maven

Pick up Luke. Drive home, have him take a shower. Chicken for dinner. Fuck, I didn't defrost the chicken. Scratch that, pasta for dinner. No, Luke hates pasta. Takeout, then. The healthy place with the good veggie options. Get the drycleaning. Put in the order for those boots online. Finish charting after Luke’s asleep.

You sighed, finally pulling into the parking lot, lightheaded after a long day at work and an even longer forty-five-minute drive.

Fucking pileup. How was it conceivable for eight cars to crash into each other and bring a light pole down with them? And why did it have to put a hold on your whole day?

Sure, it was just as gratifying as it was exhausting to be called into the ER as a helping hand — and it was even better when all twenty-three victims ended up living to see another day —, but did the fire department really have to keep the busiest intersection in the neighborhood blocked for that long? Well — you didn't really know that much about electric circuits, and you surely weren't educated on the potential harm caused by a fallen light pole, but for fuck's sake. The accident happened this morning. Did it really take a whole business day to free up the avenue?

You leaned back against the seat, closing your eyes once you were parked, taking a nice, deep breath. Relax. You're here. He's not alone, Nat's got him. Nat's good. He's okay.

One of the downsides of being summoned into the ER, all the kids you saw there. Little boys and girls about Luke's age, breathing out of tubes, fighting to survive. It was stressful enough to be a hospitalist — trickier cases, complex diseases, patients you got to know and inevitably got attached to —, but those rare ER days always took the cake. You had one rule since med school, one you’d promised to take to your grave: no children. Absolutely no getting involved when it came to kids. But in the ER, you couldn't really afford the luxury to choose.

That's out there, you reminded yourself. That kid's gonna be fine, he's got his own mom to take care of him now. Go take care of yours.

You opened your eyes, checking the rearview mirror for a second to make sure everything was in place, and Jesus Christ.

“Have I looked like this all day?”

You reached for the worn hair tie that kept that poor excuse for a ponytail together, pulling it off, figuring you'd have a better chance with a quick shake and a good old smoothing out than with whatever that was. God. What a mess. And no one thought to give you a hint. You ran your fingers through your hair, doing your best to make it look at least presentable, frustrated when it only half-worked.

It doesn't matter, you told yourself, trying hard to believe it. Nat had seen you worse. She'd seen you up till 4 AM, high on too much caffeine while you studied for the boards. She'd seen you bawling first thing after getting home on the night you lost your first real patient. She'd seen you passed out on the kitchen floor, holding Luke's bottle in one hand and his faithful blanket in the other, completely unaware of the milk that overflowed from the pan onto the stove.

Plus, what were you doing caring about what you looked like in front of Nat, anyway? It wasn't your place anymore. The divorce had been mutual, which meant you'd both been to blame, which meant you shouldn't be freaking out about how your fucking hair looked right now. Nat wasn't the one you were here to see. You were here for Luke, your son, who you were pretty sure couldn't care less if you showed up with a mohawk as long as you brought along a new pack of Pokémon cards. That's why you’d left the hospital without even changing out of your scrubs. That's why you hadn't bothered to check the mirror before getting in the car. To get to Luke faster, to be his mom, to be there for the kid who needed you.

So, very much aware that there was nothing you could do to help your case anymore, you stepped out of the car and walked up to the big concrete building you'd been in a thousand times before.

Scatorccio Tattoo, the door on the second floor read, room 207, right across the hall from the elevator.

You didn't have to knock, you knew it'd be open. Nat only locked up once the day was done, which, when she wasn't supposed to have Luke, meant everyone would be there until about 7 or 8 — whenever the last client left with new ink on their skin and a smile on their face. Said and done, you walked through the black door with the blue neon sign on it, taking in everything, the smell of antiseptic and sandalwood just as you remembered, even though the space looked infinitely bigger now. You knew Nat had upsized, she'd made an offhand comment about contractors and the endless bureaucracy of taking down a wall a few months back, but you had to hand it to her — the studio looked fantastic. Two new stations aside from the couple already set, padded chairs in the lobby, a new reception desk that came with a new receptionist — a pink-haired girl with a nose ring who offered you a polite smile as she said something over the phone. The AC didn't make the obnoxious rattling sound it used to back when Nat first rented the room, and the only thing you could hear aside from the casual chattering of artists and clients and the distant humming of tattoo guns was the music, low and ambient, some Elliott Smith track you'd heard about a million times before in Nat's car.

Nat's station was still where it used to be — far left, past the water cooler, by the big window that offered the great view of the downtown lights at night. The same place you'd come running to after class, tired out of your mind, excited about the prospect of pepperoni pizza and the sound of her laugh. You're gonna make it big, you used to tell her, staring at the skyline as you lay next to her on the floorboards — back before diapers and binkies and passing out cold on the kitchen floor. Someday, this place is gonna be crawling with people begging you to get those hands on them.

Prophecy fulfilled: for what you'd heard and seen, Nat's studio had become one of the biggest in town. Always getting the best reviews. Always filled with people. So much so that, well, you saw it — the two new stations, two new artists to lend a helping hand to her and Van, the one she'd hired long before the big changes.

“Heeey, there she is,” Van smiled as she saw you, wide and friendly, leaning an elbow on the receptionist's desk with that ease she always seemed to carry around. “Our friendly neighborhood Dr. House.”

You couldn't help but grin, tired but honest, though maybe not as big as it would've been a couple of years ago.

“Van,” you took a step closer, hand in one pocket. “How've you been?”

“If you're asking as my doctor, I'm doing alright,” she leaned forward, placing a hand beside her lips as if she was about to tell a secret. “But if you're asking as my friend, hungover out of my mind. But you gotta do what you gotta do, right?”

You chuckled.

“That's the spirit,” you nodded, amused by the fact that, even with all the years, Van never seemed to lose her essence. “Have you seen my kid anywhere around here?”

“Nat's station,” she pointed at the hall you knew well, the same one that led to the water cooler, far left of the room. “Talking everybody's ears off. Being a menace. Making every client fall in love with him. You know, the usual.”

You smiled, chest warming at her words. That sounded right. Luke had always been a force of nature, a hurricane with dark brown hair and eyes as blue as his mom's, melting every heart that ever crossed his path with a quick sense of humor and a crooked smile. You let out a breath you didn't know you'd been holding, the same kind that always got stuck between your throat and your lungs on ER days. He was here, he was okay, he was with Nat. That was all that mattered.

“Right, thanks. I should go get him,” you made a motion to leave, lingering long enough just to properly wrap up the conversation. “It was nice seeing you, Van. And congrats, by the way, the place looks amazing.”

“Thanks, yeah. Good to see you too,” she nodded, that shit-eating grin softening into something earnest, quieter. “Hey, stop by more often. I'll give you half off if you ever decide to let me ink you up.”

You let out a little laugh.

“I'll think about it.”

“You go ahead and do that.”

And so you walked toward Natalie's station, determined, deliberately doing what you were there to do.

Luke sat on Nat's chair, bouncing his legs, tongue poking out as he drew something on her tablet — a dragon, a tiger, you weren't sure from this angle. He was focused, determined, that same wrinkle between his eyes that used to pop on Natalie's forehead whenever she worked on a client. He occasionally stopped, assessed his work, mouthed the words to the song that played in the background like a seven-year-old had any business knowing the lyrics to Elliott Smith's discography.

Nat sat on the table, right next to the tablet, leaned on her hand as she watched her son with a proud smile on her lips. It was that face she made the first time Luke kicked a soccer ball, the same from when he sighed and rolled his eyes and told you he didn't want to wear a button up to your brother's wedding at the ripe age of four. The that kid's just like me look. Like she knew he was a carbon copy, except male and a bit shorter, but still scary similar in all the ways that mattered.

“Good trace, bud,” she muttered, free hand running through his hair affectionately. “You've already got your own style. That's not for everybody, you know.”

Luke nodded, unfazed, brow still furrowed — like all the praise in the world wouldn't pull his focus from the task at hand.

“I like to do the mouth like this,” he said, sharp, as serious as a lifelong painter explaining his work. “Makes it look like he's breathing fire.”

You let out a chuckle, soft, just loud enough for them to realize you were there. Your presence, as it turned out, was in fact enough to make Luke raise his head from his very important masterpiece.

“Mom!” He smiled widely. “You're back from the hospital!”

“I am,” you walked up to him, muscles finally relaxing after the day you'd had, cupping his cheek in one hand just to make sure he was real. “Hey, baby. Sorry I couldn't pick you up from school.”

“That's okay! Mama said you saved a lot of people from dying today!”

Nat let out a snort, shooting her eyes up in your direction, shaking her head slightly with amusement.

“I didn't say it like that,” she clarified, raspy, melting visibly in the way she always did whenever Luke said something unhinged. “I said you were saving lives. The whole death thing was implied.”

“He's a smart kid. Good at reading between the lines,” you smiled, tame, the only kind you'd offered Nat since the divorce two years ago. Friendly. Safe. In regards to anything Luke-related. “And a talented one too. Let me take a look at that drawing, sweetheart.”

“It's not a drawing,” he corrected, turning the tablet around — and there it was, a dragon. Wobbly. Just as accurate as a seven-year-old could do from memory. Still, Nat was right, it did have personality. “It's a stencil. For a tattoo.”

You chuckled, Natalie's proud grin not going unnoticed.

“Ooh, a stencil? Is that right?”

He nodded eagerly.

“Mama said she's gonna let me print it so I can put it on my arm. Pretend it's real like the ones she has.”

“What can I say,” Nat smirked, as enamored about it as she was smug. “Kid wants to be just like his mama.”

You shook your head, letting out a content yet tired breath. The exhaustion of the day was starting to catch up to you faster than you'd anticipated now that you saw Luke was alive and well, sitting on his mom's chair right in front of your eyes. This was what you'd been waiting for all day — coming to see him, touching his rosy cheek, listening to his baby voice after a long day of taking care of injuries on other people's kids. And now you needed rest, even if you weren't going to get it anytime soon. You needed to get your boy in the car, drive him home, hear all about his day at school over a balanced meal that would probably be too expensive, but not enough to make cooking worth it tonight. You needed his presence. His youthful innocence brightening up the house while you had him for the week. To trip on his scattered toys and hear his loud cartoons and let the liveliness make you forget all the despair and fear you’d been surrounded by all day.

“Well, that sounds like fun, Mr. Tattoo Artist. Go print out your stencil so we can go home, yeah?”

“But mom,” he whined, pouting, shoulders dropping. “I'm not finished yet.”

“That's enough, buddy. You can wrap it up next week when you're with mama again.”

“Please,” Luke brought his hands together, because apparently it was a life or death situation. “I wanted to bring it for show and tell tomorrow.”

You sighed. The pleading look on his face was something you’d already learned not to fall for — even though it still had an unsurprisingly high success rate —, but right now all you saw when you looked at it was that other little boy, the one who almost didn't make it, the one whose mom held onto so tightly as she cried I will do anything you want. Come back to me and you'll have everything you ask for, honey, whatever it is.

Fuck it. You'd been stuck in the ER all day, you'd been trapped in your car for forty-five minutes on the way here. You could spare your son a few more minutes doing what he liked.

“You can grab a seat,” Nat smiled, gesturing at the tattoo chair, looking at you like she could somehow still read your mind after all this time. “There's no rush.”

You nodded, making your way to the chair, knowing it was all for a greater good.

“Thanks.”

Nat got up, slow, walking closer to where you stood while Luke went back to his stencil — now muttering some Nirvana track he apparently knew by heart.

“He's almost done,” she said, holding onto the edge of the chair as you sat on the other end, feet dangling off. “Finishing touches and all. Turns out he's kind of a perfectionist.”

You let out a weak snort.

“Sure. I'll… let him do his thing a little longer,” you looked at Luke, smiling softly, still half-high on the relief to see him happy and healthy after a hard day. “Thanks, by the way. For picking him up today. I would've had my brother do it, but—”

“No. No way,” she shook her head. “He's my kid too, only fair that I go. Plus, it's good to see him outside of my days. Helps me miss him a little less.”

You offered Nat a small smile.

“I know what you mean. Uh, thanks anyway. Sorry it was such short notice.”

“Don't apologize. I saw the pileup thing on the news. Oof.”

“Yeah,” you chuckled absently, looking down, “oof.”

Natalie licked her lips, turning her head away from you, staring at Luke's focused expression for a second. And then she looked at you again.

“You want an espresso?”

You narrowed your eyes, a confused smirk taking over your lips.

“Espresso?”

She let out a breathy laugh.

“We have this fancy machine now. With all the buttons and shit,” she shrugged, so casual, so Natalie it made your heart flutter amidst all the exhaustion. “Makes hot chocolates too. Luke's already had, like, three so far.”

You laughed too, for once not concerned about the amount of sugar your kid had ingested — not today.

“Thanks. But I'm trying to go easy on the caffeine.”

“That's… new,” she chuckled, and you couldn't blame her. You used to drink coffee like it was water — a habit you'd been cutting back on since the divorce. As it turned out, heartbreak and palpitations from five cups a day weren't the best combo if you wanted to get an okay night's sleep. “Alright, then. Let me know if you change your mind.”

“Sure,” you nodded. The jingling of the bell above the front door called your attention, indicating someone had just arrived or left. Your eyes fell on the new tattoo gun by the chair. “Uh, congratulations, by the way. The studio looks… It looks really good, Nat. Fancy espresso machine and everything.”

Natalie smiled, looking away, doing that thing with her face she used to do when you complimented her.

“Yeah. It’s, uh, really taken off.”

“I can see that.”

She paused for a moment.

“And how are you—”

“There, I’m finished!” Luke interrupted whatever Natalie was going to say, turning the tablet around with a proud grin on his face, showing his masterpiece to both of his moms. “Ta-da!”

Nat’s eyes sparkled.

“Whoa, bud,” she said, widening her eyes for flare, stepping closer to him so she could have a better look. “That’s gonna make a sick tat.”

Luke smiled big, taking the praise better than his mama ever did, used to being seen, to being celebrated. It was a point Nat made from birth, showering him with compliments whenever he reached even the smallest accomplishments — there you go, buddy, good burp. Strong as a lion. Great job sleeping through the night. Hey, look at that latch, that's how it's done. You're the best baby in the world.

“Can we print it now?! Please, please, please?”

“Of course, give it here,” Nat grabbed the tablet, tapping the screen a few times until the thermal printer began to buzz.

Luke squealed, getting up from the chair like the excitement was simply too much to bear, bouncing on his heels with the utmost glee. When the stencil finally came out ready, blueish-purple lines on white paper, Nat picked it up and cut around the art with her scissors.

“There you go,” she held the piece of paper by the edges, extra careful not to wrinkle it. “If you wanna wear it to show and tell, ask mommy to help you put it on before school, okay?” When he nodded eagerly, Nat looked up at you with a chuckle on her lips. “It comes off with soap and water.”

“I know,” and you did, you'd been through this before, you'd been her lab rat a billion times when she wanted to test out new styles and designs. “He's gonna be the coolest kid in Ms. Lee's class.”

“Emma's gonna freak when she sees it!” Luke jumped up and down, launching himself into Nat without warning, arms wrapping around her waist like she'd just given him the entire world. “Thank you, mama! Thank you, thank you, thank you! I'm gonna go show aunt Van!”

And he was off into the hallway, disappearing on the way to Van's station like he knew it by heart after all the time he’d spent in the studio. Natalie stood there a few seconds, red cheeks and ears, smiling to herself as if she didn’t know what to do with all the love in her chest. Then, because she was Nat, she shrugged it off. Let out a snort. Looked at you like her heart hadn't just visibly melted right in front of your eyes.

“It's been Emma this, Emma that all the time,” she offered, casual, an attempt to recompose herself. “Joined at the hip just like I was with Van at that age.”

You let out a laugh, deciding to let Nat off the hook for always masking her emotions. It wasn't your place to meddle anymore.

“I don't think that's possible,” you tilted your head. Van and Nat had been inseparable all through the years you'd known them — and from the stories you'd heard, they’d been that way practically out the womb. “But yeah. Emma's been a popular name lately. I think that's a good friendship for him to have.”

“Yeah?”

You nodded.

“She has two moms,” you commented, leaving off the part you'd heard through the grapevine about their divorce, about their time apart, about their reconciliation less than a year ago. It all just hit a little too close to home. “One’s a nurse at the hospital, actually. Sweet woman. It's good for him to be around other families like—”

Like ours, you almost said before cutting yourself off mid-sentence. You didn't live in the same house anymore. You didn't wake up next to Nat, you didn't force her to sit down and eat a peanut butter and banana sandwich in the morning so she wouldn't leave on an empty stomach. You didn't tuck Luke in together at night, a kiss on the forehead each, a five-step monster check just to be sure — you behind the curtains, Nat under the bed.

You weren't a family, not anymore.

So you cleared your throat, swallowing the lump that had suddenly formed there.

“—like that. Uh, two moms.”

Nat looked down, bringing a hand to the nape of her neck like she’d also made the conscious choice to let you off the hook this time.

“Yeah. That’s good.”

Luke’s laugh echoed from the lobby like a light at the end of the tunnel, saving you from the familiar awkward moment you could feel coming before the silence had a chance to stretch.

“Well, it's getting dark soon,” you said, looking at Nat. “I should take him home.”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course,” she nodded, bringing her hand down to the waistband of her skirt, playing absently with a belt loop as she drifted her eyes toward the hall. “Let me walk you.”

You both found Luke in the reception area, sitting on Van's knee on one of the new padded chairs, eyes shooting up with excitement as he saw his moms come in his direction.

“Mom! Mama!” He squealed. “Aunt Van said she can give me a dragon tattoo when I'm old enough! A real one! Isn't that cool?”

You laughed.

“We'll talk about it,” you looked at Van, who just smirked like she'd been caught red-handed making promises she shouldn't. “Come on, Lukey. It's time to go. Say goodbye to mama and aunt Van.”

He nodded obediently, wrapping an arm around Van's neck, sinking his head into her shoulder for just a second.

“Bye, aunt Van. Don't forget the Pokémon cards next time so we can trade!”

“Got it. Charizard, I’ll bring it over next week.”

He smiled, hopping off Van's lap with the stencil tucked in his hand like a trophy, making his way to Nat with familiarity. The goodbye. The thing he'd been getting better and better at over the past two years. She crouched down to get on his level, not quite as resilient even though she nearly did enough to hide it well, wrapping those tattooed arms around him with eyes closed so tightly they gave her away.

“Bye, little man. Be good to your mom. And don't forget to take pictures of the stencil before you go to school tomorrow.”

“Okay, mama,” he pressed a kiss to Nat's cheek, caring and gentle, ever the cuddlebug when it came to his moms. “I love you.”

“Love you more.”

“No take backs.”

“No take backs.”

You stood back, watching them silently, not getting in the way of the moment. Their little ritual. The hug, the love you more, the no take backs. Nat's way of letting him know he could do anything in the world and she would still love him no matter what, she would still be his mama at the end of every day.

She let out a breath, giving him one final squeeze before letting go.

“Alright, off you go.”

He ran in your direction, stepping into his role, grabbing your hand like he already knew his way around your and Nat's arrangement at this point. You smiled at him. Looked at Van again, then at Nat.

“Bye, you guys,” you said, standing at the door. “And thanks again, Nat. You saved my butt today.”

She chuckled, always amused to hear you censor your curses around Luke.

“Of course, Y/N, anytime. Hit me up if you need to, yeah?”

You nodded, small, genuine. You knew she meant it — even with the distance, even with the divorce, even with the mutual decision that had been undeniably stronger on her end, she meant it. She knew your routine, knew your work, knew shit happened sometimes. She'd always made it clear she'd be there to pull her weight with Luke for those moments.

“Thanks. You too.”

“Will do.”

In the car, with the takeout bag already safely tucked behind the seatbelt on the passenger seat and finally on your way home, Luke filled you in on the details of his day.

“And after PE we went back to class and Ms. Lee let us sing happy birthday to Jake!” He said, the stencil still in his hand, looking out of the back window. “His mom brought everyone cake but Parker had to have a different kind because she’s allergic to frosting. But that sucks. The frosting was the best part!”

You chuckled, grateful to hear his incessant blabbering, gladly letting the kid fill your ears with the hottest gossip of his second grade class.

“That sounds nice, buddy,” you offered, eyes on the road. “You know, speaking of birthdays… Somebody’s going to be turning eight very soon.”

“Meee!” He giggled. “Just a month left!”

You nodded, a smile taking over your lips as you let yourself take a peek at his eager expression through the rear view mirror for just a moment.

“That’s right,” you overplayed it, emphasizing every word with a few more teeth for the sake of his excitement. “You know how you wanna celebrate yet? Should we do a soccer tournament like last year?”

Luke shook his head.

“Nah. I wanna do something different this year.”

“Different?” You asked, amused. “Got anything on your mind?”

He nodded proudly, as if he'd been waiting for you to ask.

“I wanna go camping.”

You took a turn right, swerving into your street, the house you’d been living in for a little over two years now already noticeable in the distance. It took you a second to register Luke’s words, and, once you did, you pouted in confusion.

“Camping?” You asked. “Where’d you get that idea?”

“Callie said she went with her dad last week. They roasted marshmallows by the fire and stayed in a trailer and everything. Like in the movies!”

You narrowed your eyes, slowing the car down, pulling into the driveway like you always did — only this time, once you came to a full stop and unbuckled the seatbelt, you turned around to look at your son.

You’d been completely blindsided. Your survival abilities in the woods were basically limited to knowing how to work a bottle of bug spray. The things you most cherished in life, after the kid in the backseat, were as simple as a hot meal and a comfy bed. And plumbing. Piped water that fell from a shower head at the mere twist of a knob.

“Camping, Luke?” You double checked, making sure all the hard work of the day hadn’t somehow caused you to start hearing things. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, mom. Camping. It’s gonna be fun!”

“No soccer tournament?” You pushed a bit, realizing he was serious, not having a clue how you were going to make that happen. “Maybe a party with a bouncy house?”

But Luke shook his head with determination, as if his mind had already been made for a long time now.

“Camping.”

You sighed. The smile on his face didn’t fade, and you watched him for a second. Once again, you saw it in your head — that other boy from earlier today, the tube down his throat, the desperate mom with her hands on his face like maybe he’d wake up if she held him long enough. And Luke was there, alive, healthy, full of hope, proudly clutching onto his stencil like the caring little boy he was.

He was a good kid. He deserved to have everything he wanted.

“We can arrange that, then.”

“Yes!” He bounced eagerly in the backseat, movements a bit restrained by the seatbelt. “It’s gonna be so fun!”

You let out a chuckle, not exactly excited, but figuring you’d give it a shot when he was the one asking for it. You could take him to a campground, somewhere safe, rent an RV so you wouldn’t have to figure out how to work a tent. Somewhere you’d have access to food you didn’t have to roast in a fire. Somewhere you wouldn’t have to pee behind a bush in the middle of nowhere.

You could do it.

“I have to remind mama to bring a coat! Callie says it gets really chilly at night.”

Your eyes narrowed at his statement.

“Wait,” you said, confused. “You want mama to take you?”

Thank God, you thought, figuring Nat might have a better shot at the whole nature thing. If Luke wanted her to take him camping, maybe you could do something else when he got back — the bouncy house, the pizza, the guys in the superhero costumes. No bugspray. Something in your powerhouse.

“Well, yeah,” he shrugged, eyes on yours, that undying smile still on his lips, “both of you!”

Both of you.

You and Natalie. His moms. The ones who'd barely been in the same room for more than a few hours at best over the past two years. The ones who'd only talk when it meant working out a schedule or discussing whatever had been said at the latest parent-teacher conference, not looking directly at each other's faces. The ones who sat a very confused five-year-old Luke down and told him he'd have two different houses from then on.

You nearly choked, chest tightening at the thought of breaking that little boy's heart again.

“Well, baby…” You hesitated, trying to find the right words. “I'm not— I'm not sure both mamas can take you…”

Luke's face fell immediately, his smile giving space to a pout, his eyes looking bigger than usual.

“But we always spend my birthday together,” he argued. “Even after you moved.”

You let out an exhale, watching his expression — taking in the frown, the quivering lip, all the tells that showed that wasn't just an occasional tantrum after a long day.

He was right. You did always spend his birthday together. That was the rule. You'd alternate Thanksgiving and Christmas, you'd do separate halves on Mother's day, but Luke's birthday was the one date you and Nat had both agreed to spend completely together, start to finish. There had been two since the divorce so far, and it’d actually been working out well — Nat would knock on your door before Luke woke up, you'd make his favorite breakfast while she worked on setting up the sign and the balloons, he'd come downstairs and you'd all eat together as a family. You'd both give him presents. Set up his party. Avoid being alone together longer than necessary in the most obvious attempts to act like everything was normal. Nat would laugh at something a parent said and it wouldn't reach her eyes, you'd step inside to get more napkins you knew wouldn't be used. Luke would smile all day long. Run around full of life, full of joy, grab your hand for a moment in passing. Nat would help you clean up after everyone left and Luke was fast asleep in his room, purposely turning up the music so the silence wasn't too weird, which never really worked. She'd mutter something safe — he had a lot of fun, the cake was really good, did you see Riley's dad's weird mustache? You'd chuckle lightly. She'd nod. You'd say goodbye with words and awkward smiles.

And then she would leave.

It was a good arrangement. Something Luke looked forward to. Something you could manage if you set your mind to it, if you distanced yourself, if all the other moms were around to distract you from those dark locks and those blue eyes.

But camping? A whole weekend cramped up in an RV, nowhere to hide, bumping into Nat every five minutes?

That might be a little more than you could handle.

“I know,” you tried again. “But it's just one day, Lukey. Camping is… it's complicated, we both have work and—”

“Mom, please!” He whined, chin beginning to tremble in that heartbreaking way it did right before he started crying. “It's— it's gonna be fun! I'm gonna be so good! I'm— I'm gonna eat my veggies and I'll clean my room and I'll do homework without complaining and—”

Luke rambled on, slurred and rushed, talking over himself like he depended on your mercy to save his life.

He popped up into your head again. The kid from the ER, tattooed on your brain at this point. Too weak to even breathe on his own, a near miss, so close you must have thought about leaving the room to call your son over a thousand times.

“Okay,” you gave in with a sigh before the first tear could drop from your son's eye. If that other little boy could basically rise from the dead upon his mother's desperate plea, you could give Luke this. You could suck up whatever unresolved feelings you still had for Nat and swallow them. Your kid deserved it, he deserved everything you could give him and more, and this you could do. For him. “Okay. If mama's on board. If you do everything you said. I'll call her tomorrow and ask, alright?”

“Yes! Thank you, mom! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Luke unbuckled himself clumsily, too eager for his hands to work right, launching himself in your direction like the clingy little boy he'd always been. You couldn't help but melt. Your arms found their way around him, back hurting from how you had to twist it — but it didn't matter. Nothing else did. Not when he held onto you so tightly, squealing into your shoulder, pressing wet kisses to your cheek as a token of his gratitude.

You were doing this for him. For Luke. For your son.

And that's how, a few weeks later, you found yourself in your driveway, loading a suitcase into the trunk of Natalie Scatorccio's car.

Of course Nat said yes. She didn't even think about it when you told her how eager he was.

“If the kid's asking…” You could practically hear the shrug through the phone, the pressed lips and tight chin as clear as day in your mind. “We've gotta do it, right?”

Pushover. A complete sucker for him, just like you were.

It didn't surprise you.

Nat wasn't one to profess love through big gestures. She wasn't the kind of parent who bragged obnoxiously about her kid to the other moms at soccer practice or bought him a monthly paycheck's worth of toys in one trip to the store. Her love was about showing up. Being there for the big things and the small ones with the same level of excitement. Cheering at the very front whether Luke scored a goal in a crowded game or did a cartwheel in the living room. Letting him know through words and gestures that she was there for him — no matter what, no matter where, no matter when. No take backs. Every single day till the rest of her life.

Nat never had a problem loving, she was as loyal as a guard dog, her love was gentle and honest and so whole you'd occasionally just burst into tears when you thought about it over those first few years. Happy tears. Tears that seeped through cracking walls, that came from finally being free from a lifetime of walking on eggshells, from feeling so seen and so known and so cared for you couldn't help but overflow. A love that was so selfless, so genuine, so safe you'd never understand how she couldn't simply accept it back.

That had always been the problem with Nat. She was good at loving. Not so much at letting herself be loved.

You'd met her in your senior year of college, wide-eyed, thinking you knew everything until Tai's girlfriend brought along a platinum-haired friend with a cute smile to a party and you realized you still had a lot to learn.

Nat had silver rings on all ten fingers, tattoos on her arms and legs, a joint behind her ear that didn’t stay in place for too long before finding its way between pale fingertips. Her eyes were blue, grayish when you first saw her outside under the moonlight, darker after a while, in the kitchen, as she poured herself another drink and talked to Van about something you pretended not to listen to. The smile never left her lips — sure, steady, the kind that said I know exactly who I am even though she was clearly an outsider. It didn’t seem to bother her, she welcomed it. Laughed whenever some college kid said something ridiculous like she and Van were in on a secret you and Tai weren’t aware of. She was never rude, never once entitled, just so incredibly herself it undid you a little.

She undid you a lot.

Pulling you in without trying to, taking up space without an apology, existing in that way you’d never seen anybody do before. Introducing herself to you with a crooked smile and a rasp in her voice and those fucking eyes as if she had any right to look like that, to talk like that, to be like that.

“I’m Nat,” she’d said, leaning in for you to hear her over the music, close enough that you could smell her perfume — something earthy and mature and just a little sweet. “Nice to meet you.”

Nat caught you alone a few hours into the party, drinking warm beer as you stared across the makeshift dance floor with a heavy heart. She’d chuckled, friendly, making an offhand comment about having lost Van at some point during the night, a joke on how she’d probably disappeared into one of the bedrooms with Tai. That tracks, you remembered saying, a little too bitter after a few drinks — inhibitions low enough that you didn’t bother hiding your disdain for the happy couple that danced a few feet away from where you stood anymore. Your ex. Her new boyfriend. Picture perfect, happy, not two weeks after she’d left you because she needed to find herself. Apparently all she needed was to search in the arms of a brain dead frat guy with frosted tips and beer breath.

“Alright, I wasn't gonna meddle or anything, but…” Natalie crossed her arms, eyes finding the spot where yours had been set like she had no intention of leaving. “That an ex or something?”

You narrowed your eyes, letting them fall on her face.

“How did you know?”

She chuckled.

“Maybe I'm psychic. Or maybe I just have enough experience with shitty exes to know one when I see it,” that permanent smirk stayed tattooed on her lips as she analyzed the dancing couple across the room. “Though I wouldn't have pegged you as the frosted-tips type.”

You took a sip of your beer, snorting halfway through it, looking at Nat in amused disbelief.

“So you're not psychic," you said. “Try again, I'll give you one more chance.”

She raised a brow, rising to the challenge like she'd been waiting for you to push her. She looked at the couple again, eyes drifting from the guy to the girl, the smirk widening on her lips.

“Her?”

You nodded lightly, tightening your jaw, staring at the side of your ex's face while that guy shamelessly went to town on her neck.

“Yeah,” you muttered, face contorting in disgust. “Her.”

She let out a snort.

“Guess I got two out of three right, then,” Nat shrugged, amused. “Pretty good for a psychic.”

“A psychic would have gotten it right the first time,” you offered back, half-teasing, half-stuck in a puddle of self pity as you kept looking at that man's hands on your ex's waist. “But I'll give you an A for effort.”

Nat laughed, raspy and low, shoulder touching yours briefly as she shifted on her feet.

“Fair,” she took a sip of her drink. “Though maybe I did get it right the first time, but I didn't say it because I didn't want to assume anything.”

You pursed your lips, intrigued, drifting your eyes to Nat's face only to realize hers were already glued to you.

“You did assume, though,” you countered. “That I'd go for someone like that. Like him.”

She chuckled.

“I'm sorry about that,” she licked her lips, a habit you'd later come to realize surfaced whenever she was nervous or excited or curious about something. “You know what they say. Expect the worst while hoping for the best or whatever.”

It was your turn to laugh, tipsy, unsure of the meaning behind her words.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

Your smile made hers grow, automatic, breathtaking.

“Maybe I'm just curious about your preferences.”

That brought chills to your spine, making your heart race in your chest as you suddenly realized just how close she stood. Her eyes were even darker now, hair catching the LED lights as they switched colors, a mix of unshakable confidence and drunken ease radiating through her pores. Everything seemed to revolve around her, like the party was just an excuse around the real main attraction — that smile on her face, those ring-clad fingers running through her hair. She was beautiful, even more so from up close, especially with her gaze set on you like you were the only person in the room, quiet and intense like a forest right before a thunderstorm — as if she knew all she could do in that moment was sit back and brace for impact, like the damage was already done.

For some reason, you just knew she was going to be trouble.

“My preferences?”

She nodded, grinning like she noticed the shift in your attention.

“Yeah. What you like. What you don't like. What I need to say to get you alone.”

You chuckled at that, eyes widening slightly at her forwardness. She didn't back down, didn't apologize, didn't pull away — instead, she leaned closer, watching you meticulously as if she had you exactly where she wanted.

“A little bold to say that to a girl who's been complaining about her ex to you,” you teased, testing her, pushing just enough to see how hard she'd pull.

“Like I said, I'm no stranger to shitty exes,” she shrugged, unfazed. “Though I have to say, you're better off. Always smart to cut stupid people off your life.”

You chuckled.

“What makes you think she’s stupid?”

Natalie smiled victoriously, nodding her head.

“Well, she’s over there while you're right here,” she licked her lips again, the smell of her perfume now mixed with the joint she'd smoked earlier, intoxicating. “Which has to be the dumbest thing I've ever seen.”

You laughed.

“You know, that's a good start.”

“A good start?” Nat raised a brow, tilting her chin down, watching your face.

“Yeah,” it was you who leaned closer this time, drawn to her like a magnet, inexplicable and powerful and already forgetting about the girl who danced with the guy across the room like whatever came before Nat suddenly didn't matter anymore. “If you’re serious about wanting to get me alone.”

Needless to say she didn't even have to try from then on.

You finished the night in Nat's bed, clothes scattered across the floor in a tiny two-bedroom downtown, her name on your lips and her hair in your fists and red marks all over your skin you'd be tracing with your fingertips long after she was gone. She wasn't like anyone you'd met before. Her hands mapped out your body, exploring with the eagerness of a treasure-hunter yet the accuracy of someone who'd been there before, like she was somehow remembering your nuances instead of getting to know you. That's how it always felt with Nat — not new, never new. Familiar. Exciting, sure, but not in the way you'd feel around someone you'd just met — it was like running into an old friend you hadn't seen in forever. Like coming across a lover from a different lifetime, like reclaiming what was once yours, overwhelming and exhilarating and intense, addictive, so much so that it took you no time at all to reach out again after that first time.

And just like that, Nat was a part of your life, growing around every aspect of it like tree branches you couldn't help but feed. The passion was electric, the draw was strong, the impact so hard you could practically split your life in two — the one before Nat and the one after her. Lonely nights in your dorm turned into laughter and takeout and lovemaking in her apartment when Van wasn't around. Meaningless flings turned into something real, something stronger, the only sure thing you'd ever known. Deep breaths and unshed tears turned into soft fingers on your hair, a shoulder to lie your head on and sweet lips on your cheek as Nat whispered you don't have to hold it all in — and, for once, you believed it.

The first crack in the glass came around two and a half years after you’d met, a stupid fight that turned into raised voices and slamming doors and you standing confused in the living room as Nat stormed off in the middle of the night. You weren't sure what happened. You'd been going through the motions, tired, dedicating every last hour of your day to med school as she struggled to get her new studio up and running — a rough patch, you thought, something you'd eventually work through, after all, every couple had their adversities. But things escalated. You complained about something unimportant, something that wouldn't have mattered if you hadn't been so exhausted, a forgotten dish on the sink or an unpaid bill she was supposed to take care of, you didn't even remember. But Nat was tired too. So she deflected. Sighed a bit too bitterly, rolled her eyes, turned her back to you while you talked just like you'd seen your father do a million times to your mother, and it all just hit a bit too close to home. You were projecting, it was a stretch, but you weren't thinking straight. And then one thing led to another until Nat walked out with tears rolling down her face, claiming it was best to end things before it was too late, making clarity hit you as soon as she stepped out into the hallway.

You'd seen it before, you'd noticed it in the small things — the way she never seemed to know how to take a compliment, the way she'd shrink into herself after telling a childhood story. Nat had a hard time letting herself be loved. She didn't know how to. She'd been taught to brace for failure, to expect to be walked out on, to let go before she got hurt, and that was what she was doing.

Tensions were still high, you were both stretched thin, she wasn't thinking clearly — so you let her go, at least for the meanwhile, knowing the risk of losing her forever was too high if you didn't give her the space she needed. Nat was impulsive, you'd come to know, and sometimes it was best to just offer her some time to clear her head before trying to reason. You deemed it best to wait, for the sake of your relationship, for the sake of making things better down the road.

What you hoped would be a few days turned into four months apart.

You came home to Nat sitting by your door, exhausted after a late night study session, letting out a breath you'd been holding in for months once you finally caught her eyes — blue, almost green in the hallway light, full of love and guilt and regret as they fell on you.

“I'm sorry,” she muttered, embarrassed, stepping to her feet as soon as she saw you. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.”

“I know,” you answered, because you did. “Come on, let's get inside. We’ll talk about it.”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

Nat poured her heart out to you, stumbling over words as if she'd just spent however long she'd been waiting at your door going over what she would say, but never quite finding the right way to do it. She talked fast, like she needed to hold her breath if she wanted to get it all out, and you listened patiently, taking her hand as the tears started rolling down her cheeks, telling her to take her time, that you'd be there for as long as she needed. She told you all about her childhood — the trailer park, the abusive father, the negligent mother. The harsh words she had to hear since she was a little girl, the ones that made her believe she would never amount to anything, that she wasn't worthy of love. You knew she didn't talk to her mother much, and you knew her father had died when she was a teenager, but that was it. You didn't know how he'd walked in on her with a friend, how he'd accused her of things you wouldn't dare repeat — your heart breaking in your chest as she choked on the words whore and slut like she'd carried that cross around her whole life. You didn’t know how he’d become aggressive, how her mother somehow got caught in the middle of it, how Nat didn't even think before grabbing the shotgun her father didn't bother to keep hidden. How he'd taken it from her hands, how he’d threatened to shoot, how he'd tripped over the steps and fallen and, boom, suddenly he was gone right before her eyes.

Your heart ached with revolt, with anger, with disbelief over how anybody could ever do something like that to Natalie. You held her — it was all you could do, keeping her close and stroking her hair and trying to offer the same reassurance she always used to offer you before everything went down.

“I’m right here, I'm not going anywhere,” you repeated again and again, trying to make her believe it. “I'm not going anywhere, Nat, I'm always going to be here.”

After that night, no words were needed. You'd both decided to try again, to pick up where you'd left off, to not keep any more secrets.

Until about a month later, when Nat called you, asking you if you'd be home for dinner because she had something she needed to say. You caught the distress in her tone, the way she'd called instead of texting like she always did, the careful way she'd phrased it. Are you— are you coming home for dinner? I'd— uh, I'd really like you to be. If you can. I, um, I need to talk to you about something. Please, just— let me know, okay? If you can. I really just— fuck, I just really need to talk to you.

You jumped to every conclusion in the book — something had happened with the studio, a client had done something to her, maybe her mother had resurfaced and somehow hurt her all over again, you couldn't know for sure. All you knew was that, whatever it was, it was serious.

Nothing in the world could have prepared you for what came next.

“Pregnant?” You asked, confused, narrowing your eyes as you tried to make sense of the words that came out of a terrified Natalie's lips. “...How?”

She closed her eyes, tears streaming down her face, clutching onto the positive test in her hand like she couldn't believe it was real.

“While we were broken up,” she sobbed, avoiding your eyes, breathless. “I— it was stupid, it was a one time thing, Travis just— he showed up, I was drunk, I was stupid, I shouldn't have…”

Travis.

You'd seen the guy once before — at a party, right before you and Nat became official, staring daggers as she wrapped her arms around your neck while angrily sipping his beer in the corner of the room. The shitty ex Nat had offhandedly mentioned the night the two of you met. The guy who kept showing up when she was vulnerable, when she was heartbroken, when she wasn't thinking clearly enough not to make any stupid decisions.

You couldn't deny it, the thought of Nat in his bed made your blood boil in your veins, your hands closing into fists at your sides just for a moment before you loosened up. Natalie cried copiously, desperate, gasping for air like her whole life had just ended right before her eyes. Like she'd done the stupidest thing in the world and she was about to lose everything that mattered. Like you already had one foot out of the door, and she'd been the one responsible for ruining everything.

So you held back the jealousy, it didn't matter now. She was within her right. You were broken up, she could do what she wanted, it wasn't like you had a say.

Nat was here now, and she needed you. And you’d never deny her.

“Nat,” you let out a breath, placing a hand on her shoulder, the other one finding her chin. “Hey. Look at me. That's okay, we'll figure it out.”

And so Nat sank into your arms, apologizing profusely into your shoulder, breaking down while you held her tightly and assured her everything was going to be fine. That you'd find a way. That you'd stand beside her no matter what.

After Nat calmed down, her initial plan was to terminate. To set an appointment at a clinic and pretend like the whole thing never happened. You said you'd support her through it, you'd be there to hold her hand, you’d do whatever was in your power to make her comfortable — it was her choice after all, and you'd never do anything to undermine that. You'd keep your promise and stick by her for whatever she needed, for whatever she chose.

But days passed and she never made the call. You gave her space for about a week or so before asking, voice careful, hand on her hair as she lay her head on your lap in the living room couch.

“Nat,” you said, soft, gentle. “Are you still sure you want the abortion?”

She sighed, as if she'd been waiting for you to ask.

“I…” She shook her head. “I just— I’ve never really… I never thought about it, you know? I just… I’ve always been irregular, I've— I didn't even think I could, and…” She cleared her throat. “I don't know, Y/N. Maybe if Travis wasn't such a deadbeat it’d all be different.”

Your hand stilled in her hair.

“Is that what this is about? Travis?”

Nat bit her bottom lip, swallowing audibly.

“He obviously wouldn't want any part in it,” she said hesitantly, not meeting your eyes. “And I just— I don't want to put a kid in the world for that. To be unwanted. And it's not like I could do it alone anyway.”

“Nat,” you looked at her, sure, careful. “Hypothetically, if a deadbeat dad is the only reason why you're thinking about terminating, if— if it's something you would've otherwise wanted… you know you wouldn't be alone, right?”

She blinked. Looked up at you. Licked her lips.

“I’d never ask something like that of you.”

“You're not. I'm just saying. It's your choice, I'll be here for whatever you decide.”

Nat looked at you for a few seconds, face unreadable.

“Even if I wanted to keep it? Hypothetically?”

You nodded.

“Hypothetically, yes.”

She stayed quiet for a moment before sitting up abruptly, lips pressed together in a straight line, watching you like a million thoughts went through her head as she looked at your face.

“I…” She let out an exhale. “I can't explain why, but I just… I've been having some thoughts and I just… I think I might wanna keep it. I— I could do things differently and— I know it doesn’t make sense, but—”

“It doesn’t have to make sense,” you grabbed her hand. “As long as it’s what you want.”

“I'm… not sure. I don't know what to do.”

“You've still got a few weeks to figure it out,” you offered, calm. “I just want you to know you won't be alone. Whatever you choose.”

Nat let out an incredulous chuckle, staring at your face as if she struggled believing you were real in that moment.

“You'd seriously raise Travis Martinez's kid? Are you— are you even thinking about what you're telling me right now?”

You nodded.

“It wouldn't be Travis’ kid. It'd be mine. Yours and mine,” you squeezed her hand. “If that's what you decide to do.”

“So if I wanted to terminate…?”

“You know you'd have my full support.”

She shuddered.

“And if I wanted to keep it…?”

“I'd be all in,” you took her other hand, looking at her face, knowing Nat needed the reassurance. “You wouldn't do it alone, Nat. I'd be here.”

She smiled, small, tame.

“You'd be all in? Even if it meant taking care of— of a baby?”

You nodded again, certain, knowing you'd do anything she asked, you'd be there for whatever she needed. You loved Nat. The only thing you were sure of was that you wanted her in your life forever, whatever it took.

“I'd be all in. It'd be my baby. Our baby.”

Natalie's smile grew, and she unexpectedly grabbed your face, cupping your cheeks, pulling you in for a kiss.

“Your baby, huh?”

And that's how the agreement came to be — you were just as much of Luke's mom as Nat was, regardless of who'd birthed him, regardless of whose DNA he shared. You were the one who took care of Natalie all through her pregnancy, who held her hand during appointments, who drove late at night to get her scones from that 24-hour bakery two towns over when she woke up with cravings. You were the one who proposed about three months into the pregnancy, getting down on one knee not only because you loved her and wanted to be with her forever, but because getting married meant the adoption process would be infinitely easier and you'd do anything to get the parenting rights to your baby boy as fast as you could. You were the one who nearly had your fingers crushed while Nat gave birth, clutching your hand tightly in the delivery room, holding onto you like she needed to feel you there in order to go through with it.

You cut the cord, you held him first, you strapped him to the car seat so the three of you could drive home together for the first time. You painted the nursery, you put together that complicated crib Tai and Van got you and Nat as a gift. You bawled your eyes out the first time you saw him, so small, covered in blood and other fluids, knowing in that moment you’d never experienced a love as strong as this one. You were his mom. He was your son. Nothing would ever change that.

Sure, you felt scared sometimes — all the time, actually, but you never once regretted standing by Nat in her decision to keep him. Every parent felt scared. Every parent worried about being present enough, about teaching right from wrong, about working hard enough to put food on the table while still managing to spend quality time with their children. And you never thought you'd go through something like that — at least not unexpectedly, and definitely not until way further down the line. But how you saw it, Luke was always meant to be yours. The breakup, Travis, the four months apart while you lay awake wondering what Nat had been doing — it was all a necessary evil in order to make him get to you, in order to put that cute, smart, funny little boy in your life.

The three of you had about four good years before the beginning of the end.

There were some challenges — the boards, Nat's studio, spending most of your savings on a bigger house so Luke would grow up in a place with enough space for him to run around —, but nothing you couldn't manage. Until right after his fourth birthday. You were pushing thirty, right in the thick of residency, stretching yourself thin between eighty-hour weeks and a four-year-old and stepping up when Nat went to the studio because she needed to work too. Whatever little time you had to yourself was spent either studying or sleeping or taking care of the house, you were always tired, always running on empty no matter how hard you tried to be everywhere at once. There was always an edge you couldn't hold, a loose end you couldn't quite pull — with Nat getting the worst of it nearly every single time.

You were too busy to spend time alone with her, too tired to have sex, too stressed to think about things that weren't work or house or Luke-related. Little by little, you started to see her less. You started to talk about your obligations instead of everything. You did the one thing you promised you'd never do — you shrank, disappearing before Nat's eyes, not being the anchor you knew she needed. You didn't rise to the occasion, figuring you'd use whatever energy you had left to be the mom Luke deserved, forgetting your wife also needed someone on her corner.

Nat held out well at first. She gave you space, knowing you needed it. She worked extra hard to let you do your thing, to let you chase your dream, the one you were so close to finally getting. One more year, baby, you used to tell her, figuring it’d all go back to normal once you were done with your residency, but she was already starting to slip. You just hadn't caught it yet.

She was the one who brought up the word divorce for the first time, right before Luke turned five, after what was supposed to be an anniversary celebration turned into a screaming match when you didn't make it home by the time you promised you would. You'd stayed behind. Gone into the on-call room at the end of your shift just to wake the other resident so she'd pick up where you'd left off. So exhausted you somehow wound up passed out in one of the beds, phone dead, missing the first night in months you'd spend with your wife alone — Luke away in Van's house, table set with dinner Nat had left the studio early to make. The house spotless because she knew how much you appreciated coming home to everything clean. New lingerie underneath her clothes, a blue pair bought just for you, matching her eyes because you always told her how good she looked in that color.

You showed up at 2 AM, apologizing before you even finished closing the door, but the damage was done. Nat sat in the living room with a new dress on and a disappointed look on her face. You could tell she was trying to stay calm, to stay patient, but it didn't last. Soon, a complaint about your being late turned into you're never around anymore and you think I'm not here because I don't want to? and it's like you're not even fucking trying at this point. You were still tired, still not thinking straight, repeating the mistakes you'd once promised yourself you'd never make again. Speaking before even filtering what you were going to say. I just want some fucking support, you'd said, knowing how unfair it was when Nat had been such a good sport. And she didn't back down. She raised her voice in a way she never had, not even that first time, talking so fast you could barely make sense of any of the words spat out of her mouth.

You slept on the couch that night.

The divorce talk came the next morning, when you and Nat stood awkwardly in the kitchen, silent over the coffee you'd woken up extra early to make as a peace offering.

“I'm sorry I yelled,” she finally said after a long silence, quiet, low. “I shouldn't— I shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't have gotten so mad.”

“I fucked up, Nat. I should be the one apologizing.”

“No, Y/N, I just…” She took a deep breath. “There's no excuse. I shouldn't yell like that, I didn't even recognize myself, I was acting just like—” Natalie paused. She didn't have to say it, but you saw it in the way she lowered her head, in the way her eyes darkened. Like my father. “It's not right.”

“We're both tired. We're both under pressure,” you shook your head, still foolishly seeing a light at the end of the tunnel that you didn't know had begun to fade. “I know you didn't mean it.”

She swallowed.

“I did mean it,” she muttered, visibly embarrassed, staring at the table. “When I said it. I wanted to hurt you just like you hurt me. It shouldn't be like this. I shouldn't… feel like this.”

You grabbed her hand and she let you, which you naively took as a good sign.

“You're human, Nat. You’re allowed to feel things. It's okay.”

Nat stayed quiet for a long moment, her coffee still untouched, the bags under her eyes deep after what you could only assume had been a sleepless night.

“This can't happen again,” she finally said. “Especially with Luke around, I can't— I can't let him see me like that.”

You nodded.

“It won't, baby. We'd never let it. Just…” You took a deep breath, thumb running gently over the back of her hand. “Don't be so hard on yourself.”

You should have known better. Nat was quick to forgive you, to forgive Van, to forgive everyone she loved. But she was never good at sparing herself the same grace.

“I don't ever want him to see something like that. To see me speak to you like that,” she swallowed again. Paused for a moment. Her hand stiffened under yours. “Even if we have to— I don’t know, spend some time apart or something.”

You hardened immediately. That was not the direction you expected the conversation to take.

“Time apart?” You asked, incredulous, suddenly feeling like the ground had been pulled from underneath you. “You mean like…?”

“I'm not talking about a divorce,” the word landed like a punch in your ears. “Not yet. Just… if it doesn't get better.”

“Not yet?” You repeated, blindsided, the talk escalating to places you'd never even thought of just a minute earlier. “You mean there's a chance?”

Nat sighed, licking her lips, nervously chewing on the bottom one.

“I can't let him see me like that, Y/N. I can’t.”

You let out a nervous laugh, humorless, head growing dizzy with panic.

“What about me, Nat? Don't you— I mean—” You let out an exhale, choking on your words, desperate.

“I love you,” she murmured, more resigned than you wished she would have sounded. “That's why I'm saying this.”

Things never went back to normal after that.

You felt Nat slip away exponentially, careful, quiet. Like she'd started policing herself after that horrible fucking night. Like she believed she deserved to get punished — if not by your hands, by her own.

You tried for a while — you really did, doing whatever you could to get home earlier, holding her longer, making an effort to be present even on the nights when you just wanted to lie down and forget about the day you'd had. Initiating sex even though it didn't last as long as it used to, even though it didn't make you feel as connected to your wife as you once had. Telling her you loved her every chance you got, even when she didn't sound like she meant it when she said it back.

The problem was you knew she did. She just wasn't letting herself feel it, not when she thought she'd ruin it all if she simply stopped being careful.

You signed the divorce papers a few months before Luke turned six. You couldn't do it anymore, not when Nat was always miles away, fading right before your eyes. It was unsustainable. With your son getting older, smarter every day that went by, you worried he'd start to notice. And Nat was the one who took the initiative anyway, so there wasn't much you could've done to help it.

“I just…” You'd said, sitting across from her at the kitchen table, eyes hollow, set on the floor. “I want Luke. I mean, I— I want him to have us both. To share. I know I didn't birth him, but—”

“Y/N, you're his mom. Of course we’ll share. I'd never take him away from you.”

And now here Nat was, keeping her promise, smiling politely as you stepped into the passenger seat of her car. She'd made a point out of planning the whole trip, knowing how busy you were, telling you I've got it, leave it to me, I know a good place. As long as I don't have to sleep in a tent, you'd joked, so the fact that she was being so amazing about it wouldn't hurt as much.

“MOM!” Luke launched himself at your back, not intimidated by the headrest between his chest and the back of your head. “I missed you!”

Your heart broke a little like it did every time he said something like that.

“I missed you too, buddy,” you said, arms moving back to hold him back in the way you could. “You excited for this weekend?”

“SO EXCITED!” He squealed, bouncing back onto his seat. “I'm gonna sleep in a tent! We're gonna play explorer and I'll make a fire as big as a house and I'm gonna take pictures of all the bugs we find so I can show Emma—”

He rambled on, excited, stumbling over words like he was too hyper to finish his sentences. You simply chuckled, letting him get it all out, knowing the gentle rocking of the car would have him passed out in just a few minutes.

Said and done, he was out cold before Nat even swerved into the highway. She let out a chuckle, soft, looking at him through the rear view mirror for just a second before focusing back on the road.

“Every single time,” she muttered fondly.

You let the silence stretch for a second, staring out your window so you wouldn't have to think about how close Nat sat, how beautiful she looked while driving, how sweet she'd been to offer to pick you up at your house.

“So,” you talked, knowing you'd go crazy if you were alone with your thoughts for too long, “what's that Luke said about sleeping in a tent…?”

She chuckled.

“He saw me packing it this morning. Kept talking about how cool it's gonna be.”

“I thought we'd settled on no tents.”

Nat laughed, easy, calm, making you wonder how she managed to handle everything so well.

“Don't worry. You're gonna like it.”

“Nat,” you said, daring to look at her, serious. “Don’t tell me you didn't rent an RV.”

That fucking smile didn't leave her lips.

“Let's just say I took some creative liberties,” she teased. “It's Luke's birthday after all. He gets what he wants, right?”

“You didn't.”

She let out a snort, clearly amused.

“Just… hang on. You'll see it when we get there.”

“Natalie.”

“I’m serious,” she insisted again. “Don’t knock it yet. Not until you see it.”

“There better be an RV waiting when we get there.”

“…You’ll see, Y/N.”

You shook your head, resigned, not knowing what to expect when she acted this secretive. Of course, the prospect of sleeping in a tent was not appealing, but the cold or the hard floors or the lack of a real roof weren’t what fazed you. It was the fact that you hadn’t brought one. You didn’t think you had to. If what Luke said was right, if you were all going to sleep in a tent, you’d have to share. The idea of being in a cramped up RV with Nat for two days was already more than you thought you could handle, but if you had to share a fucking tent — no walls, not a drop of privacy, nowhere to hide — you actually might not survive the weekend at all.

“Hey,” she broke the silence again after a few minutes, “you mind turning on some music?”

You held back a relieved sigh, because yes, some music would actually be perfect to fill the loud silence that had settled itself in the car at this point — the one that always came when you spent too long with Nat.

“Yeah, of course.”

“Just— here,” Nat stuck her hand in her back pocket, pulling out her phone and handing it to you. “Passcode is Luke’s birthday. Pick whatever you wanna listen to.”

You would've known the passcode even if she hadn't told you, but you didn't mention it. It was the same from when you were still together, the same she'd used for nearly eight years now, the same you'd type every time she handed you the phone and let you take care of the music while she drove.

You also didn't say anything about the photo on her home screen — Luke, around four or five, blue gloves on as he sat on Nat's chair at the studio and pretended to give her a tattoo with a washable marker. You'd taken it. It was one of the rare occasions during that hellish year when the three of you had been together and you'd both been fully present — an innocent trip to the park that had ended in Nat having to swing by work on the way home, and one thing led to another. Luke kept wandering around, the shop still pretty much limited to a small reception area and two stations for Nat and Van, and he was in awe. Kept asking to do what mama did, to sit on mama's chair, for mama to let him give her a tattoo. Nat said yes, because that's what she did. And you took the picture when neither of them was looking.

You remembered foolishly thinking we're gonna make it through this when you went to bed that night, but it was all just a distant memory now. A picture on a phone. You weren't even sure Nat remembered the context behind it.

You scrolled through her music app, trying to find a safe playlist — no love or breakup songs, no songs you used to listen to on the floor of her shop back when the whole place consisted basically of a chair and a prayer, no songs you'd both sing along to in the car with the windows down in another lifetime. You ended up settling for an old 2000s collection with lyrics marketable enough for you to be able to breathe through.

When you were about to place Nat's phone on the center console, it buzzed with a notification. Your eyes drifted involuntarily to the top of the screen — a name, a woman's name, someone named Lucy who apparently really wanted to know how she was doing.

You swallowed it, locking the screen, not mentioning what you'd seen. For all you knew, it could be anybody — a friend whose name had somehow never come up, a client, a fucking real estate agent who still had her number saved or some other doctor following up on a consult or whatever, whoever, it didn't necessarily mean it was romantic. And even if it was, you'd agreed to the divorce. You'd been apart for two years. Nat was young, she was gorgeous, she had needs. She had a right to try and be happy. It wasn't your place to meddle anymore.

You cleared your throat, staring out the window. It was probably nothing anyway.

Thankfully, the drive to whatever place Nat was taking you and Luke wasn't much longer than an hour, and eventually she pulled by a dark wooden gate that led to a large dirt road surrounded by neatly trimmed grass. You couldn't see much further ahead, but it looked nice — well-kept, the sight of trees in the distance, the faint sound of running water coming from somewhere down behind the central pathway.

“We're here,” Nat said, a little smile on her face, eyes drifting to Luke still asleep in the rear view mirror again. “He's gonna lose his shit when he wakes up.”

You looked around, unable to get much of a sense of the place while Nat stepped out of the car to handle the gate.

“What is this place?” You asked, curious, still concerned about the rooming situation.

Nat simply chuckled as she hopped back in.

“Be patient. You'll see.”

Luke shifted slightly in his sleep, and Natalie tapped her fingers on the wheel eagerly, periodically glancing at him with that little dimple popping on her cheek like she might be more excited than the kid about the weekend ahead.

For his sake, of course. Always for his sake. She was nothing but a mother looking forward to giving her son a birthday to remember, it had nothing to do with you, it was all for Luke.

You took a deep breath, pretending not to notice the way she licked her lips or how the morning light snuck through the car window and caught her dark hair.