#kyfbau

She’s used to this part. The moment between waking and remembering. That short, dumb window where she forgets who she is. And then it crashes in.

OD. Rehab. Yelena. The kids.

Their voices don’t scream anymore. But they echo.

She rolls over and stares at the window. The sky outside is the color of chewed-up Tums. Rain or fog. Either way, it fits.

She gets up.

She knows the rhythm now. Make the bed. Morning vitals. Breakfast. Group. Chores. Individual. Yoga. Journaling. Dinner. More group. Reflection.

She knows when the coffee runs out. Which bathroom has a lock that sticks. Which showers screech past lukewarm. Which corner of the courtyard catches sunlight first.

She’s still new. But not the newest. The freshly admitted look worse than she does now.

There’s a girl from Boston who won’t take off her hoodie. A fifty-something insurance guy who pissed himself mid-share. A trans kid from Maine who hasn’t spoken in five days but stares like every word could kill or save them.

Kate doesn’t look like them anymore. That doesn’t comfort her. It makes her feel like a fraud.

—

Thirty-two days.

There’s a smell in the hallway. Faint. Metallic. Buried under pine-scented disinfectant. The floor is quiet, doors closed, lights dimmed low enough that the exit signs scream red.

Kate walks barefoot to the nurse’s station. Hoodie zipped to her throat. Socks thinning at the heel.

“I can’t sleep. Give me something,” she mutters.

The nurse…older, gray roots, permanent scowl…doesn’t react. Only taps at her computer.

“You have nothing prescribed.”

“Yeah, well, I clearly need something.”

“Try hot tea.”

“I don’t want tea.”

“Music. Pacing. Journaling.” A pause. They study each other. “I’ll check on you in twenty.”

Kate spins on her heel. Marches back to her room.

She doesn’t journal. Doesn’t sob. Just sits at the foot of the bed and presses her palms to her eyes until the sparks come. Until the pressure behind them blooms.

There’s an itch under her skin. Not craving. Worse. The absence of it. That terrifying lucidity that arrives once you no longer want to die…but still have no idea how to live.

This is sobriety now. The part no one warns you about.

—

Thirty-three days.

Oatmeal again. Sometimes they toss in raisins. Not today.

Kate waits until the group clears out. Until the criers are gone. Until the loud ones are halfway down the hall. Then she takes three sluggish bites. Chews like penance. Swallows like something might shatter open.

Some of the newer ones try to sit with her. She’s not “fresh meat” anymore. She’s cleared for twenty extra minutes of outdoor time. That’s a sign of status to them. Progress.

She doesn’t talk. Not to be cruel. Just…she has nothing to give. No wisdom. No “it gets easier” lie.

It doesn’t. You just get better at living inside the pain.

—

Thirty-four days.

They’re in what used to be a chapel. The cross is long gone. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead. A whiteboard tracks “graduations” in color-coded Expo marker.

The newest arrivals sit close. Detox sweat clinging. Hands jittering. Kate doesn’t look at them too long. Can’t.

“Check-in, Kate?” the group therapist asks.

She shrugs. “Fine.”

“Appetite?”

“Better.”

“Are you sleeping?”

Kate nods. Then: “I dreamt I was drowning in a car. My kids were in the backseat. Woke up before they died. Does that count as better?”

Stillness. Then someone chuckles. The therapist scribbles something on her pad.

—

Thirty-five days.

Today’s therapist is Renner. Mid-forties, maybe. Soft-spoken but not soft. Wears plain sweaters and black loafers. No jewelry. No tells. Kate hates that she can’t read her.

“You’re making progress. It’s time to start looking ahead. Not just at what brought you in but what you want, out there…What do you want, Kate?”

Kate thinks. Then mumbles, halfhearted.

“My kids. I hope they trust me again.”

“That’s a hope. Not a want.”

Kate stares out the window. There’s a fingerprint on the glass she’s memorized.

“I want to be better.”

“Better than what?”

“Better than my fucking junkie brother…Better than me.”

“Is he who you’re angry at?”

Kate shrugs. She’s noticed she does that a lot now. She used to be so sure of herself. Now she knows very little.

She fidgets with the frayed cuff of her hoodie. It gives her something to hold on to.

“Recovery doesn’t just dig up the past,” Renner says. “It unearths new things too. Especially when we stop dissociating.”

Kate doesn’t answer.

“You look like you’re thinking.”

“I’m thinking I liked you better when you only asked questions I could answer.”

Renner smiles. “That means we’re getting somewhere.”

Kate rolls her eyes.

On the way out, Kate signs up for an extra group: Identity + Rebuilding. Not because she wants to. Just because it’s one more hour she won’t be alone with her thoughts.

When she walks in, there’s a question on the board: “Who are you, without your worst mistake?”

One woman says she used to be a musician. Then sings off-key. Everyone claps. Kate claps too. That’s enough to keep the therapist from calling on her. She never speaks.

That night, she lies in bed thinking about the question. Tells herself she’ll write something tomorrow. She doesn’t.

—

Thirty-six days.

The whiteboard at the nurse’s station says: FAMILY VISITATION WEEK. Bubble letters. Hearts. Pink marker.

After lunch, a scrawled sticky note shows up on her door: “Individual – 2:15pm. Office C.”

Kate almost skips. She’s still on probation for ducking out of art therapy two days ago. Claimed she was too tired to draw metaphors with pastels.

She defiantly shows up at 2:16. The door’s already open. Renner again. Same cardigan.

“How’s your week?”

“Not as awful as the first one. So…fun.” Renner waits. “Family Day’s coming up.”

“I know.”

“Anyone you’d like us to invite?”

Kate picks at the lint balls on her sweatpants.

“Yelena. And the kids.”

“Anyone else?”

“No. I think.”

“If they’re not ready, that’s not a reflection on your progress.”

“Sure.”

“I’ll put in the request. If they’re open to it, we’ll work on setting expectations ahead of time.”

That sticks. If. Her own fucking kids are people she now needs to qualify for.

“I don’t think she’ll let them come.”

“Your wife?”

The word stings. Kate corrects her. Bitter.

“Ex-wife.”

“Right. I’m sorry.” A pause. “Do you want her to come?”

“Of course.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

“Then I try not to take it personal.”

“Will that be easy?”

“No.”

“What would you say to them?”

“I don’t know.”

Renner nods.

“Let’s zoom out.”

“That wasn’t zoomed out?”

“We’ve talked about Kate the mother. The partner. The addict. Who’s left?”

Kate laughs. “You tell me.”

“I can’t. That’s the work.”

“I don’t know.”

“Try anyway.”

Kate crosses her arms. Sits with it. The silence stretches nearly ten minutes. That’s the thing Kate hates about Renner. She won’t fill it. She’ll let you drown in it. And Kate always breaks first.

“I want to be someone I don’t have to apologize for.” A pause. “No. Wait. Scratch that.” She curls in tighter. “I want to be someone I wouldn’t hide from.”

Renner softens. “We can get you there.”

Kate doesn’t cry. Not yet. Later, she sits in the laundry room for twenty-three minutes and listens to someone else’s dryer hum like a heartbeat.

—

Thirty-seven days.

That night in group, the topic is accountability.

“Name someone you hurt. Say what you’d tell them.”

Kate’s turn.

“Can’t think of anyone,” she says flatly.

No one pushes. That’s the rule. Still, she feels their eyes. She wonders if any of them have kids.

Kate doesn’t sleep. But she doesn’t get up either. Just lies there. Replaying her own words from the day before. Renner’s office. That sentence she meant. Deeply. It shook something loose. Something real. Harsh. Optimistic. Dreadful. But honest.

She still doesn’t know who that person is…the version of herself she’s trying to become. But she wants to meet her. That has to count for something.

—

Thirty-eight days.

Kate doesn’t ask about Family Day during morning group. Doesn’t bring it up in her individual session with the pushy bald guy and his sad little mustache. She doesn’t want to seem desperate. She is. But she doesn’t want to seem it.

The “jogging track” is just a looping path around a dead meditation garden, ending at a chain-link fence choked in bougainvillea. She does eight laps. On the eighth, she kicks a loose stone down the path and says out loud:

“They’re not coming.”

Then she walks.

The rest of the day is static. Food tastes like paper. Group is white noise. She wants to ask if anyone else knows the hollow thunk of no longer being anybody’s priority. But she doesn’t. She’s tired of hearing herself talk. So she listens instead. Lets everyone else lie about how much hope they’ve found.

That night, she can’t sleep again. They don’t lock her door anymore. So she wanders. Barefoot, sweater on, eyes burning.

She ends up by the vending machines.

Paul, the overnight nurse, stands nearby. Clipboard. Thermos. Always the same. He raises an eyebrow. Says nothing.

Paul’s seen her at her worst. Puking into buckets. Soaked in sweat. Sobbing without sound. He’s the only person she doesn’t bother pretending for. She’s got no dignity left to protect in front of him. No performance required.

“They’re not coming,” she says.

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

Paul doesn’t argue. Just sits beside her on the floor. Legs stretched out. Offers her half a banana.

They don’t speak again the rest of the night.

—

Thirty-nine days.

A Sunday. The kind that used to mean pancakes, cartoons, lazy morning sex. The kind she used to look forward to. She finds herself looking forward to this one again.

Kate wakes before the sun even considers rising.

She showers. For real. Washes her hair. Brushes her teeth until her gums ache…three times. Her hair’s still damp when she pulls on a “real” shirt. Not regulation gray. A soft, wrinkled blue that matches her eyes. It still smells faintly of that lemon detergent Yelena loves. The collar feels foreign. She hasn’t worn one in over a month. But the charge nurse said it was allowed today. Special occasion. Family Day.

Kate double-checked it was okay. Twice.

Yelena will notice. Not quite Katherine effort, but close enough. It’s all Kate’s got. And she thinks Yelena will appreciate it. She wants that to mean something.

Before she leaves the room, she sits on the edge of the mattress and breathes. Hands flat on her thighs. Her name still scrawled in Sharpie on the laminated schedule by her bed. Her journal, blank for three days, sits untouched on the pillow. She doesn’t bring it.

The courtyard’s been transformed into something pretending to be festive.

Folding tables. Streamers. A crooked paper banner: “WELCOME LOVED ONES!” Bubble letters. A lemonade stand. Like this is a school fundraiser, not a trauma ward. There’s even a makeshift photo booth, complete with a Polaroid camera and a stack of props no one uses.

The nurse with glitter polish baked treats.

Kate doesn’t touch them. She stands off to the side near the lavender bushes, scanning the entrance.

Every sound tightens her gut. The rumble of stroller wheels. A laugh that sounds enough like Alexia’s to sting. Footsteps. None of them stop for her. Her jaw clenches. Unclenches. She keeps checking her breath against her palm.

The first arrivals come in waves.

A weepy couple in windbreakers. A teenage girl with blue hair who sprints into her mother’s arms. A dad with twin toddlers who lose their minds over the cookies. Someone’s little brother in a clip-on tie.

Kate stays standing. Doesn’t know where to sit. Doesn’t want to. Sitting means stillness, and she’s not built for stillness today.

Then she sees her.

Across the courtyard. Walking with purpose. With poise. In shoes Kate doesn’t recognize. She hates that Yelena now owns things she doesn’t know the story behind.

She’s in yellow. Not soft yellow. Warning yellow. A dress that fits in all the places Kate’s hands used to. The new shoes give her a lot of extra height, make her legs look more statuesque. The dress matches her golden hair, which is longer. So much longer than Kate remembers it. Kate’s always thought Yelena looked sexiest with long hair. Seeing her like this twists something deep and slow in her gut.

Her mane is half-pulled back, a delicate bow tying the top half. Sunglasses hide her green eyes. Kate wishes they didn’t. She wants to see them. Needs to.

Kate notices everything about Yelena. She also notices what’s missing. No diaper bag. No baby on her hip. No tiny hands clinging to her skirt.

Kate’s stomach caves in.

Then she sees Susan. Half a step behind Yelena. Still pregnant. Really pregnant. Like any-day-now pregnant. Her jacket won’t close. She waddles, one hand cradling her lower back like she’s carrying fire. She waves.

No kids attached to her either.

Kate’s feet move before her brain does. She walks over, smile plastered on like a fragile mask. They meet under the blue canopy.

Susan speaks first.

“You somehow look worse than when you were half dead.” There’s humor in it, but it wobbles. Not cruel. Just Suze’s brand of rusty love.

Kate smirks.

“That’s just how my face looks.”

Susan snorts. “Then I take offense to anyone who ever said we look alike.”

“You don’t look so hot yourself.”

Susan gestures at the belly.

“I’m cooking a human. What’s your excuse?”

Kate opens her mouth. Closes it. Shrugs. Susan softens. Steps forward. They hug. Not long. Not dramatic. But real. Kate doesn’t betray how much she needed it. When they separate, Kate turns to Yelena.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

That’s all.

Kate scans the space beside her. Still empty.

“Did something happen?”

“No. No. They’re fine,” Yelena says, quick to reassure. “Max had a birthday party. We RSVP’d weeks ago. He’s been excited all month. Alex started piano…Saturday and Sunday classes now. And Son…” Kate stays silent. “I thought about bringing her. Almost did. But it didn’t feel fair. Not to the others. Not to you. I didn’t want this to be a half-measure.” Kate nods slowly. Her throat feels raw. “We’re meeting with your care team this week. After that…depending what they say…maybe we can plan it properly.”

Kate nods again. Even as her chest hollows.

“Okay.” It comes out gravel. She doesn’t trust her voice, so she doesn’t use it again for a while.

They sit under the green canopy. Paper cups. Lemonade. A guitarist sings something soft and tuneless. No one claps.

Susan breaks the silence.

“So. How’s it going?”

Kate clears her throat. Shifts.

“I’m off the meds. Done with detox protocol. Fully clean now.”

“That’s really great. Truly.”

Kate avoids her eyes.

“You’re due soon, right?”

“Eight days.”

“Wow. Shit.”

“Yeah.” Susan tries to smile. It falters. Her hand rubs her belly. “I hate that you won’t be there.”

Yelena stiffens. Shoots her a glare. Susan winces. She definitely off script.

“But I’m glad you’re here. I am. This is where you need to be,” Susan adds quickly. Like she practiced it. “It’s what’s best right now.”

Kate nods. Doesn’t believe it.

The rest of the visit is bullshit. Weather. Food. A stupid bird dive-bombing the flowerpots. Yelena shows Kate a video of Alexia playing piano. Kate watches it twice. When she feels herself about to cry, she doesn’t ask to see it again.

Yelena doesn’t say much. Her voice is softer. Her demeanor, dimmer. Kate can’t tell if it’s restraint or exhaustion.

Eventually, the volunteer claps: “Five-minute warning!”

Susan groans. Stands. “Baby’s on my bladder. I gotta pee before the ride back.”

Kate stands too. Susan hugs her. This one tighter.

“Let me know when it happens, okay? Have someone call in. I want to know.”

“I will.”

They stay like that for a beat.

“I’m sorry…That I won’t be there. I’m really sorry,” Kate says, hushed.

“I know,” Susan whispers. “Next time.”

Kate raises a brow. “You planning to get knocked up again?”

“What? You two don’t get to be the only ones responsible for human continuity.”

Kate and Yelena share a look. Soft chuckle.

“Knowing you had sex once was traumatic enough,” Kate adds, mock disgust in her voice.

“I have lots of sex. Insane amounts.”

“Gross.”

“Even the neighbors complain. Guess I take after you in all the ways.”

Kate shoots Yelena a “what the fuck have you told my sister” look. Yelena bites back a smirk.

“That’s enough family bonding. You can leave now.”

They smile at each other. Susan kisses Kate’s cheek. Steals one last hug.

“Thank you for not dying.”

“Yeah. Working on it.”

Without another word, Susan waddles off toward the restroom, hand on her back like she’s balancing the world.

Kate turns to Yelena. Doesn’t speak.

After a beat, Yelena steps in. Wraps her arms around her. Holds her tight. Then looser. Like something precious, but fragile.

“You’re missed. And loved. Don’t forget that.”

Kate pulls back. Studies her face. Wants to ask, By who? But doesn’t.

Yelena doesn’t clarify. Doesn’t say the kids. Doesn’t say I. Just: missed. Loved.

Kate nods.

“Thank you for coming.”

Yelena nods back.

No kiss. No tears. No promises.

Yelena squeezes Kate’s forearm. Then turns and walks away. No glance back. Kate would never admit she hoped for one.

She stands in the courtyard. The music fades. The lemonade’s warm. The banner droops.

Minutes later, she watches them exit the building. Susan’s hand on Yelena’s elbow. Yelena’s jaw set. They shrink. Then disappear.

Kate is the last one left in the courtyard.

She doesn’t break right away.

She goes to her room. Folds laundry that’s already folded. Puts it in a drawer. Takes it out. Refolds. Wipes down the sink. Rearranges her toiletries like someone’s coming to inspect them.

Then she goes to group. Sits in the back. Silent. Staring at her hands like they belong to someone else. Like they’re waiting to betray her.

That night, she doesn’t eat. Not dinner. Not anything.

She’s hungry. But not for food. She’s craving something and it’s violent. A drink. A line. A stranger’s body. Something to drown in. Something to disappear inside. It thrums like electricity. Turns her skin inside out. She wants to claw away from herself.

She paces the halls. Past the nurses’ station. Once. Twice. Third time, she hears Paul’s voice before she sees him.

“You need something, Bishop?”

Kate opens her mouth. Closes it. Her jaw clicks.

“I want to get the fuck out of here.”

She storms off. Back to her room.

But she doesn’t stay. Can’t sit. Her hands shake. Her skin itches. Legs won’t stop. She paces. Breath short. Pain blooming.

A knock. Paul, leaning on the frame. Snake tattoo curled around his forearm like it’s watching her too.

“You okay?”

“Fine.”

“You sure?” Silence. “You know what I call the forty-to-sixty day stretch?” Nothing. “The kill zone.” She finally looks at him. “You’re not new anymore. So you think you should be better. But you’re not done yet. So you panic.” She resumes pacing. “I’ve seen more people walk out during the kill zone than any other time. Think they’ve got it. They don’t. Then they crash. Hard.”

“I’m not one of those losers. I just don’t want to fucking be here.” Kate barks. Voice gravel. Dangerous.

She pushes past him. Down the hall. Paul doesn’t stop her. Just follows.

She finds the clipboard. The AMA sign-out. No hesitation. Pen in hand.

“I’m assuming you got transport lined up,” Paul says, tone even.

“I’m not asking for permission.”

“Didn’t say you were.”

The form blurs. Her chest caves.

“I’m not gonna stop you. Not my job. But I’ve seen this shit. You hit the wall. Everything starts hurting worse than you thought. That’s when people run.” Kate stares at the form. Doesn’t move. “You’re not special. But you’re not broken.” Silence. “You want me to call a cab?” Nothing. “Or ping whoever’s on duty before you do something stupid?”

Still nothing. The pen trembles. A needle with no fix.

“You don’t want to be here. But you still are. That means something.”

Kate’s airway locks. She lets the clipboard fall to the counter with a flat slap. Storms down the hall.

Back in her room, she slams the door. Stares in the mirror. Doesn’t cry. Just stands in the silence. Her reflection split by the cabinet’s edge.

—

Forty days.

Kate makes her bed. Tighter than usual. Military tight.

She skips breakfast again. Not out of spite. Not punishment. Just…swallowing feels impossible today.

Outside, the sky’s a dull bruise. Windless. The paved loop circling the yard sits empty.

She walks it. Fifteen full laps. No headphones. No footsteps to match. Just breath. Rocks. The dull throb of her own limbs.

When she’s done, she parks herself on the bench near the bougainvillea. Same one as yesterday. Same spindly bush. Same useless flowers. She stays motionless. Not even a twitch.

That’s where Renner finds her.

“You didn’t come to group,” Renner points out gently.

Kate shrugs. Doesn’t look over. Renner gives it a beat.

“Can I sit?”

Kate nods. They settle into silence.

The wind stirs. A single bougainvillea petal lands on Kate’s shoe. She doesn’t brush it off.

“I’m not gonna ask how you’re feeling.”

Kate lets out a dry, scraping laugh.

“Thank fuck. I’m sick of that one.”

Renner chuckles too. Just a little.

“And I won’t tell you to visualize your best self. Or manifest joy. Or whatever Diaz is peddling this week.”

Kate snorts. “He’s got that shit off a cereal box. I guarantee it.”

Renner leans in, voice low.

“Probably. But I do have one question. If you’re open.”

Kate groans and leans back, eyes closed.

“Jesus. Whatever. Just get it over with.”

“Who are you outside of this? Not Kate the mom. Or the ex-wife. Not the business owner. The daughter. Sister. Or…” Renner quotes her directly. “Kate the fuck-up.” Silence. “Just Kate. You. Who’s that?”

Kate stares at the sidewalk. At the petal on her shoe. At the shoe itself. Her whole body feels heavy with that question.

Kate stares at the path. The edge of her sneaker. The petal still clinging to it.

“You figure that out…and we can get you out of here sooner than you think.”

Renner stands. Doesn’t wait for a reply. Leaves Kate alone with her question. And the silence.

—

Forty-one days.

Kate doesn’t get up right away. Stares at the ceiling until the spackling becomes a map. Traces continents in plaster. Imagines sailing off the edge of one.

She only moves when someone retches in the hallway. A brutal reminder. Of where she is. Of why she’s here.

She sits up. Makes her bed. Showers. Forces oatmeal down at breakfast. There’s raisins in it today.

In group, someone talks about their mother dying while they were high. Kate grinds her molars until her jaw aches. Says nothing.

During rec, she plays ping pong with the girl who used to dance. Her hands still shake holding the paddle. Kate lets her win.

After lights out, Kate lies on her back and counts ceiling tiles. Eighty-six. She does it twice to be sure.

—

Forty-two days.

In “creative expression,” someone draws their childhood bedroom.

Kate doesn’t draw at first. Just presses the pen into the paper until the tip bursts, leaving an ink bruise.

Eventually, without meaning to, her hand starts to move. She doesn’t realize it until there’s already shapes. Lines. Forms.

It’s rough. Kate’s good at a lot of things. Drawing isn’t one of them. But she knows exactly what it is.

But she knows what it is immediately. Her college bedroom. The apartment she and Yelena shared that summer after graduation. Before Boston. Before the beginning of the end.

She adores her kids. Of course she does. But this? That place? That time? Those days. Those nights. The sex. The way Yelena could drag sounds out of her she didn’t know she could make. That was the last moment she remembers being whole. Not broken. Not fighting off some unseen rot. No shame. Just her. Just love. Freedom. And Yelena. God, Yelena. The woman she loved more than anything. The way she touched her back then. The way Kate used to make her laugh. The wide open future that felt tangible. They could’ve had everything. They almost did.

If Yelena had just stayed. All she had to do was fucking stay. Kate doesn’t understand why that was so impossible.

Kate didn’t realize she was still angry. That she was angry at all.

She stares at the page. Crumples it. And with it, everything those two girls could’ve become. Kate isn’t sure about much these days. But she’s suddenly, absolutely certain: She’d never fucking be here if Yelena had turned Harvard down.

When group ends, Kate tosses the paper in the trash like she’s killing a version of herself. And maybe she is.

That night, Paul catches her stealing graham crackers from the kitchen. She pretends not to be embarrassed. He nods solemnly.

“You gonna trade those on the black market?” he deadpans.

“No one in here has the goods I’d ask for,” Kate deadpans.

He snorts. Leaves her to also steal the milk carton.

She eats alone on the floor of her room. Still tastes like cardboard. But this time, it’s her choice.

—

Forty-three days.

Kate dreams about vodka. Not drinking it. Just pouring. That sound. The glug-glug-glug. Her hands steady. Her throat dry.

She wakes soaked in sweat.

Races through her routine. Needs motion. Needs out. Runs laps until her calves burn.

Later, her therapist asks if she’s angry.

“Of course I’m angry.”

“Why?”

She shrugs. Then: “I don’t know… no, I do actually…Because people leave. They fucking leave. And I could do everything right, beg them, fix them, fix myself…and it doesn’t matter. They choose other shit. Every time. And I’m so fucking tired of not being picked.” Her voice gets low. Flat. “I’m better than heroin. I’m better than Harvard. I’m better than tea and rummy or sex with the nineteen-year-old intern. I deserved to be chosen. For fucking once. I deserve that.”

The therapist nods.

“That’s honest.”

“No,” Kate mutters. “That’s just obvious.”

—

Forty-four days.

They let Kate check her email now. Supervised. But it counts.

She opens one from Yelena. Photos. Updates. Videos.

One picture sticks: Max in a dinosaur hoodie, mid-roar. Goofy. Loud. Bright-eyed.

Something about that one hits hard. The Bishop genes remain undefeated because the boy seems to look more like her every day. And she looks just like DJ. Which means Max looks identical to her brother. Before the world fucked him. Before he vanished inside himself. Before things went dark. Before the lights behind his eyes snuffed out. And something in Kate withers.

Kate turns to the nurse hovering over her shoulder. Asks to print it. The nurse nods.

Kate stares at the photo printed on white office paper for half an hour before tucking it into her journal.

Later, in group, they learn someone who left last week has already relapsed. Came back in on med hold. OD. Barely made it.

It shakes the room. Everyone goes quiet.

Kate crushes her paper cup so tight it nearly disintegrates. She doesn’t realize she’s crying until the wet hits her shirt.

No one says anything. They don’t have to.

—

Forty-five days.

Kate can’t stop staring at the fourth chair from the left.

Where Dani always sat. Leg always tucked. Black polish always chipped. Always doodling bad tattoos on notebook margins during group. Voice like a crow from years of chain smoking. Loud. Crass. Real.

Ninety days. Dani had made it ninety fucking days.

On her last morning, she’d beamed. Said she was ready. Said she felt like she’d survived something. She hugged everyone. Promised to write. Kate believed her. Everyone did. Because Dani was laughing like she remembered how. Because she looked like someone on the other side of it.

And now she’s back in here. Back to square one.

"OD. Cardiac arrest. Paramedics had to shock her twice."

Kate overhears the nurses whispering during lunch. The words drop into her like a bomb. Her fork clatters against the tray. Her hand’s trembling so badly she can’t grip it. She bites down on the inside of her cheek until she tastes metal.

Because Dani was doing the work. She was getting better. She was what hope looked like. And now it’s all fucked again.

Kate walks out of the mess hall without permission. No explanation. Just leaves.

Outside, the sky’s gunmetal gray. Frigid. Still.

Kate sits under the bougainvillea tree and rips off flower after flower until the branch is bare and her fingers are stained.

She wants to scream. Break something. Vomit. Doesn’t.

Instead she just whispers, “Fuck.”

And then again. And again. And again. Until it doesn’t sound like a word anymore.

That night, she doesn’t eat. Doesn’t change. Doesn’t brush her teeth. Doesn’t speak.

She’s dropped more weight this week than in all the previous weeks of her stay combined.

She lies in bed, curled toward the wall, shivering in clothes that don’t fit anymore, staring at the ceiling like it owes her an apology. For the first time since arriving, Kate wonders if she’s going to survive this. Really survive it. Not just stay alive.

And a part of her, the dejected and cruel one, almost hopes she won’t.

—

Forty-six days.

Visitation Day. Again.

Kate isn’t expecting anyone. It’s midweek. Yelena wouldn’t skip work. Wouldn’t pull the kids out of school for this. She’s so sure no one’s coming, she doesn’t even bother with real clothes. Just a worn hoodie and sweats with a hole at the thigh.

Then the intercom crackles: “Kate Bishop. You have a visitor.”

She freezes. Walks to the front desk like someone stepping into traffic.

It’s Alexei. Puffy coat, solemn eyes.

“Didn’t know you were coming,” she says.

“I did not tell,” he replies. Then, quieter: “I just need to see you still really here. Myself.”

They sit at one of the outdoor picnic tables. It’s getting colder. But neither mentions it.

“You look like shit,” he says.

“So I’ve heard.”

“Means you do the work.”

They settle into silence. Until Alexei starts talking. About everything.

How Max is now obsessed with birds. How Alexia scored a goal last weekend in rec league. How the Knicks are absolute garbage this season but he’s still watching. How Sonny’s starting to form full sentences. How she finally figured out how to say “duck” but it comes out as…something entirely different and much less appropriate. And Yelena, despite herself, finds it hilarious.

Kate listens. Drinks it in like oxygen.

They don’t talk about forgiveness. Or blame. Or grace. Just life. The life still unfolding without her.

Then, after a long pause, Alexei says:

“Yelena does not know what she wants.” Kate stiffens. But he keeps going. “Does not mean you are not wanted. That is not same thing.”

Kate isn’t sure how to answer that, but before she can slide deeper into this rabbit hole, Alexei adds something else.

“See tell me to tell you hello. Yelena. She say hi.”

Kate looks away. She doesn’t trust her face won’t betray her.

When Alexei leaves some minutes later, they don’t hug. But he pats her shoulder. Kate will count that as progress.

—

Forty-seven days.

The photo of Max vanishes from her journal.

Kate tears the room apart. Yanks the mattress off the frame. Empties drawers. Hurls her journal against the wall. Journal hurled across the floor. Her pulse skitters. Electric. She finally finds it, bent and curled, wedged between the bed and the wall.

She cries with relief. Then punches the wall. Not hard enough to break it. Just enough to leave a dent. A reminder. A mark.

Later, she apologizes. To the drywall. Like it’s just another person she’s let down.

—

Forty-eight days.

Diaz tries another guided meditation. This one’s about opening a door to your future self.

Kate lasts six minutes. Then she bolts. Straight into the yard. Screams into the wind. No words. Just a raw, wordless eruption. Fury. Grief. Something deeper than both.

She skips lunch. Runs circles around the path like she can outpace her own shadow.

Renner finds her collapsed on the grass. Hair soaked. Chest heaving. Animal breathing.

She hands Kate a sandwich. Still warm. Wrapped in a napkin.

“Good vocal work earlier.”

Kate laughs so hard she hiccups. Then eats the sandwich.

—

Forty-nine days.

Kate writes a letter.

“Dear Yelena: Fuck you.

Dear Suze: Name it after me. Middle name’s fine. Kate works for all genders.

Dear kids: Don’t be like me.”

She folds the paper once. Then again. And again. Tighter. Smaller. Until it’s just a hard little shard between her fingers.

She tosses it into the fire pit. Watches it burn. She doesn’t leave until every ember dies.

—

Fifty days.

They grant her a new privilege: one phone call, once a day, right before lights-out. Ten-minute limit.

Kate dials the house. Her hands shake. Her heart’s a drumbeat in her throat.

Alexia answers. Breathless. Tiny voice.

“Hello?”

Kate forgets how to breathe.

“Hi, baby. It’s Mommy.”

A long pause. Then, tentative:

“Hi, Mommy.”

Kate’s eyes sting. She swipes at them with the heel of her palm.

“Oh my god, I’ve missed you so much.”

Another pause. Softer: “I miss you too.”

They sit in it. The silence. The awkward. Until Kate glances at the ticking timer. Her voice rushes out.

“What’ve you been up to, huh?”

“Mama bought me a piano.”

“She mentioned that. That must be so loud.”

“Max is louder.”

“NO I’M NOT! …Who are you talking to?”

Alexia ignores him. Keeps going.

“I go to lessons. I mess up a lot, but Mrs. Chen says if I keep practicing I get better.”

Kate smiles. “She’s right. But I bet you already sound amazing.”

“Yeah. That’s what Suzu also said. The baby’s still in her belly. I think it’s a girl.”

“You do?”

“Mhm. Max is mad I think it’s a girl. He wants a boy. But I dreamed it. And dreams mean stuff.”

“They do.”

There’s rustling. Shouting. A muffled scuffle. Then Max, closer now:

“SONNY! NO! Gimme! It’s my turn!”

Alexia carries on, like it’s nothing: “Max got in trouble at recess today. He said a bad word when Tommy cheated.”

“I didn’t say a bad word!” Max yells. “WHO ARE YOU TELLING LIES TO?!”

“Mommy.”

“MOMMY?!”

Kate hears the sprint of feet. Then he’s there. Breathless.

“MOMMY! I DIDN’T. He tagged me after the buzzer. That’s cheating. Right?”

“Definitely cheating.”

“I told him you’d say that.”

“I’m glad you remember how fair I am.”

“Also I drew you something, but Lex said it was ugly and then Sonny drooled on it, so I threw it away. But I’m making another one. With teeth this time.”

Kate laughs. “With teeth?”

“Yeah. Birds need teeth.”

“…Do they?”

“Mine does. Are you in jail? Theo’s dad is in jail and he can’t see him. Is that why we can’t see you? Because you’re in jail.”

Kate chokes. “No, buddy. Not jail.”

“Deda says you’re away getting better.”

“I’m trying.”

“Okay. The bird was blue. Do you want it to be blue?”

“You make it whatever color you want. I can’t wait to see it.”

“I miss you.”

Her breath catches. “I miss you too, baby.”

“SONNY! SAY HI! IT’S MOMMY!”

Chaos on the line. Max straining, probably lifting the baby. Kate hears static, little voices urging.

“Say hi!” Alexia and Max’s little voices urge her.

A pause. Then babbles that almost sound like words. Loud and wet. Static and spit. Another squeal. Another burst of gibberish. High-pitched, slurry, underwater.

“That’s not hi,” Alexia scolds, exhausted in the only way older sisters can be. “That’s just mouth noises, dummy.”

Sonny shrieks. Laughs. Then lets out a triumphant: “Bllrggggghhhh.”

“You gotta say hi, not scream,” Max adds.

Kate closes her eyes. Listens like it’s music. Like a lullaby. It’s everything. It’s heaven.

More babble. Then a perfect fart noise. Max howls with laughter.

Kate presses the phone tighter, like it might melt away if she lets go.

She laughs. Cries. Laughs again. Then…remembers the clock.

“Alex…Alexia. Hey.”

Alexia’s voice returns. “She won’t say hi. But she does. She waves when she says it too.”

“Baby, I don’t have much time. Can you put Mama on, please?”

“Mama’s not home.”

Kate stills. “Who are you with?”

“Deda.”

“Where’d Mama go?”

“Deda said she went to dinner. With a friend.”

“What friend?”

“I dunno. A new one.”

Kate stops blinking. Stops breathing. The silence swells.

“…Okay,” she manages. “Okay. Will you tell her I called?”

“Yeah.”

“I love you. I’m coming home soon, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Bye, baby.”

“Bye, Mommy.”

The line clicks off.

Kate doesn’t move. Doesn’t hang up. Just stares at the receiver like it might come back to life. Start talking again.

Then she turns to the nurse behind the desk.

“Can I make one more? Just a quick one. I need to call my wife.”

The nurse shakes their head. “One call per night.”

“That wasn’t ten minutes.”

“You get ONE call, Bishop.”

Kate slams the phone down. The whole desk jumps. Then she walks away.

Hours later, Paul finds her in the hallway. Not pacing. Not clenched. Just…still.

“You good?” he asks.

Her voice is hoarse. “I need a session. Now.”

He studies her face. Something’s ruptured. Maybe something important.

“I’ll call.”

Minutes later, Kate sits cross-legged on the therapy couch. Renner looks as professional as she can at 11:48PM. Half-asleep. She doesn’t ask anything. Merely waits.

Kate speaks quietly. Controlled.

“Yelena doesn’t ‘go out with friends.’ Especially not ones the kids don’t know. She doesn’t do that. She doesn’t…” She stops. Gets up. Starts pacing. “She couldn’t even wait for me to get out of this shithole. Jesus Christ.”

“You’re building a narrative from virtually no information,” Renner offers, gentle but firm.

“I know her. Better than anyone. I know what this is.”

Renner nods once.

“Even if you’re right…you don’t have a say anymore.”

Kate stops. Turns.

“She’s my wife.”

“You’ve corrected me every time I’ve called her that.”

“Yeah, well. We’re still legally fucking married.”

Renner exhales.

“Technicalities aside…”

“Don’t. I didn’t call her. I could’ve. Could’ve screamed. Accused. Called her out on all her bullshit. But I didn’t. So just…don’t.”

Renner softens. “That’s good.”

Kate stares at her. “Is it?”

Renner doesn’t answer. Just tilts her head.

“What stopped you?”

Silence stretches.

Kate’s temper fades. Her fists unclench. Her chest sinks like a deflated balloon. Finally, she sits again. Voice low.

“I don’t want to be angry anymore. I’m so tired of it.” She looks away. Her throat tightens. “I don’t want to be that version of me anymore.”

Kate takes a breath. The first real, full one in a very long time.

If Yelena gets in the car and drives off, does Kate let her? Does she come outside, bang on the window, demand she come back inside? Does she call in ten minutes, or an hour, or tomorrow morning when she wakes up and realizes Yelena actually left?

Or does she do nothing?

That last thought sinks claws into Yelena’s chest. It sits there, heavy and festering, refusing to let her go.

She releases the car handle and pivots on her heel, marching back toward the garage elevator before she can talk herself out of it.

Inside, the lights in the hallway are dim. The office door is still wide open, her chair pushed back from the desk exactly how she left it. The fight sits in the air, thick and suffocating, but the house is quiet.

Uncomfortably so.

Yelena makes her way down the hall. There’s a sliver of light coming from the guest room at the end of it.

She hesitates, foot hovering over the carpet leading there, then she moves past it entirely. Instead, she veers toward the kids’ rooms. She’s not sure what she’s looking for. Some reassurance, maybe, something to anchor her in the mess of tonight.

She stops outside Alexia's door first, pressing her palm against the wood for a second before carefully pushing it open just enough to peek inside.

The room is dark, save for the faint glow of the nightlight in the corner. Alexia is curled on their side, one arm flung over the stuffed owl Kate bought her last Christmas. Yelena watches her chest rise and fall, slow and even.

She should’ve been here earlier. Should’ve said goodnight, should’ve been the one to tuck the kids in instead of leaving it to Kate again.

She shuts the door as quietly as possible and crosses the hall to the little one's room.

Maks is sprawled across the mattress in the most chaotic sleeping position imaginable, tangled in the sheets, one sock barely clinging to his foot. In the crib, Sonny is neatly tucked in, tiny hand curled under her cheek.

Yelena lingers in the doorway for a long time.

She loves them. Of course, she does. That was never up for debate. But it still stings, the way Kate threw it at her earlier, like Yelena being a good mother was somehow optional.

Like Kate thinks she’s failing.

Like she thinks she’s failing.

She swallows hard, backing out of the room.

When she reaches the guest bedroom, the door is cracked open. A lamp is still on inside, and Yelena can just make out the shape of Kate sitting on the edge of the bed, one leg tucked up, fingers pressed to her forehead.

She doesn’t knock, just pushes the door open wider and steps inside.

Kate doesn’t look up. Doesn’t say anything.

Yelena exhales slowly, crossing her arms.

“I didn’t leave.”

Kate snorts, the sound dry, unimpressed.

“Want a medal?”

Yelena clenches her jaw.

“I don’t want to do this anymore.”

That makes Kate lift her head. Her eyes are red, tired, but sharp.

“Do what?”

“This. Fighting. This stupid back and forth. I don’t want to keep hurting you.”

Kate watches her carefully, searching for something. Then, with a quiet scoff, she shakes her head.

“That’s nice. Really. But you don’t get to say ‘I don’t want to fight’ like that fixes everything. You did hurt me. You keep doing it.”

“I know.” It’s the only honest thing Yelena can say. She shifts on her feet. “But you’re hurting me too.”

That seems to land. Kate’s jaw tightens, and she looks away.

Yelena takes a careful step forward.

“We can’t keep doing this. I don’t want to lose you.”

Kate laughs, but it’s hollow.

“You sure about that? Because every time shit gets hard, you disappear.”

Yelena shakes her head. “I don’t...”

“Yes, you do.” Kate cuts in sharply. “Physically. Emotionally. Take your pick.” She lifts her hands, then lets them fall limply onto her lap. “You think I don’t know what it’s like to feel like you’re fucking drowning? I do. Every single day. But I don’t get to check out. I don’t get to decide it’s too much and just…step back.”

“I don’t decide to do it.” Yelena’s voice is quiet now. “It’s not…it’s not something I want.”

“But it’s what happens,” Kate mutters, shaking her head.

Silence stretches between them.

Then, Kate exhales and leans forward, pressing her face into her hands for a moment before lifting her gaze again. Her voice is softer when she speaks next.

“What are we to you?”

"What?”

“Its a simple question,” Kate says, watching her. “If this...” she gestures vaguely between them “...is something you’re only holding onto because it’s familiar, or because leaving would be too hard, then we need to stop pretending.”

Yelena doesn’t answer right away. Because wanting something and knowing how to make it work are two different things. She exhales, crossing the room until she’s close enough to kneel in front of Kate, resting her hands lightly against her knees. Kate doesn’t pull away.

“You and them are the best thing that ever happened to me. I love you,” Yelena says, voice steady. “And I don’t want to stop trying.”

Kate studies her for a long, tense moment. Then, finally, she sighs.

“We have to try differently then,” she says. “Because whatever this is? It’s not working.”

"We'll figure it out. All we have to do is choose not to give up."

///

The next morning is quiet. Too quiet.

Yelena wakes to the sound of muffled voices. The house is awake without her. The kids are up. Kate is up. And Yelena is still in bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling like she’s an outsider in her own home.

She drags herself up, pulling on a sweatshirt over her sleep shirt as she pads barefoot toward the door. Their bedroom feels wrong when Kate doesn't sleep in it. Foreign. Without Kate in here, Yelena feels she’s intruding. The space between her and Kate has never felt this wide.

Hearing them out there...it feels like they're already moving on without her.

Yelena makes her way to the kitchen. Kate must have said something hilarious because she hears Alexia and Maks cackle. She turns a corner and, the second she steps inside, she knows she’s walked in on something.

Kate, who stands by the sink, tenses the moment her and Yelena make eye contact. A few feet away, Alexia sits at the table with Maks and Sonny. Sonny is in just her diaper, swinging her legs under her chair, oblivious to the tension that just thickened the air. Maks is staring down at his half-eaten cereal like it might give him an answer to whatever the hell just happened here. Alexia, however, is bristling.

“You should have woken me up,” Yelena says, voice rough with sleep.

Kate doesn't say anything.

Alexia glances up, eyes flicking between them, and suddenly, Yelena realizes what this looks like. Kate slept in the guest room. She wasn’t here when they woke up. She walked in late.

Like a stranger.

“Mama, are you living with Deda and Babu now?” Maks asks, tilting his head.

Yelena’s stomach twists. “What? No. Why would you...”

Yelena glares at Kate. Before she knows it's happening, she's crossing the kitchen and walking straight to Kate.

“What did you tell them?” Yelena asks barely above a whisper.

"The truth." Kate turns, leveling her with a stare. “What was I supposed to do? Pretend like nothing is happening? They’re not stupid.”

“They’re also kids.”

Kate scoffs, dropping a spoon into the sink with a clatter.

“Right. And what do you think is worse? Talking to them about it or letting them figure it out on their own while we keep playing house?”

“This isn’t something they should have to deal...”

“They already deal with it,” Kate snaps. “Every single time you put your work first. Every time you miss a recital or a game or a school meeting. Every time I have to make excuses for you...they already know. So maybe, just maybe, don’t act so fucking surprised.”

Alexia chair scrapes backwards and she storms off.

"Alex..." Yelena pleads after her daughter.

But she's already gone, storming down the hallway. Maks looks like he wants to follow, but he stays put, chewing his lip. Sonny, blissfully unaware, bangs her little hands on the high chair and gurgles.

Kate sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “This is exactly why I told you to fix your priorities.”

Yelena sets her jaw. “You told me? This isn’t just on me, Kate.”

“Really? Because I’m not the one who’s always gone.”

The words slam into her, harder than she’s willing to admit.

Before she can respond, Maks slides off his chair and follows after his big sister, leaving only Sonny at the table.

Kate watches them go, then turns back to the sink, gripping the edge of the counter like she’s holding herself together.

“I don’t want to fight in front of them,” Yelena mutters.

“Then don’t start shit at breakfast.”

Yelena's eyes flash. “Start shit? You told them I was going to stay with my parents.”

“That's what YOU said,” Kate hisses, stepping closer.

“I came back.”

“And you want me to give you points for that?”

“No. I want you to stop acting like I’m the only one responsible for all of this falling apart.”

Kate laughs, but it’s sharp, humorless.

“You’re really going to stand here and act like you’re not?”

“This isn’t fair...”

“What’s not fair is that I have to be the reliable one while you get to be at work. You get to show up when it’s convenient for you. You get to skip the hard parts. You get to waltz in late because you’re Yelena Belova, the brilliant scientist who’s too important and too busy to actually be here.”

“That’s not...” Yelena pauses. "Why did you call me that?"

"Call you what?"

"Yelena Belova."

"That's your name."

"It hasn't been for A LONG time."

“Don’t change the subject,” Kate warns, voice dangerously quiet. “Don’t stand there and pretend like you don’t see it. You have no idea what it’s like to be the one who has to hold it all together.”

Yelena’s chest heaves. “And what do you think I’ve been trying to do?”

“Trying isn’t enough anymore.”

There it is. The final nail in the coffin.

Yelena shakes her head, throat burning. “You’ve already decided, haven’t you?”

Kate doesn’t answer right away. Her gaze flickers, like she wants to take it back. But she doesn’t.

“I can’t keep doing this,” Kate says finally. “Not when nothing ever changes.”

A thick silence envelops the kitchen whole.

Yelena swallows around the knot in her throat. “So that’s it? You’re done?”

Kate exhales slowly, but there’s no satisfaction in it. No relief. Just exhaustion.

“I think I have to be.”

Yelena takes a step back, like she’s been hit. She doesn’t realize she’s shaking her head until Kate sighs and looks away.

“Yelena...”

“No,” Yelena breathes. “No, this isn’t...we aren’t...”She can’t finish it.

Because Kate isn’t stopping her. Kate isn’t walking it back. Kate isn’t saying 'I don’t mean it' or 'I just need space' or 'We’ll figure it out'.

She’s just standing there, watching Yelena unravel.

“When are you moving out?”

Yelena grabs her jaw and tilts her face back, trying to expand her airway. No response. Yelena surveys the room. Sees the painted picture. The powder smeared across the counter. The residue under Kate’s nose. The layer of the same substance on a MetroCard. Her lungs constrict.

“What did you take?! What did you fucking take?!” Yelena shouts, voice almost unrecognizable.

There’s no response. Not even a hint of movement behind closed eyes.

“She is…yes. Not awake. We found her on floor.” Alexei barks into the phone, pacing now.

Melina rushes down the hallway, chasing after a runaway Maks who is sobbing while beelining for the bedroom. She clutches Sonny tight, shielding her eyes as she runs after the boy. Alexia pushes past her grandmother and yanks Maks back before he can fully get into the bedroom.

“Let me see Mommy! Let me see!”

Melina stands in front of them both, snaps.

“No! Stay back.” Melina hisses, blocking the hallway and turning them both around.

“Why is Mommy on the floor?! Why won’t she wake up?!” Maks screams while flailing against Melina’s arm, trying to run into the bedroom.

“Mama!” Sonny tugs on Melina’s jacket, wailing so loudly her tiny voice pierces through the chaos.

The commotion by the bedroom door steals Yelena’s attention. She catches a glimpse of Alexia hovering under the doorframe, face pale as chalk, eyes wide, locked on her mother’s body slumped on the floor. Melina pulls her back before she can take another step.

“What’s happening?” Alexia asks.

“Stay out there!” Yelena shouts. “Do NOT come in here!”

But it’s too late. Alexia’s already seen it. Her Mommy’s still body. Her Mama hovering over her.

Yelena turns back to Kate.

“Kate! Can you hear me?”

Kate doesn’t move.

“Is she breathing?!” Alexei yells before putting the dispatcher on speaker, phone trembling in his hand, voice shaking for the first time in Yelena’s life.

Yelena’s hand finds Kate’s neck. A pulse. It’s there. Somewhat.

“Barely!”Yelena shouts. Her fingers tremble as they press harder against Kate’s throat. She can’t feel anything solid. Nothing reliable. Just faint thumps that come too far apart. Irregular. Slowing.

The voice from the phone is calm. Terrifyingly calm.

“Ma’am, is her skin warm to the touch?” The dispatcher’s asks. Flat, clinical.

“Yes!” Yelena barks. Then she checks again. Touches her all over. And realizes... “No! She’s clammy. Cold.”

Then, like a curtain dropping mid-scene…a noise. Kate gurgles. Her chest heaves once. Shudders. Then…nothing. It stops moving.

“No.” Yelena’s voice is a whisper. Then louder: “No. No. No no no no. Kate!”

Yelena freezes. One second. Two. Her ears are ringing. Her hands go to Kate’s chest.

“She is not…She is not breathing!” Alexei roars.

The dispatcher’s voice comes sharp now.

“Ma’am, listen to me. You need to begin CPR. Is she on a flat surface?”

“Yes,” Yelena grits. “Yes. MOVE!” she barks at Alexei.

Alexei backs up. Yelena forces Kate fully flat onto her back. Tilts her head again. Seals her mouth over hers. Two breaths. Her hands go straight to Kate’s sternum.

Yelena positions her hands at the center of Kate’s chest. Starts pressing down. One. Two. Three. Four. She counts out loud. Her arms shake.

“Begin compressions. Put the heel of your hand on the center of her chest, right between the nipples. Other hand on top. Interlock your fingers. Push hard and fast. You need to compress two inches into her chest.”

“I know what I’m doing!” Yelena yells, frustrated. She's already doing it. One. Two. Three. Four. Her arms lock. Her shoulders drive downward.

Yelena’s vision blurs. Her hair is falling into her face. Kate’s ribs give under her palms with too much ease. The cracking sound they made a few compressions ago…Yelena knows what that means. And she’ll hear that sound for the rest of her fucking life.

“Keep compressing,” the dispatcher says. “Count out loud.” Yelena does. “Thirty compressions. Then two breaths. Tilt her head back, pinch the nose…”

“I KNOW!” Yelena snaps again, tears breaking loose as she leans down, presses her mouth to Kate’s. “Come on. Breathe. Come on.”

Still nothing. Kate’s chest doesn’t move on its own.

Another round. Thirty compressions. Two breaths. Thirty more. Yelena’s shaking. Her shoulders burn. Her knees are on fire. She doesn’t stop.

“Where's the ambulance?!” Yelena screams at no one.

Somewhere down the hall, Sonny is shrieking at full volume. Maks screams, asking a million questions a minute. Alexia says nothing. She’s sat on the floor, knees to her chest, arms wrapped tight around herself.

Melina is trying to keep it together, but even she’s shouting at Alexei, asking how far the paramedics are.

The dispatcher says: “They’re en route, ma’am. You’re doing great. Keep going.”

“GET THE FUCKING AMBULANCE HERE. She’s DYING.” Yelena snarls. She leans in, breathes into Kate’s mouth. Once. Twice. Checks again. Nothing. "FUCK."

Kate is motionless. Pale. Beautiful and…so goddamn gone. Her arm twitches suddenly. For a second, Yelena thinks it’s something. Then it’s nothing again. Nerve misfire. Muscle memory. Her body tricking her.

Another thirty compressions.

“We have kids, you idiot. You don't get to do this. You don’t get to leave them…You don’t get to leave me.”

More compressions. Her palms slide. Sweat. Panic. Maybe blood. Doesn’t matter.

“Ma’am, can you feel a pulse?”

“No. She’s not breathing!”

The dispatcher finally changes tone. Pointed now.

“They’re nearly there. You need to keep her blood moving.”

“I got you,” Yelena whispers through gritted teeth. “I got you, you stupid fucking asshole. You don’t get to do this.”

“Make her wake up, Mama. Mama make her wake up.” Maks keeps repeating.

“You hear that? WAKE UP.” Yelena mutters. She’s sobbing now too. Doesn’t realize it until the tears start falling onto Kate’s skin.

Yelena doesn’t stop. Can’t. Every time she breathes into Kate’s mouth, it feels like breathing into a corpse.

Another round. She breathes again. Hard. The taste of vodka and something chemical hits the back of her throat.

Then…Boots. Voices. Radio squawks.

“EMS! Where is she?”

“Back here!” Melina shouts.

Two paramedics storm down the hall. Another follows, wheeling the stretcher. The room explodes into motion. Yelena never stops doing compressions.

“What happened?” the taller one asks.

“She overdosed. I think.” Yelena blurts out.

“Do you know what she took?”

Yelena shakes her head so hard her vision spins.

“Coke. I think. I’m not sure. But I don’t know…She was breathing. Then she wasn’t. I’ve been doing CPR…”

“Ma’am, step back.”

“I’m not…” Yelena doesn’t.

“Step back!” one of them orders as another physically pulls her back.

They move like they’ve done this a thousand times. One drops to his knees, takes over compressions. Another cuts Kate’s shirt open, slaps defib pads to her chest. A third pops the Narcan cap, sprays once, twice, up her nose.

“Pulse?”

“Still absent. Charge to two hundred.”

“CLEAR!”

Yelena’s back hits the wall. She can’t stand. She slides down, barely aware that she’s sitting on the floor.

Kate’s body jumps. No pulse.

Yelena can’t breathe. She stares at the tile. Her palms burn. Her eyes sting. Her arms feel like they’re going to fall off.

“Three hundred.”

“CLEAR!”

Another jolt. Still nothing. Another spray of Narcan.

Yelena finally breaks. She covers her mouth with both hands to stifle her sobs. Alexei is in the hallway, holding Maks and Alexia tight. Melina presses her lips to Sonny’s hair.

“CLEAR!”

Then…Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Got something. Weak. Holding.”

The beeping sound punches through the air like a miracle. Yelena almost collapses with it.

Then Kate coughs. Wet. Violent. She jerks forward, vomiting brownish bile onto the tile. One of the paramedics is already there, rolling her onto her side, sweeping her mouth with gloved fingers, making sure nothing blocks her airway.

“She’s trying to breathe. Reflexive. That’s good.”

For half a second, there’s something that almost feels like hope.

Then Kate's body spasms. First her foot kicks. Then her shoulder. Then everything at once. She seizes. Violently.

Yelena jumps back instinctively as Kate’s limbs whip outward. Her head knocks against the cabinet under the sink with a sickening thud.

“Seizure!” the medic closest to her barks.

“Roll her! Roll her. Secure the head!” The second paramedic catches Kate’s skull just before it cracks again, cradling it in one hand, keeping it from slamming the floor.

“Time it. How long has she been seizing?”

“Fifteen seconds.”

“She’s tachy as hell,” another adds, already digging in the supply kit.

Kate’s body jerks uncontrollably. Her spine arches. Her legs kick out like she’s being electrocuted. Her jaw clenches tight. Froth builds at her lips.

“Bag her,” the lead medic orders.

The oxygen bag comes out. The mask is over her face before Yelena can blink. It’s breathing for her now.

“She’s hypoxic. O2 saturation’s in the tank.”

“Push midazolam?”

“No time.”

Her arm is yanked out. A needle goes in. IV solution flushes through the line. They're already hooking up a portable monitor, threading wires through the torn neckline of Kate’s shirt, sticky pads pressed to her ribs and collarbone.

“She’s peaking. Thirty seconds in.”

Kate's arms flail again, her fists clenched so tight her knuckles go white. Her eyes roll back. Nothing but white under fluttering lids. Yelena’s frozen. Helpless.

“MAMA!” Maks’ voice from the hallway.

Melina's yelling something about closing the door. Yelena doesn’t move.

“Ma’am, she can hear you. Talk to her.” One of the medics glances up.

Yelena crawls forward.

“Kate. Kate, come on. I’m here. We’re all here.”

Kate doesn’t react. Her back lifts off the floor again. She jerks so hard the medic has to grab her shoulders.

Then it stops. Abruptly. The shaking ends. Her body collapses, limp. The silence is deafening.

“She’s postictal. We’ve got about sixty seconds before her airway's gone again.”

“Load her.”

The gurney is pulled in. They lift her up. Quickly. Methodically. One tightens the restraints at her wrists and ankles while the other keeps the mask on.

“Get that bag secured. IV’s in. Monitor’s reading weak but present.”

One of the EMTs looks back at Yelena.

“Are you riding with us?”

“Yes.” Yelena stands so fast her knees crack.

They move.

As they pass the living room, Melina reappears. Sonny still in her arms, face red from crying. Alexei has a distraught Maks on his hip. Alexia stands silent, hands over her ears, trying to drown out the screaming.

“We’ve got them. Go.” Melina urges her.

Yelena doesn’t speak. She’s already running. The stretcher barrels out the door. Yelena follows, doesn’t look back.

Behind her, the sound of her children screeching and exclaiming gets fainter with each step.

//

Yelena climbs into the ambulance, knees throbbing from the tile, hands still shaking from the CPR. The medic slams the doors behind her. The whole rig jolts as they peel off from the curb, tires screaming against asphalt. Sirens on. Lights spinning. Red and blue strobe through the narrow cabin in hard, violent pulses.

Kate lies on the stretcher. Strapped down, oxygen mask fogging up with shallow breath. She's pale. Her skin has that gray undertone Yelena’s seen on bodies before. On morgue tables. In labs. Not on her wife.

Yelena swallows, trying to force the bile back down. Her whole body vibrates with adrenaline. She slides into the seat next to Kate’s head, clamps both hands around the rail. The medic sits across from her, eyes flicking between the portable monitor and the IV bags swinging above them.

Kate’s hand, what she can reach of it under the blanket, is gelid. Unnaturally so. Yelena grips it anyway. Because, for the first time in her life, she’s terrified she’s going to lose Kate for good.

Kate twitches once. A jerk. Barely noticeable. Then harder. Her body goes stiff, heels slamming against the stretcher's metal frame.

The monitor blips, then flatlines for a blink, then comes back. Irregular. Slow.

“Shit. She’s crashing again. BP’s dropping,” the medic says, snapping into motion.

“No, no, no…” Yelena whispers, blood icing over.

Kate convulses hard, body thrashing against the restraints. One leg kicks free. Slams the inside wall of the rig so hard it leaves a dent. Her teeth grind together. Her eyes flutter. Then roll back.

“Seizing again,” the other medic barks, already prepping a syringe. “Pushing two of naloxone.”

The needle plunges into the IV line. The medics brace her limbs. One hand to her head, keeping her from smashing her skull on the rail again. It’s efficient. Brutal. Controlled mayhem.

After what feels like an eternity, the seizure breaks. But so does everything else. Kate goes still. No twitch. No movement. The line flattens.

“Start compressions!”

The medic doesn't hesitate. She climbs onto the stretcher with practiced speed, straddling one knee beside Kate’s hip. Hands to her chest. Presses down with force. One. Two. Three. Four. They count. It’s clinical. Ruthless. Efficient.

To Yelena, it looks like brutality. Horror.

Kate’s already broken ribs cave under the pressure. Her head lolls. There’s a smear of blood slipping down her chin from where she bit the inside of her cheek.

The rig keeps speeding toward the hospital.

Yelena’s fingers dig into the seat rail.

“Pulse! Weak, but there.”

“Stabilizing. Keep the O2 high-flow.”

Yelena sways with the next turn, but she doesn’t let go of the rail. Doesn’t blink. Her eyes are locked on Kate’s face. A face that looks almost unfamiliar now. Too still. Too pale. Like the woman she’s loved for two decades is buried under someone else's skin. Her mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens again.

“…Is she gonna die?” Yelena whispers, voice raw.

The medic doesn’t sugarcoat it. Doesn’t lie.

“We’re doing everything we can.”

Yelena nods, throat burning. But her hand reaches for Kate’s again. Frigid, limp, and unresponsive beneath the thermal blanket.

Yelena grips it anyway, like she can warm Kate back to life through sheer willpower. And then, because silence feels more dangerous than noise, she speaks. Soft at first. Barely audible over the sirens and the beep of the monitor.

“I hate you so much right now. And I need you to wake up so I can tell you how fucking pissed off I am. We had a deal. No drugs. We agreed…you stupid, selfish, self-destructive asshole.” Yelena squeezes her hand. “You promised. We had a deal, Kate.”

Kate doesn’t move. Yelena leans forward, her forehead brushing Kate’s temple through the oxygen mask. Her own breath fogs the plastic.

“You better make it. Do you hear me?” Kate’s chest rises. Barely. “You better make it, Kate Bishop.”

The ambulance takes another harsh turn. The hospital is close now. The medic’s prep handoff notes. Calling vitals out to someone on the radio.

Yelena presses her mouth to Kate’s ear, voice trembling.

“You need to wake up because I’m not done yelling at you yet.”

And she’s not. Not by a long shot.

//

The instant the ambulance doors fly open, the noise multiplies. Voices shouting over one another, the hiss of oxygen, the screech of wheels over concrete. Yelena squints against the morning glare, still clinging to Kate’s hand as the paramedics roll her out.

“Female. Thirty nine. Overdose. Found unresponsive. CPR initiated on scene. Two rounds of naloxone. Seizure activity during transport. Vitals are unstable. Pulse weak and thready.” The lead medic barks to the trauma team as they race toward the ER doors.

They wheel Kate through automatic glass doors. Yelena follows, her heels slapping the tile floor. Nurses and doctors peel off to meet the gurney. One grabs the chart. Another adjusts the oxygen mask.

“Patient name?”

“Katherine Bishop,” Yelena rattles out, breathless.

“Relation?”

“I…” She swallows. “I’m her… I’m…” She doesn’t know what to say. Wife? Is she? Partner? Not really. “…Her emergency contact?…No. I’m her wife. Her wife.”

The trauma nurse barely glances at her.

“Date Of Birth?”

“October 16, 2002.”

“Is she allergic to anything?”

Yelena shakes her head.

“You’ll need to wait here.”

“No. No…Why?!”

“We’ll update you as soon as we can.”

Yelena’s hand is peeled off Kate’s. Just like that, the gurney disappears around the corner and through swinging doors marked “TRAUMA 1.”

Yelena stands there, alone in the fluorescent hallway, unable to move. Her body feels foreign. Her mouth dry. A smear of something….Kate’s blood? Her own sweat?…dries on her wrist.

Yelena looks around the room. The moment the silence settle sin, her legs buckle. She lowers herself into one of the bolted plastic chairs, numb and shaking.

It’s been less than an hour since she found Kate on the bathroom floor, not breathing. Her kids are probably still crying. Her parents probably haven’t stopped pacing. She left them with chaos and sprinted headfirst into more of it.

She rests her elbows on her knees and buries her face in her hands.

The taste of adrenaline is still in her tongue. The echo of compressions still in her arms. The image of Kate lying on the floor burned behind her eyelids.

A whimper escapes her. She reaches into her bag. Riffles through. Finds her phone. Her hands are shaking so hard she almost drops it. But she manages to dial a number and bring the phone to her ear.

“Hi.” Susan answers, cheery. “How’d it go? Please tell me that dumbass didn’t do something stupid in court again.”

Yelena swallows a sob.

“Is Josh with you?”

“No. He’s at work.” Susan catches up to the weirdness in Yelena’s voice. “What’s going on?”

“Suze…I’m…God…Maybe you should call Josh. Have him come home and then call me.” Yelena is holding back sobs.

“No. What happened?”

“I don’t want…Call Josh and then call me, okay?”

“Where’s my sister?”

Yelena regrets calling Susan. She’s too far along. She shouldn’t have called. She should’ve called Eleanor. Or Derek. Or…no one. But not Susan.

“Yelena…”

“She OD’d. She…”

“What?!”

“I found her…She…”

“Is she alive?! Tell me she’s alive.”

“Barely. I’m at the hospital with her and…”

“Where?”

“Presbyterian.”

“I’m coming.”

//

DAY ONE ER - Trauma

Yelena sits in a hard-backed chair in the ER waiting room, elbows on her knees, hands pressed against her mouth like they’re holding her face together.

Susan is beside her, motionless. Pale. One hand clutched to her belly, the other wrapped in a death grip around a paper coffee cup she hasn’t touched.

They made the mutual decision not to call Eleanor or Derek. It's not like Kate would want them here anyway. She doesn't have a relationship with Derek and the one with Eleanor is borderline non-existent. Kate would hate them if they brought anyone else into this, but especially her parents.

It takes over an hour after the ambulance arrives before anyone says a word.

A trauma physician steps in, stripped of coat and gloves, still in blood-smeared scrubs. He looks young. Too young. But his face is lined with something heavier than age.

“Family of Katherine Bishop?”

Both women stand so fast their chairs screech. Yelena’s voice is sandpaper.

“I’m her…We’re family. I’m her…I brought her in.”

The doctor nods once. Doesn’t sit. Doesn’t offer hope too soon.

“She went into cardiac arrest in the trauma bay. Cocaine-induced myocardial infarction. That’s a heart attack caused by the overdose.”

Susan sways slightly. Yelena doesn’t move.

“We got her back.”

Yelena exhales. Labored. Loud. Like her lungs forgot how.

“She’s intubated and sedated. We’re giving her supportive ventilation. She aspirated when she was seizing. There’s fluid in the lungs so we’re also treating for pneumonia.”

Susan makes a strangled sound. Yelena leans back onto the wall behind her.

“Her vitals are fragile but holding. The CPR in the field…it cracked some ribs. That’s normal, but it’s painful. We’re managing her pain while she’s sedated.”

Yelena’s voice is low. Flat. Barely human.

“Is she going to wake up?”

“We’re monitoring brain activity,” he says gently. “We’ve done imaging. There’s no visible swelling or hemorrhage. That’s good. But with cardiac arrest, the first seventy-two hours are the most critical.”

Susan lets out a sob and covers it with the heel of her palm.

“Can we see her?” Yelena asks.

“Not yet. Let us stabilize her first.”

He leaves. Just like that.

The silence afterward is oppressive. Worse than sirens. Worse than crying. Just this…breathless, anticipatory nothing.

Yelena doesn’t sit again. She stares at the double doors, wondering if any of it had actually happened. Wondering if she was about to be told none of it mattered. That the brunette on the other side of that hallway…the one who’d broken her heart, and almost didn’t survive it…wasn’t going to open her eyes again.

//

DAY TWO ICU: Room 514

The machines are louder than Kate.

That’s the first thing Yelena notices when they finally let her in yesterday. She walked in expecting to hear something…anything…from the woman she loves, even if she pretends she doesn’t anymore. But all she got was the rhythmic hiss of the ventilator and the steady beep-beep-beep of the monitor beside her bed. Nothing has changed since.

Kate’s face is slack. Pale in a way that’s almost translucent. Tubes down her throat. A cannula taped to her cheek. The bruising from the CPR is already spreading across her chest. There’s a bag of fluids running into her IV. Three, actually. Antibiotics, pain meds, something else. One of the nurses tried to explain but Yelena didn’t hear most of it.

She takes the chair by the bed without asking. Pulls it close. Sits.

Kate doesn’t move. Yelena swallows around the lump in her throat and speaks.

“You look like shit.”

It’s the first thing she’s said out loud all morning. Her voice cracks in the middle of it.

No response, obviously.

There’s a bandage on Kate’s arm where they tried to start a line and missed. Another on the back of her hand. Her fingers twitch once in her sleep. Not enough to mean anything. Yelena watches machines help her breathe and wonders how the fuck they got here.

“How long were you doing it?” she asks the quiet room. “And when were you going to tell me?…I should've known. Should've seen it.”

No answer. Yelena can't help the tears that overwhelm her. They don't stop coming for a long time.

The nurse comes in around ten. Introduces herself. Changes the drip bag. Checks the monitors. Jots down a few things.

“She’s holding. Lungs are still wet, but she’s responding to the antibiotics. Fever’s low-grade.”

“Brain?”

“Too early to say. But there’s no sign of swelling. She flinched during her neuro check this morning. That’s something.”

Yelena nods. Watches her finish. Doesn’t ask anything else.

Susan shows up around noon with two coffees and a look on her face like she’s aged ten years overnight. She doesn’t ask how Kate is. Just sinks into the corner chair and presses the coffee into Yelena’s hands.

“She always said if she went out, it would be loud. But I didn’t think she meant like this.” Susan whispers after a while.

“She’s not out. Don’t say that.”

They don’t speak again for a long time.

Yelena doesn’t leave Kate’s side except to use the bathroom. Her parents are with the kids. Susan’s husband is on standby to take her home if she needs to lie down, but she won’t. They rotate shifts. Quiet, tired bodies in an ICU room. Waiting.

Waiting for the moment when the breathing tube comes out. Or the machines stop beeping. Whichever comes first.

//

DAY THREE ICU: Room 514

Kate’s fever breaks at 4:19 in the morning.

Yelena knows because she was still awake, curled like a question mark in the impossibly uncomfortable ICU chair, arms folded tight across her chest, watching the numbers cycle across the monitor. Thirty-seven-point-one. Down from forty earlier.

She doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t move. Just stares at the new number like it might suddenly reverse itself, like Kate might spike again and all of this will start over. She only blinks when the nurse comes in, gives her a tired smile, and checks Kate’s vitals.

“Still stable. Good sign.” The nurse offers with a smile.

Yelena only nods. The nurse knows better than to push for conversation.

By sunrise, Susan’s back. Bleary-eyed and pale, hair pulled into the kind of bun that screams second day of not showering. She smells like hospital hallway coffee and the same sweatshirt from yesterday.

“Did she wake up?” Susan asks, eyes darting to the bed.

“No. Not yet.”

Susan exhales. Drops into the second chair.

They both sit there in silence for a long time. Then, eventually, quietly:

“You think she’s gonna be pissed when she wakes up and sees us sitting here like two haunted ex-wives?”

Yelena snorts despite herself. “One of us is the ex-wife.”

“Not yet. She made sure of that.”

"If she didn't want to go through with the divorce, she should've just said so. This was a bit much." Yelena tries levity. It works. Susan chuckles. “She’s gonna be pissed about the tube.”

“She’ll rip it out herself if no one beats her to it.”

“Would've already tried if she was awake.”

A beat. Then Susan says, “Do you think she remembers anything?”

“No.”Yelena says it too quickly. Too definitively. And then: “I hope not.”

Because if she remembers what happened before she hit the floor…if she remembers going down being aware that the kids were in the living room, the coke on the counter, the idea that she might be leaving them alone…then waking up might be worse than staying asleep.

—

The ICU attending comes in around noon.

“Brain activity’s normalizing. Scans were clean. That’s good.” She tells them, flipping through Kate’s chart.

“But?” Yelena asks.

The doctor glances up. “But she went without oxygen for a significant amount of time. More than once. She then had a heart attack. A major one. The aspiration pneumonia isn’t nothing either. She’s still in danger.”

“But she’s off the edge?” Yelena presses. Hopeful.

“She’s on the edge,” the doctor corrects. “But her vitals are holding. That’s a good sign.”

Susan crosses her arms.

“So when does she wake up?”

“Unclear yet. Her body’s still processing everything. And we’re keeping her sedated until her respiratory numbers improve.”

Yelena swallows. Her throat’s dry.

“When does the sedation stop?”

“If her numbers are steady, she might start to get weaned off this evening.”

Yelena nods. Doesn’t thank the doctor. Simply waits for the door to close.

—

That night, Yelena stays again. After the last round of vitals. After the last nurse checks the monitors and dims the lights. The sedation drip is low now. Tapered. If Kate’s body is ready, she’ll start to wake up on her own.

Yelena watches her. Inhales sharply. Then leans forward.

“You need to wake up.”

Silence. Yelena leans closer. Brushes a stray hair from Kate’s forehead. Her fingers tremble.

“You need to wake up because if I have to sit in this chair one more day smelling like dried tears and antiseptic, I will lose my mind.”

Still nothing.

“I’m so mad at you. But you don’t get to die and make me do this alone.”

She waits. Then…Kate’s brow twitches. Barely there. But it’s the first real sign of anything. Yelena straightens in the chair, blinking fast.

“Come on. Come on, Kate Bishop."

No response. Just the rhythmic beep-beep-beep and the hiss of the oxygen. But still…a twitch. It’s not much. But it’s enough.

//

DAY FOUR ICU, Room 514

It starts with a cough. Violent. Wet. From deep in her chest.

Yelena jerks upright, coffee sloshing out of the hospital cup in her lap. She’s halfway to the bed before she even knows she’s moved.

Kate is gagging around the tube. Her whole body arches, bucking against the restraints as she coughs again. A thick, brutal sound that rattles her ribcage. The monitor jumps.

Yelena slams the call button.

“She’s awake! She’s…I think she’s…fuck…Don't pull that tube, Kate."

Nurses burst in seconds later. One goes to the machines. The other leans over Kate, steadying her shoulders.

“She’s coming out of sedation. Vitals are up. Respiratory’s trying to compensate.”

Kate’s eyes are fluttering now. Not fully open, just darting back and forth under heavy lids. Her hands jerk against the restraints. Her face is tight with pain.

“She’s panicking,” Yelena sounds off, her voice catching in her throat.

“She’s trying to breathe on her own,” the nurse says, glancing at the oxygen levels. “Her lungs aren’t ready for that.”

“Then help her!”

“We are.”

Another nurse rushes in with a syringe.

“Fentanyl. Low dose.”

“She’ll stop fighting it in a second. Just stay close.” The first nurse says, gentle.

Yelena doesn’t leave the bedside. Doesn’t move as Kate’s body trembles under the sheets. Her eyes open for half a second, glazed and unfocused, then roll back. The meds hit fast.

The gagging eases. The coughing slows. Kate goes still again. But the tube stays in.

Yelena stays too. Hand on Kate’s wrist. Anchored. Shaking. Not out of fear anymore. Just sheer fucking relief.

—

She wakes up again at 4:11 p.m.

This time it’s slower. No panicked thrashing. Just a furrowed brow. Eyes moving under lids. Then… opening. Barely.

Kate blinks once. Then again. Her eyes are bloodshot. Her skin’s too dull. There’s dried blood around her nostrils and tape burn on her cheeks.

Her gaze lands on Yelena. It’s glassy. Drifting. But it lands. Yelena leans forward, heart in her throat.

“Hey,” she whispers. “Hi.”

Kate blinks again. Slow. Her hand tugs at the restraint. Weak. Uncoordinated.

“Don’t pull,” Yelena utters quickly, grabbing Kate’s fingers. “Don’t. Don’t try to talk, okay? You’ve still got the tube. You’re intubated. You…”

Kate’s eyes widen. Her hand jerks again. Panic rises behind her gaze like floodwater. Yelena tightens her grip.

“I know. I know it’s awful. Just hang on. They’re coming. Just hang on.”

The monitor beeps spike. The nurse returns seconds later. Glances at the screen. Then at Kate. Then at Yelena.

“She’s awake?”

“Just now.”

“Good. Page respiratory. She’s ready.” The nurse presses the intercom button above the bed.

“Can you take it out?” Yelena asks, barely hiding the shake in her voice.

“If she’s stable, yeah. We’ll prep now.”

Kate’s eyes are locked on Yelena. It’s not clarity. Not really. But it’s something. Her lips move. Around the tube. Nothing she can understand. But Yelena knows what she’s saying.

Please.

“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” Yelena says, pressing her forehead to Kate’s.

—

The extubation is brutal.

There’s suction. Tape. A plastic yawn of tubing that pulls like it’s snagged on bone. Kate gags hard. Gasps. Coughs until she curls in on herself, writhing under the oxygen mask they strap on next.

She’s hardly coherent. Her voice is gone. Her throat’s shredded. But she’s breathing on her own now.

And she’s alive.

—

Later, when Susan comes in, hair wet from a shower, eyes puffy from crying, Yelena barely looks up from the chair.

“She’s awake,” she says.

Susan freezes. “What?”

“She’s still out of it. But she’s breathing. She’s…she’s going to be okay.”

Susan presses a hand to her face, dragging it down slowly. “Thank fuck.”

“She hasn’t said anything.”

“Can she?”

“Not really. But I think she knew it was me.”

Susan sits. Quiet for a long time.

“So what happens now?”

Yelena’s eyes stay fixed on Kate. On the mess of her. On the way she twitches and winces in her sleep.

“I don’t know,” Yelena says. But her voice is steady. Her voice, at least, still works.

//

DAY FIVE ICU, Room 514

Yelena knows Kate’s awake before she opens her eyes. It’s the tension. The stillness. Like a wire pulled too tight. Her fingers flex. Her jaw clenches. Her breathing changes.

Kate doesn’t speak. Not because she can’t anymore. Her voice is there, if raw, frayed at the edges. But because she’s not ready to hear herself. She’s not ready to be here.

Yelena says nothing. Just sits beside her. Hands wrapped around a hospital-grade paper cup of coffee that tastes like old socks. She’s been there since before sunrise. Only left for a quick shower and to lay eyes on the kids.

Kate opens her eyes.

They’re bloodshot. Ringed in gray. Her pupils are still blown, like her body’s not sure which drug to metabolize first. She looks at Yelena. Then turns her head and looks away.

Yelena swallows the lump in her throat. Doesn’t press. Doesn’t move. Just waits.

A few minutes later, a nurse comes in with vitals and pain meds. There’s a portable toilet chair in the corner now. Kate’s too weak to stand on her own yet, and her ribs scream if she breathes wrong.

“You’re due for acetaminophen, oxy, and your next dose of Levaquin,” the nurse says, checking the IV line. “Youre running a fever again. We’re managing it, but the pneumonia’s holding on.”

Kate doesn’t answer. Doesn’t nod. Barely flinches when the meds hit her vein.

Yelena watches the nurse go. Then leans back. Exhales slowly.

“Your lawyer called. The judge agreed to delay until after you're better.”

Kate doesn’t blink. Still nothing.

“Your parents don’t know,” Yelena adds, softer now. “We didn't think you’d want that.”

Kate shuts her eyes. Yelena finishes the coffee. Tosses the cup in the trash.

“Someone from Child Welfare came by earlier.”

That gets a reaction. Kate’s knuckles go white atop the blanket.

“They’re opening a review…Routine, they said. Anytime there’s an overdose in the home. Especially when the kids are present.”

Kate flinches. Like she’s been slapped. Yelena doesn’t soften.

“They’ll want to talk to you. When you’re lucid. You’re not right now. Not really. But they’ll come back.”

Still nothing. Yelena leans forward.

“And I’m not going to lie for you. Not about this.”

Kate’s lips part…maybe to argue, maybe to beg…but nothing comes out.

“You almost died. In front of our kids.”

Kate turns her head away. But Yelena doesn’t stop.

“Maks asked if you wanted to leave them.”

“I don’t,” Kate rasps. Her voice sounds like she gargled broken glass.

Yelena’s gaze doesn’t waver.

“Then you better start acting like it.”

—

Yelena figured she should give the kids a normal night. Dinner, a movie, bedtime stories. So that night, Susan takes the shift.

Kate’s vitals are better. Still running a mild fever, but her heart’s steadied. Oxygen’s normalizing. The pneumonia’s not gone, but it’s improving.

Withdrawal, though, is hitting hard.

Kate’s skin itches. Her back aches. Her chest feels like it’s on fire. The oxy helps, but not enough. She sweats through her second hospital gown before midnight. Wakes up clawing at the sheets. Sometimes crying. Sometimes angry. Susan stays. Quiet. Unmoved.

Around 2:00 a.m., Kate jerks upright in bed, eyes wide and terrified.

“Where are they? Where are the kids?”

“Safe,” Susan declares.

“Where?”

“Not here.”

Kate’s breathing speeds. Susan gets up. Walks to the bed. Grabs her wrist.

“They’re okay. You’re not.”

Kate starts crying. Real crying. Ugly crying. Chest-heaving, soul-bending sobs that make her ribs throb and her face crumple. Susan sits beside her. Holds her. Lets her fall apart.

“You can’t see them yet. Not until psych clears you. Not our rules. CPS.”

Kate shakes her head. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not. And you don’t get to bullshit your way through this.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“You can lie to your wife, but not to me.” Susan’s voice is low. Not cruel. Just honest.

“I don't know if you went out of your way to die that day, but in the back of your mind you knew what the risk was. And you were okay with it. You meant every line. Every drink. Every time you didn’t call. Every lie. You meant all of that.”

Kate looks away, shame crawling up her throat. Susan doesn’t move.

“I know you’re in hell…But you built it. Even after seeing what it did to Deej. You went there. I don't know that I can forgive you for that.”

A long pause.

“I can get better.”

“Can you? I heard him say that too many times…And then I went to his funeral. I will never talk to you again if this happens even one more time. Its not a bluff. It’s a promise, Kate. I will not have my baby around this. Do you understand me?”

Kate nods. But Susan doesn’t believe her. Not yet. And she has no reason to.

//

DAY SIX ICU Step-Down Unit, Room 534

Kate’s body is quieter today. Less trembling. Less sweating. The fever’s low-grade now. Her pulse holds. The pneumonia still lingers in the corners of her lungs, but the antibiotics are doing their job.

The noise in her head is sharper than the pain.

No more adrenaline. No more coke. Just cold clarity, and the long, aching echo of what she did.

She’s alert enough now for the monitors to feel intrusive. The heart rate, the oxygen, the saline, the antibiotics. Every line into her body is a reminder that she can’t leave yet. That she’s not trusted to be left alone with herself.

At 9:42AM, a woman in a navy blazer and orthopedic shoes steps into her room. Clipboard. Polite but guarded smile. Her badge reads “Dr. Ellen Marks, PsyD – Acute Crisis Psychiatry Unit”.

“I’m here for your assessment.”

Kate nods. Her mouth is suddenly arid.

“You mean the part where you decide if I get to go home or get a vacation in a padded room?”

“Something like that.”

Dr. Marks pulls a chair closer, sits, crosses one leg over the other. Doesn’t open the clipboard yet.

“Tell me about the day before your overdose.”

Kate stares at the IV in her arm. “I don’t remember most of it.”

Dr. Marks waits.

“I had the kids. I gave them dinner. Put them to bed. Then I…got high. Hooked up with someone. I think. Very likely.”

“Do you remember who?”

“No.”

“Do you remember how much you used?”

“No. I wasn’t keeping track.”

Dr. Marks nods.

“Do you remember when you lost consciousness?”

“No.”

“When you last slept?”

“Not really. It was a blur.”

The doctor reads from her notes.

“You were resuscitated by your wife on your bathroom floor in front of your children. You had multiple seizures. Your heart stopped twice. Then you had a heart attack. You aspirated vomit. That caused pneumonia.” Kate flinches. “I’m not saying this to punish you,” Dr. Marks says. “I’m saying that so you understand how close you came to dying.”

Kate nods. Just barely. Her tongue feels like its covered in dust.

“What are you most afraid of right now?” the doctor asks.

Kate swallows. Her voice is paper.

“That I already fucked it all up too bad to fix.”

Dr. Marks finally writes something down. Then looks up again.

“Do you want to die?”

Kate doesn’t answer. Not at first. Then…

“No…I guess I just didn’t care if I lived.”

“That’s not the same.”

“It’s not.”

Dr. Marks clicks her pen shut.

“I’m recommending in-patient rehab. Twenty-eight days minimum. You need medical detox, and you need accountability. You’ll have to consent to a release plan involving social services. If you want to retain custody, that’s the path.”

Kate nods again.

“I’ll go,” she says.

And she means it.

—

Yelena comes that afternoon.

She doesn’t sit down right away. She stands by the door, arms crossed, looking at Kate like she’s trying to see the outline of the person she used to know.

“Child services came to the apartment this morning. They talked to the kids.”

Kate shuts her eyes.

“Alex didn’t say much. But Maks told them you stopped reading to them. That they were late to school sometimes. That you forgot to pick them up more than once. That your room smells funny and sometimes you talk funny…That there were lots of women coming in and out of the apartment. What the fuck, Kate?”

Kate looks like she’s trying not to throw up.

“They’ve assigned a caseworker. There will be follow-ups. There will be visits. And I told them the truth.”

“What? That I’m a bad mother?”

“No. I would never say that. Because that's not true. I told them you’re a mother who almost died. Who needs help.”

“Do they hate me?” Kate’s voice cracks.

“No. But I don't think they trust you right this second.”

Kate nods. Her mouth twists. She wipes at her eyes and winces. Cracked ribs still make it hurt to breathe.

Yelena finally sits. Stares at her for a long time.

“You’re going to rehab.” Kate nods. “Glad we agree. Because I’m not doing this again. I won’t.”

“I know.”

“No. I don’t think you do. Kate, I have never wanted to take them from you. Those kids adore you. But if this becomes a pattern I will do it. I will go to court.”

Kate looks at her. The smallest spark in her eyes.

“We already did.”

“It’s not funny.” Yelena doesn’t smile.

Kate’s hand trembles against the blanket.

“Do you hate me?” she asks.

“At this very moment? A little…But I love you more.” That might have been too much honesty, but its already out there. So Yelena will deal with it. She leans forward. “I also want you to get better. Because they need you to.”

“I don’t know if I can…Deej never could.”

Seems they're both being radically honest today.

“Then you better figure it out. Because you have one shot left.”

Yelena stands. Heads for the door. Stops.

"You have one thing he didn't have…Me. And you know how stubborn and annoying I can be." Yelena offers a hint of a smile. "I can't fight this for you, Kate. But I will be there if you let me…because if you don’t make it out of this clean then…They don't deserve that…I don't either."

Kate nods. Yelena walks out.

//

DAY SEVEN ICU Step-Down Unit, Room 534

The nurse checks her vitals at 5:48 a.m.

Kate’s awake before the cuff even tightens around her arm. The rhythm of the hospital has settled into her skin by now: the soft whir of monitors, the rustle of charts, the distant squeak of shoes against waxed tile. There's a kind of sterile intimacy to the routine. It's tyrannical. Ordinary.

She spent weeks in rooms like this when DJ was still alive.

Same IV drip. Same antiseptic smell. Same rhythmic beep of machines keeping broken things alive.

He used to joke about it. Called himself a science project. Told her that rehab was like prison with better lighting. He made her laugh even while dying. Until he didn’t.

Kate lies still, eyes on the ceiling, arm outstretched, plastic bracelet digging into her wrist.

KATHERINE BISHOP DOB: 10/16/2002 ALLERGIES: NKA STATUS: HOLD – PSYCH EVAL COMPLETE, ADMIT PENDING

The last line sits like a brick in her gut.

The shame takes longer to arrive this time. Not because it's gentler. Because it's oversized. Viscous. Like grief after the shock wears off.

She rolls onto her side, careful not to pull at the IV, and sees her phone sitting on the tray table. Powered off.

Kate hasn’t touched it. She doesn’t want to see what’s waiting inside it. The missed calls. The texts. The photos of her kids she hasn’t looked at in over a week. She’s not strong enough. Not yet.

The nurse leaves. Kate exhales. The pain in her chest is different now. Not just the cracked ribs. It’s the weight. Of everything. Of DJ.

She sees him now. Clearly. In the corner of the room, leaning against the sink like he used to when they were teenagers sneaking cigarettes in the bathroom.

“Not so high on that horse now, huh?” Kate imagines him saying. Same grin. Same hollow eyes.

“Fuck off,” she mutters.

But DJ doesn't fade. He’s in the rhythm of the heart monitor. He’s in the smell of bleach on her sheets. He’s in the way her hands shake when she tries to hold a cup of water. He’s in the way she remembers holding his cold fingers at the morgue while their mother wept so hard she retched. He's in the way Kate would kill for a line right now. Or a drink. Just one. Or a nameless girl. Just to settle the racket in her brain. And the jitters. And the headache.

Kate closes her eyes. She wonders if she looked like him. Laid out on the floor. Sickly. Unresponsive. With her daughter’s voice trying to reach her through the door.

Her fingers curl into fists. She wants to holler. But she doesn’t. She stays silent. Because screaming won’t fix anything. DJ screamed for help for years, and no one came fast enough.

She barely made it. DJ didn’t.

There’s a knock at the door. She flinches.

“Come in.”

It’s not Yelena. Or Susan.

It’s a social worker. Youthful. Polished. Kind eyes that don’t look away from the IV bruises or the bags under her eyes.

“Mrs. Bishop. I’m Gabriel. I’m here to go over some next steps before transfer.”

She nods. Doesn’t sit up. He walks in slowly, clipboard in hand.

“Your family has arranged intake for a residential facility. You’ll be transferred tomorrow morning. Forty-five minute drive upstate. Medical detox and a full psychiatric team.”

Kate exhales, her breath rattling in her throat. “That fast?”

“You were on a seventy-two-hour hold. That hold ends tonight. Given the situation, we all believe it’s best if…”

“I get it,” she cuts in. “I know what I did.”

"There will be an interview when you arrive tomorrow. You’ll meet your therapist, your attending physician, and the intake nurse.”

"Okay.”

Gabriel hesitates.

“There’s one other thing. You’ll have a call later today. With Child Protective Services. They’ll want to hear from you directly. Not just your lawyer.”

“Will I lose them?”

Gabriel doesn’t answer right away. Then:

“That depends on what you do next.” He smiles. Professional. “You’re still alive. That’s more than a lot of folks get.”

She nods. He leaves. The room is quiet again. DJ’s gone. But the echo of him is everywhere. She looks at the ceiling. And for the first time in seven days, she cries.

//

DAY EIGHT Family Services Office, 6th Floor

Yelena hasn’t slept. She probably won’t for a while. She sits stiff in the too-small chair, arms crossed, trying to ignore the kink in her spine.

The CPS conference room feels more like an interrogation box than a child welfare office. Cream walls. Fluorescent lights. Mismatched chairs pulled around a rectangular table, cluttered with legal pads, case files, and water bottles nobody’s touched.

Across from Yelena sits the caseworker assigned to Kate’s file. Early forties, maybe. Polished but not warm. Beside her is a supervisor, glasses perched low, scrolling through a tablet with one finger. Yelena’s lawyer is to her left, perfectly poised, scanning the folder in front of her. Kate’s lawyer is slumped in a corner chair like he’s already preparing to spin this uphill.

A red light blinks steadily on the recorder in the center of the table. The caseworker is the first to speak.

“Thank you for coming in, Ms. Belova. We know this isn’t an easy time. We appreciate you making yourself available.”

“I’m here to do whatever my kids need.” Yelena replies, dry.

The supervisor doesn’t look up. Just keeps scrolling as she speaks.

“Then let’s talk about what happened. On April fifth, your ex-wife…”

“Wife. Still wife. Technically not divorced yet.” Yelena corrects her for some reason.

“On April 5th, Katherine Bishop was found unresponsive at her residence. She was experiencing an overdose. Your three children were in the home at the time. Is that correct?”

“Yes. I was the one who found her. I started CPR. Paramedics took over when they arrived.”

The caseworker scribbles something into her notes, then looks up.

“Has Ms. Bishop ever exhibited behavior in the past that concerned you in regard to the children’s safety?”

Yelena’s answer is immediate.

“No. If I’d known…I would’ve done something sooner.”

There’s a pause. The supervisor speaks next, still without lifting her eyes.

“The purpose of this meeting is to determine whether the current custody arrangement continues to serve the children’s best interests. Given the circumstances…it’s our obligation to reassess that arrangement.”

The caseworker cuts in gently.

“To be clear, there’s no previous CPS record. No domestic disturbances. No history of neglect. That helps. But given the severity of the event…we’d understand if you were seeking a change of custody at this time.”

Yelena meets her gaze.

“I’m not. I think the agreement we have is fair.”

That surprises everyone in the room. Kate’s lawyer lifts his head. Even her own attorney pauses. The supervisor finally glances up.

“Ms. Belova, you understand you’d be within your rights to pursue full physical custody today. We would approve that immediately.”

“I know.”

“But you’re not.”

“No.”

The silence that follows is heavier than the buzzing lights.

“Can I ask why not?” The caseworker presses.

Yelena shifts. Her voice doesn’t rise, doesn’t waver. It just lands.

“Because Kate’s a good mom. This…this was a mistake. A really bad one. But she loves those kids. And they love her. She would never willingly hurt them. Ever. So I don’t think ripping her out of their lives is the answer. She’s agreed to go in-patient. I believe she means it. And I believe the best thing for everyone is to give her the opportunity to recover, without punishing her or the kids in the process.”

There’s another long pause. Yelena’s lawyer jumps in to catch the moment.

“What my client is proposing is a temporary shift. Primary custody with her while Ms. Bishop undergoes treatment. Supervised visitation post-release, assuming compliance. If and when her team and the agency determine it’s appropriate, they’d return to their previous shared arrangement.”

The supervisor studies Yelena for a beat longer than necessary. Then nods.

“That’s…generous.”

“It’s what’s fair,” Yelena retierates.

The caseworker tilts her head, then begins typing.

“We’ll need to formalize the temporary modification. A safety plan. We’ll want documentation from the treatment center. Proof of admission, progress reports. Randomized drug testing. Therapy participation. Parenting classes.”

Kate’s lawyer nods. “She’ll comply. My office will make sure you get all of that in a timely manner.”

“We’ll also need to do a home check,” the supervisor adds, tapping at her tablet again. “Nothing extensive. Just need to verify a safe, stable environment.”

“My home is…much smaller than Kate’s,” Yelena admits, almost embarrased. “But it’s clean. And they have what they need.”

“That’s all we’re looking for.”

“Given Ms. Belova’s cooperation and her willingness to provide consistent, stable care, we’re confident this satisfies the agency’s concerns in the interim, correct?” Yelena’s attorney formalizes the closing.

The supervisor finally sets the tablet aside and folds her hands.

“Alright. We’ll put it in writing. Monitor the situation closely. If Ms. Bishop fails to comply, this arrangement will be revisited.”

Yelena nods, shoulders loosening for the first time since she sat down. But deeper inside, something unknots. Just a little.

If Kate stays clean. If she fights for it. If she wants it. The kids don’t have to lose her.

Not like this.

Not like she lost DJ.

—

Discharge Suite, 3rd Floor

The room is quieter than the ICU. Less machines. Less beeping. But somehow more suffocating. Kate’s dressed now. Hospital-issued sweats and a fresh T-shirt that hangs too loose on her. Her ribs ache when she moves. Her throat is still raw from the intubation. And yet, what she feels most acutely is the weight in her chest. Guilt. Shame. Dread.

A nurse had come in twenty minutes ago and told her her things were on the way. Brought by her…wife.

Ex-wife. Kate corrects herself. Should already be. Soon to be.

The paperwork’s still sitting on someone’s desk. Waiting for signatures. Final stamps. She’ll have to come back from upstate before that stamp ever lands.

There’s a knock. Kate doesn’t move. She knows who it is before the door opens.

Yelena steps in, a duffel bag slung over her shoulder. She looks tired. Not sleep-deprived. Kate knows that look. No, this is worse. This is emotionally drained but too strong to show it tired.

Behind her is Susan.

“Hey,” Yelena says first, quietly.

“Hey.”

Kate doesn’t know where to look. So she stares at the floor. At the space between Yelena’s shoes and Susan’s.

Yelena walks in slowly. Sets the bag down by the foot of the bed. “I packed what I could think of. Comfy stuff. Your chargers. Deodorant. That shampoo you love.”

“Thanks.”

Susan doesn’t move from the doorway. Kate finally glances at her.

“You didn’t have to come.”

“Yes, I did.” Susan’s voice is steel.

Kate turns to Yelena. Her stomach turns.

“Did you talk to them too?…CPS?”

Yelena nods.

“This morning. So did your lawyer.”

“And?”

“They’re not pulling custody.”

Kate lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. Her knees wobble under the thin hospital blanket.

“But…its all conditional. You have to follow the plan. Rehab. Sober living. Check-ins. Random testing. You don’t miss one.”

“I won’t,” Kate lets out quickly.

Susan scoffs from the doorway.

“You better not.”

Yelena shoots her a glance. Susan shrugs like she couldn’t care less about being polite.

“What? I’m not sugarcoating shit anymore.”

Kate’s eyes dart to her sister. After a long beat, she looks at Yelena.

“Thanks for not bringing them. Not letting them see me like that.”

“You don’t thank people for cleaning up messes you made.” Susan adds.

Kate winces. Susan softens.

“I’m mad. But I’m still here. So don’t make me regret it.”

Kate nods. There’s a silence that follows. Not icy. Just full.

“I didn’t mean for it to get that bad,” Kate says, mostly to Yelena.

“I know.” Yelena adds.

Another beat.

“Is Alex okay? She hasn’t responded to my texts.”

“She’s…scared. Hurt.” Yelena shrugs. “My parents are taking them to the therapist twice a week now. Give her time. It'll pass.”

Kate swallows. Her ribs flare when she shifts in the bed.

“Can I write to her?”

“Of course! Kate, I'm not keeping them from you. Right now its just…too soon. I have a meeting with our therapist tomorrow. If she gives the okay, you can call them or FaceTime or write to them. Any time you want. As much as you want.”

“I won’t ask you to bring them up.”

“I wouldn’t anyway. Not yet.”

“Right.”

“But I’ll come. If you're okay with that.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I'd like that.”

“And I’ll make sure they know you're trying. That you’re safe. That you're getting better.”

“Thank you.”

A soft knock interrupts them. The transport nurse pokes her head in.

“We’re ready when you are.”

Kate nods. The nurse steps away. Yelena grabs the bag and hands it to her.

“It’s all there.”

Kate turns to Susan.

“Can we get a second?”

Susan nods, steps out. Tension rises. Silence stretches.

“Thanks,” Kate reiterates.

“I just packed a bag.”

“You know that's not what I mean.”

“I know.”

“How did it get this bad?”

“I’m not sure…I watched you die. More than once. I…was pressing so hard that I…I was the one who broke your ribs. I felt them give, Kate. I keep dreaming about it. Us. In that bathroom…We did many things in there. Never thought that would be one of them."

“I keep thinking…I could've died with you believing I hated you. I don't. I just needed you to know that.”

“I knew that.”

“Good.”

Yelena turns to go. Pauses at the door. Then looks back.

“Get better.”

Kate doesn’t speak. Yelena leaves.

Kate has a moment of silence before Susan walks back in. Holding something. She walks up to Kate, sets a folded piece of paper on the tray table. Kate looks at it for a long beat then opens it. An ultrasound photo. Kate’s breath catches.

“That’s your niece. You fuck this up and you don’t get to know her.”

Susan kisses her sister’s forehead. And walks out.

//

Yelena didn’t realize how much Kate handled until she wasn’t there. Didn’t realize how overloaded Kate must have felt. Because that’s how she feels now. Drop-offs, sports, dance classes, dentist appointments, remembering that Alexia needs a poster board or Maks has a costume party. With the kids in her care full-time now, Yelena’s brain runs like a computer with too many tabs open. None of them organized. All of them on fire.

Sonny’s teething again. Maks wet the bed three times this week. Alexia…Yelena doesn’t even know. The girl’s gone quiet. Too still. She doesn’t ask about Kate much anymore. Doesn’t cry. Just watches. That’s worse.

The silence. The observing. The waiting. Yelena can feel the weight of Alexia’s eyes on her when she’s folding laundry, when she forgets to pack a snack, when she doesn’t laugh at Maks’ joke fast enough. She can feel it like a measuring stick being held up to her forehead.

Are you enough? Are you enough without her?

//

Alexei has all but moved in. At first it was just to help for the week. Then the week stretched. Then it became routine. He makes breakfast every morning like he’s been doing it forever. Walks Sonny up and down the block when she won’t stop crying. Tells Maks stories about when Yelena was little, always ending with, "And that is why your Mama is like this."

Melina stops by every day with printouts. Meal plans. Color-coded calendars. Suggestions for managing the emotional trauma of children post-crisis. She talks in bullet points. But she has never, not once, told Yelena or Alexei how she feels about any of this.

Alexei and Melina are helping. They are. But it’s still also only Yelena now. She’s the one who wakes up every night to check if the kids are breathing. The one who takes the calls from the school. The one who remembers which brand of pull-ups doesn’t give Sonny a rash. The one who has to answer the same question, over and over again:

"When is Mommy coming home?"

She tells them: Soon. When she’s better. When the doctors say she’s ready.

Maks asks if they’ll get to live together again after. Alexia doesn’t say anything.

//

Yelena goes to group once a week. Nar-Anon. The one for the families and friends of addicts. Took her three tries to actually walk inside. Sat in the car the first time, engine running, hand on the door. Couldn’t move. The second time she got as far as the hallway before a woman smiled at her too kindly and she bolted. The third time, she sat down. Didn’t talk. Just listened.

Heard stories that sounded too familiar. Stories about addicts who lied and stole and relapsed and swore they wouldn’t. About kids who grew up with half-parents. About the helplessness. The rage.

She cried halfway through her second real meeting.

Now she’s made it a point to put in on her calendar. She promises herself she’ll go every Thursday night. So far, she’s stuck with it.

She sits in the third row, near the back. Not sharing. Not uttering Kate’s name. Not even her own. She simply shows up and listens. And, for now, that’s enough.

//

Yelena misses work deadlines constantly now. The lab understands. Mostly. Her name still carries weight. But the remorse gnaws at her. She was never late before. Never missed a review or stood someone up for a meeting or forgot to follow through.

Now she sets alarms and forgets what they’re even for. Now she pours coffee and drinks it cold. Now she folds laundry at midnight because it’s the only time the house is quiet.

Alexia stays up too late. Pretends to read. Yelena doesn’t push her. Maks has become more clingy, crawling into her bed in the middle of the night and whispering that he had another bad dream. Sonny hangs on to Alexei like a barnacle. Yelena calls him Dad. So now Sonny calls him Dad. Like it’s always been that way.

Yelena loves them so much it hurts. Loves them beyond measure…yet nevertheless, she sometimes wants to scream. But there’s no room to fall apart. No corner of the day where she can shatter. No one to pass the baton to. Kate isn’t there. Kate isn’t texting to say she’s running late but will pick up dinner. Kate isn’t leaving her notes in the margin of grocery lists or fixing the playlist in the car.

Kate isn’t there. But Yelena is.

//

The house is clean now. Too clean. Alexei’s doing. He can’t sit still. He folds every blanket. Organizes every drawer. Makes the beds with hospital corners. Something about control, Yelena thinks.

Maks spilled juice on the carpet and cried like it was the end of the world. Yelena knelt down, cleaned it, held him, told him it was just juice. Told him it’s something you can wipe away.

Yelena understands their tantrums have nothing to do with juice spills or teething or dinner choices. So she tries to be extra patient with them. That’s the best she can do lately.

//

Kate’s been in rehab for fourteen days. No visitors. No phone calls. The center sends progress updates through a family liaison. Yelena reads every one three times.

"Katherine has been compliant with all treatment protocols."

"Katherine is responding well to group therapy."

"Katherine has rejected additional individual counseling."

“Katherine isn’t being entirely honest.”

The reports are clinical. Distant. Yelena reads them like a lifeline. Every sentence a heartbeat. Every paragraph a breadcrumb that means maybe…maybe…Kate is coming back to the kids.

Yelena doesn’t know if she’s coming back to her. That’s…not something she lets herself think about. Not yet.

//

Yelena talks to Dr. O’Grady twice a week. Once for solo therapy, once with the kids. It was Dr. O’Grady who suggested the group meetings, the Thursday ones Yelena now attends like a quiet form of penance.

When it’s just the two of them, the sessions are usually quiet. Dr. O’Grady is maddeningly good at silence. She doesn’t push. She just…waits. Long enough that Yelena starts talking just to fill the air.

“What are you most afraid of?” She asked last session.

Yelena stared at the carpet for what felt like minutes. Her fingers twisted in her lap. Her mouth opened once, then closed.

Then finally, she said, “That Kate doesn’t want to come back.”

A beat.

“Not to the kids.”

A longer one.

“To me.”

//

On Day Twenty-One, the rehab center calls while Yelena is at work. Her stomach drops.

Yelena hesitates, then stands and steps just outside the door, answering with a tight, “Hello?”

“Hi, this is Amy from Reed Recovery. Is this Ms. Belova?”

“…Yeah.”

“We’re calling to confirm visitation availability for Saturday. Ms. Bishop blackout period is over. You’re cleared to schedule a visit and Kate has listed you as her primary contact. Would you like to schedule a time?”

Yelena’s every muscle goes stiff. For a second, she can’t breathe.

“Yes. Yes, I…sorry. Yes. I’d like to come.”

“Great. Would 10AM work?”
 “Yes. Definitely. Yes.”

“You’re confirmed for 10AM. We recommend arriving fifteen minutes early and bringing a form of ID. We’ll go over visitor rules and expectations when you arrive.”

“Okay. Thank you.” Yelena hangs up before she can hear the rest.

Instead of going back to the meeting she just…leaves. She sits in her car for forty-five minutes. Breath ragged. Phone still in her hand. She closes her eyes.

A month ago, she almost became a single parent permanently. A month ago, she shoved her mouth against Kate’s and begged her to stay. Now she has to see her again. Hear her voice.

Yelena doesn’t know if she wants to cry or scream or run. But she’ll do it. Because this is her life now. Her mess. Her kids. Her family. Her responsibility. And maybe…just maybe…her future, too.

//

The room smells like burnt coffee and industrial-strength floor cleaner. The chairs are all the same. Metal, beige, barely cushioned. Uncomfortable by design. There’s cheap carpeting underfoot, a table in the corner with cookies no one touches, and a corkboard on the wall covered in photos and typed-out success stories. It’s the kind of space meant to disappear into itself. Neutral. A blank enough canvas to hold grief, rage, hope, regret. Whatever you bring in, it’ll carry. That’s the idea, anyway.

Yelena sits in her usual spot, third row from the back. The ceiling tile above her is still stained. She’s counted it twice. It doesn’t change.

The room’s half full. Some familiar faces. Some new. Most of them worn in the way pain wears people down. Quiet around the edges, as if loosening even a little might make them fall apart completely. She’s listened to them speak for three weeks now. Sat through the stories. Mothers crying over sons, daughters raging about brothers, husbands whispering about wives they barely recognize.

She’s understood all of it. Just never knew what the fuck to say. Until tonight. Maybe it’s the phone call. Maybe it’s the silence that followed. Either way, something itches under her skin. Restless. Inevitable.

Because tonight, for the first time in twenty-one days, Yelena has a date and time. She’s going to see Kate. Saturday. Ten AM.

After three weeks of silence, no calls, no updates beyond the sterile progress notes from the facility. After twenty-one days of fielding tantrums and bedtime meltdowns and teething and quiet questions from Maks and sideways glances from Alexia. After all that…she finally gets to see the woman she used to call her wife.

She hasn’t told the kids yet. Not until she sees for herself.

She picks at her thumbnail. Around her, the meeting begins. Someone checks in. Someone else reads from a pamphlet. The man across the circle sips his coffee like it’s been keeping him alive for decades. A tired laugh breaks out when someone makes a dry joke. Then the room settles again. A lull.

The facilitator scans the circle.

“Who wants to go next?”

Silence. A chair squeaks. Then, before she knows why she’s doing it, Yelena hears herself speak.

“I’ll go.”

Heads turn. Some surprised. Some quietly supportive. She doesn’t move to the center. Just stays where she is, hands in the pockets of her jacket, voice low but steady.

“I’m Yelena. Been coming here for three weeks.” She exhales. Her fingers curl tighter in her pockets. “First because I didn’t know what else to do. Now because I still don’t. I haven’t spoken yet. Didn’t think I would.” She glances around. The faces are kind. Or at least trying to be. “My wife…ex-wife…we were in the middle of finalizing our divorce when she overdosed.”

That word lands. She sees a few eyes shift. Nods. A soft inhale.

“It wasn’t…some perfect fairy tale. It was a fucking mess. I’m not quite sure what we are now…Sorry. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. I don’t know what I want to say….”

She stops. Regathers.

“Three weeks ago, she overdosed. Cocaine laced with fentanyl. Her heart stopped. She seized. Then had a heart attack. The doctors told me if I’d gotten there a few minutes later, she’d be dead.”

A murmur. One man closes his eyes.

“Our kids were home. I found her on the bathroom floor. Blue. Not moving.”

The words don’t come dramatic. They come plain. Undecorated.

“I did CPR until the medics got there. I didn’t think it would work. I didn’t think…I thought I was going to have to tell our kids that their mom was dead.”

Someone across the circle nods. Quietly. Like they’ve been there. Maybe they have.

“She made it. Barely. She was in the hospital for a week. Got released. Got into a program. They sent her upstate. No contact for three weeks. Today, I got the call. I’m allowed to visit. Saturday. Ten AM.”

Yelena shifts. Scratches at the seam of her jeans.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to her. I don’t know if I’m supposed to scream or cry or hug her or just…sit there. I’m mad. I’m scared. And I’m so fucking tired.”

Her throat tightens. She pushes past it.

“I’ve had the kids full-time since it happened. Three kids. One in diapers. One who is desperate to understand everything but is too little to truly grasp anything. One who’s trying to carry the weight of all of it without saying a single word. I look at them and think, ‘They have no idea how close they came to losing her.’ And they shouldn’t. They shouldn’t have to carry that. But I do.”

The facilitator offers a gentle nod. Silent encouragement. Yelena breathes deep. Keeps going.

“I came here because I thought I needed to vent. Or hear that I was right to be mad. That I wasn’t crazy for feeling like this. But I don’t want her punished. I just…want her better. I want her to want to be better.” A pause. “She’s a good mom. She loves them. That’s not the problem. The problem is that she’s sick. And now I’m stuck in this place where I’m furious and terrified and still trying to be kind. Trying to be generous. And I don’t know how the fuck to do it all at once.”

There’s a hush now. That real silence. When people aren’t just listening, but hearing you.

“I don’t know who she is to me anymore. She’s been every version of something. Girlfriend. Partner. Wife. Roommate. Ex. Co-parent. Estranged. The woman who almost died in our shared bathroom.” Her voice lowers. “I almost had to call her my dead wife.”

Yelena lets that sit.

“I keep thinking that should be enough. That she survived. That I didn’t have to make those calls. That should be enough, right?” She shakes her head. “But it’s not. It’s not even close.”

Silence again.

“Sorry. I didn’t plan to speak tonight. But it felt worse not to.” She exhales. Her shoulders slump. The room exhales with her. “Anyway. That’s me.”

Yelena sits back down. Breathing shaky. Heart louder than it should be.

Someone murmurs, “Thank you.”

Another: “Glad you’re here.”

And then the circle moves again. Someone else stands. Someone else starts. And Yelena sits back and listens.

Even if the words don’t fix anything, they were real. And that’s a start.

The rest of the session passes in a blur. Someone cries. Someone else hands them tissues. A man across the room talks about how his daughter stole from him to get high. Yelena barely hears a word.

//

When the meeting ends, Yelena doesn’t bolt like usual.

She lingers. Watching people trickle out. Coats shrugged on. Murmured goodbyes. Chairs screeching as they’re pushed back into straight lines.

She drifts toward the cookie table, eyeing a lonely oatmeal raisin that looks like it’s been there since the Carter administration. She debates it. Even knowing it’ll taste like chalk and drywall, she takes a bite. Instantly regrets it.

Then a voice behind her: warm, low, just amused enough.

“You speak like you’re used to being listened to.”

Yelena turns.

The woman behind her is tall. Late thirties, maybe. Warm brown skin. Dark curls pulled into a half-knot that manages to look effortless and deliberate at the same time. Her black jeans are worn, her cardigan oversized, and her boots look like they’ve stomped over lesser men. There’s navy polish chipping off her nails and a little mischief tucked into the corners of her mouth. Her eyes are darker still. Serious. Curious. Magnetic.

“Most people don’t,” the woman adds.

Yelena lets out a soft snort.

“Used to yelling, maybe. Listening’s harder.”

That earns a smile.

“Still. I’m glad you spoke.”

“Thanks.” Yelena nods, cautious.

“I’m Ava.” She offers a hand.

“Yelena.”

“I know.” Ava grins. “You’ve been sitting in that same chair for three weeks.”

Yelena quirks a brow.

“You keeping tabs?”

“I’m observant.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?”

Ava shrugs.

“Something like that…Talking’s harder than it looks, huh?”

“At least I didn’t cry.”

“No shame if you had. I ugly-cried my first five meetings. Full snot. Olympic-level.”

Yelena huffs a laugh. It catches her by surprise. “Impressive.”

“I own it now. Snot and all.”

They fall quiet for a beat. Then Ava nudges the table.

“Okay, be real with me. Are these cookies as bad as they look?”

“Worse.”

“Thought so.”

Ava drops her hands into her pockets.

“You wanna walk? There's a decent bodega two blocks over with actual cookies. Fresh. Usually.”

Yelena hesitates. Ava notices.

“Not trying to be weird. Just…you looked like you needed to talk a little more. Or not talk. I’m good with either.”

Yelena glances at the time. 9:13. Alexei’s at home with the kids. They’re probably already asleep. And she…doesn’t want to go back. Not just yet. The thought of going home, of crawling back into silence, tastes worse than the cookie she didn’t eat.

“Alright. Lead the way.”

//

Outside, the air is brisk. The streets are slick with earlier rain, neon puddles blooming under streetlights. They walk side by side, Ava with that relaxed stride of someone who’s been through shit and lived to laugh about it.

“Saturday, huh?” Ava says.

“Yeah.” Yelena nods.

“Longest you’ve ever gone without seeing her?”

Yelena nods again.

“Never in twenty years. Even during the worst of it, we were always circling each other. Drop-offs. Pickups. Something.”

“She know you’re coming?”

“I assume so…I don’t even know what I’m supposed to feel. Angry. Relieved. Panicked. It’s like everything’s fighting for space in my head. I can’t decide if I want to hug her or punch her in the throat.”

“That tracks.”

“You always this good at reading people?”

“I’m a school counselor. I spend most of my day navigating hormonal chaos and unspoken trauma. You get good at spotting what’s really going on under the surface. And you get especially proficient at sorting the quiet from the dangerous.”

“And what am I?”

Ava surveys her.

“Neither. You’re something else entirely.”

Yelena doesn’t know what to do with that. So she doesn’t.

The words settle between them like a match waiting to be struck.

//

The bodega hums with fluorescent light and the low buzz of a radio behind the counter. The cookie shelf is still stocked.

“These…” Ava points. “These are the good ones.”

Yelena grabs two. Pays in crumpled bills. They step back out into the night, warmth of the store giving way to chill.

Ava breaks off a piece and hands it to her. Yelena takes it. Their fingers brush. Electric current hums under it.

“What do you think Saturday will be?”

Yelena chews. Swallows.

“I don’t know. And that makes it worse.”

“Nothing bad with a bit of mystery. Sometimes it gets you to the other side.”

“I’m not trying to get to the other side of anything. I just want her to be okay.”

“And you?” Yelena remains silent. “What about you?” Ava looks over. “Do you want you to be okay?”

Yelena stares at the sidewalk. At a puddle. At her shoes. Anything else.

“I haven’t thought about it.”

“Maybe start.”

There’s no judgment in Ava’s voice. Just a kind of understanding that sits quietly in the chest.

They walk more. It’s quiet. Not heavy. Just present.

“You come to group often?”

“Couple times a week.”

“Why?”

‘My sister. She’s in her fifth rehab stint. This one’s in Arizona. Desert views. God and green juice. The works.”

Yelena huffs a laugh.

“Fuck.” She reels it back. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t laugh.”

“Don’t be. I laugh about it too.”

They fall into step again. The city sounds rise and fall around them. Cars. Music. A siren somewhere distant.

“You should decide what you’re gonna say to her. The first time is always weird. I’ve realized it’s easier if you come prepared.”

“I want to shake her. I want to hold her. I want her to say she’ll fix everything. I want to believe it.”

“None of those are mutually exclusive…I’ve wanted to kill my sister and protect her in the same breath. That’s love, I think. Stupid and savage and soft.”

Another pause. This one softer. Yelena finds herself watching Ava again. The sharpness in her tone hasn’t dulled the warmth in her face.

“How long was your sister sober? Before Arizona…” Yelena asks.

“Two years. Then…bad overdose too. I don’t know what happened. She won't tell me. Three months sober this time. I haven’t talked to her since she checked in. Says she needs distance to focus. And I’m…pretending I’m okay with that.”

Yelena nods. “Yeah.”

“Anyway…you did good tonight. Saying all that. Takes guts.”

“Didn’t feel brave.”

“It never does.”

Another silence. This one warmer.

“Do you think they change? I mean…really change?” Yelena asks.

“I think they can.”

“But do they?”

Ava exhales. “Sometimes.”

“Her brother was an addict. OD’d. Same thing. Cocaine. Her parents are basically functioning alcoholics. It’s a family affair apparently. I keep asking myself if I’m delusional for thinking she’s gonna make it out. That she won’t end up the same. I don’t even know if I can trust her again. Not really.”

“She’s not her brother. Or her parents.” Ava’s voice is quiet but certain.

“No. But she’s still her.”

They stop at the corner. Ava turns to face her, eyes catching the streetlight just right. Too perceptive, too steady.

“Then make sure she’s coming back to someone real. Not just to her guilt…Or your fear.”

The words land hard. Not cruel. Just true.

They walk in silence for a few blocks. The kind of silence that doesn’t ache. Just exists. Like they’re making space for each other in real time.

“How old are your kids?” Ava asks.

“Rounding up? Eight, five, and eighteen months.”

“Woof. That’s a lot of snack crumbs.”

Yelena lets out a soft, unexpected laugh.

“So much vacumming.”

“I think the best we can do is be someone they’d be proud of. At their best. And hope they meet us with that same energy.”

Yelena doesn’t respond. She doesn’t know how to. She just looks at Ava. This stranger who doesn’t feel like one. This woman who’s asked nothing of her.

Yelena doesn’t know if she wants anything from her either. Doesn’t know if this is a connection, or just two people orbiting the same ache. But it feels like something. Like space. Like room to exhale. It feels like air. And after the last month, that feels like a fucking miracle.

Her heart starts pounding. Not from panic. Not from grief. But from the quiet shock of still being alive. From something warmer. Stranger. Hope, maybe. Or the very early outline of it.

//\\

They take her shoelaces first.

The moment she’s admitted she’s left barefoot, shaking, silent. Then they cut the strings out of her sweatpants. Just protocol. Then her hoodie. Then her bag. They peel her life away piece by piece, like they’re undressing her for autopsy.

Everything sharp. Everything with a cord or edge or weight is removed. For her safety, they say.

That’s the first time she genuinely cries. Not the ER. Not the ICU. Not even on the ride over.

It’s the moment a stranger puts most things she owns in a clear plastic bag with her name on it and says, “You’ll get these back when you discharge.”

It hits her then…she’s not leaving for a while.

They take her phone next. That one hurts worse. Yelena and the kids are lock screen. Alexia on her hip. Sonny asleep in her arms. Maks making a face behind them. That photo…the one she looked at every time she felt like a failure…is gone now too.

The woman at intake tells her kindly that the first 72 hours are the worst. If she can get through those mostly sane, she’ll probably be okay.

Kate nods. Says nothing.

//

Kate pukes six times in the first three hours. She was still getting SOME drugs at the hospital. For the pain. That dulled the edges of the symptoms. She’s not getting anything here and that sends her spiraling.

Withdrawal is…hell.

She knew it would be. She vividly remembers watching DJ go through it. The cold sweats. The bone-deep ache. The tremors. But nothing…nothing…could prepare her for the fucking silence.

There are no distractions here. No phone to scroll. No playlist to drown out the static in her head. No Yelena to pick a fight with. No kids to orbit. Just time. Time and pain and shame.

She doesn't talk for the first week. Not in any real way. Just enough to get through the vitals check. Just enough to keep people out of her face. But the thoughts don’t stop.

The worst part isn’t the physical withdrawal.

The worst part is remembering the look on Yelena’s face the first time she saw her in the hospital. The disappointment behind her eyes now that she fully knew what Kate had been up to.

//

Day six, she cracks.

Not publicly. Not in front of the group or staff or the med tech who hands out her meds like communion. But in the shower. On the floor. She slides down the wall, shaking and soaked, her forehead pressed to her knees. She sobs until she dry-heaves.

And even then, it doesn’t feel like enough.

The guilt doesn’t come in waves. It sits on her chest. A cinderblock. Constant. Every time she thinks about Sonny’s face. Or Alexia’s voice. Or Maks rapid fire questions.

She doesn’t deserve to get better. That’s the thought. Over and over. She doesn’t deserve to get better.

//

Day nine, her group counselor calls her out.

“You can’t sit in the back with your arms crossed forever, Bishop.”

Kate meets her eyes.

“Bet I can.”

The woman laughs.

“Wanna bet your gym privileges?”

That night, Kate speaks in group for the first time. It isn’t poetic. It isn’t a breakthrough. It’s one sentence.

“My wife found me.”

No one says anything. Someone nods. Another whispers “fuck” under their breath. Kate doesn’t say more. Doesn’t need to.

It’s the first time she refers to Yelena as her wife since the divorce paperwork was filed.

//

By Day Fourteen, she sleeps through the night. Mostly. She stops sweating through her sheets. Stops throwing up after every meal. Stops pacing the length of her room at 3AM trying to scrape the itch out of her skin. But she still doesn’t feel right.

There’s something about sobriety no one tells you: when the drugs leave your system, the rest of you catches up. All the things you were trying not to feel? They wait for you.

Kate starts journaling because they make her. She writes like she’s reporting someone else’s crimes. Third person. Detached. But eventually the sentences bend. Become personal.

“I wanted to disappear.”

“I didn’t think about the fact that they were home.”

“I wasn’t trying to die. But I didn’t care if I did.”

//

The staff calls Kate “high-functioning.” Says she presents well. Says she’s a “good candidate for reintegration.”

Kate wants to throw a chair through the window. Of course she presents well. She always has. That’s what scares her the most.

Even in rehab, even after nearly dying, she can still talk her way into being believed. She can say what they need to hear. Smile at the right moment. Show progress in a measured, digestible way.

She can do that. And underneath?

She wants to use again. She wants the quiet. Not all the time. Not every second. But enough. Enough that it scares her.

//

The reports go to Yelena, apparently. Kate finds that out from her counselor during one of their one-on-ones.

“She’s listed as your primary contact. She’s been receiving regular updates.” The woman says.

Kate’s throat closes.

“She’s reading them?”

“As far as I know.”

Something shifts in Kate’s chest then. A sob she doesn’t let out. A hope she doesn’t want to feed. She nods. Bites her lip until she tastes blood.

Then she asks what more she has to do to earn her visit privileges.

//

On Day Twenty-One, they tell Kate she has a visit scheduled.

Saturday. 10AM.

She doesn’t ask who it is. She already knows. After all this time, Yelena is coming. And Kate? She isn’t ready. Not even a little. But she wants to be.

Kate has a couple days to figure out how to look her in the eye. Days to become someone worthy of being seen.

So Kate sits down. Picks up the pen. And starts writing.

“Dear Yelena…”

She writes. Then writes some more. Like a prayer.

And hopes…just fucking hopes…she’s earned the chance to say it out loud.

//

SATURDAY

Yelena pulls into the lot an hour early. It’s the only way she knows she won’t be late.

She’s been parked for nearly fifty minutes now. The engine’s off. The clock glows 9:43AM. Her hands are locked around the steering wheel like she’s afraid it’ll bolt. The dash ticks forward.

9:44.

Her stomach backflips.

It’s been twenty-four days since she last saw Kate. Not that she hasn’t seen her. Kate’s in her head constantly. Eyes half-lidded. Mouth slack. Skin cold and blue against the tile. That image lives behind her eyelids now. Every night.

Yelena exhales slowly. Unbuckles. Grabs the small duffel from the passenger seat. There’s a few changes of clothes, a new toothbrush, the kids’ drawings. And a letter from Alexia that she wouldn’t let anyone read. Yelena respect her wishes and hasn’t opened it. She doesn’t know what it says. Only hopes it won’t hurt more than it helps.

She shoulders the bag and walks toward the building.

//

The lobby is sterile. Cheerful in a curated, eerie way. The woman at the desk greets her with a soft, professional smile.

“We just finished morning group. They’ll bring her out shortly.”

Yelena nods and takes a seat in a stiff chair that squeaks beneath her. The corners of the room feel round. Soft. Safe. There’s a fake plant next to the bookshelf and a corkboard full of smiling headshots. Recovered alumni with laminated quotes printed underneath. She stares at it. Trying to reconcile the feelings it brings forth.

Then she hears footsteps. Her whole body tenses. Kate turns the corner with her counselor a step behind her. And for a second, Yelena forgets how to breathe.

Kate looks…diminished. Not thinner, not sickly, but smaller somehow. Like something’s been hollowed out. Her posture’s straighter than before. Rigid, even. But she looks like someone scrubbed her down too hard and left her raw. There’s no makeup. No armor. Just a braid, clean clothes, and a face that no longer knows what to expect.

It’s the most honest Yelena’s seen her in a long time.

//

Kate hovers by the visitor check-in desk, one hand buried deep in her pocket, fingers toying with the folded letter she’s eager to give. The other hand stays rigid at her side, pressed flat against her thigh to keep it from shaking. She hasn’t worn real clothes in three weeks. Just rehab-issue sweats and those sad little socks with grippy soles. But today, she asked for jeans. A shirt that fits. Something that gives some semblance of normalcy.

She tries to remember how she used to hold herself when she was out in the world. In real life. Taller, maybe. Shoulders back. Chin higher. Now it all feels like like she’s cosplaying herself.

She rounds the corner. Stops cold. Yelena is already there.

It’s like walking into a memory. Her blonde hair is down, loose waves framing her face. She’s wearing a green dress. Deep, sea glass green. The kind that makes her eyes burn brighter. The shoes even match. Kate doubts she dressed up for this. It’s just how Yelena always looks. But some part of her wants to believe Yelena tried. Because she did. God, she did.

Their eyes meet. Blue and green. Yelena offers a soft smile. Walks forward. Kate mirrors her.

She watches Yelena’s gait. It’s different. Slower. Measured. Like her balance has shifted in the last three weeks. Like something invisible’s been redistributed in her bones.

They stop two feet apart.

The counselor, all clipped warmth, gives the spiel.

“You’ll have one hour. There’s a private room down the hall. No touching outside of one hello and one goodbye hug. No gifts. Bags will be held and checked for restricted items.”

Yelena nods, wordless. Hands over the duffel bag. Watches the staff unzip it, flip through everything. A sweatshirt gets held up. A t-shirt stretched by its seams. They check the hems like Yelena stitched heroin into the thread.

Kate can’t look at her. She almost flinches when she hears the whisper.

“Hi.” Yelena finally says.

Kate turns. Yelena’s looking right at her. Steady. Calm.

“Hi,” Kate echoes.

That’s it. Nothing more. Just that small, brutal exchange between two people who’ve known each other too long to need filler.

The staff goes on rifling. After a beat, they’re cleared to carry on with the visit.

They walk. Side by side. Not touching. Not speaking. Just breathing the same air again. For the first time in twenty-four days.

Kate gestures to the far end of the corridor.

“They call it the Family Room. Which is hilarious.”

Yelena gives a half snort. Not quite a laugh.

“A little on the nose.”

Inside, it’s beige and beige and more beige.There’s a round table and two plastic chairs. A small couch. A box of tissues. Everything in here is either unbreakable or bolted down.

Kate sits. Yelena follows. Across from each other. A few feet and a lifetime apart. For a minute, they don’t speak.

“You look…” Kate trails off. “Good.”

“You look tired.”

“I am.” Kate chuckles once.

“You feel okay?”

“Define ‘okay.’”

Yelena chuckles too. It’s a start.

“Alex drew you something.”

Yelena hands over the folder she was holding.

Kate opens it gingerly. Inside, a few drawings. The top one is definitely Alexia’s. A seven-year-old’s crayon-scribbled mess…but Kate knows exactly what it is. Their family. All five of them. Yelena and Kate holding hands. Alexia with a thundercloud over her head. Maks mid-dinosaur attack. Sonny holding what looks like a sword but might just be a juice box.

Kate’s hand trembles slightly.

“How is she?” Kate asks.

“She’s quiet. That’s new…I think she’s just processing.”

Kate’s eyes drop to the paper again. Shakes her head. Guilt washing over her.

“She still drew you…She wanted to.”

Kate closes the folder like it’s fragile. Like if she moves too fast, the whole thing might shatter.

“How’s Karina?” Kate asks after a long beat.

Yelena furrows her brow, taken aback. The name drops like a coin in water.

“I don’t remember the last time anyone called her that.”

“It’s her name.”

“It is.”

“I was…we did this thing in group this morning. Had to write down our kids’ full names. I don’t know. It’s just…stuck in my head.”

“She made a friend at daycare. Bit her. We’re dealing with that.”

Kate groans.

“God. How bad?”

“Tiny vampire-level bite. Minimal blood. But emotionally? Devastating.”

Kate snorts.

“Sounds like her.”

“She’s still teething. Still pissed at the world about it. Honestly, biting is low on the list of traumatizing things she’s done this week.” Yelena offers with a faint smile.

“She’s STILL teething? How many teeth does she even have to grow?”

“She’s a dental overachiever.”

Kate smiles again, something honest breaking through in her face. Yelena leans back in her chair, studying her. Kate knows that look. The scan. The slow once-over. Watching for tremors, pupil dilation, the microexpressions of a lie. Yelena doesn’t speak until she’s satisfied.

“Maks only sleeps in my bed now,” Yelena adds quietly. “And he refuses to eat soup. Says it’s a vegetable conspiracy.”

Kate lets out a real laugh. Short. Startled. She covers her mouth like it slipped out by accident.

“He needs to stop spending so much time with my dad.”

“I miss his weird little brain.”

“He misses you too.”

Kate’s smile falters. Her throat works around something that doesn’t quite make it out.

“Yeah?”

Yelena nods.

“He asks when you’re coming home. All day long.”

Kate glances away, jaw tight.

“What do you tell him?”

“That you’re trying really hard.”

Kate nods, slow. Thoughtful.

“Do you believe that?”

“I hope so.”

Another silence. This one different. Softer. But sharp around the edges.

Yelena glances at the clock. Half the visit gone.

Kate shakes her head. A breath escapes her, half a laugh, half a sigh.

“Jesus, I missed you.”

Yelena doesn’t say it back.

Kate notices.

//

They talk about the kids. About therapy. About Susan. About school drop-offs and field trips and Maks accidentally calling Alexei “Dad” in public. They fall into the shape of old habits. Let it breathe between them.

Kate talks about group. About a woman who keeps trying to convince her yoga will change her life. About journaling. About her roommate who snores and cries in the shower and reminds her of DJ in all the worst ways. She talks about detox. About how bad it got.

Yelena listens.

Then finally, Kate says what she’s been trying not to.

“So…next week’s thirty.” Yelena nods. “I could come home. Technically.” She pauses. “Do you want me to?”

Yelena doesn’t answer right away. And that’s the answer.

“I think it’d be a mistake.”

Kate swallows. Nods once.

“Okay.”

“You don’t?” Kate hesitates. Then shrugs. Deflated. “You’re doing better. But you’re not there.”

“You don’t think I could be…at home? With you. With the kids?”

“I think you need to want to get better more than you want to be home.”

Kate looks down at her hands.

“I thought…I don’t know. You’d be mad if I stayed.”

“I’d be mad if you came home too soon.” Kate shrugs. “I wanted you back every second of every day. Until I found you on the bathroom floor. Now…I just want you alive.”

Kate looks down at her hands. Rubs her thumb against a hangnail.

“You should’ve let me die.”

Yelena’s hand slams against the table. Violently. Loud. Final.

“Don’t fucking say that to me. Ever. Are we clear?”

Kate doesn’t look up.

“You weren’t supposed to be there.”

“And what? Alex was?” Yelena’s voice rises. “Maks? Sonny?”

Kate flinches. Holds the silence for a long beat.

“I wasn’t trying to die.” Kate argues, but even she doesn’t sound convinced.

“Then what were you trying to do?”

Kate doesn’t have an answer. She’s been looking for one since it happened.

Yelena leans back. Crosses her arms. Lets the silence burn. Finally, Kate lifts her chin. Meets her eyes.

“Is there still a life to come back to?”

“I don’t know.”

And that silence is louder than anything Kate’s heard since she got sober.

They sit in it. Sit in what’s left. It’s not dramatic. It’s not even tense. Just…true.

“I guess I could stay.”

“I think that’s a good idea.”

Kate hates how calm Yelena sounds. How reasonable. How fucking distant. She wants to knock the table over. To scream. ‘Are you fucking serious? That’s all I get? ‘That’s a good idea?’’

Instead, she just nods. “Yeah.”

For some reason, this hurts more than anything else. More than the broken ribs. Or the detox pain. Or the days alone with her thoughts. This moment. This quiet, reasonable agreement that her being gone is what’s best for the people she loves…it shatters her in slow motion.

Yelena isn’t begging her to come home. Isn’t clinging. Isn’t even cracking. She’s not screaming that she needs her, or that the kids do, or that this is killing her. She just sits there, composed, steady. It stings like nothing else.

“So you’re not mad that I’m not coming home?”

“I’m relieved you’re not pretending you’re ready.”

The words land like a punch to the sternum.

“So what, you want me in here forever?”

“You should stay until you’re well. That’s it.”

Kate swallows. Her throat burns. She focuses on her breath. Four seconds in, six seconds out. One of those grounding gimmicky tricks from therapy. The silence between them starts to hum with everything neither of them is saying.

“I thought…if I stayed clean. If I finished thirty days…you’d want me back.”

“I want you alive.” Yelena’s voice is even.

“Not the same thing.”

“No. It’s not.”

They let that ache. Kate leans forward, elbows on knees, palms open.

She thought seeing Yelena would feel like winning. Like some impossible victory. She thought it would feel like returning from war. Roses. Relief. Redemption.

Instead, it feels like standing in front of a locked door with no key. Because she broke it. She broke it, and Yelena isn’t even reaching for the handle anymore.

“When they told me you were coming, I thought…” Kate exhales hard. “I don’t know. I thought it would feel like something was over. Like I passed a test.”

“This isn’t pass/fail.” Yelena offers, gentle.

“Try telling that to my brain at 3AM.”

Yelena leans in too now. Mirrors her posture. Hands folded.

“I’m proud of you for staying.”

Kate laughs, humorless. “Yeah. You would be.”

“Kate…” Yelena’s voice is careful now, but not soft. She studies her. Sees through her. Always has. “If you were ready, actually ready, we’d talk about next steps. But you’re not. And I’m not doing this halfway. The kids deserve better. You deserve better.”

Kate’s eyes shine. Not with anger. With something deeper. Sadder. More familiar.

“I didn’t think it would feel this fucking lonely.” Yelena reaches across the table. Takes her hand. “I don’t know when I’m coming out,” Kate admits.

“That’s okay. Everyone will be waiting.”

‘Everyone’. Not ‘I’. That one word guts her.

Kate grips her hand tighter.

“Will you bring the kids?” Her voice is barely above a whisper. “I miss them so fucking much.”

“When you’re ready. Not before.”

“Okay.” Kate’s voice cracks.

Yelena squeezes her hand.

“You’re doing good…You are.”

Kate shakes her head.

“I feel like shit, Yel. All the time.”

“That’s part of it.”

They sit like that. Hands clasped. No more pretending. Just two people who’ve loved each other longer than some countries last.

The door opens. Someone pops their head in.

“Five minutes.” They say.

Yelena nods. Stands. Kate does too.

“Tell them I love them.” Kate pleads softly.

“I do. Every day.”

Kate hesitates.

“And you?”

Yelena doesn’t answer. Just looks at her. Kate waits a second, then steps into her arms. The hug is brief…too brief…but it grounds her. She breathes for the first time in weeks.

Yelena pulls back first.

“I’ll talk to your therapist. If it’s cleared, I’ll bring them next time.”

Kate nods. Doesn’t say thank you. Doesn’t say please. Just nods.

Yelena turns. Kate doesn’t stop her. Doesn’t watch her walk away. Doesn’t say come back. Doesn’t say don’t leave. Just stands there and watches the woman she’s still in love with disappear through the door.

Kate closes her eyes. Slips her hand into her pocket and pulls out the letter she didn’t give. The one she rewrote a dozen times. The one she planned to give because she knew the words in it wouldn’t come out right if she tried. She unfolds it.

“Dear Yelena,

I didn’t think you’d come. I wouldn’t have, if I were you.

I’ve been trying to figure out what to say for days and I still don’t have it. I don’t know that I ever will. There’s no version of this that makes it okay. And even if there was, you wouldn’t owe me forgiveness.

So I’m not writing this to fix anything.

I’m writing it because I almost died. And if I had, I think I would’ve gone with your name in my mouth. I think that’s something you deserve to know.

I don’t remember most of that night. Not really. Just flashes. I don’t know how to explain what happened. I don’t know how I let it get that far. I don’t know what I thought I was doing. Truth is, I think I’ve been unraveling for a long time. Quietly. Bit by bit.

DJ told me the urge to use wasn’t loud. It waits. It creeps up. Builds a nest in the silence. I didn’t listen. And I almost followed him.

I’m sorry for a lot of things. But most of all, I’m sorry it was you who had to find me like that. Who had to save me. Who’s had to pick up the pieces now that I’m away.

I don’t deserve whatever grace you’ve got left for me. I probably never did. But I’m here. And I’m trying. Every second of every day. I miss the kids like fucking crazy. I miss you so much it’s almost suffocating.

I’m not asking for anything. Not a second chance. Not a maybe. I just don’t want you to forget what we were. Because we were good, Yel. We were great. We were the best thing I ever did.

Tell them I love them. That I’m getting better. That I’ll come home in a few days. That Mommy’s working really hard to be okay again.

I don’t know what life looks like on the other side of this. But if you’re ever willing to talk…I’d like to. About possibilities. About us. About what could still be.

Maybe we’re not all the way gone yet.

I love you. Always have.

-KB”

Kate stares at the last line. She folds the paper shut. Walks to the door. On her way out, she passes the trash can in the hallway.

It’s quiet.

Even when the kids aren’t there, she wakes up early. It’s not by choice. Just habit. For years, there was always something waking her up before she was ready. Her wife’s wandering hands, a tiny foot pushing into her ribs, the distant hum of Kate on a phone call with Asian clients in another room.

Now, she wakes up to nothing half the time. Nothing but absolute silence.

Yelena swings her legs over the edge, presses her feet into the hardwood, and rakes her fingers through golden locks.

Coffee. She needs coffee.

Yelena moves on autopilot, filling the machine, pressing the button, waiting for the drip. The smell fills the apartment. Familiar. She used to love this part of the morning. Now, she makes the coffee and barely drinks it.

Some mornings, she forces herself to sit at the kitchen table and pretend she enjoys the quiet. Other mornings, it presses against her skull like a vice.

She used to be the type to start working before her second sip of coffee. Now? Most days, she just loiters around the apartment. Thinking. Tinkering. Trudging. Doing nothing at all.

Before, she measured time in deadlines and breakthroughs. Now, she measures it in custody exchanges and school pickups.

Yelena Belova never used to cancel anything work related.

Now? If the kids are with her, she leaves work early. She rearranges meetings. She skips conferences. She bows out of professional trips. She should be enraged about that, about all she’s missing. About how much more she could be doing. And she is pissed. At Kate, at herself, at the situation she got shoved into. But likely not enough.

But the truth is, when she’s with the kids, she doesn’t mind. And she’s getting them back today. The thought tugs at something deep in her chest. A quiet, unspoken relief.

She glances at the clock. She has a few hours before pickup. Enough time to go into the lab, check in, pretend to work for a few hours.

A knock at the door interrupts her before she’s finished the mental list of things to do once she gets to the office. A brute, familiar bang-bang-bang against the wood.

She sighs. Alexei.

A beat of waiting after loudly announcing himself, Alexei uses his keys to get in. They'd learned the hard (and embarrassing) way that him waltzing into the apartment with no warning was a terrible idea that traumatized both of them. Now Alexei knocks and waits a respectable amount of time before entering. At least long enough to warn Yelena that she needs to throw on a robe.

This day that was not necessary. So Yelena simply leans on the counter and waits.

A few thundering footsteps later…there he is. Alexei walks up to the kitchen threshold, holding two paper bags and looking smug.

“I knock loud enough now?”

“You definitely did.”

“No ‘Hello, Daddy’ for me today? Not even when I bring these?” Alexei lifts a couple of pastry bags.

"It’s barely seven in the morning, dad.”

"Breakfast is important. And you forget to eat when you alone." He moves around the kitchen like he owns the place.

"I eat."

“Coffee does not count," he mutters, already unpacking food. "Sit."

Yelena rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue. She drops into the chair across from him as he slides a breakfast sandwich her way.

Alexei squints at her like he’s evaluating a patient.

"You look better."

"I look the same."

"Better," he repeats, unwrapping his sandwich. "Less like roadkill."

High praise, coming from him.

Yelena takes a slow sip of her coffee.

"You should be sitting on a beach somewhere, not babysitting your grown daughter."

Alexei retired. Just…stopped. Unexpectedly. Said ‘Fuck it, I’ve worked enough’. The surprising decision came just days after Yelena told them about the divorce. After she cried for hours on their couch. Yelena still doesn’t know if he did it because he wanted to or because she needed him to.

And she sure did need him sometimes. Alexei watches Sonny on the days when Yelena can’t. Picks up Alexia and Maks from school if she’s stuck in a meeting. Stocks her fridge when she forgets.

He is, in his own words, Deda Supreme.

"Don’t flatter yourself," he mutters through a mouthful of food. "I am not just babysitter. I am also your mother’s house husband now. It is me and the kids or me and the pigs. Very important work I do.“

Yelena snorts.

"Bet mom and the pigs love that."

"Oh, she loves it. She gives me list. I ignore list. She yells at me. It is perfect system."

Yelena smirks, shaking her head.

The truth is, Alexei showing up like this is annoying. But also…the only thing keeping her from spiraling some days.

He leans back, watching her carefully.

"You are doing okay? Yes?”

It’s not ‘Are you okay?’ because they both know the answer to that. She nods, pushing a piece of egg around her plate with a fork.

"Yeah."

Alexei grunts like he doesn’t fully believe her, but he lets it go. For a while after that, they just eat in silence.

"You see Kate?" he asks. Throwing the question out there nonchalantly. More curious than he would want it to be.

Yelena keeps her voice even, but the question unsettles her more than it should. She knew it was coming. It was only a matter of time before he asked. But it still grates.

Alexei was Kate’s person for years. They shared the kind of love Kate never got from her own father. And Alexei? He treated Kate like she was his own. Kate was his unofficial second kid. His loudest, brashest, most stubborn child.

And then, just like that, she wasn’t. He chose his actual daughter in the divorce. Yelena knows it shouldn’t feel like a choice, but it does.

He doesn’t talk to Kate anymore. Not really. Not since the moment he found out how things had transpired. Alexei not saying anything is the better alternative to actually talking to Kate and verbalizing the things he would. Yelena has never really asked if they've talked, but she can infer. She knows because she can see how much Kate’s absence weighs on him. She can tell by the way Alexei doesn’t bring her up often. Or at all. Its been almost four months of this and this is the first time she even remembers him saying her name. He hasn't even tried to defend her. Yelena has had to mourn not just the lost of her marriage, but her father losing one of the most relationships in his life. She isn't quite sure which hurts more. And the way he looks at Yelena sometimes…like he wants to say something but swallows it down instead. That’s one of the worst parts of this whole mess.

She’s known Kate long enough to know that Alexei cutting ties is killing her too. Kate doesn’t lose people. She pushes them away. She burns them away. But she never truly loses them. Not until now. And Alexei? He lost her as well. Neither of them will ever talk about it. But Yelena can feel the ghost of it sitting between them.

“Only at drop-offs…Why?”

Alexei shrugs, stabbing at his eggs.

“Just wondering.”

Yelena doesn’t push. Neither does he.

Yelena shoves her chair back and stands.

"I need to go into the lab before I get the kids."

Alexei waves her off. "Go. I’ll clean."

"Don’t break anything," she calls over her shoulder.

She doesn’t hear his response, but she’s sure it’s something sarcastic.

///

When Yelena gets to the lab, she should work. Instead, she just…sits there. She stares at reports for twenty minutes without reading a word. Moves a petri dish from one side of the desk to the other. Rearranges the same stack of notes she’s already attempted to read five times. Her focus is gone.

Before the divorce, work was an escape. A thing she knew she was good at. A place where her decisions had immediate results.

Now, it just feels like…blergh. She doesn’t even realize she’s zoning out until her phone buzzes.

CALENDAR REMINDER: DR. O’GRADY @ 12PM.

“Damn it.”

Yelena sighs, grabs her bag, and gets up.

///

Therapy is therapy. Dr. O’Grady is direct. Unyielding in the way only an older Irish woman can be.

Yelena slouches on the couch, arms crossed.

"Before you say anything, yes, I’ve been sleeping. Yes, I’ve been eating. Yes, I’ve been functioning."

Dr. O’Grady quirks a brow.

"Functioning isn’t thriving, Yelena."

Yelena groans.

“You sound like my mother.”

Dr. O’Grady doesn’t react. Just waits. Yelena sighs, staring at the ceiling.

"I don’t know what you want me to say."

"I want you to tell me how you’re feeling instead of how you think you should feel."

Yelena doesn’t answer right away. She takes a slow breath.

"I feel…" She pauses. Licks her lips. "Different."

"Explain."

"I don’t know." She shifts, uncomfortable. "Kate backed me into this, and yeah, it’s messed up, and yeah, I was angry, but I’m here…And I’m figuring it out."

Dr. O’Grady nods.

"And what does figuring it out look like for you?"

"It means I wake up, I take care of the kids and try to remember to take care of myself too. It means I go to work and try to get anything done. It means I don’t let this define me."

"Do you still check your phone, expecting a text from her?" Yelena stiffens. Dr. O’Grady’s voice is gentler when she speaks again. "You don’t have to win the breakup, Yelena."

Yelena clenches her jaw, staring at the floor. She doesn’t answer. Because she’s not sure she believes that.

///

The alarm goes off at five-thirty, but Yelena’s already awake. She doesn’t need it anymore. Not when Sonny’s internal clock is better than any piece of technology ever invented.

There’s always a few blissful seconds of quiet, the kind where she almost forgets she’s not waking up in the old apartment, in the life she used to have. Then, reality settles in. A tiny voice crackles over the baby monitor. Sonny babbling in that half-asleep, half-happy nonsense way she does first thing in the morning.

Yelena sighs, throws off the blanket, and swings her legs out of bed. Another day. No time to linger.

By the time she makes it to the nursery, Sonny’s sitting up in the crib, Kate’s coal black hair wild, cheeks flushed from sleep.

“Mamaaaaaaa.”

Yelena leans against the doorway. “You could at least aim for anything past six.”

Sonny giggles, reaching her arms up, demanding. “Mama up.”

Yelena lifts her effortlessly, pressing a kiss against her chubby cheek, breathing in the warm, milky scent of her skin. Sonny hums, content, resting her head against Yelena’s shoulder like she has all the time in the world. For a moment, Yelena lets herself just hold her, swaying slightly on instinct, soaking in the quiet before the chaos of the morning really kicks in.

Yelena walks to the wall and gently taps it twice, voice low but firm.

“I’m coming in to get you in five, so don’t act surprised.”

Inside, there’s a groan followed by a muttered “Too early.”

Yelena smirks.

“Cry about it. You’re still getting up.”

The next bedroom over is Alexia and Maks’ room. A compromise. A necessity. Three bedrooms were the absolute most she could swing in New York City on her single mom salary, and even that was stretching it. A brownstone was out of the question. A four-bedroom was a pipe dream. The kids would have to share.

Alexia hated it at first. Maks didn’t care. Yelena still remembers the first night in the new place…Alexia lying stiff as a board in her bed, refusing to speak, while Maks snored like a chainsaw two feet away.

Alexia made it three days before she finally caved and admitted she could live with it. Begrudgingly.

Still, Yelena doesn’t barge in during the mornings. They’re Kate’s kids, after all. They need a bit of winding up time or they're little cranky demons. She learned that lesson fast.

She hears Maks stirring, rolling over, the distinct sound of him smacking his lips dramatically like he’s waking from a coma instead of a normal night of sleep. Alexia sighs heavily, the universal sound of an older sibling’s deep frustration.

Yelena just leans against the wall, waiting. Five minutes of extra quiet for everyone. No more, no less. The truce they’d landed on. Some battles weren’t worth fighting. Others? She fought like hell.

Sonny clings to her like a koala as Yelena moves around the room. The toddler is warm, heavy, and a little floppy from sleep. It would be nice if they could stay like this. If the morning didn’t immediately have to shift into the barely controlled chaos it always does.

But then…right on cue…she hears it. The sound of Alexia and Maks butting heads in their bedroom.

“You’re so annoying!”

“You’re so annoying!”

“Stop copying me!”

“Stop copying me!”

Someone groans in frustration. A door slams. Something crashes. Yelena takes a deep breath, shifts Sonny higher on her hip, and steels herself for war.

///

By seven, Alexia is at the kitchen table, bleary-eyed, snapping at Maks for ‘breathing too much’. Maks is hanging off the back of a chair, already talking at full volume about something he saw on YouTube. Sonny is smacking a spoon against her high chair like a tiny, chaotic drummer.

It’s a circus. It’s draining. It’s the best part of her week.

"Mama, Maks is making that sound with his throat again," Alexia grumbles, jabbing at her eggs like they personally offended her.

"I’m just clearing it!" Maks protests.

"You're doing it on purpose."

"No, I’m not!"

Alexia levels him with a look. Maks grins. Then deliberately clears his throat again.

“MOM!” Alexia complains.

Yelena pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Both of you. Eat.”

“MOM! SHE’S KICKING ME!”

Alexia rolls her eyes so hard Yelena swears she can hear it.

"Eat," Yelena warns. "No more talking."

It lasts a grand total of ten seconds.

“Do ducks know they’re birds?” Maks asks suddenly, looking genuinely concerned.

Kate used to answer these questions. Or, at the very least, deflect them better than Yelena can. But Kate’s not here, so Yelena tries. She tries.

Before she can come up with even a semblance of a coherent answer, Yelena hears the telltale jingle of a spare key in the lock and she knows her morning is about to get a hell of a lot worse.

She doesn’t even look up from where she’s trying to wrestle Sonny into her pants when the door swings open.

“Доброе утро!” [Good morning!] Alexei’s voice booms through the apartment like a goddamn foghorn. “I bring real breakfast.”

Maks is the first to react, immediately jumping out of his chair.

“Deda!”

Alexei barely makes it inside before Maks throws himself at his legs.

“Ah, мой мальчик!” [Ah, my boy!]

Alexei hoists Maks up, swinging him dramatically in the air. Maks shrieks in delight. Alexia, still slumped at the kitchen table, doesn’t even glance up from her plate.

“It’s too early…”

Yelena sighs, trying to keep Sonny from wriggling out of her grasp.

“Dad, if you brought soup again, I swear to God…”

“I bring strong, good, Russian soup. I do not want my babies to be weak.”

“Deda, we hate soup,” Maks reminds him.

Alexei clutches his chest like Maks just stabbed him.

“Deda up.” Sonny requests while lifting both arms.

Alexei scoops her up effortlessly.

“See? This one? Smart. She will respect our family traditions.”

“I just had to stop her from eating a piece of paper. I’d temper those smart expectations.” Yelena says in jest.

“Я тоже ем бумагу. Это нормально.” [“I eat paper too. It's okay.”]

Alexei grins, tossing Sonny in the air just enough to make her giggle. The front door closes again, much softer this time. Melina.

“Alexei, do not throw the baby.” Her voice cuts through the kitchen before she even walks in, immediately taking in the scene.

“She likes.” Alexei protests.

Sonny looks at her grandfather and signs ‘more’ repeatedly.

“See! She likes a lot.” Alexei throws the baby up in the air again.

Melina sighs, placing a massive binder on the counter. Yelena groans.

“If that’s another ‘updated version’ of your binder, I’m setting it on fire.”

Melina helps in a Melina way. Clinical, methodical, and ruthlessly efficient. She made Yelena a co-parenting binder. Thick enough to double as a weapon. Complete with color-coded custody schedules, "empirical resources" on child development post-divorce, a curated list of recommended therapists (vetted…of course), and a financial projection chart mapping out Yelena’s single-income future in excruciating detail. She sends links to peer-reviewed studies on shared custody benefits. She forwards articles titled "The Psychological Impact of Divorce on Children and How to Mitigate Harm." She asks if Yelena has had “productive” therapy sessions with the same tone she once used when quizzing her on chemical compounds. The whole thing is intense, overbearing, and borderline invasive. And while Yelena would rather chew glass than admit it, she appreciates it more than she can say.

Melina ignores her, flipping it open.

“Have you reviewed the meal plan I sent you?”

“The…what?”

“The meal plan. I designed for optimal childhood development. I included omega-rich foods for cognitive function and…”

Alexia groans, shoving a forkful of eggs into her mouth.

“Too many words before school.”

“Speaking of school, have you confirmed with Kate about the parent-teacher conferences?”

“Mom…” Yelena interrupts, rubbing her temples. “I love you. I appreciate you, but if you say one more thing that makes me feel like I am doing this wrong, I’ll just stop telling you things.”

Alexei, who has been rummaging through the fridge, emerges.

“You are out of beer.”

Yelena glares at him.

“It’s seven-thirty in the morning.”

He shrugs.

“And? It is afternoon in Moscow.”

Maks, who has been quiet for a suspiciously long time, suddenly tugs on Alexei’s sleeve.

“Deda, do ducks know they’re birds?”

Silence. Alexei strokes his beard.

“Ah. A great question.”

Yelena groans.

“Don’t encourage him…”

“No, no, this is important,” Alexei insists. He turns to Maks, solemn. “Some ducks…yes. They know. They accept the bird life. Others?” He shakes his head. “They struggle. They fight it. They don’t like the expectations of bird society.”

Maks nods, taking this in.

Melina exhales sharply.

“This is exactly why they ask you the ridiculous questions and me the important ones.”

Melina declares as she begins to tidy up around the house. Before Yelena can respond, a spoon clatters to the floor. Everyone turns.

Sonny, looking incredibly pleased with herself, smacks her high chair tray and signs ‘More more more more’.

Alexei beams. “Да! Demand what you deserve, моя девочка!” [“Yes! Demand what you deserve, my girl!”]

“Deda, can you take us to school?” Maks queries.

“He’s gonna make us late.” Alexia argues.

“Me? Late?” Alexei scoffs, placing a hand over his heart. “Impossible.”

Yelena side-eyes him.

“You picked them up late last week.”

Alexei waves a hand.

“I had things to do.”

“You were watching a soccer game.”

“Exactly. Things I was doing. Now? Nothing to do but take these devils to school.”

Maks jumps up and down.

“Let’s go! Let’s go!”

Yelena sighs, giving in. “Fine. You take them. I take the little one.”

Alexei claps his hands together.

“Alright, soldiers, let’s move out!”

He swoops one kid in each arm and heads for the door.

“Do NOT forget their bags this time.”

“I would never.”

“BYE BYEEEEEEE!” Sonny waves both arms wildly as her siblings disappear out the door, her little voice echoing down the hall.

The door shuts behind Alexei. And just like that, the apartment is plunged into a sudden, startling silence.

Yelena collapses into a chair. Her body still wired from the morning mayhem, muscles tense from the constant motion of keeping three kids fed, clothed, and moving in the right direction. It takes her a full minute before she realizes she doesn’t actually have to move anymore.

Melina reappears from the living room, arms full of scattered toys she’s gathered like some kind of overworked maid. A plastic dinosaur dangles precariously from her fingers, and she steps over a half-constructed Lego tower with the precision of someone who has spent far too many years dodging stray bricks.

“You let your father get away with too much,” she remarks, dropping a stuffed elephant onto the dining table with a huff.

Yelena snorts, stretching out in her chair.

“You say that like we’ve ever stopped him from doing anything.”

Melina sighs, flipping open the binder again. Yelena swears that thing balloons in size every week.

“I need you to confirm the holiday schedule with Kate. We need to know where they will be for each major holiday. I would prefer Christmas. She can have Thanksgiving.”

Yelena groans, tilting her head back against the chair.

“Can we survive one day without a schedule?”

“No,” Melina says flatly, barely glancing up.

“This is why Deda is the favorite,” Yelena mumbles, half joking.

“I know.” Melina smirks.

Yelena sighs, dragging herself to her feet.

“You want coffee?”

Melina hums, flipping a page in the binder. “You never said if you reviewed the meal plan. It has balanced dietary recommendations for all three.”

Yelena glares. Melina sighs.

“Fine. Yes, coffee. But if you do not ask Kate about holidays, I will call her… and I do not know how well that will go. For her.”

Yelena sighs heavily but pours her a cup anyway.

“Don’t call Kate, Mom.”

Melina lifts the mug with a satisfied little nod.

For all the chaos, all the headaches, all the everything, this…this…is what keeps her sane. The noise. The movement. The absolute certainty that she doesn’t have to do any of this alone.

Even if she wants to strangle half the people helping.

///

Therapy with three kids is a whole different ballgame. Yelena doesn’t mind her solo sessions with Dr. O’Grady, annoying as the woman is in her ability to see things Yelena isn’t ready to deal with. But therapy with the kids? That’s another beast entirely.

Dr. O’Grady sees all of them now. Yelena. The kids. Sometimes separately. Sometimes together. Right now, they’re all together. Yelena sits between Maks and Alexia on the couch. Sonny is on the floor, attempting to cram a toy into another toy that is very clearly too small.

Alexia is… watching. Not outright angry, not anymore, but cautious. Taking notes. Filing everything away for later. Yelena can feel it. She talks to her, but there’s a hesitance in her voice, like she’s waiting for the inevitable moment one of them fucks up. And she’s going to have some things to say when they do.

Maks doesn’t fully understand what’s happening, but he knows something changed. And he doesn’t quite like it. That’s why he keeps asking when Mommy is coming over for dinner.

Sonny, blissfully oblivious, just knows she has two beds, two toy baskets, and two completely different sets of rules depending on whose house she’s in.

And Kate? Kate is…Well. Kate’s Kate. And at the moment, Kate refuses to do therapy.

Dr. O’Grady shifts in her chair, studying the kids with that careful, quiet way she has. Then, finally, she looks at Alexia.

“Do you have any questions for your mom?”

Alexia is silent for a long moment. She kicks at a loose thread on the couch. Then, finally…

Yelena sees it coming. She tries to head it off.

“Your mom and I both love you,” she says before Alexia can even get the words out, trying not to fidget under Dr. O’Grady’s stare.

Alexia doesn’t answer right away. She looks at the floor.

“Then why don’t you live together anymore?”

Yelena hates that question. There’s no right way to answer it. She takes a slow breath.

“Because sometimes loving someone isn’t enough to make it work.”

Dr. O’Grady shifts slightly like she wants to step in, but she doesn’t. She lets Yelena sit with it. Eventually, Alexia crosses her arms, eyebrows pulling together.

“That’s stupid.”

Yelena exhales.

“Yeah,” she agrees, voice breaking. “It is.”

///

Maks can’t find his left shoe. Alexia forgot she needed a poster board for a project due today. Sonny still refuses to put pants on.

Yelena doesn’t remembers ever having to herd all three of them alone before this. Kate was always there. Or she was dealing with one or two of them somewhere else. Yelena is starting to think this could be considered an Olympic-level sport.

"Alexia, you’re getting way too old to be this disorganized…”

"You’re supposed to help me!"

"I am helping you by telling you to get your things together before the morning it’s due!"

"Mamaaaaa," Sonny whines, wiggling dramatically to push her pants down.

"Yes, I know, pants are oppression, but unfortunately, they are also necessary."

Maks is spinning in circles. "I forgot what I was looking for!"

"YOUR SHOE," Yelena yells, shoving Sonny’s leg into her pants while simultaneously digging through a pile of backpacks.

"OH RIGHT," Maks shouts, then immediately forgets again and starts talking about platypuses.

Somehow, by sheer force of will, Yelena gets them all out the door and into the car.

///

By the time she drops them off at school and daycare, she feels like she’s run a fucking marathon.

She grabs a second coffee, sits in her car for a full minute, then forces herself to drive to the lab, trying to scrape together whatever energy she has left.

The second she walks in, her assistant greets her with a loving grimace, “Were they up all night again?”

Yelena shoves her sunglasses onto her head. “No. They actually slept all night. I think this is just what my face looks like now.”

“Did YOU sleep?”

“Not really.”

He makes a noise of disapproval but hands her a file.

“Well that explains it…Review this before the briefing.”

“Remind me why I don’t just quit and become a full-time mom.”

“Because you’d lose your mind within a week.”

“…Right, yeah.”

He gives her a pointed look.

“Read the file. Let me know if you need me to make any changes”

Yelena sighs. "If I must."

She takes her coffee and heads to her office.

///

The bedtime routine is…organized chaos. Heavy on the chaos part. It’s, as always, a battlefield.

Getting them clean takes twice as long as it should because Maks keeps dunking his head underwater like he’s training for some kind of deep-sea survival mission and Sonny shrieks like she’s being waterboarded. Alexia refuses Yelena’s help with her shower because ‘she’s not a baby like the others’, but Yelena can still hear her struggling to detangle her hair in the bathroom down the hall. Meanwhile, Yelena, soaked to the elbows, tries and fails to contain the splashing, the wailing, and the general bedlam that is bath time.

By the time the kids are clean and wrapped in towels, Yelena is exhausted. And it’s not over.

Sonny fights sleep like it’s an act of war. Maks forgets how pajamas work every single night. Alexia acts like brushing her teeth is akin to brutal manual labor.

“Okay. Final warning. If you’re not in bed in five minutes, I’m making both of you sleep in the bathtub.”

Sonny, sitting on the floor, gnawing on a toy block, looks up with interest. “Bath?”

Maks gasps and speaks over his sister.

“You can’t do that!”

“I absolutely can.”

Alexia groans.

“Maks, she’s lying.”

“Am I?” Yelena raises an eyebrow, the tiniest smirk pulling at her lips.

Sonny drops the block. “Bath?”

Yelena scoops her up. “Oh, now you want a bath? Funny, because I remember you screaming bloody murder during your actual one.”

Sonny frowns like she’s been betrayed.

“You didn’t tell her she had to sleep in the bathtub.” Maks grumbles.

“She’s a baby. Babies don’t sleep in bathtubs.” Alexia clarifies.

“So she’s the favorite?”

“Absolutely.” Yelena ascertains.

When Yelena gets all three of them into pajamas and actually in bed, she’s wrecked. So much so that when they ask to sleep in her room, she doesn’t fight it. She secretly welcomes it. An empty bed is an awful thing.

///

Alexia sprawls out on Yelena’s bed, flipping through something on her iPad while Yelena wrestles Sonny into a clean diaper. Maks, fresh in his dinosaur pajamas, sits on the foot of the bed, dramatically flipping through a book like he’s deeply unimpressed.

“What are we reading?” Yelena asks, rubbing her tired eyes.

Maks huffs.

“I want to read the shark book, but I think we left it in Mommy’s car.”

“So pick something else.”

Maks flops onto his back.

“But I want the shark book.”

“Maksimilian.”

He groans, rolls onto his stomach, and flips a few pages.

“Fine. This one.”

Yelena takes the book from him, barely glancing at the title before he immediately shakes his head.

“No, wait. Not that one.”

Alexia doesn’t even look up. “Oh my God, pick a book.”

“You’re so bossy.” Maks scowls at her.

“I’m the oldest.”

Sonny, half-asleep on Yelena’s chest, perks up.

“Me book.”

“It’s not your turn!” Maks argues.

“Me book.” The toddler pushes back aggressively.

Alexia sighs heavily.

“Just let Sonny pick.”

Maks narrows his eyes, and the histrionics dialed to a twelve, he slides the pile of books toward Sonny. Sonny doesn’t even look at them. She just pats the top book with an incomprehensible babble. Maks sighs, defeated.

“Fine. We’re reading this one.”

Yelena shakes her head, flipping it open.

“Alright, it’s bedtime for real now.”

By page five, Sonny is completely knocked out, sprawled over Yelena’s chest like a tiny human heater. Alexia has shifted, eyes closed, curled up on her side. Maks fights it, blinking slower and slower, trying to keep himself awake. Come the end of the first chapter, he’s practically asleep, too. Yelena closes the book and carefully shifts Sonny. Then Maks mumbles something. Yelena glances down, brushing a stray strand of blonde off his face.

“Hmm?”

“Mommy doesn’t read anymore.” He barely opens his eyes.

The words hit low in her stomach, but Yelena continues to smooth a hand over his hair.

“Yeah? Since when?”

Maks shrugs sleepily, barely nodding before he fully drifts off. Yelena doesn’t move. Just sits there, staring down at him, at Sonny, at Alexia…listening to the slow, steady rhythm of their breathing.

Kate used to read to them. Every night. Even if she was exhausted. Even if she barely had time. She always made time. Yelena doesn’t know what it means that she stopped. And she doesn’t like that she doesn’t know.

When she moves to stand, she glances up and finds that her daughter is still awake. Alexia staring back at her. Watching her.

“You should be sleeping…Do you want me to read more?”

Alexia shifts under the blanket.

“You don’t have to try so hard.”

“I’m just…doing my best.”

Alexia doesn’t answer for a long moment. Then, finally, she shrugs then rolls onto her side, turning her back to Yelena. Yelena knows that’s as much of an answer as she’s going to get. She sighs, pressing a kiss to Sonny’s forehead before gently laying her down between Alexia and Maks. She tucks the blanket around them, smoothing it over Maks’s shoulders before slipping out of the room.

///

The apartment is finally quiet. Yelena leans against the doorframe for a second, exhaling.

There’s still a mess in the kitchen. Crumbs on the floor. A juice cup on the counter. One of Maks’s socks mysteriously on the bookshelf.

She should clean. She should read some reports. She should do literally anything productive. Instead, she drags herself to the couch and collapses, rubbing her temples.

Tomorrow, she has to take them back to Kate. And that, as always, is the part she dreads the most.

///

The morning is a blur of cereal bowls and half-packed backpacks and Maks losing his shoe. Again.

And then they’re in the car, and the drive feels like it always does. Soul annihilating. The car is mostly peaceful, filled only with the occasional hum of the radio and Maks mumbling half-formed stories in the backseat.

When she pulls into the garage, Kate is already waiting. Leaning on her car, parking spot next to her empty. This has become their routine. Yelena doesn’t know what she expects. Maybe another fight. Maybe some passive-aggressive remark about their scheduling. But when Kate steps forward, she doesn’t say anything at all.

She looks…off. Kate isn’t cold. Not exactly. She’s distant. Detached. It’s subtle. So subtle that if Yelena hadn’t known Kate for two decades, she probably wouldn’t have noticed. But she has. And she does.

Kate’s always been a controlled kind of chaotic. Loud but focused. A hurricane with a purpose. But now? Her energy is different. Unsettled. Her clothes are rumpled, like she just pulled them out of a pile on the floor. Her hair is messier than usual. And her eyes…fuck, her eyes…there’s something off about them. Even the shade of blue looks Not Right to Yelena. Like she’s too wired and too exhausted at the same time. But Yelena doesn’t say anything right away.

Kate helps Maks unbuckle his seatbelt. Alexia lingers, hesitating before stepping out. Sonny is half-asleep in the car seat, unaware. Yelena quietly works on unstrapping the toddler.

Alexia and Maks barrel past them into the elevator area, barely giving Kate a passing glance before heading inside. Kate doesn’t react to them, doesn’t make any move to pull them into a hug or ruffle their hair. That’s weird. Kate has always been the one who reached for them first. Always touched their heads, their shoulders, their backs. Subtle, barely-there things that had nothing to do with a greeting and everything to do with ‘I love you, I love you, I love you’. But now? Zero. That’s not something her old Kate would do.

Kate takes Sonny from Yelena’s arms without a word, shifting her weight like she can’t stand still for too long. Her jaw is tight, her eyes unreadable, like she’s narrowly holding something together.

“You okay?” Yelena asks, watching her carefully.

Kate glances at her, startled.

“What?”

“You look…” Yelena hesitates, watching Kate more closely.

Kate’s expression falters for just a second before locking back into something unreadable.

“Just tired.”

It’s too fast. Too defensive. Yelena frowns.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

Kate scoffs, shifting Sonny on her hip.

“Why do you care?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Yelena crosses her arms, softens.

Kate’s expression tightens.

“It’s not your job anymore.”

There’s a heat behind her words. Not full fire…just embers, waiting to catch.

“Kate.”

“I have to put Son down for her nap.”

The finality in her tone is clear. Yelena doesn’t push. Kate turns and walks into the elevator area without another word. Yelena watches her.

The kids move inside the elevator, dragging their bags with them. Maks waves at Yelena with a smile. Alexia glances back just once before disappearing through the door. Kate doesn’t linger. She steps inside. The door closes.

Yelena stays in the car for a moment, staring at the elevators. She doesn’t know what she just witnessed. But she knows Kate. And something isn’t right.

After a long pause, she pulls out her phone and dials. Susan picks up on the third ring.

“Hi! You still owe me that girls night by the way. Don’t think I’ve forgotten.”

Yelena forces a laugh.

“We will. I promise….When’s the last time you talked to your sister?”

Susan goes silent, then sighs.

“What did she do now?”

“Nothing…That’s the problem.”

“Define ‘nothing’.”

“I don’t know. She feels off. The kids ran inside, and she barely looked at them…When did you last talked to her? Saw her?”

Yelena waits.

“Not for a while.”

“Why?”

Susan sighs. “Yelena…”

“I’m not starting anything,” Yelena says quickly. “I just…I know her. And I can feel it.”

“I love that loser, I do. But she’s a goddamn mess. And I can’t…be around her energy right now. She doesn’t listen. So why would I bother talking? I’m letting her sit in her shit for a while. She needs a time out.”

Yelena hesitates, debating how much to say. She doesn’t want to stir the pot if there’s nothing there. But she knows what she saw.

“She seems…I don’t know.” Yelena admits. “Something’s not right. I’m worried.”

Susan doesn’t argue. That silence says enough. Yelena’s stomach twists.

“You are too, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know either.”

“I don’t buy that.”

Susan groans.

“You two are so annoying. Always in each other’s business even when you’re divorcing.”

Yelena tightens her grip on the steering wheel.

“She’s technically still my wife…For a couple more weeks at least.”

Susan doesn’t say anything at first. Then…

“…I don’t think she’s okay, but that’s her own doing. If it makes you feel better, I’ll check on her.”

“It would make me feel better. Thank you…And, uh…let me know, yeah?”

“Yeah. Of course.”

They hang up.

Yelena sits there for another beat, staring at her phone, waiting for something she can’t quite name. But nothing happens. So she starts the car. And drives away.

/// — \\\

Kate’s days without the kids are nearly unbearable. Time stretches in all the worst ways. Dragging. Bleeding into itself until she loses track of it completely. She hates them.

She never used to feel alone in her own house. Even before the split, even if she and Yelena weren’t speaking for whatever stupid reason, there was always noise. The kids. T he creaky floorboards. The way Yelena would sigh dramatically over some work thing as she sat at the kitchen table, tapping her pen against her laptop. Even if they weren’t talking, Yelena had been there. Had been there for years. And now she’s not. Now the apartment is dead quiet.

Kate wakes up early out of habit, but there’s no reason to. No Sonny babbling. No Maks breaking anything. No Alexia blasting cartoons way too damn early. No one to force her out of bed except herself.

Some mornings, Kate stays there for hours.

Other mornings, she gets up and makes too much coffee for one person. A habit. She drinks one cup and lets the rest sit on the counter until it goes cold. She doesn’t pour it out. Just leaves it there, staring at it like it might do something.

Without the kids, without anything to distract her, it all comes creeping in. The resentment. The regret. The rage. She’s so fucking angry. At Yelena. At herself. At this entire fucking situation.

She tells herself she doesn’t miss Yelena, because that would imply some kind of softness, and she’s not soft about this. The divorce was necessary. Yelena didn’t fight for them, so Kate had to do what she always does…fix the problem. Cut off the loose ends. Move the fuck on.

Except she hasn’t moved on. She can’t. She sees Yelena constantly. At custody exchanges. At the kids’ school. In Maks’s stubborness, in Alexia’s face, in Sonny’s little mannerisms.

Kate spends half her time trying not to think about Yelena, and the other half convincing herself she doesn’t care what Yelena does anymore. But she does. She does care. And that pisses her off more than anything.

Because Yelena is fine. She sees it. At drop-offs, at pick-ups. The way Yelena carries herself now. Like she’s lighter. More put-together. Like she’s thriving in a way that Kate isn’t. She looks good. Not just physically, but okay. Relaxed. Settled. Like this divorce didn’t fucking gut her the way it has Kate.

It makes Kate want to fucking scream. Because this isn’t how it was supposed to go. Yelena was supposed to hurt too. Yelena was supposed to fucking fall apart, and instead, she’s just…fine.

Kate should be happy about that, right? The mother of her kids is handling this well. She’s adjusting. She’s making it work. So why does it make Kate feel like she’s losing the divorce? Even if its not a game, she feels like she’s losing and that enrages her most days.

The days without the kids stretch into themselves. Her routine is shot to hell. Work doesn’t keep her occupied the way it used to. The company is fine…thriving, even…but she’s not focused the way she should be. She’ll sit in a meeting and barely process what’s being said, mind wandering to the clock, to the calendar, to how many more hours until she has nothing to do. Nothing to drown out the noise in her head.

She works late, not because she needs to, but because it keeps her occupied. The company has become less about her career and more about noise. She takes meetings she doesn’t have to. Stays long after everyone else has gone home.

She fills the silence with anything she can find.

When the kids aren’t with her, she goes out. Not with friends. Not with anyone who actually knows her. She’s pushed all those people away. So Kate finds noise. Bars. Places where she can be something else, someone else, even if it’s just for a few hours.

She drinks too much. She flirts with people she has no interest in. She lets herself get swept up in meaningless distractions, lets strangers talk at her, lets the bass of whatever music is playing drown out the thoughts clawing at the back of her mind.

It’s all so fucking empty. And the second she’s alone again, it crashes back down. The house. The quiet. The space Yelena used to take up. She doesn’t let herself sit in it for too long. Because that would mean acknowledging it. And Kate refuses to do that.

///

The days with the kids are different. With them, she has structure. Purpose. She wakes up early because she has to.

Sonny cries and Kate moves without thinking, scooping her up, pressing kisses to her hair as she soothes her. Maks is up within minutes, bouncing into her room with a thousand questions before Kate can even blink. Alexia takes longer to wake up. She’s always been like that. Slow in the mornings. Pensive. Observant.

The house is loud when they’re there. It’s never been clearer how much of her life is defined by them.

She moves through the morning on autopilot. Breakfast. Packing lunches. Chasing Maks down to make sure he *actually* has underwear on before they leave. Getting everyone out the door before they’re late for…whatever it is they're supposed to be doing that day.

It’s normal. It’s the only part of her life that still feels like hers. The only time she feels like herself is when they’re here.

But they’re only here half the time. And when they leave, it’s back to square one. Back to silence. Back to wondering why the fuck she let this happen.

///

Kate hears Susan before she sees her. It’s impossible not to.

She’s barely had time to get the kids settled in when the telltale shuffle of sneakers against hardwood floors and the exaggerated sigh of a six-months-pregnant woman reaches her ears.

“Jesus, Katherine. This place is depressing,” Susan mutters as she drops her bag on the entryway table, hand pressed to her lower back. “You know they make lamps that don’t give off ‘abandoned psychiatric ward’ vibes, right?”

“What are you doing here?”

Susan rolls her eyes, shrugging out of her coat.

“Came to see my favorite nieces and nephew.”

“They’re the only ones you have.”

“That’s why they're my favorite. Also…”She glances down at her stomach, patting it. “…the parasite inside me is demanding spaghetti and I know you have to make them dinner so…you might as well make me what I want for dinner too.”

“Does it look like I take requests?” Susan simply glares. Kate huffs a laugh despite herself, shaking her head. “I’ll start some water.”

The kitchen is bright compared to the rest of the house. Not warm, necessarily, but it’s lived in…mostly because the kids exist in it. There are dishes in the sink, half-empty snack boxes on the counter, and an unclaimed sock near the fridge that Kate refuses to acknowledge.

Susan doesn’t hesitate before making herself at home. She drops into a chair at the dining table, stretching her legs out with a groan.

“Where are they?” she asks, rubbing a hand over her belly.

“Sonny’s napping. The other two are probably in their rooms,” Kate says, filling a pot with water. “Leo is still bouncing off the walls from whatever sugar Yelena let him have before drop-off, and Alex is acting like I personally ruined her life by asking her to unload the dishwasher.”

“That one’s your clone, you know.” Kate glares at her, setting the pot on the stove. “Just saying.”

The sound of small feet pounding down the corridor interrupts whatever insult Kate was about to throw back. A second later, Maks appears in the doorway, wide-eyed, slightly breathless.

“SUZU!”

Susan barely has time to react before Maks launches himself at her, arms wrapping around her in a bear hug. She grunts but laughs, ruffling his hair.

“Hey, bug. Miss me?”

“Yes,” Maks says, muffled against her shoulder. Then he pulls back suddenly, eyes dropping to her stomach. “Is the baby still in there?”

“Nope. I already had it, and I just like walking around with a fake belly for fun.”

Maks frowns, considering this. Alexia appears in the doorway a second later, arms crossed. She takes in the scene, then sighs heavily.

“You’re going to make her back hurt.” Alexia reprimands him.

“My back already hurts. Kid’s gonna come out with his arms crossed if the attitude I’m dealing with in utero is any indication.”

“It’s a boy?!” Alexia’s lips twitch in a half smile.

Susan shrugs.

“Dunno. Doctor won’t tell me.”

“Why?” Kate inquires, confused.

“Because we told them we don’t want to know.” Susan smirks at her sister.

“You don’t want to know?” Maks’ face scrunches in disbelief.

“Nope. Gonna be a surprise.”

Maks looks appalled. Kate watches them interact, something unsteady curling in her gut. It’s too normal. Too easy. Too much like how things used to be. She turns back to the stove, stirring the water just for something to do.

///

Later, after dinner, bedtime is a full-blown event.

Susan tries to help, but Kate stubbornly refuses the assistance. So Susan sits back and watches, arms resting over her stomach, amusement clear on her face.

“You’re making this harder than it needs to be,” she points out as Kate struggles to get Sonny settled in her crib.

“I don’t need your help.” Kate glares at her, jaw tight.

Susan raises an eyebrow but doesn’t argue. Just waits.

Eventually, Maks and Sonny are both down, Alexia disappears into her room with her headphones in, and Kate trudges into the living room, exhausted.

“You can go now.”

“Yeah, no. We’re not gonna do that.”

“Do what?”

Susan gestures at her, at the house, at the entire situation.

“This thing where you pretend you’re fine when you’re very clearly not.”

 “Suze…” Kate grits her teeth.

“You look like shit.”

“That’s not your problem. Not anyone’s problem.”

Kate begins to tidy up. Just to do something. Just to not have to look at her sister.

“You always do this.”

“Oh, great. Here we go.”

Susan doesn’t let Kate get away with it. She pushes off the couch and steps forward, voice steady. Aimed.

“You’re too old for this, you know?”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Susan takes a step closer, eyes narrowing.

“It means you’re too grown to be acting like DJ.”

The room goes silent. Kate’s whole body locks up. There are certain things you don’t fucking say. Certain things you don’t bring up. Certain wounds that have been closed…or at least buried so deep they should be closed. Susan just cracked one wide open.

“You need to watch yourself.”

“Why? Did I hit a nerve?”

Kate flinches. Her fingers twitch at her sides, hands curving into fists. Susan doesn’t stop.

“You remember how Deej used to tell us he was fine? How he always had some excuse for why his life was going to shit?” Her voice is razor-sharp now, hitting Kate exactly where she doesn’t want to be hit. “How it was NEVER his fault? How it was everyone else who didn’t understand? How he could quit whenever he wanted, how it wasn’t THAT bad. You…”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP.” Kate snaps.

Susan does not.

“YOU are doing the same fucking thing. You’re making the same excuses, telling the same fucking lies. And you want to know the real kicker? The thing that set DJ down that road was them. It was Mom and Dad. It was growing up in a house where love felt like a fucking death match where no one ever got out whole…Just like the house you’re making your kids live in now.”

Kate feels her vision blur with rage.

“You have no fucking clue what you’re talking about.”

Susan tilts her head, giving her this look…an almost pitying, disgusted look.

“You’re not even Mom. You turned into Dad, Kate.”

Kate sees red.

“Get the fuck out of my house.”

Susan doesn’t even flinch. She just stands there. Watching her. Kate’s breathing is ragged. Her pulse is roaring. Susan doesn’t even look shaken. Just…resigned.

“You really think you’re better than him?” she asks, voice softer now. “You really think you’re doing something different?”

Kate’s throat burns. Susan stares at her for another long moment. Then, she shakes her head.

“You know what’s funny?” Susan tilts her head, voice deceptively casual. “I told you this would happen. I told you, years ago, the first time you tried to pull this divorce shit, that if you actually went through with it, Yelena was going to thrive, and you were going to be miserable. And, huh…Look at that.” She gestures at Kate. “I was fucking right.” Susan shakes her head. “I know this isn't even how bad it’s going to get because, how do you think its going to feel when she starts seeing someone else. I also told you that, remember? Your wife…”

“Ex-wife.” Kate corrects venomously.

"YOUR WIFE is one of the best people I've ever met. I don't even know how she's still single. But she won't be for long. So what happens to you when you have to see that? Hmmm? Her. With someone else. Your kids in another family. And you won't be able to say shit about it."

Kate wants to hit something. Wants to break something. Wants to scream 'You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about', but she can’t. Because deep, deep, deep down…a part of her knows Susan isn’t wrong.

“You don’t get to be mad at her for moving on when you did this..." Susan surveys her. Takes in her rigid stance, her baller up fists. She shakes her head. "Deej resented you for being okay. For being able to come out of it fine. To have a life after all that shit when he couldn't. You're doing that now. You're Deej. And you're dad. How sad, Kate."

“Fuck you.” Kate’s voice is raw when she finally speaks.

Susan’s mouth tightens, but she doesn’t look mad. Just… disappointed. Like she expected more. Like she’s done.

“Yeah,” Susan mutters, grabbing her coat. “Fuck me, I guess.”

Susan watches Kate for another long beat. Then, she heads for the door. She doesn’t even slam the door when she leaves.

The quiet is worse.

Kate stares at the spot Susan just vacated, chest heaving, fists clenched so tightly her knuckles are white.

She rushes to the living room bar cart and pours herself a drink. She drinks it too fast. It burns. She pours another.

The cacophony in her head doesn’t quiet.

Kate doesn’t even bother with a glass the third time. She reaches for the whiskey bottle and drinks straight from it. She barely registers the sting. She just takes another gulp. And then another.

She presses the back of her hand to her mouth and exhales hard through her nose, blinking rapidly, as if that’ll stop the fucking shaking in her hands.

She’s fine.

She just needs something to take the edge off. To drown out Susan’s fucking voice still bouncing around in her head.

You're Deej. And you're dad. How sad, Kate.

Kate tips the bottle again. She isn’t her father. She isn’t. She just…fuck. FUCK!

Kate grabs her phone, swiping through contacts she has no intention of calling. She doesn’t want to talk. She doesn’t want a conversation. She wants noise. She wants a distraction. She wants to drown in something. Anything. Whatever isn’t this feeling.

She closes her messages and opens a dating app instead.

The profile pictures blur together. Smiling faces, sultry smirks, bio after bio of meaningless bullshit. She barely reads them. Doesn’t care. She thumbs through them, swiping right on the ones that look like they won’t talk too much. She has her first match within seconds.

Hey.

Hey.

What are you up to?

Nothing. You?

Nothing. Want company? Come over.

Kate exhales slowly. The resounding ‘yes’ in the response might be the best word Kate’s heard all day.

///

Fifteen minutes later, there’s a knock at her door.

Kate barely remembers which one she picked, but it doesn’t matter. She opens the door, and there’s a girl standing there. Brunette, short skirt, black boots, waaaaay younger than Kate should be fucking. This girl is the exact opposite of everything Yelena is. Was that intentional? Kate doesn’t know.

“Hey,” the girl purrs, leaning against the doorframe like she’s done this a thousand times before.

Kate could not care less.

“Yeah. Come in. You have to be quiet. My kids are sleeping.”

The girl steps inside without hesitation, glancing around like she’s sizing up the upscale apartment. Kate doesn’t offer her a drink. Doesn’t ask about her night. Doesn’t bother with the niceties. She doesn’t fucking want to know this girl’s name. She just grabs her by the wrist and drags her to the bedroom.

To her bed. The one she used to share with Yelena. The girl giggles.

“Someone’s impatient.”

Kate doesn’t answer. She just pushes her onto the bed and crawls on top of her.

It’s easy. Mindless. Lips on skin. Hands tugging at clothes. A body beneath her that doesn’t fight her. That doesn’t argue. That doesn’t demand anything from her. The girl moans and sighs and moves the way Kate wants, and for a little while, it’s quiet in Kate’s head.

///

An hour or so later, they lay in bed. Catching their breaths. The girl leans over to grab her purse, digs through it.

“You want a bump?”

Kate freezes. The girl is grinning at her, lazy, sated, pulling a little baggie from her purse.

“Or…nah?” the girl teases, shaking it between two fingers.

Kate stares at it. Her pulse kicks. She hasn’t done coke (or any drugs for that matter) since she was a dumbass college kid with no responsibilities and no consequences. Since before that night Yelena caught her getting high and ripped her a new one.

The smart thing would be to say no. The right thing would be to say no.

“Yeah. Okay.”

Kate’s never been known for being smart or right.

The girl grins wider and dumps a little onto the nightstand. Kate watches, detached, as she takes the first hit, then taps her finger against the surface.

“Go for it.”

Kate hesitates. For a second. Then, before she can talk herself out of it, she leans down and does the line.

Fuck.

She tips her head back. Blinks. It’s been a long time. The burn in her nose is familiar. The rush that follows is instant. She exhales hard, and it’s like everything loosens.

“That good, huh?” The girl laughs, pressing closer.

Kate grins. For the first time all fucking night, she grins. And then she rolls the girl onto her back and fucks her again.

She doesn’t think about the fact that this is the same bed Yelena used to fuck her in. She doesn’t think about the fact that she doesn’t even remember this girl’s fucking name.

She just chases the high, drowns herself in it. And when it wears off…Kate simply does another line.

///

Kate leans against the bathroom sink, staring at herself in the mirror. Her pupils are blown, her skin flushed. She looks awake. Alert. More alive than she has in weeks.

She sniffs hard, then runs the back of her hand under her nose just to be sure. The girl…fuck, what was her name?…is still sprawled out in her bed, half-asleep, looking as wrecked as Kate should feel. But Kate doesn’t feel wrecked. She feels good. She feels…quiet.

It’s the first time in months that her head isn’t roaring with noise. The static is gone.

Kate steps out of the bathroom, grabbing her phone off the dresser as she moves. 4:58 AM. The kids could wake up any second. She shakes the girl’s shoulder.

“You gotta go.”

“Mmm, rude.” The girl groans, cracking one eye open.

“I’m serious. Put your clothes on.” Kate doesn’t humor it.

The girl groans louder, stretching like a satisfied cat, then finally starts pulling her clothes on.

“At least let me have coffee before you kick me out.”

Kate doesn’t answer. She’s busy checking the nightstand.

There’s still a little left in the bag. She rolls it between her fingers. The girl catches the movement and smirks.

“Want another?”

“Yeah.” Kate has zero hesitation this time.

She takes two more lines before walking the girl to the door. She doesn’t feel tired. She doesn’t feel drained. She feels ready.

By the time the kids wake up, Kate is on it. Breakfast is already going, lunches are packed, backpacks are lined up by the door.

Alexia steps into the kitchen, brow furrowed.

“You’re happy.”

Kate grins, flipping a pancake.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re…smiling. It’s different.”

Kate tosses a pancake onto a plate and slides it in front of her.

“Mom just woke up in a good mood.”

Something pricks at Alexia…but she just nods and lets it go.

Maks, oblivious, scrambles up onto a chair and immediately launches into his morning monologue about some game he’s playing on the iPad. Sonny happily plays on her mat.

Kate moves through it all effortlessly. No headache. No irritation. No exhaustion pressing down on her ribs. It’s easy. They’re loud. But she’s quiet. The right kind of quiet.

///

Kate gets them to school on time. No scrambling, no forgotten homework, no yelling over missing shoes. She even remembers that today is Sonny’s picture day and gets her all dressed up.

It’s perfect.

And then…Kate looks down at her phone.

Seven missed calls.

Fifteen messages.

Her assistant’s name dominates the screen:

Where are you??

You have that Impact Co. meeting in ten.

KATE!…

The meeting started.

ANSWER YOUR PHONE.

Kate blinks. The noise rushes back.

She was supposed to be at work an hour ago. She groans, forcing herself to think. She can still make it. She can just blame it on traffic, make a joke about how it’s been one of those mornings…

But her feet aren’t moving toward her car.

She looks up.

The bar is still there.

The same one she used to drag DJ out of. The one where she got her head bashed in for trying to fight with the dealers.

It’s still standing. Still open. Still servicing its…special clientele. The smart thing would be to keep walking. To go to work, fix her fuck-up, act like everything is normal…But Kate doesn’t feel smart right now. She doesn’t want to be.

She shoves her phone into her pocket and steps inside.

The smell is the same. Stale beer, sweat, something funkier underneath.

The bartender doesn’t even look up as she slides onto a stool. She orders whiskey. Downs it in two gulps. Then she looks for someone who can sell her what she really came here for.

It doesn’t take long.

///

Kate’s expression doesn’t give anything away. No surprise. No anger. No sadness. Just…nothing. Yelena hates it. She wants a reaction. A tell. A flinch. Proof that this is hitting Kate the way it’s hitting her.

Instead, Kate exhales sharply, shakes her head. 

“You’re so predictable.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Yelena’s grip tightens around the suitcase handle. 

“It means this is exactly what you do. The second shit gets hard, you find an exit. A project. A conference. Something else to focus on. You leave. And you tell yourself it’s a solution, but it’s just running away with a different coat of paint.”

Yelena scoffs, laughter sharp and humorless. 

“Are you fucking with me right now, Kate? Because not ten minutes ago, you all but told me you were done with me. You asked me when I’m moving out. I guess the answer is ‘right now’. You don’t get to act shocked that my bags are packed when you’re the one who requested I do so.”

Kate’s jaw twitches, but she doesn’t deny it. Yelena waits…for something. An argument. A plea. Even a half-hearted ‘stay’. Nothing. Kate just shakes her head again, turns, and walks away.

“I’m getting your sister changed. We’re out the door in ten minutes.” Kate calls to her children over her shoulder, tone so casual Yelena wants to scream.

That’s it. Kate’s really going to let her go. FINE. Yelena squares her shoulders and keeps moving. She makes it halfway down the hall before a door creaks open behind her. Tiny footsteps. A small, groggy voice.

“Mama?”

Yelena stops dead. Shit. She turns slowly. Maks stands in his bedroom’s doorway, rubbing one sleepy eye with his fist, his shirt slightly askew. His gaze darts between her and the suitcase.

“Are you going to a trip?”

Fuck. Yelena hesitates. Lying isn’t an option. He’s too smart, too perceptive. And she’s never been good at it anyway. But she also can’t drop the enormity of this on him like some kind of bomb.

“Mommy told you. I have to stay somewhere else for a little bit,” she says, keeping her tone even.

Maks frowns, little face scrunching up. 

“Why? Are you being at work far away again?”

“It’s just something me and Mom need to figure out.” She crouches in front of him, resting a hand on his shoulder. “It’s not because of you. Not even a little.”

Maks stares at her for a long second, then looks at the suitcase again.

“Ты вернешься?" His voice is barely above a whisper. [“Are you coming back?”]

It’s a knife straight to the fucking heart.

“Конечно.” [“Of course.”]

Maks doesn’t move. Yelena presses a kiss to his temple and stands, stepping around him before she can change her mind. She makes it to the front door, pulls it open, drags the suitcase over the threshold. And still…Kate doesn’t stop her.

///

Yelena gets in the car, throws the bag in the backseat, starts the engine. She grips the steering wheel and stares at the elevator.

Every instinct is screaming at her to turn back. To go inside and force Kate into a conversation she doesn’t want to have. But that’s not how this works.

Kate asked her to leave. Kate didn’t stop her. Kate fixes this.

Yelena puts the car in drive and pulls out of her parking spot.

///

The hotel is cold and impersonal. Yelena barely remembers checking in. She drops her bag on the floor and collapses onto the bed. For a long time, she just stares at the ceiling.

Then, without thinking, she reaches for her phone. Her thumb hovers over Kate’s contact. She should call. Text. Plead. But what would she even say? She drops the phone on the nightstand and presses her palms over her face.

She said she wouldn’t be the one to chase this time. That means waiting. But as she lies there, staring at the hotel ceiling, all she can think about is Maks’s little voice, small and hesitant.

Are you coming back?

And for the first time since this whole thing started, she feels the first stirrings of doubt of what the honest answer to that question would be.

///

Yelena doesn’t go to work that day. She doesn’t leave the room at all.

The weight of it. Of this fight, of this separation, of what it means…it settles into her bones like lead.

This is the first time she’s been in New York and hasn’t seen her kids. The first time in years she’s gone more than a few hours without speaking to Kate. The silence should be a relief. It isn’t.

She orders food and barely touches it. The TV drones in the background, but she doesn’t watch it. She just waits. For what? She doesn’t know. Kate to reach out. Alexia to send one of her Kate-esque rambling voicenotes on Kate’s phone. Some kind of sign that this isn’t the beginning of the end.

But nothing comes.

///

The hotel bed is too big. Too stiff. Too fucking empty. Yelena doesn’t sleep. She lays there, counting the hours as they drag by. At home, even if they were in separate rooms, there was always noise. The faint clack of Kate typing. The shuffle of the kids turning in their beds. The occasional creak of the floorboards as someone got up for water. Here? It’s just nothing.

Her phone stays untouched on the nightstand. She told herself she wouldn’t call. Wouldn’t be the first one to break. But by the time the clock ticks past 5 AM, she’s checking it anyway. No new messages. Not from Kate. Not even a half-hearted ‘Where did you go? Are you safe?’ It shouldn’t surprise her. Kate is just as stubborn as she is. Maybe more. But still…Yelena figured she’d at least get a ‘This is fucking stupid, come home.’ by now. This is what they do. Have a massive blow up every year or two, say dumb shit, make up. But this time feels different. This time it’s gone on too long. This thing instead of makeup sex she’s getting…radio silence.

Yelena rolls over, pulls the pillow over her head, and forces herself to close her eyes.

///

By the time Yelena wakes up, it’s already past 9 AM. That in itself is fucking weird. She never sleeps this late. Normally, one (or all) of the kids is crawling into bed with them. Or Alexia is shaking her awake, mumbling about how she needs to come because Maks just tried to flush a stuffed animal down the toilet. Or Sonny needs to be breastfed. There’s always something.

For the first time in ages, she has a morning completely to herself. And it feels like absolute shit. She forces herself out of bed, takes a shower that doesn’t make her feel any better, and gets dressed. She should head to work. Or her parents’ place. That was the plan. But she can’t shake the uneasy, restless feeling clawing at her ribs.

Are you coming back?

Maks’s voice is still in her head. Echoing. Sinking into her skin.

She shouldn’t have left. She knows it. But what was she supposed to do? Sit there and let Kate tear her apart piece by piece until there was nothing left?

She shakes her head. And then, she caves. She grabs her keys. Gets in the car.

///

The drive feels wrong. Like she’s breaking some unspoken rule just by being here. But she can’t help it. Just a quick check-in. She just needs to see them.

Yelena shouldn’t be here. But she parks away.

She spots Kate’s car first. Then, a second later, she sees them…Alexia and Maks hopping out of the back, Sonny still buckled in her car seat while Kate leans in to unclip her.

Alexia notices her first. Hones in on her, actually. Somehow out of all the cars she could’ve looked at, she stared right at Yelena’s.

Alexia’s got her backpack slung over one shoulder, blonde tresses half-tamed into a ponytail Kate probably threw together in the rush of the morning. The second she spots Yelena’s car, she stops walking. Maks follows her gaze and freezes too. Yelena lifts a hand in a small wave, but neither of them moves.

Kate straightens up then, Sonny balanced on her hip. She’s mid-sentence, probably reminding Alexia about something, when she follows their gaze and spots Yelena.

The second their eyes meet, Kate’s entire demeanor shifts. There’s no surprise. No hesitation. Just…annoyance. She sets Sonny down, says something quick to the kids, then marches across the school parking lot toward Yelena’s car.

Fuck.

Yelena barely has time to roll down the window before Kate is there, one hand braced on the roof, voice clipped and low.

“What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see them.” Yelena forces her face to stay neutral.

Kate scoffs.

“Yeah? Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you walked out.”

Yelena clenches her jaw.

“How are you rewriting history this intensely? YOU asked me to leave. And even though I did, I didn’t walk out on them.”

Kate’s laugh is sharp.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Yelena grips the steering wheel, forcing her tone level.

“You know that’s not what happened.”

“I know that they woke up asking where you were. I know that Leo cried before breakfast. And I know that Alex spent the entire car ride here looking like she was bracing for an earthquake.” Yelena’s stomach twists, but she doesn’t let it show. And Kate isn’t done. “Don’t fucking do this. You don’t get to show up here like you’re swooping in for some touching family moment when you’re the one who left.”

“YOU ASKED ME TO! You didn’t stop me.” Yelena’s fingers tighten on the wheel.

Kate’s expression hardens.

“I should’ve begged you to stay? I told you what I needed. If you can’t put us above your job, what the fuck am I supposed to do?”

Yelena glances past her to the kids. Alexia and Maks are watching them carefully, but they’re trying to pretend they’re not. Fuck. This is precisely the kind of thing she didn’t want to happen. She turns back to Kate.

“I don’t want to do this in a school parking lot.”

“Then leave.” Yelena hesitates. Kate gestures toward the kids, voice quieter now. “They’ll be fine. But if you actually give a shit about what yesterday did to them, you’ll give them some time. Don’t show up out of nowhere like this. It’s not helping. This is confusing enough as it is.”

It takes everything in Yelena not to snap back, not to tell Kate that she doesn’t get to act like she’s the only one allowed to care. Instead, she inhales through her nose and forces herself to nod. Kate doesn’t wait for anything else. She turns, walks back to where the kids wait, scoops Sonny back up, and heads to the school entrance.

The last thing Yelena sees before she drives off is Alexia watching her with an expression she really doesn’t know how to read.

///

Yelena sits at the lab, staring at the same data set she’s been looking at for the past twenty minutes. Nothing makes sense. None of it. The numbers blur together, rearranging themselves into meaningless patterns, mocking her with their order while her own life is falling apart.

She picks up a beaker. Sets it down. Moves a stack of reports from one side of the table to the other. Stares blankly at the periodic table pinned to the wall like it’s going to offer her some kind of divine intervention. She hasn’t done a single second of actual work. She doesn’t even know why she’s here.

Her phone buzzes. She snatches it off the table, pulse spiking. Kate. It has to be Kate. She’s come to her senses. She’s realized how fucking ridiculous this all is. She’s ready to talk. But no. It’s the school. Her stomach knots immediately. She answers on the second ring. 

“Hello?”

“Mrs. Bishop. Hi. It’s Nurse Joe. Alex isn’t feeling too great today. Can you pick her up?”

Yelena blinks, brain catching up. 

“I, uh…Kate…” She exhales sharply. “Yeah. Of course. What’s wrong?”

“She’s been complaining of a headache, said she feels tired. Could be nothing, could be the little bug going around. Either way, I think she’d do better resting at home.”

Yelena nods even though he can’t see her. “Right. What time?”

“Now would be great.”

“Yeah, of course. I’m heading that way.”

“Great. Thank you. Just come to the infirmary. She’ll be here with me.”

Before he can hang up, Yelena manages to squeeze a question in.

“Did you call Kate?”

Nurse Joe hums. 

“Alex told me your wife was in meetings all day. She said I should call you. Should I call her instead?”

Yelena swallows. Kate was supposed to be the first call…As always. But Alexia told them to call her instead. That shouldn’t hit as hard as it does.

“No. No, it’s fine,” she says quickly. “I’ll be right there.”

“See you soon.”

///

It’s not like she’s trying to start a fight. It’s not. But when Yelena pulls up to the school, she knows. Deep in her gut, she knows this is going to get ugly.

She walks into the elementary school infirmary to find Alexia curled up on one of the small cots, arms wrapped around herself, back turned to everyone else. She looks small. So small.

Nurse Joe waves her over. “She’s been like that most of the morning. Said her head hurts, but no fever. Nothing else. I think she just needs some sleep.”

Yelena nods absently, crouching next to the cot.

“Baby…” Her voice softens. “What’s wrong?”

Alexia barely glances at her. “I wanna go home.”

Yelena smooths a hand over her daughter’s hair.

“You will. I’m going to check your brother out too. Might as well get both of you while I’m here.”

Yelena starts to stand, but Alexia reaches out, gripping her sleeve.

“Mom’s gonna be mad.”

Yelena’s chest tightens.

“She’ll be fine.”

Alexia looks at her then, expression cautious. 

“Nurse Steffy called her earlier. She said I had to stay. So I waited until Nurse Joe came and asked him to call you.”

Alexia chose to call her. If that’s supposed to mean something, Yelena doesn’t know what.

“If you’re not feeling well, you don’t have to be here,” she says, pressing a kiss to Alexia’s forehead. “I’ll go get Maksy, and we’ll head home.”

///

The car ride is silent. Alexia stares out the window, quiet in a way that makes Yelena uneasy. Maks, who usually chatters nonstop, doesn’t say a word.

When they pull into the garage, Kate is already waiting. Leaning against her car, arms crossed, mouth pressed into a thin line. Yelena barely has time to put the car in park before Kate yanks the back door open.

Alexia bolts before either of them can say anything, darting to the elevators like she’s trying to escape a bomb going off. Probably a smart move.

Kate turns to Yelena, voice tight.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? I call the school to check in on her, and I’m told you took her. Both of them. What did I say this morning?”

“Good to see you too, babe.”

Kate walks around the car and unstraps Maks, setting him down. He runs after Alexia. 

“Don’t. Don’t start with me.”

Yelena sighs and cuts the engine. 

“I was just picking up my kid from school. Since when is that a problem?”

“Since she asked me first. And I said no.”

“She asked me, too.”

“And you didn’t think maybe…just maybe…you should call me?”

Yelena scoffs. 

“Do I need your permission to see my kids now?”

“You know there’s nothing wrong with her.”

They stare at each other. The silence stretches too long. Yelna shakes her head, speaks.

“I don’t recognize this version of you. I don’t like her.”

“I’m whatever you turned me into.” Kate barks back.

“You’re making this uglier than it needs to be. You don’t want to be with me, Kate? Fine. I’m not going to force you. But let’s at least be civil. We owe that to them.”

“You owed it to them to be there, too. You failed.”

Kate might as well just have physically hit her. For a second, Yelena doesn’t say anything. After a beat, she steps forward, closing the distance. Lowering her voice. 

“If we’re throwing blame around, you failed them too, Kate. You think you’re the only one holding this family together? That you’re the only one they need?” Yelena shakes her head. “You shut me out and expect me to just go along with it. But I showed up today. You’re the one who keeps…”

Kate cuts her off with a bitter laugh. 

“You showed up?” She scoffs. “Fucking wow, dude. Congratulations. Gold star. You finally decided to act like a parent for one goddamn day.”

Yelena’s hands curl into fists at her sides. “That’s not fair.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, are we talking about fair now? You wanna talk about showing up? Where the fuck were you when Alex cried for two hours after her recital because you weren’t there? Where were you when Leo had the flu last month and I was up all night alone with him? Where were you when Sonny said…”

“I was working!”

“Exactly. So…fuck that. Don’t stand here and act like you’re some martyr. You think that’s what being a good parent looks like?”

Yelena swallows the lump in her throat. Her voice is quieter when she speaks.

“I’m trying.”

“Well, it’s not fucking enough.” The words slice right through Yelena’s chest. Neither of them moves. Then Kate shakes her head, muttering to herself. “Fuck me, this is why I told Alex no in the first place.”

“What?”

Kate waves a hand, exasperated. She gestures vaguely toward the building, toward the kids, toward everything. 

“Now I have to be home with them. I had shit to do today. Important shit. That’s why I told her no. Because I knew if I said yes, I’d be stuck picking up the slack. Again.”

The words land like a slap. Yelena forces her voice steady. 

“I can stay with them.”

“No.” Kate doesn’t even hesitate.

“Kate…”

“No,” Kate repeats, firmer this time. “You don’t get to fuck up my whole day and then offer to stay like that somehow makes up for it.”

“I’m trying,” Yelena repeats, but this time, her voice wavers.

Kate just shakes her head, exhaling sharply. “Go try somewhere else.”

That hits harder than anything that's been said so far. Yelena stares at her, breath catching in her throat. Kate doesn’t waver. Doesn’t soften. Doesn’t take it back. She just turns away, marches to the elevator, and jabs the button.

Yelena stands frozen as the doors slide open. Kate steps inside, facing forward. She doesn’t look back. The doors close.

Yelena watches them shut. Then, without a word, she turns, gets in the car, and drives away.

///

Yelena caves that night. Not in a dramatic way. Not in a show up at the house demanding a fight way. She just…texts.

“We need to talk. Can we meet somewhere?”

Kate’s response is immediate: “No.”

Yelena stares at the screen, jaw clenching. Then, another message comes in.

“You want to talk, you do it here. I have no one to watch them.”

Yelena exhales, presses the screen, giving the message a quick ‘thumbs up’ reaction before either can second-guess it, and grabs her keys.

///

Kate is waiting in the kitchen when Yelena steps inside. She barely makes it through the door before Kate’s voice cuts through the space.

“This is the last time I do this.”

Yelena frowns, dropping her bag by the door.

“Do what?”

No answer. For the first time in this entire fight, something close to panic tightens in Yelena’s ribs. Kate has always thrown divorce around too easily when she’s angry. But this? This isn’t anger. Not really. This is measured. This is intentional. Kate might actually, truly, genuinely be saying: ‘I can’t do this anymore’.

“Kate Bishop…”

“I’m so fucking tired, dude. Tired of waiting for you to show up in this relationship. Of waiting for you to realize that it can’t all be on me all the time.”

“I never asked you to.”

“Right.” Kate shakes her head, laughing bitterly. “Then why does it feel like I’ve been doing everything alone since Sonny was born?”

Yelena swallows hard, throat tight, but before she can answer, there’s a quiet noise from the doorway. Both of them turn. Alexia. Standing there, watching them, her face unreadable. Yelena’s stomach twists. Kate straightens, smoothing a hand over her face before turning toward their daughter.

“Monkey…” Kate’s voice softens. “You feeling okay?”

Alexia shifts slightly, crossing her arms. “Are you getting a divorce?”

The question lands like a grenade. Kate freezes. Yelena feels like the floor just tilted beneath her.

“Lots of kids in my class have two houses.” Alexia’s voice drops lower. “I don’t want that.”

‘Divorce’ has never been a word spoken out loud in front of the kids before. Hearing it from Alexia…their daughter, their oldest, their most perceptive…sucks the air out of the room. Kate hesitates, then sighs. 

“Come here.”

Alexia doesn’t move. Kate presses her lips together, then looks at Yelena. Something fragile breaks through in her expression. Neither of them answers. And that’s answer enough. Alexia’s face shifts. Not anger, not sadness, just…coldness. Something the eight-year-old should be too young to understand. Yet, somehow, she does.

“Okay.” Alexia turns on her heel and walks away.

Yelena doesn’t breathe. Kate doesn’t look at her. And for the first time, Yelena starts to come to terms with the fact that this marriage isn’t breaking. It’s already broken.

“She’s confused,” Kate mutters. “She doesn’t know how to handle this, and instead of helping her, you’re letting her play us against each other.”

“Fuck that, Katherine.” Yelena’s voice is sharp, teeth bared. “You don’t get to pull that card when you’re the one cutting me out.”

“No, fuck you dude.” Kate turns back to her, voice rising. “Do you even hear yourself?”

“I hear just fine.” Yelena’s hands tighten into fists. “And I see what you’re doing. You’re setting the stage to make this my fault. Like always.”

Kate lets out a sharp, bitter laugh.

“I’m convinced you live in an alternate reality. YOU LEFT.”

Yelena marches forward, closing the space between them.

“YOU FUCKING ASKED ME TO. MY GOD.” Her voice cracks at the edges. “The night before, I thought we agreed we were going to try. And then the next morning, you ask me to move out out of fucking nowhere. I did what you wanted… and somehow, somehow, you twisted that into me abandoning my wife and kids. I finally called your divorce bluff and you hate that I did.”

Kate shakes her head. 

“You don’t get to test me like I’m some fucking kid. You made your choice.” Her voice is icy now. Flat. Final. “If you’re going to leave, then leave. But don’t come back and play the victim because I didn’t come running after you. I’ve been running after you since the minute I met you,” Kate mutters. “And you’ve stopped giving me reasons to…I’m done.”

Silence. Thick. Suffocating. Yelena lets out a short, humorless laugh. 

“Are we really doing this?”

Kate meets her eyes. 

“Looks like it.”

Yelena swallows. Hard. Her whole body feels like it’s folding in on itself. 

“Then say it.” Yelena’s voice is steady. “If this is what you want, if you want out, then quit dancing around and say it. Look at me and say it to my face.”

Kate’s jaw tightens. She holds Yelena’s gaze. And then, finally…she speaks. Full-throated. Clear.

“I want a divorce.”

It lands like a punch to the ribs. Knocking the breath out of Yelena’s lungs. She stares at Kate. At her wife. The woman she built a life with. The mother of her kids. And she sees it in her face. Clear as day. Kate is done. For the first time, it’s not a threat. Not a knee-jerk reaction. Not said in the heat of a fight. It’s real.

Yelena’s hands fall to her sides. Her whole body goes limp.

“Okay.” Yelena barely recognizes her own voice when she speaks. It’s not acceptance. It’s resignation. Yelena swallows down the lump in her throat. Forces herself to keep breathing.  “Have your lawyer draft whatever you want. I’ll sign it.” Her voice is barely steady. “Keep the apartment. Keep the furniture. Keep all of it. I’m only asking for one thing, Kate. One.” Kate doesn’t speak. “Don’t keep them from me. Equal custody. That’s the only thing I’ll fight you on. And I don’t want to have to…Can we at least agree on that?”

A long beat of stillness. Kate holds her gaze. Then, finally…she nods.

///

Today, the kids are with Yelena. And the quiet feels like punishment.

Kate wakes sometime after noon. Mouth dry, stomach queasy, hands jittery. The headache throbs behind her eyes like a drum. There’s a half-empty glass of water on the nightstand she doesn’t remember pouring, and her phone is buzzing somewhere under a pillow she can’t bring herself to lift.

She doesn’t check it. She knows what she’ll find…reminders, missed calls, unopened emails. Deadlines she’s already blown past. Projects that aren’t hers anymore. Kate can’t remember the last meeting she took. She’s missed so many now that people have stopped bothering to remind her. They just CC her assistant and hope someone else picks up the slack.

She should care. She used to.

Instead, she rolls onto her side and stares at the wall for a long while before opening a dating app with a swipe of her thumb. She doesn’t read the bios. Doesn’t bother pretending she’s here for anything but noise.

By 3:00PM, a girl shows up at the door. Blonde. Barely twenty. Probably named Lexi or Tiff or something equally unsubstantial. She’s got skinny jeans, a bottle of shitty vodka, and the kind of hollow bravado Kate remembers wearing in college.

The girl does two lines off the coffee table without blinking, then starts unbuttoning her shirt like this is just a Tuesday.

It is.

///

Kate doesn’t sleep.

By dawn, she’s showered, dressed, and pacing the kitchen in a dirty hoodie and underwear, barefoot on the cold tile, a half-full coffee cup in one hand, her phone in the other.

Her head is loud. The silence is louder. It stretches between her ears like a scream held too long.

She thinks about calling Susan. Thinks about texting Yelena. Thinks about a hundred things she won’t do.

Instead, she opens a drawer, pulls out the familiar little baggie, and rails another line off from a cutting board full of crumbs. The burn is sharp. Bright. Familiar. She closes her eyes and lets it level her out.

Just to get through the day. That’s what she tells herself. Just today.

///

Friday comes. Time for the kids again.

Kate cleans like she’s scrubbing away evidence. Febreezes the couch cushions twice. Lysols every hard surface. Opens every window. Changes every sheet. She makes three separate grocery store runs because she kept forgetting things. But in the end, she stocks the fridge with juice boxes, baby yogurt, Goldfish crackers, and apple slices. She throws away anything that smells off or looks suspicious.

By the time Kate gets a text that Yelena is pulling into the building’s garage, the apartment smells like citrus and bleach.

Kate rushes down. Yelena is already parked in her parking spot. Her OLD parking spot. Trying to get the kids and all of their belongings out.

Yelena walks up holding a whimpering Sonny on her hip, pharmacy bag tucked under one arm.

“She’s got an ear infection,” Yelena says, shifting the baby. “The drops are three times a day. Once in the morning, one after lunch, once before bed. She already had her morning and I premptively gave her the afterno…”

“I know how to take care of my kids,” Kate cuts her off, more curt than she intends. Yelena frowns, taken aback. Kate keeps going, voice clipped. “I’ve handled more of their colds and fevers and ear infections than you’ve even caught. I don’t need a lesson.”

Kate doesn’t wait for a response. She grabs Sonny, who immediately curls into her chest with a whine, and stalks toward the elevator. Doesn’t take the medication bag.

Yelena stays frozen, still holding the meds.

Inside the elevator, Alexia watches Kate like a hawk. Not accusing. Not angry. Just…watching. Careful. She always watches too much. Notices too much.

“You smell weird,” Alexia says casually as she brushes past and out onto the top floor hallway.

Kate laughs too quickly.

“Bleach. I cleaned the floors.”

Alexia hums, not convinced. But doesn’t say anything else. Kate’s brain is already skipping two beats ahead. She still feels that girl’s lipstick on her collarbone. Still tastes the metallic edge of vodka in her mouth. While her mind wanders, Maks presses his face into Kate’s waist as she tries to open the door, arms wrapping around her leg.

“I missed you. We went to the aquarium and saw the jellyfish and…”

///

Dinner is fine. More or less. Not fine, but…chaos as usual.

Sonny’s cranky, flinging pasta on the floor in protest. Maks tries to balance a fork on his nose while telling some long-winded story about a shark toy Yelena wouldn’t buy. Alexia eats quietly, arms folded, glancing at Kate every now and then with that same too-old gaze.

Kate pretends not to notice. She forces a smile. Compliments the terrible pasta she boiled too long. Pretends she didn’t pour a shot into her juice when no one was looking.

Later, when the little ones are finally asleep, Alexia lingers in the hallway, barefoot, towel slung over one shoulder. Kate looks up from her phone. From the mindless app scrolling.

“Need something?”

“Can you read to me?”

Alexia’s already in pajamas, hair wet and brushed, back straight like she’s bracing for a ‘no’. Reading every night was a ritual. Her entire life, Alexia can remember Kate reading her to sleep. But not lately. Not since her Mama moved out. What was once custom is now a rarity. The exception.

Kate shrugs. “I guess. Sure.”

Kate follows her into the bedroom, crawls into bed beside her, book in hand. It’s something familiar. Something Kate’s read to her a hundred times. She makes it halfway through the second page before Alexia interrupts.

“Why aren’t you the same anymore?”

Kate’s voice stutters over the next word. “What?”

Alexia doesn’t look at her. Just keeps staring at the ceiling.

“You smile weird now. And you don’t look at me the same.”

Kate laughs. Fake. It sounds brittle even to her.

“That’s not true.”

“It is.”

Kate closes the book. Sets it on the nightstand.

“I’m just tired.”

Alexia nods, slow and thoughtful. Like she’s choosing her next words carefully. Then, words break for her lips. Soft. Tentative.

“You should talk to Mama.”

“No need.”

“Why not?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“I think there is. If you tried.”

Kate doesn’t answer. Because trying would mean admitting something’s wrong. And Kate Bishop isn’t ready for that. Not even remotely.

//

The courthouse where family matters are settled isn’t intimidating, not like the rest of the federal buildings downtown. It’s beige and bureaucratic, the kind of place where people age waiting for things to be decided. The walls are dull, the air recycled. The waiting room smells like paper, nerves, and old cologne. The chairs are molded plastic. The clock ticks too loud.

Yelena sits stiff-backed beside her attorney, hands clasped in her lap, nails digging half-moons into her skin. She’s dressed in a soft blue dress and a blazer to match. Professional, approachable, calm. Something that reads put-together without trying too hard. She chose it to look like someone who isn’t here to fight. Just someone here to finalize what was already agreed on. What they’ve already been living. Fifty-fifty. Alternating weekends. Sunday handoffs. Simple. Fair. Balanced.

But Kate hadn’t looked at her in the hallway. Not once.

Kate had blown past like a stranger. Designer sunglasses still on, pressed lips, jaw locked. Yelena knows every version of Kate. She doesn’t know this one. Hollow-eyed. Beautiful. Dangerous. And clearly spoiling for a fight.

“Is it normal for them to be this late?” Yelena mutters.

Her lawyer, a sharp-eyed woman in her sixties with a blonde pixie cut and a bite to match, flips a page in her folder.

“It’s family court. It runs on a unique brand of chaos.”

Yelena exhales. Glances toward the courtroom doors again.

Ten minutes later, they’re called.

The courtroom itself is cramped. No gallery. No jury box. Just a low bench, a sleepy bailiff, a clerk tapping on her keyboard, and a judge who looks like she’s halfway between a law school brochure and a bar fight. Her voice is soft. Her eyes aren’t.

Kate’s already seated across the aisle. Her attorney…an overgroomed, overpaid, lacquered Midtown litigator in a three-thousand-dollar suit with too-white teeth and a knack for false warmth…has laid out an intimidating amount of files across from him.

Yelena’s stomach twists.

The judge glances down at the docket, then up at Kate’s table.

“Ms. Bishop, your counsel has submitted a revised parenting proposal. Mrs. Carty, have you reviewed the amended submission?”

Yelena’s head snaps toward her lawyer. The woman next to her, somehow who likely cost ten percent of what Kate is paying her attorneys an hour, straightens. Caught off guard.

“We were not advised of any updated materials, Your Honor,” the lawyer replies, voice steady but sharp. “We received nothing prior to this morning.”

The judge nods curtly and signals to the clerk. Copies are distributed.

Yelena speed reads through it.

The fifty-fifty agreement is gone. In its place: a proposal granting Kate primary physical custody, with Yelena’s time limited to alternating weekends. Weekend daytime visits. No overnight stays without “adequate notice” and Kate is requesting the ability to grant or deny approval for said overnights. Kate is also petitioning that those rare daytime visits be supervised by someone court appointed. The language is slick. Sanitized. But the implication is blunt.

Unreliable. Unavailable. Unfit. It’s a dressed-up character assassination under legalese.

Primary reason scited: “Repeated lapses in parental consistency due to occupational travel. Confirmed third-party caregiving during primary windows. Documented emotional instability.”

A chill slices through Yelena’s spine. Her lawyer leans toward her.

“We’ll contest every line. Don’t react.”

Too late. Yelena is already staring across the aisle at Kate, who hasn’t looked at her once. But her lips twitch. Just slightly. Like she knows exactly what this will do to Yelena.

“This constitutes a significant modification to custodial arrangements. Ms. Bishop, would your counsel like to provide justification?” The judge interjects.

Kate’s attorney stands smoothly, all confidence and courtroom charm.

“Your Honor, while we respect the intent of the initial joint agreement, one which was made in good faith, circumstances have shifted. My client’s concern…rooted in firsthand observation…is that Ms. Belova’s professional demands increasingly interfere with her ability to provide consistent, day-to-day parenting. This is not a punitive motion. It is a protective one.”

Yelena’s lungs lock. The lawyer continues.

“She has routinely missed pickup times and relied on extended family to manage responsibilities during her custody windows. There have even been multiple instances where the children were left in the care of relatives for days without prior notice to Ms. Bishop. While we understand the role of supportive family, this repeated delegation raises questions about stability and parental presence.”

“They’re talking about my dad,” Yelena whispers, too stunned to stop herself. Her nails dig into her palm. “He’s their grandfather, not a damn sitter.”

Yelena’s attorney gives a quick shake of her head. Not now. Kate’s lawyer presses on.

“Additionally, there’s concern regarding Ms. Belova’s increasing emotional volatility, which we believe is supported by documented therapy referrals and changes in family dynamics.”

All of it dressed up in clean language and innuendo. Yelena leans forward, eyes blazing.

“Bullshit.”

“Ms. Belova,” the judge warns, not unkindly. “You’ll have an opportunity to respond. Please allow opposing counsel to speak.”

Yelena’s lawyer stands. Controlled. Cold.

“Your Honor, we categorically reject the suggestion that my client is anything less than a present, committed, and loving parent. The implication that she is unfit or inconsistent is disingenuous at best. Ms. Belova has restructured her work obligations to prioritize her children. She has repeatedly requested joint therapy sessions to smooth out the transition. Ms. Bishop has never attended. And Ms. Belova has complied with every term of the original agreement…which was mutually designed, mutually approved, and upheld until now.” The judge’s expression doesn’t change. “This last-minute revision not only undermines months of cooperative progress, but reeks of strategic positioning. We will require evidentiary substantiation for every claim made today.”

The judge nods, flipping through the file.

“Then let’s proceed. One item at a time.”

And so they do.

What follows is an hour of paper cuts. A timeline dissected. Schedules scrutinized. Yelena listens to her life reduced into blocks on a calendar. Missed pickups due to flights delayed. School lunches packed by Alexei. A referral from her therapist to a psychiatrist so she could get fucking antidepressants is now twisted into proof of emotional volatility. The week in D.C. when she flew out to speak at a research panel…one Kate had signed off on…is now held up as proof of disengagement.

Yelena can feel something slipping. It’s not just the custody. It’s the foundation of what they used to be. What this was supposed to be. Kate said she wanted peace. She said they’d stay out of court. Now she’s watching her do everything she can to tilt the ground under Yelena’s feet.

Kate never looks at her. Not once. And Yelena realizes, slowly, that this was never about custody. Not really. It’s about rewriting the narrative. About punishing her.

When the judge finally speaks again, the room holds its breath.

“The court finds insufficient cause to modify the existing joint physical custody arrangement at this time,” she says, voice like steel wrapped in velvet. “No legal grounds have been presented to justify limiting Ms. Belova’s parental time. The request is denied.”

Kate’s mandibule tightens, but her lawyer nods like this was just a first move. Yelena’s pulse doesn’t slow. The judge continues.

“However, I am ordering both parties to come prepared to present a unified proposal prior to our final hearing in fifteen days. You will arrive prepared and in agreement…or this court will draft a custody agreement for you.”

Gavel taps. Everyone rises. Kate is out the door before folders are closed.

///

Yelena follows Kate down the courthouse hallway, her heels clicking fast on the linoleum.

“Kate.” Kate doesn’t stop. Doesn’t turn. “Katherine!”

Finally, at the end of the corridor, Kate pivots. She’s still in that perfect navy pantsuit. Makeup flawless. Hair smooth. But up close, her eyes are bloodshot. Her hands are trembling.

“What?” she says flatly.

“You said you wanted fifty-fifty.”

“That was before.” Kate folds her arms.

“Before what?” Kate doesn’t answer. “Kate.” Yelena takes a step closer, softer now. “This isn’t you.”

“Don’t tell me who I am.” Kate’s voice is low. Lethal. “You have no fucking idea.”

“I have every idea. Which is why I know THIS…” Yelena gestures back toward the courtroom. “That is about hurting me not about what’s best for them.”

“You’re not a victim.”

“Then stop trying to turn me into one.”

They stare each other down. Kate’s eyes flash.

“You didn’t want to be there for them before. No reason you get to pretend now.”

“That’s a lie and you know it.”

Kate doesn’t respond. She turns and walks away. The moment she turns a corner and is out of view, Yelena leans back against the wall and closes her eyes.

There’s nothing fair about this. But at least, for now, she hasn’t lost them.

//

DAY ONE

Kate bolts out of the courthouse. Past the too-clean marble, the rustle of khakis, the bored bailiff and the clerk pretending not to glare. She doesn’t stop until the cold hits her airway like glass. Even then, she doesn’t slow.

Yelena’s voice is still in her skull.

“This isn’t you.”

Fuck her. This is who Kate is now. Who Yelena made her.

Kate’s heels slap hard against the pavement. She pulls out her phone. Not to check the dozen missed calls from her assistant. Not to call Susan back. She opens the app. That app. The one she deletes and redownloads in cycles. The one she swears off every Monday and crawls back to by that same night.

There’s already a message. Leftover from last night. From one of the girls from last week. Juno? June? She doesn’t care.

"U up?"

Kate’s thumbs move fast.

"Come over. I’ll be home in 30."

//

Hours later. The girl came. They fucked. The coke hit. School pickup happened.

Now: a thunderous banging on the door. Not a knock. SLAMMING. Like someone’s trying to break it down.

Kate jolts upright from the couch. Sonny stirs against her chest with a sleepy, sick whimper. Maks looks up from his tablet, wide-eyed. Alexia’s already half-hiding behind the kitchen counter like she’s already anticipating what kind of adult nonsense is about to explode.

Another slam.

Kate sets Sonny down carefully and marches to the door, heart already hammering. She knows that knock. Or more accurately, that pound.

She yanks it open…and Alexei barrels in. No greeting. No pause. Just fury. His cheeks are red, grey hair a wild halo, eyes blazing with something she hasn’t seen in a long time…pure, unfiltered rage.

“You got a problem?” Kate barks at him.

Alexei ignores her. Rams the door shut hard enough to rattle the frame. Storms further inside.

“You go to court,” he spits. “You lie.”

Kate folds her arms. Protective.

“I didn’t lie.”

“You break agreement. You let lawyer say she is bad mother. You let him say things you know are not true.”

Kate scoffs.

“I didn’t make him say shit.”

Alexei’s voice drops, dangerous and guttural. That tone she’s only ever heard a handful of times and each time it always meant she was about to get her ass handed to her. A lilt that hasn’t poured out of him since she was much younger…when he was still her dad in everything but blood.

“You think this is game?”

“I think this is none of your business.”

“You were family,” he growls. “I told you you worth something when your father never said. So yes. Is my business.”

Kate turns, face muscles tight enough to pop.

“I’m not doing this with you.” Kate turns, walks off.

But Alexei follows her into the kitchen like thunder follows lightning.

“You are ruining them.”

“Excuse me?” Kate spins, eyes ablaze.

“The babies. You are ruining the babies. You think they do not see? Do not know?” His voice cracks. “Alexia watches. Maks asks me why you and Yelena hate each other. And Sonny… she is little, but she feels it. All of it.”

Kate’s hands quiver. She grips the edge of the counter like it’ll steady her.

“What the hell do you want from me?”

“I want you stop fighting war no one else is in.”

Silence. Then a laugh tears out of Kate. Cold. Hollow.

“Did you forget who I married? You think she’s just the sweet fucking martyr in all this?”

“No,” Alexei retorts, suddenly quiet. “I know my daughter. She is not perfect. She works too much. She keep feelings locked up. She make mistakes. But she would die before she let one of those babies feel unloved. You? You used to be same.”

Something twists behind Kate’s ribs.

“She left.”

“Because you push her.”

“I…”

“She beg you to try.” Alexei cuts her off. “She asked for deal. Therapy. She took blame. Even when it was not all hers. And you treat her like this for it.”

Kate slams a glass into the sink. It cracks like a gunshot.

“SHE WALKED OUT! She packed a fucking suitcase and left!”

“Because you told her to.”

“I DIDN’T MEAN IT!” Kate shouts. And the second it leaves her mouth, she regrets it.

Alexei can see it too. His face softens…but not kindly.

“This is strong to you?” he murmurs. “This?”

Kate’s hands drop to her sides, fists clenched, shame twisting together like wire.

“She doesn’t deserve half.”

Alexei blinks. Slow. Like he didn’t hear her right.

“She… doesn’t deserve… half? The babies are not furniture.”

“They’re MY kids,” Kate growls. “I did more. I always did more. She worked late. I packed lunches. I went to the plays. I stayed up when they were sick. I gave up everything while she…”

Alexei slams his palm on the counter. Kate jumps.

“You want to hate her for ambition? For working? Okay. Do it. Say she hurt you. Say you angry. Be honest. Do not say it is for them. I married her mother. I know. I KNOW. I was home with Yelena while Melina built life. And I stay. Proud. Because I knew my life would be better with her in it. Even if she was not always there.”

Kate’s vision blurs. She’s sweating. Shaking. The come-down has her teeth clenching, her heart thumping too fast. She stares at him like he’s the only real thing in the room. He sees it.

“This is not you,” he says. Quiet. Devastated.

There it is. That stupid sentence again. Kate recoils at the sound of it.

“I know what you look like drunk and trying hide it.” He adds, and it’s not a jab. It’s soft. It’s broken. “We did that game many times.”

Kate’s throat closes.

“Get out.” Alexei doesn’t move. “I said get the fuck out!”

Alexei looks at her for a long moment. Then nods.

“I love you like daughter. Still do. That is why I come here. I say nothing…for now. You still can fix this. But if you do not…I will protect those babies. Even from you.”

And with that, he exits the kitchen. A moment later, the front door slams shut.

Kate stands in the wreckage, glass cracked in the sink, chest heaving. Her hands won’t stop shaking. She walks to the pantry, drags over the stepstool, climbs up to the highest shelf.

Grabs the water bottle full of vodka. And drinks until it burns her eyes.

//

By the time a gentler knock hits her door, the kids are finally asleep. A miracle, honestly, given how Maks was bouncing off the fucking walls, buzzing like a bee, from the moment he got home. Something he ate at school, probably. Cupcakes. Cookies. His teacher’s ongoing war on sugar had clearly failed.

Kate wants to put her fist through the drywall. Instead, she opens the door.

The girl on the other side is young. Kate doubts she can legally drink. Doesn’t care. Pretty, in the way Instagram filters pretend people are. Tight black pants, heavy eyeliner, nose ring that glints under the hallway light. She smells like a Walgreens perfume aisle and sour apple vape.

Kate doesn’t remember the name on the profile. Doesn’t care to ask. They say maybe five words total. Enough to get the door shut and her coat off.

Almost immediately, Kate pulls the little baggie from her pocket. Sets it on the coffee table with the reverence of an altar offering. The girl watches her. Watches the whole little ritual.

Kate doesn’t hesitate.

The first line hits like someone’s wrung her brain out and steamrolled it smooth. The tension behind her eyes disappears. The tightness in her chest breaks like a snapped violin string. The second line floods her bloodstream. Her teeth tingle. Her fingertips spark. Her heart beats like a drumline just kicked up.

The girl grins. Kate grabs her by the belt loop and pulls her toward the bedroom.

//

3:47 AM

The girl’s still there. Clingy now. Sweaty and sweet-voiced, like they’ve shared something tender instead of a gram and twenty minutes of perfunctory fucking.

Kate doesn’t look at her.

“Do you wanna go again?” the girl asks, slipping her arms around Kate’s waist like they’re girlfriends.

“No,” Kate says flatly.

She shoves a shirt into the girl’s chest, walks to the door, and opens it. The girl pouts like a teenager who just got grounded.

“Seriously?”

Kate jerks her chin toward the hallway. “Go.”

Once the door slams behind her, Kate heads to the bathroom. Cold water. Harsh lighting. She scrubs her face and looks up. Freezes.

She doesn’t recognize the woman staring back.

Same jawline. Same cheekbones. But everything under the skin feels…not right. Her eyes are glassy. Her pupils like pinpricks. Her mouth is tight, unfamiliar.

She dries off. Rakes her hair into a ponytail. The high kind, the one she used to do in college when she was going out on a bender and didn’t want it in her face.

She glances down. Two lines. She doesn’t remember cutting those at any point today. Maybe last night.

She should save them. She should sleep. She doesn’t.

Fuck it.

She does line after line until the sun comes up.

//

DAY TWO

Mornings are better like this.

Kate was going before her alarm. Showered. Dressed. Bra on, hair done. Everything in place. Her kitchen looks like a Pinterest board.

She flips pancakes with a flourish. The kids shuffle out of their rooms one by one.

“Choc chip pancakes!” Kate announces, too cheery.

Sonny toddles out after Alexia, rubbing her eyes with chubby fists.

“Muffin,” Sonny argues, half-asleep.

“Pancake,” Kate corrects, pressing a kiss to the top of her daughter’s head and placing her plate on the high chair before she picks up the baby and drops her into the seat.

Alexia pours all the juices. Hair still a mess. Still in pajama pants. Her arms fold immediately, eyes narrow.

Kate beams at her. “Thank you, bug!”

Alexia doesn’t sit. Just leans against the table, watching. Measuring.

Maks runs in full speed, socks sliding across the hardwood. “Mommy, you’re so happy today!”

“I just love you guys so much,”

Kate kisses the top of his head. Smile too wide, too polished, too immediate. The words sound rehearsed. Like she’s auditioning for a role.

No one says anything. This Kate is infinitely better than gloomy Kate.

//

Kate misses three calls during drop-off. One from her lawyer. One from the office. One from Susan.

She watches the screen blink. Feels it vibrate against her thigh. Doesn’t answer a single one.

Yelena’s picking the kids up after school. They’ll be with her for days. That means Kate’s apartment will be empty. That means Kate’s head will be loud. Too loud.

She reaches into the kitchen cabinet. Bottle of vodka behind the cereal. Baggy of powder behind the rice.

She cancels her 11AM meeting and stares at the wall for ten minutes before doing the first line.

//

DAY THREE

Susan calls. Kate doesn’t answer.

She’s lying on the bathroom floor, cheek pressed against tile. Cold. Her limbs buzz but don’t move. Her tongue feels loose. Her jaw aches from clenching.

The light above the mirror is too bright. Her eyes burn.

She blinks. There's a sound in the back of her mind…something like a memory, something like a scream…but it stays just out of reach.

There’s residue on the edge of the sink. Crusty, white. Her nose is raw. Her fingers are sticky.

She doesn’t remember what time the girl left. Just that she was annoying. Something with an R. Rachel? Rylie? Something stupid.

She doesn’t remember coming into the bathroom either.

//

DAY FOUR

The kids come back tonight.

Kate scrambles. She opens every window. Scrubs every surface. Lysol wipes the couch. Takes a scalding shower. Tries to bleach herself clean.

She hides the baggies and bottles all over the house. Flushes the empty ones down the toilet just to be sure. Swishes vodka in her mouth and spits it out like mouthwash. Then brushes her teeth three times.

When Alexia walks through the door, her nose wrinkles.

“It always smells like cleaning stuff.”

“Trying to get rid of Maks’ sweaty stench,” Kate shrugs and counters with a wink.

Maks doesn’t hear. He’s already yelling about some YouTube video he watched and diving headfirst into the couch.

Sonny stands by the fridge, arms up like a gremlin.

“Juice!” she demands.

Kate gives them everything they ask for. Every single thing. Goldfish crackers. Juice boxes. Extra screen time. She says yes to everything. She can’t say no today. She can’t say anything real.

//

That night, when they’re finally asleep, she lies in bed. Immobile. The shadows on the wall stretch and bend like accusations.

She doesn’t reach for her phone. She doesn’t open the app. She wants to.

Her heart races. Her hands twitch. She presses them flat against her stomach.

The silence roars.

//

DAY FIVE

Kate's late to school drop-off. Not late enough to get a call, but late enough that Alexia stands in the garage with her backpack already slung on both shoulders, eyes like razors. She doesn’t say anything as she climbs into the car.

Kate doesn’t apologize. She doesn’t offer an excuse. Her head is pounding. Her knuckles ache from clutching the steering wheel.

Halfway to school, Maks starts humming something tuneless and loud in the backseat. Kate snaps at him to stop.

He falls silent. Alexia doesn’t look at her. Just chews on the edge of her sleeve like she’s trying to disappear.

After drop-off, Kate tells herself she’ll finally go to work. But she circles the block instead. Once. Twice. By the sixth time, she’s not even pretending. She parks in some random lot two neighborhoods over, puts the car in park, and stares at her own hands on the wheel.

She doesn’t cry for a while. Then she does.

She calls no one.

//

DAY SIX

Susan leaves a voicemail.

"You okay?" A long pause. "I’m coming over this weekend."

Kate deletes it.

The silence afterward is suffocating.

By midafternoon, the ache in her chest has turned into something painful, whirring. She texts one of the numbers in her phone stored under very normal sounding names. Orders more. Tells herself it’s just to get through the day.

The baggie shows up. She pays in cash. Takes it straight to the bathroom.

By evening, she’s pulsating. Cleaned out two cabinets, reorganized every towel by color, fucked a girl whose name might’ve been Mel or Nell or Belle, and she feels like she can finally hear herself think.

The girl asks if she can stay the night. Kate says no. She always says no.

//

DAY SEVEN

The pick-up is tense. Yelena is already at the parking spot, arms crossed, a half-finished iced coffee on the roof of her car. Kate walks the kids over, barely says a word. Sonny clings to her for a second too long, but then she’s in Yelena’s arms.

"Maks said you forgot to pick him up Wednesday," Yelena murmurs, adjusting Sonny on her hip.

Kate rolls her eyes.

"I was five minutes late."

"He said twenty."

"Jesus, Yelena. You want a fucking medal for being on time?"

Yelena doesn’t respond. She starts strapping Sonny into the car while the other two get themselves situated.

Kate watches her. The calm. The steadiness. She looks tired, sure, but not unraveling. She wants to claw Yelena’s face off.

Yelena closes the door, turns to Kate.

"You can call me if you need me to pick them up.”

Kate laughs. Ugly.

"I couldn’t even call you for that when we were together." Kate throws the kids' bags into the trunk. Slams the door. "You're not better than me."

Yelena doesn’t flinch. Which makes it worse. Kate wants to scream.

//

DAY EIGHT

Kate doesn’t leave the house. Doesn’t shower. Doesn’t eat. Does another line. Cleans spots in the kitchen she’d never even seen before. Does another. Reorganizes the pantry.

She alphabetizes the spices. Then forgets why she started.

Then does another line. Then another. Then another. Then…

//

DAY NINE

Susan shows up. Incredibly pregnant. Glowing like a goddamn Christmas tree and pissed like a thundercloud.

Kate opens the door a crack.

"I’m sick. Come back some other day."

"You smell like a dive bar."

"Fuck you."

Susan pushes inside. Opens all the windows. Starts doing dishes in silence. Kate lies on the couch and stares at the ceiling.

They don’t talk. Not really.

Susan stays for an hour. Doesn’t hug Kate goodbye when she leaves.

//

DAY TEN

There’s blood in the sink. Her nose won’t stop bleeding.

Kate brushes her teeth anyway. Rinses. Stares at herself in the mirror. She looks like DJ. The thought makes her dizzy. She shuts the light off. Texts no one.

Not for a while at least. Then she opens the app. Summons a girl. Orders more of the only thing keeping her mildly sane.

//

DAY ELEVEN

Drop-off is contentious.

Kate is late. Yelena thinks she smells gin, but it’s buried so deep under cologne and gum that she can’t be sure. She can’t do more than raise an eyebrow and move to unbuckle Sonny.

Kate snaps first.

"I'm going to get full custody. You're going to lose."

Yelena doesn’t even flinch.

"You're already losing, Kate."

That one hits harder than anything else has. And Kate has no comeback. Just slams the door and walks away with the baby while the older ones try to catch up.

//

DAY TWELVE

Kate manages to pull herself together just enough to pass. She puts on clean clothes. Makes grilled cheese. Helps with homework. Pretends to watch a movie with them. Laughs in the right places.

Alexia stares at her. Quiet. Knowing. She doesn’t say anything. But Kate can feel the weight of it.

//

DAY THIRTEEN

Maks wants a bedtime story. Practically demands it.

Kate hasn’t read to him in weeks. Probably months. She pretends she’s thrilled about it. Pulls out a dinosaur book. Halfway through, her hands start to shake.

"Mommy, are you okay?”

Kate forces a smile. "Just cold, buddy."

It’s seventy-four degrees in the apartment.

Maks nods and curls into her side. She keeps reading. Voice steady. Like nothing is wrong. But she knows it is.

//

After reading, Kate rushes the rest of bedtime. Rushes the tucking in. Rushes the hugs. Rushes everything.

Maks wants another chapter. Sonny’s sticky fingers keep tugging at her sleeve. Alexia keeps side-eying her like she can sense her mom’s demons catching up to her…but Kate doesn’t have it in her. Not tonight. Not with this much adrenaline in her chest and too many thoughts pounding behind her eyes.

“Lights out,” she says, sharper than intended.

Each door closes behind her like a verdict.

She lays out two lines on the nightstand. Then four more. The razor edge of a MetroCard. Muscle memory.

There’s no reticence.

First line: dulls the ache in her chest. Second: smooths her jaw. Third: unsticks her lungs. Fourth: makes her feel like she can breathe without sobbing. The rest are just for fun.

She texts a girl from the app. Doesn’t wait to learn the name. Doesn’t ask. Doesn’t care. By the time the knock comes, she’s already undressing. Already numb. Already somewhere else.

They fuck in the bed she used to share with Yelena.

Kate’s knees dig into familiar sheets, cotton worn soft by years of laundry and sex and shared baby-colic-induced insomnia. The girl bites her neck like it means something. It doesn’t. Kate can’t feel anything except the tickle in her jaw and the electricity in her veins.

She comes, maybe. Maybe not. It doesn’t really matter.

She kicks the girl out before sunrise. Doesn’t look at her face. Doesn’t care if she took her sweater or her charger or the rest of the whiskey on the nightstand.

The apartment is still quiet. Kate doesn't sleep.

There’s coke smeared across the dresser. The edge of a photo frame is crooked where she knocked it earlier. Yelena holding Sonny in Melina and Alexei’s backyard, both of them covered in frosting and laughing so hard Kate swore she'd never forget the sound.

She doesn’t look at it. She crushes what’s left of one bag. Spills out the contents of another.

Her hands are steady now. That’s the worst part.

//

DAY FOURTEEN

The final divorce hearing is tomorrow.

Kate gets through drop-off on muscle memory alone. She doesn’t make eye contact with Alexia or Maks as they file out of her car. She says “See you later. Be good.” like this is all normal, like she didn’t kill a gram before breakfast, like her hands aren’t shuddering inside her pockets.

She comes home. Fuck the office. Fuck clients. Fuck the inbox she hasn't checked in days.

She doesn't notice the silence until the door closes behind her.

Her phone buzzes once. Twice. Again. She ignores it. Drops her bag on the floor, kicks off her shoes like they’re on fire, and heads straight for the kitchen.

There’s a drink waiting. She left it out earlier. Warm vodka, the tail end of some citrus soda she grabbed out of the fridge without looking. She throws it back like it’s water and hisses when it hits her throat. It burns just enough to remind her she’s still here.

She pours another.

Her marriage to Yelena will officially be no more after tomorrow. Final. Dissolved. Over. The words loop in her head like a curse. Final. Over. Final.

She opens her phone. Scrolls past Susan. Past her lawyer. Past her mother’s ignored voicemail that’s now two weeks old. She clicks open the app instead.

The first girl she sees is twenty-two. Bio says: “only here for trouble 💋”. Good enough.

She messages her.

“Wanna come over?”

The reply hits her inbox in under a minute.

//

AFTERNOON

Yelena, Melina, and Alexi had sat the kids down. Explained what tomorrow’s hearing meant. What the divorce meant. What “final” meant.

Kate never even brought it up with them. Didn’t say anything. She couldn’t.

Now the kids move around her house like they’re on eggshells.

Alexia gives her narrowed looks. Calculating. Like she’s watching Kate unravel in slow motion and hasn’t decided if she’s going to say something to anyone yet. Maks is quieter than usual, his questions muted, like he's trying not to ask too much. Sonny keeps grabbing at Kate’s shirt, fingers curling like she wants to ask something she doesn’t yet have the skills to say.

Dinner is takeout pizza and fruit cups on the couch. They pick a movie. Kate laughs too loud at the jokes. Talks over the dialogue. Tries to fill the room with her voice so no one notices how unstable it is.

The kids aren’t convinced.

Maks curls into her side and falls asleep before the credits roll. Alexia brushes Sonny’s hair and puts her to bed without being asked.

Kate stares at the ceiling.

Tomorrow’s the hearing. Tomorrow, it’s real. Tomorrow, it’s over.

She checks on Alexia. The girl’s not asleep. Faking it. Eyes closed too tight. Shoulders stiff. Kate knows better. She lets her get away with it.

She walks to the kitchen. Opens a drawer. Pulls out the little bag she picked up that morning like it’s a granola bar. She chops lines on the counter. Snorts them. Pours a drink. Doesn’t wince.

//

EVENING

The rest of the night is a blur.

She summons someone. Maybe from the app. Maybe not. She doesn’t remember if she even saw the girl’s face in the profile photo.

Blonde this time. Lip ring. Big eyes that don’t ask questions.

Kate fucks her against the fridge.

Drinks more. Snorts more. Doesn't ask for the girl’s name. Doesn’t care when she moans. Barely notices when she cries out. By the time the girl tries to kiss her, Kate’s pulling away.

“Go,” she says.

“What?”

“Just go.”

The girl huffs, yanking her dress back down. “Fucking bitch.”

Kate doesn’t blink. “Your keys are by the door.”

She doesn’t wait to hear it slam. Already back in the kitchen. Already texting another.

//

LATER

Next girl’s name might be Lauren. Or Chloe. Maybe something that ends in a vowel. Kate doesn’t ask twice. Doesn’t particularly care.

They fuck on the couch. Quick. Messy. One of them still wearing a shirt. Half the throw pillows on the floor. Kate’s got coke under her fingernails and a taste in her mouth she can’t place.

She offers the girl a line. The girl passes. Kate shrugs. Uses a credit card to cut. Snorts. Hard.

Her head snaps back like a whip crack. And suddenly…Silence. Not quiet. Not numb. Just silent. Like her brain finally found the mute button.

It’s fucking euphoric. She almost cries. Doesn’t.

The girl touches her cheek, gentle. Tries to kiss her again.

Kate turns away. “Go.”

Again: “What?”

Kate’s already standing. Looking for her boxers.

“You heard me.”

“Wow.”

“Get out.”

The door slams again. She doesn’t hear it. Already scrolling for someone else.

//

SOMERIME PAST MIDNIGHT

The third girl gets there fast. No makeup. No chat. Doesn’t even take her coat off before Kate’s got her pinned against the hallway wall.

This one’s smart. Brought her own coke. Better stuff. Kate does another four lines. Maybe five. She can’t feel her teeth. Her skin itches. Her brain isn’t screaming anymore.

They stumble into the bedroom.

Their bedroom. The one with the sheets Yelena picked. The one where Yelena used to fuck her until she couldn’t breathe. The one where Yelena used to curl into her side after sex, leg hooked over Kate’s thigh like she owned her.

Kate’s bent over the same bed with someone she doesn’t know, someone who doesn’t care.

Kate starts laughing halfway through. Mid-thrust. Loud. It’s not funny. It is. It’s fucking hilarious.

The girl asks what she’s laughing about.

“You wouldn’t get it.”

They fuck anyway. Kate doesn’t come. She doesn’t even know why she does this. She doesn’t come most of the time anymore. But she’s gotten really good at pretending.

She kicks the girl out just before five.

“Can I get one more?” Kate asks, motioning to the leftover bag.

The girl shrugs. Leaves all of it.

Just a little more. Kate can’t sleep. The kids will be up soon. She needs the noise. Just a little more.

//

DAWN

Kate falls back onto the bed. They fucked until the sheets were tangled. The lamp’s knocked over. One shoe’s in the closet, the other in the hall. The bed smells like sweat and something chemical. Her lips are cracked. Her jaw hurts from clenching. Her heart hammers against her ribs like it wants out.

She’s sweating. Trembling. Breathing in short, sharp bursts. But her brain is quiet. Blessedly, perfectly serene.

Her heart is now racing so fast she thinks she might actually die. She doesn’t. Worse. She stays alive. But she can’t sleep. She doesn’t even try. The kids will be up soon anyway. So she stares at the ceiling and waits for the sun to come up.

Waits for her marriage to end. Waits for a judge to tell her she’s no longer anyone’s wife.

//

THE MORNING OF THE HEARING

The alarm goes off.

Kate’s still awake. Still high. Still wired. Still half-drunk, half-numb, half gone.

She doesn’t get dressed. Doesn't have to yet. Too early. Instead, she stumbles towards the bathroom, her hair still wild.

She stares at the pile of clothes laid out on the bed as she walks past them. Black slacks, a crisp white blouse, the blazer she hasn't worn since the last hearing. They remain untouched.

She reaches the bathroom, the cold tile grounding her as she flips the light on, squinting at the sudden brightness, then slaps the switch back off. The sun’s already creeping in through the cracked blinds. Too fucking bright. Too accusatory.

She stares at herself in the mirror. What she sees isn’t her. It’s a version of Kate that DJ would’ve loved. That reckless, fire-eyed version that lit herself on fire just to see what would burn. That girl with a nosebleed and vodka breath and powder under her nails.

Yelena wouldn’t recognize her either. Perfect.

Kate plants her hands on the marble counter, breathing hard. Her palms are sweating. Her mouth tastes acrid. Her vision’s a little off. But she still sees it clearly.

The little plastic bag crumpled on the counter’s edge. She doesn’t even think. Doesn’t hesitate. Just tears it open, dumps it, cuts what’s left into shaky lines. Credit card. Key. Straw. Doesn’t matter. She leans over and inhales it like oxygen. Like it’s going to save her life. For a second, it feels like it might. For a second, she can fly. Somehow, that’s not good enough.

Another line.

Then another.

Her nose is numb. Her heart’s too fast. There’s blood rushing in her ears and something hot behind her eyes. But the silence…the noise in her head, the jagged static that’s been a constant for months…is gone again. Just like that. Quiet.

She leans against the door. Smiles. Slides down to the floor.

Perfect.

//

The courtroom is sterile, the air thick with anticipation. Yelena sits at the respondent’s table, spine rigid, one leg bouncing beneath the polished wood. Her fingers tap a frantic rhythm against her thigh. Her attorney sits beside her. Melina and Alexei just behind her, stone-faced and silent. The judge’s bench looms ahead, empty. Kate’s side of the room is missing one very importat person. Kate. There’s no sign of her.

Yelena glances up at the clock.

9:17.

They were supposed to begin at 8:45.

Across the aisle, Kate’s lawyer checks his phone again, murmurs something to the junior associate next to him. Shrugs like this happens all the time.

Yelena’s own lawyer leans in.

“Still no word?”

“Nothing.” Yelena shakes her head.

Her lawyer nods once. Then…smiles.

"This could work in our favor."

Melina sits like a statue, arms crossed so tight her shoulders are near her ears. She hasn’t spoken since they arrived. Alexei mutters a low curse in Russian under his breath, too quiet to translate.

Yelena’s lawyer pulls out her phone.

“I’m calling her.”

“She won’t answer,” Yelena mutters. She doesn’t say it with bitterness. Just fact.

Across the aisle, Kate’s associate finally stands, addressing the court staff.

“She hasn’t been responding to us either. We’ve left five messages.”

Kate’s attorney, still somehow composed, still sipping from his water like they’re at brunch, clears his throat.

“Ms. Bishop is many things, but she’s not someone who would blow off a court date this important.”

Yelena snorts. Bites down on the inside of her cheek hard enough to taste blood.

The clock ticks louder than it has any right to. The judge finally enters. Everyone rises. The air in the room tightens. Once seated, the judge glances at the empty chair.

“Is the plaintiff present?”

Kate’s attorney rises. Adjusts his tie like this is just another motion hearing.

“Your Honor, I haven’t been able to reach my client this morning. We’ve left multiple messages.”

The judge brow furrows.

“Is there any indication of an emergency?”

“Not that I’m aware of, Your Honor.”

Yelena’s lawyer stands.

“Given the significance of today’s proceedings, we request a short recess to attempt contact.”

The judge considers.

“Fifteen minutes.”

As the gavel comes down, Melina turns toward Alexei.

“Late is five minutes,” she mutters. “Not fifty-two.”

Alexei grumbles again. Louder this time. Yelena doesn’t catch all of it, but it’s not flattering. Yelena reaches for her phone, thumb hovering. No missed calls. No texts. No movement. Nothing.

“Maybe I should try calling Alex,” she says.

“It’s past nine,” Melina replies. “She’s in school.”

“Yeah, but…” Yelena’s pulse spikes. “What if she’s not?”

Melina and Alexei exchange a glance. Melina nods. “Try.”

Now that they’re bouncing between homes, they’d gotten Alexia one of those dumb phones for kids. No apps. No internet. Just calls and texts. Strictly for emergencies. Yelena scrolls through her contacts until she lands on the one marked “ALEXIA ☀️”. The emoji makes her chest ache. The little girl had picked it herself. It feels ridiculous in this context. And helpless. Pointless. She hits call anyway.

One ring. Two. Thrice. Then…

“Hello?”

Yelena stills.

“Baby?”

“Hi, Mama.”

Alexia’s voice is small. Far away. Yelena’s stomach drops.

“Are you home?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“We didn’t go to school. Mommy hasn’t come out of her room.”

Yelena is already standing.

“You haven’t seen her at all?”

“No. We’re watching toonies. Maks was hungry, so he made cereal but spilled all the milk. Then he yelled at the milk.”

Behind her, Melina rises. Alexei too. Her lawyer turns mid-call, reading the look on Yelena’s face.

“Alex, can you go knock on Mommy’s door for me?” Yelena says gently.

“I did.”

“Go again, baby.”

There’s a pause. The sound of footsteps. A distant knock. Silence.

“She’s not answering,”

Yelena grabs her bag.

“Okay…okay, baby. I’m coming, alright? Right now. I’ll be there soon. Just…stay with Maks and Sonny. Don’t open the door for anyone else. You know the rules.”

“I know.” Alexia mumbles.

Yelena hangs up, already moving.

“Something’s wrong.”

“What happened?” Melina presses.

“She never took them to school.”

Alexei’s face hardens.

“Let’s go.”

Yelena’s attorney is already moving.

“I’ll handle the judge…file for a continuance. Go.”

Yelena doesn’t wait. Doesn’t speak. She’s out the door before her parents can even grab their coats.

//

The high-end hallway blurs.

Yelena fumbles with her keys, her chest tightening with every step. She doesn’t knock. She jams the key in the lock, turns it, and throws the door open.

The smell hits first. Not rot. Not death. Not even alcohol. Just…something stale. Like sweat and sex and the tail end of a party no one wanted to clean up after.

“Mama!” Maks barrels into her legs like a missile. Barefoot. Hair a mess. Kate’s blue eyes excessively familiar.

Alexia sits on the couch with Sonny in her lap. Paw Patrol blares. The TV is too loud. The place is wrecked. Milk dried in a sticky pool on the kitchen floor, cereal crushed underfoot, pizza box half-open, leftover crusts starting to curl at the edges.

“She hasn’t come out yet?” Yelena demands.

Alexia shakes her head.

“I knocked again. Nothing.”

“Where’s her phone?”

“In there. I think.”

Yelena exhales, glances at her parents who just arrived behind her.

“Can you stay with them?”

“Of course.”

Melina’s already crossing the living room, bending to pick up Sonny from Alexia’s lap. Alexei scans the place, takes the state of it in.

Yelena doesn’t wait. She moves through the apartment, each step heavier than the last. Their bedroom door is closed. The lock is still engaged. She knocks once. Nothing.

“Kate?” Her voice is firm. Loud. No answer. Yelena rattles the knob. “Kate, open the door.”

Nothing. Her stomach coils tight. She looks down, grabs the handle again, harder this time.

“Kate…if you don’t open this door, I’m breaking it down.”

Still. Silence. Then Alexei’s appears beside her. Quiet. Calm. Terrifying.

“Move.”

Yelena steps aside. He slams his foot into the door. Once. Twice. The third time, the wood splinters and the lock gives.

The bed is empty.

“Kate.”

No response. The bathroom door is half-open.

Yelena rushes that way. She attempts to push the door. Can’t open it fully. Something is blocking it. Her breath sticks in her throat.

She puts her entire weight behind the next shove and whatever was behind it slides away. The door swings open.

Kate is on the floor. Curled on her side. Unmoving. Skin pale. Lips parted. Sweaty hair glued to her temple. A used straw teeters on the edge of the sink. There’s white powder smeared across the counter. There’s remnants of the same white powder under Kate’s nose. On the floor: an unfamiliar hoodie and a bra Yelena knows doesn’t belong to Kate.

"Oh my god.” Yelena drops to her knees so fast she knows she’s bruised them. “Kate!” No response. “Kate, wake up!”

Nothing. Her hands vibrate. Her voice breaks.