for their sleepover.

Carla and Lisa had their 16 weeks scan that day too.

The drive to the scan felt lighter than most of their recent drives. Lisa reached over, her hand resting naturally on Carla’s thigh.

“Sixteen weeks,” she said, a soft smile in her voice.

Carla exhaled, her hand drifting briefly to her stomach. “Mad, isn’t it?”

Lisa glanced at her. “How are you feeling?”

Carla smirked slightly. “Hungry. Emotional. Occasionally feral.” Lisa laughed. “Feral?” “We’ll circle back to that later,” Carla replied, her tone teasing.

Lisa raised an eyebrow. “I look forward to it.”

The scan room was dimly lit, quiet in a different way to the therapy or other hospital rooms have felt recently.

This felt…hopeful.

Anticipatory.

Lisa didn’t let go of Carla’s hand as they settled in. When the image flickered onto the screen, and the sound of a strong heart beat filled the room, both of them stilled.

There they were.

Mini Connor-Swain.

Small.

Real.

Moving.

Carla’s breath caught. “Hi, baby…” Lisa squeezed her hand, her eyes fixed on the screen. “Look at them…”

For a moment, nothing else existed.

Just this.

This life they were growing. The future they were building.

x

Back at No.6, the house felt warm, filled with that lingering glow the scan had left behind. Lisa had dropped Carla home to finish working from home, a couple of e-mails here and there.

Michelle was already at No.6 ready to catch up with her best friend, letting herself in with the spare key they gave her many years ago. 

Carla had just kicked off her shoes as the front door softly clicked shut.

“Saved you putting the kettle on,” came Michelle’s voice as she stepped inside.

Carla smiled instantly. “Perfect timing.”

They settled in the living room, cups of tea in hand, the afternoon light spilling softly through the windows.

Michelle leaned back slightly, studying Carla. “You look good.”

Carla laughed lightly. “I feel…pregnant.”

“How’s that treating you?” Michelle asked, amused.

Carla hesitated for half a second then grinned.

“Honestly?” she said, lowering her voice slightly.

“I’ve been ridiculously horny.”

Michelle snorted. “Carla Connor!”

“I’m serious,” Carla laughed. “It’s like my body didn’t get the memo about everything else going on. Poor Lisa hasn’t stood a chance.”

Michelle shook her head, smiling. “And how is Lisa coping with that?”

“Oh, she’s not complaining,” Carla said, a playful glint in her eye.

“It’s just…good. Really good. Some near misses though, where Bets has knocked while we’re in the middle of it. I would have been absolutely mortified.”

Michelle gasping as Carla spoke while giving her best friend a wink too.

Carla’s expression softened slightly.

“I just…wonder what it’ll be like when I’m bigger. When I feel less like me.” Michelle tilted her head. “You’ll still be you. Just…more you.”

Carla smiled faintly. “I hope so.”

There was a brief pause before Michelle asked gently, “And Bets?” Carla’s expression shifted softer, grounded.“She’s okay,” she said. “Not…fixed. But better, getting professional help now. I can see glimpses of the old her coming back.”

Michelle nodded.

“She’s eating more,” Carla continued. “Talking more. Therapy seems to be helping.”

A small breath.

“There’s still a long way to go. But…I’ll take this. I really will.” “And mini Connor-Swain?” Michelle asked, her tone lifting slightly.

Carla smiled, her hand instinctively resting on her stomach. “Good. Healthy. Wiggly.”

“Nursery done yet?”

Carla laughed softly. “Getting there. Slowly.” Then, more quietly, “Our focus has been Betsy. It still is.”

Michelle nodded. “As it should be.”

Carla glanced toward the stairs briefly. “We’ll do more tonight, though. While she’s at Lauren’s.”

Later that afternoon, the house fell into a comfortable quiet. Michelle had left just after 4.45pm.

Carla sat curled on the sofa, her laptop open but forgotten as her phone buzzed.

Lisa: How’s my favourite pregnant woman?

Carla smiled instantly.

Carla: Currently horizontal. Considering a snack. Or a nap. Or both.

A reply came quickly.

Lisa: You deserve both. Doctor’s orders.

Carla smirked.

Carla: You’re not a doctor.

Lisa: I’m your wife. Same authority.

Carla laughed softly to herself.

Carla: Careful. That kind of confidence is why I keep you around.

A pause.

Lisa: Oh yeah? Thought it was my charm.

Carla: That too. And other things…

There was a longer pause this time.

Lisa: Other things, huh?

Carla bit her lip slightly.

Carla: Come home and I’ll remind you.

Three dots appeared instantly.

Lisa: Counting down the minutes.

Carla set her phone down, smiling to herself.

The house felt calm.

Steady.

For the first time in a long time, everything didn’t feel like it was on the edge of falling apart. Betsy was safe.

Healing.

Out with Lauren living, even if just a little.

Lisa was on her way home and inside her, a new life was growing. It wasn’t perfect but it was something.

Soft.

Hopeful.

Something that felt like the beginning of getting their life back.

x

The front door clicked open just after six.

Lisa stepped inside, the familiar warmth of No.6 wrapping around her almost instantly. It was quieter than usual no music, no background chatter, no Betsy calling out from another room.

Just…calm.

“Car?” she called softly, slipping her shoes off by the door.

“In here,” came Carla’s voice.

Lisa followed it into the living room and stopped for a second.

Carla was curled into the corner of the sofa, dressed in her softest joggers and one of Lisa’s old hoodies, her hair loose, her face bare of makeup.

Comfortable.

Settled.

Completely at ease in a way Lisa hadn’t seen enough of lately. There was something about it that made Lisa’s chest soften instantly.

“What‘s up Connor?,” Lisa said playfully, her voice warm as she stepped closer. Carla looked up, her lips curving into a slow smile. “Nothing Detective.”

Lisa leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her lips familiar, grounding, just long enough to say I’m home.

“How was work?” Carla asked, her hand instinctively resting against Lisa’s side for a second before dropping.

“Busy,” Lisa exhaled. “But nothing I couldn’t leave behind.” Her eyes flicked briefly to Carla’s stomach.

“How are you?”

Carla hummed lightly. “Tired. Hungry. Emotionally stable for once.” Lisa raised an eyebrow. “That’s promising.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Carla smirked.

Lisa laughed quietly, then nodded towards the kitchen. “I brought something.”

Carla perked up slightly. “Food?”

“Kombucha.”

Carla blinked. “You’ve changed.” Lisa shrugged lightly. “Trying to be supportive.” Carla laughed, pushing herself up from the sofa.

“Go on then. Let’s see what your thoughts are.”

They stood in the kitchen together, glasses in hand, the faint fizz of kombucha filling the quiet.

Lisa took a cautious sip.

Paused.

Then pulled a face. “Oh, that’s… interesting.” Carla tried not to smile. “That’s polite.” “It tastes like something’s gone slightly wrong,” Lisa said honestly, eyeing the glass.

Carla laughed properly this time. “You’ll acquire the taste.” “Or I won’t,” Lisa replied, but she took another sip anyway.

Small things.

Normal things.

It felt good.

x

The nursery door was half-open. Waiting. They stepped inside together, almost instinctively quieter as if the room itself deserved it.

It was still unfinished.

A cot pushed against the wall, not yet dressed. A pile of folded clothes on the chair. Boxes in the corner waiting to be unpacked.

But it wasn’t empty anymore.

It was becoming something.

Carla moved slowly around the room, her fingers brushing lightly over the edge of the cot. “We said we’d do bits,” she murmured.

Lisa nodded, setting her glass down on the windowsill. “Bits sounds manageable.” Carla smiled faintly. “Low expectations. I like it.”

They started small.

Lisa unpacking a box of baby clothes, folding them properly, placing them into drawers.

Carla sorting through blankets, holding each one for a second longer than necessary, like she was imagining it already in use.

There was no rush.

No pressure.

Just quiet progress.

“Do you ever think about it?” Carla said after a while, her voice softer now. Lisa glanced over. “About what?”

Carla hesitated, then rested a hand on her stomach. “This,” she said. “All of it. What it’s actually going to be like.”

Lisa leaned back slightly against the dresser, watching her. “All the time,” she admitted.

Carla let out a small breath. “House of four.”

Lisa smiled faintly. “Who will they take after. What they’ll look like. All of it. A fully blown teenager.”Carla laughed softly. “God, yeah. That part feels bigger than the baby sometimes.”

Lisa’s expression softened at that.

“She’s doing alright,” she said quietly. “I know,” Carla nodded. “But it’s still…fragile.” Lisa didn’t disagree.

There was a brief pause as Carla folded another tiny sleep suit, smoothing it out carefully. “I don’t want her to feel pushed out,” Carla admitted. “Or like this changes anything.”

Lisa shuffled closer to Carla, her voice steady. “It won’t,” she said. “Not the important stuff.” Carla looked up at her. “You sure?”

Lisa nodded.

“We’ve already done the hard part,” she said gently. “We chose her. Every day. That doesn’t stop just because we’re adding to it.”

Carla’s chest tightened slightly at that.

“She’s ours,” Lisa added, quieter now. “Nothing changes that.” Carla held her gaze for a second longer.

Then nodded. “Okay.”

They kept working.

Slowly.

A drawer filled.

A shelf cleared.

The cot finally made, soft sheets tucked in neatly. It wasn’t perfect but it was enough for now.

Lisa picked up a tiny babygrow, holding it up with a faint smile. “Hard to believe someone this small is going to live here.”

Carla laughed softly. “And take over completely. Lisa smirked. “We won’t sleep again.” “We barely do now,” Carla pointed out.

“Fair.”

Carla leaned back slightly against the wall, her hand resting on her bump again. “I think…I’m excited,” she said, like she was testing the words out loud.

Lisa’s expression softened.

“You’re allowed to be.” Carla nodded slowly. “Even with everything else.” “Especially with everything else,” Lisa corrected gently.

Carla looked at her then.

Really looked.

“And you?” she asked. “You ready?”

Lisa exhaled quietly, glancing around the room the half-finished nursery, the life they were building piece by piece.

“I think so,” she said. “Or as ready as I’ll ever be.”

Carla smiled faintly. “That’s reassuring.” Lisa stepped closer, reaching for her hand. “We’ve got this,” she said simply.

Carla squeezed her hand. “Yeah,” she agreed. “We do.” They stood there for a moment longer. In the middle of the nursery.

In the middle of everything they’d been through and everything still to come.

Not perfect. Not finished.

But steady. Together.

Building something that finally felt like a future.

Chapter Text

The end of August carried that quiet shift in the air. Summer wasn’t quite over but it was softer now.

The evenings drew in a little earlier, the light more golden than bright, the heat less urgent. It was the kind of change you only noticed if you slowed down enough to feel it.

Lately, the Connor-Swains had learned how to do just that.

Lisa stood in the kitchen doorway, watching Carla move around the room.

There was something about her lately, something softer, rounder, warmer. Four months had settled gently into her, the beginnings of a bump now unmistakable beneath her t-shirt.

Carla paused, one hand resting absently on her stomach as she read something on her phone.

Lisa smiled.

“Still can’t believe it,” she said.

Carla glanced up. “What?”

Lisa leaned against the doorframe, arms folded loosely. “That we’ve got an almost sixteen-year-old.”

Carla let out a quiet breath, half a laugh. “Don’t.”

“I’m serious,” Lisa said, shaking her head slightly.

“Sixteen. When did that happen?”

Carla set her phone down, her expression softening. “Feels like yesterday I was meeting her for the first time when she was twelve, laced in sarcasm and pre-tween humour.”

Lisa nodded slowly.

Then, quieter, “Feels like a lifetime ago too.” There was a pause. Not heavy.

Just…reflective.

Because between then and now, there had been so much. So much they never expected.

So much Betsy had carried.

Carla moved closer, slipping her arms loosely around Lisa’s waist. “She’s still here,” she said softly.

Lisa rested her forehead briefly against Carla’s.

“Yeah.”

Carla’s hand drifted down, guiding Lisa’s to her stomach.

“And we’ve got this little one on the way.”

Lisa smiled, her palm flattening gently against the warmth there. “Mad,” she murmured “Completely,” Carla agreed.

They stood like that for a moment.

Quiet. Grounded.

Together.

”seven days,” Lisa said after a while.

Carla raised an eyebrow. “Till?”

“Betsy’s birthday.”

Carla groaned lightly. “Don’t remind me. I haven’t even wrapped my head around sixteen, let alone planned for it.”

Lisa smiled slightly. “She hasn’t asked for anything.” Carla huffed a quiet laugh. “Of course she hasn’t.”

“That doesn’t mean we’re not doing anything,” Lisa added.

Carla looked at her knowingly. “Oh, we’re definitely doing something.”

They both knew how this worked.

Betsy could ask for nothing at all and still somehow end up completely, thoroughly spoiled.

Not out of guilt.

Not out of obligation.

But because she deserved it.

Always had.

“Family thing on the Sunday,” Carla said, thinking aloud. “Keep it small. Safe.”

Lisa nodded. “Yeah. And she’s seeing Lauren on the Monday, right?”

“Mm,” Carla said. “Said they’re just hanging out. Low-key. Something about some new friends as well maybe.”

Lisa smiled. “Good.” A pause. “I think she’ll like that.” Carla nodded. “I think so too.”

x

Saturday morning came with a softness to it.

No alarms.

No rushing.

Just the quiet comfort of a day that belonged entirely to them.

Betsy was still asleep when Lisa and Carla slipped out of the house, moving quietly, exchanging small smiles like they were getting away with something.

“Feels illegal leaving her this late in bed,” Carla whispered as they closed the front door.

Lisa smirked. “She’s nearly sixteen. I think she’ll survive.” The shops were busy in that familiar weekend way.

People drifting in and out, arms full of bags, the low hum of conversation filling the space. Lisa picked up a pack of decorations, holding them up for Carla to inspect.

“Too much?”

Carla looked at them, then back at Lisa. “Not enough.”

Lisa grinned. “That’s what I like to hear.”

They moved through aisles slowly, picking things up, putting them back, changing their minds.

Balloons. Banners.

Small, thoughtful bits that weren’t over the top but still special.

Still hers.

“Do you think she knows how loved she is?” Carla asked suddenly, her tone quieter now.

Lisa didn’t answer straight away. She picked up a string of lights, turning them over in her hands.

“I think she’s starting to,” she said eventually.

Carla nodded slowly.

“I hope so.”

At some point, without really thinking about it, Carla’s hand drifted to her stomach again. Lisa noticed, of course. She always did.

“You alright?” she asked gently.

Carla smiled faintly. “Yeah. Just…thinking.”

“About?”

Carla glanced down, her expression softening in that way it had started to more and more lately.

“This one,” she said quietly.

Lisa stepped closer, her hand joining Carla’s.

“You’ve got no idea how lucky you’re going to be,” Carla murmured softly, her voice dropping as if the baby could already hear her.

Lisa smiled, watching her.

“You’re getting the best big sister,” Carla continued. “Honestly. She’s…she’s everything.”

Lisa’s chest tightened slightly. “She really is,” she said. Carla let out a small breath. “She’s been through so much. More than she ever should have.”

Lisa nodded, her thumb brushing gently against Carla’s hand. “But she’s still kind,” Carla added. “Still soft. Still…her.”

A pause.

“I think they’ll be close,” Lisa said. Carla looked at her. “Yeah?” Lisa smiled. “Yeah. I think Betsy will protect them like anything.”

Carla laughed softly. “God help anyone who messes with her little sibling.” Lisa grinned.

“Exactly.”

They stood there for a moment longer than necessary, hands resting together over Carla’s stomach, quietly imagining something that hadn’t happened yet.

A future. Messy.

Loud. Full.

Betsy, older, steadier rolling her eyes one minute, fiercely protective the next.

A small child trailing behind her.

Laughter filling the house.

Life.

“Alright,” Carla said eventually, clearing her throat lightly. “Before we get too emotional in the middle of the shop…”

Lisa laughed. “Too late.”

“Come on,” Carla smiled. “Let’s go spoil our almost sixteen-year-old.”

Back at No.6, they unpacked everything quietly, hiding bags, tucking decorations out of sight.

Betsy still hadn’t come downstairs.

“Teenager mode fully activated,” Lisa murmured. Carla smirked. “We’ve got years of this to come.”Lisa glanced at her stomach. “With both of them.”

Carla groaned. “Don’t.”

But she was smiling.

They both were.

Because despite everything, the fear, the uncertainty, the months that had tested them in ways they never expected they were here.

Still standing. Still loving.

Still building something together.

In less than a week they’d be celebrating sixteen years of Betsy.

Not just her birthday but her. Her strength.

Her softness. Her survival.

Somewhere between balloons, takeaway food, quiet laughter, and the steady rhythm of soft acoustic rhythm playing softly in the background there would be something else too.

Something unspoken, but deeply felt.

A family, not perfect but whole and growing.

x

A new week rolled around, but this was a special week as it was Betsy’s birthday week. Sixteen on Sunday. 

The drive home from therapy was quiet but not in the same way it had been weeks ago. This silence wasn’t heavy.

It was thoughtful.

Betsy sat in the passenger seat this time, her hands folded loosely in her lap, her gaze drifting between the road ahead and the passing blur of late summer outside the window.

Lisa didn’t push. She had learned not to. Some things needed space to find their way out.

When they got home, the house felt still.

Carla wasn’t back yet the factory, would be another hour or two. For once, the quiet felt like an opportunity rather than something to be filled.

“I’ll put the kettle on,” Lisa said gently, slipping off her shoes.

Betsy nodded. “Yeah…okay.” The kitchen filled with small, familiar sounds. The kettle beginning its slow build.

Mugs placed on the counter. Tea bags, milk, the quiet rhythm of something normal.

Grounding.

Lisa moved automatically, but her awareness stayed fixed on Betsy, on the way she hovered near the island, like she had something to say but wasn’t sure how to begin.

Lisa knew that feeling, she’d seen it before.

Felt it herself.

Betsy watched her mum for a moment before speaking. “Mum…can we talk?”

Lisa’s heart dropped. Not visibly. Not in a way Betsy would notice but she felt it.

Deep and instinctive.

“Of course we can,” Lisa said, keeping her voice soft, steady. She poured the tea, sliding one mug gently towards Betsy before taking her own.

They stood on opposite sides of the kitchen island for a moment.

Then Betsy took a breath.

“It’s about…Becky.”

Lisa stilled. There it was.

She’d known.

Somewhere in her chest, she’d known this was coming. Still hearing it said out loud made something tighten.

Lisa didn’t interrupt, didn’t rush she just listened.

“I don’t really talk about her much,” Betsy said quietly. “Not properly.”

Lisa nodded slowly. “You can talk about her here.”

Betsy swallowed.

“I think…I didn’t realise how much it still affects me. Not until therapy.”

Her fingers tightened slightly around the mug.

“I was twelve,” she continued. “And one day she just…didn’t come home.”

The words hung between them.

Lisa moved then.

Slowly, deliberately, she came around the island, setting her mug down and reaching for Betsy’s hand.

Betsy let her.

Held on.

“I think I’ve just…carried that,” Betsy said, her voice quieter now. “All this time.” Lisa’s thumb brushed gently over her knuckles. “That makes sense, sweetheart.”

Betsy shook her head slightly. “It’s more than that though.”

A pause.

“It’s you.” Betsy unable to make eye contact with her mum. 

Lisa’s chest tightened.

Betsy looked up at her then, properly. “I worry about you all the time,” she admitted. The honesty of it landed softly but heavily.

Lisa didn’t pull away.

Didn’t try to fix it immediately.

She just stayed.

“I know you’re careful,” Betsy added quickly. “And I know you don’t always do the risky stuff. But… you could.”

Her voice wavered slightly.

“Even if you’re on desk duty, you could get called out. You could be asked to go somewhere. And I just…” She stopped, her throat tightening.

Lisa squeezed her hand gently. “Hey…it’s okay. Take your time.” Betsy nodded, blinking quickly.

“I don’t want to make you feel bad,” she said. “Or like you have to change anything. I just…I needed you to know.”

Lisa’s heart ached because this wasn’t blame.

This wasn’t anger. This was fear.

Raw and real and deeply rooted.

“I think about it every time you leave,” Betsy admitted. “I try not to. But I do.”

Lisa felt that one.

Right in her chest.