#muwfc

Gentle hands found your waist, a string of light kisses being left up your bare shoulder and onto the crook of your neck.

You hummed, a soft smile settling over your features.

“G’mornin’, baby.” Grace’s voice was scratchy and low, still smothered with sleep as she inhaled against your skin.

“Hi, Gracie.” Your fingers found hers, intertwining gently as she pulled you back against her body.

“Sleep good?” she asked, although she sounded very much like she was about to drift off again.

“Always with you in my bed.” You could feel the warmth of her cheeks against you.

“Flatterer.” You rolled your eyes.

“What about you?”

“Mmhmmm,” Grace replied after a moment, her brain working too slowly to follow the conversation with any real effort. “Like a baby, ‘cos I had my baby in my arms.”

You chuckled at her awful joke.

“Y’know, since you’re, like, my baby.”

“I know, Gracie.”

She tightened her hold on you as if to prove her point, arms wrapped firmly around your middle, one of her legs sliding between yours to keep you from rolling away. It was unnecessary (you weren’t going anywhere) but you let her cling anyway, letting your head fall back until it nudged her chin.

The room smelled faintly of laundry detergent and whatever candle you’d burned the night before. Somewhere outside, a car passed slowly, tires hissing over the road, but otherwise the world felt paused. Just you, Grace, and the gentle heat of sunlight creeping across tangled sheets.

Grace’s fingers began tracing idle shapes against your stomach, soft, absent-minded movements that drifted in lazy circles. She always did that when she was half-awake, like she needed to keep touching you to make sure you were still there.

“You’re comfy,” she mumbled, pressing another kiss to your shoulder, this one lingering.

“So are you,” you murmured back. “Heavy, though.”

She huffed out a sleepy laugh “Rude.”

“You love me anyway.”

“Obviously.”

You turned your head just enough to glance at her over your shoulder. Her hair was a mess, sticking up in every direction, her eyes barely open. There was a faint line across her cheek from the pillow, and her lips were slightly parted as she fought another yawn.

God, she was cute like this.

“You’re staring,” she accused, squinting at you.

“Can you blame me?”

“Yes. It’s creepy.”

You grinned. “You’re literally drooling on my shoulder.”

“I am not.”

You tilted your shoulder just slightly. She blinked at the tiny damp patch, then groaned and buried her face against your back in embarrassment.

“Oh my god.”

You laughed, the sound soft and quiet in the still room. “It’s fine, sweets. I’ll survive.”

Her arms squeezed around you again, this time with a hint of playful aggression. “You’re never bringing this up again.”

“Oh, I absolutely am.”

She nipped lightly at your shoulder in retaliation, and you squeaked, twisting in her hold. The movement sent the duvet slipping down, cool air brushing over your legs, but Grace quickly tugged it back up around you both, tucking it beneath your hips like she was sealing you in.

“No escaping,” she muttered.

“I wasn’t trying to escape.”

“Mm. Sure.”

You relaxed back into her again, feeling the steady rhythm of her breathing against your spine. Her chest rose and fell slowly, and every exhale ghosted warm against your skin. It was the kind of quiet that made you aware of every little thing; the faint ticking of the clock on the wall, the distant hum of someone mowing a lawn somewhere down the street, the soft rustle of sheets whenever one of you shifted.

“What time is it?” Grace asked eventually.

You squinted at the sliver of brightness peeking through the curtains. “Late enough that we should probably be up.”

She groaned dramatically. “Don’t say that.”

“You asked.”

“I was hoping you’d lie. A good girlfriend would lie.”

You smiled to yourself. “I am a good girlfriend.” You huffed indignantly. “It’s definitely after twelve though.”

“Ugh. We’re wasting the day.”

“We had a pretty full day yesterday,” you reminded her. “I think we’re allowed to be lazy.”

Grace hummed, considering that. “Yesterday was good.”

“Yeah,” you agreed softly. “It was.”

You thought about it for a moment, the way she’d dragged you out for breakfast even though you’d wanted to stay in, how you’d ended up wandering through shops and laughing at things you didn’t need, how she’d insisted on cooking dinner despite burning the first batch of garlic bread.

“You nearly set off the smoke alarm,” you teased.

“That was one time,” she protested.

“It was three times.”

“It was… experimental cooking.”

You snorted. “Grace, you put the oven on grill.”

“Details schmetails”

You rolled onto your back then, turning in her arms so you could face her properly. She made a small, unhappy noise at the loss of her pillow, your shoulder, but shifted so she could tuck her head beneath your chin instead. One of her hands slid up to rest over your heart, fingers splayed across your chest.

Her eyes were still heavy with sleep, but they softened when they met yours.

“Hi,” she said again, quieter this time.

“Hi.”

For a moment, you just looked at each other. Sunlight painted a soft glow across her face, catching in the golden strands of her hair and making her lashes cast faint shadows over her cheeks. There was something peaceful about her like this, stripped of all her usual energy and noise.

You brushed a loose strand of hair away from her forehead. “You’re staring now.”

She smiled lazily. “Can you blame me?”

You huffed out a quiet laugh, recognising your own words thrown back at you. “Cheeky.”

Grace leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. It was slow and unhurried, more of a soft press than anything else, the kind of kiss that belonged to mornings (or early afternoons) like this.

When she pulled back, she didn’t go far, her nose still nudging against yours. “We should get up,” she said, even as her arms tightened around you again.

“Mm. Probably.”

Neither of you moved.

After a few seconds, she sighed dramatically. “This is your fault. You’re too comfy.”

“I’m not the one holding you hostage.”

She considered that. “Okay, fair.”

Her fingers began tracing shapes against your chest now, following the curve of your collarbone, drifting down and back up again in a pattern that made you shiver slightly.

“Cold?” she asked.

“Your hands are freezing.”

She grinned, eyes lighting up with mischief, and deliberately pressed her icy fingertips against your side. You yelped, jerking away from her, which only made her laugh harder.

“Grace!”

“What? I’m warming them up.”

“On me?”

“You’re warm,” she said simply, like that explained everything.

You shook your head, but you couldn’t stop smiling. “You’re a menace.”

“And you love me.”

You hesitated just long enough to be annoying. “Debatable.”

She gasped, scandalised, and swatted lightly at your arm. “Rude. Take it back.”

“Make me.”

Grace narrowed her eyes, then pounced … or as much as one could pounce while still tangled in sheets. She pinned you with surprising effectiveness, straddling your hips and leaning down so her hair fell around your face like a curtain.

“Take it back,” she repeated, trying, and failing, to look intimidating with sleep still clinging to her expression.

You bit back a grin. “Okay, okay. I love you.”

She studied your face for a moment, as if checking for sincerity, then her features softened again. “Good.”

Her hands slid up to cup your cheeks, thumbs brushing lightly beneath your eyes. There was a fondness there that made your chest ache in the best way.

“I love you too,” she added quietly.

Eventually, Grace sighed and flopped down beside you again, her head landing on your shoulder. “We really do have to get up,” she muttered into your shirt.

“Yeah.”

“Food,” she added after a moment, like that was the real motivator.

That, more than anything, got you moving. You swung your legs over the side of the bed, stretching again as your feet hit the cool floor. Grace made a pitiful whining sound as you slipped out from under her, immediately reaching for you like a child denied their favorite toy.

“Come back,” she complained.

“I’m literally just standing up.”

“It’s cold without you.”

You glanced back at her, hair fanned out across the pillow, duvet pulled up to her chin, and you felt your resolve weaken. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Only for you.”

You leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. “I’ll make coffee.”

Her eyes brightened instantly. “You’re my favorite person.”

“I thought I was just debatable.”

“That was before coffee was involved.”

You laughed, heading toward the door, but you paused when she called your name.

You looked back. “Yeah?”

She smiled at you, soft and a little sleepy still. “Yesterday was perfect.”

Your chest warmed at that. “Yeah. It was.”

“And today’s gonna be good too,” she added, pulling the duvet closer around herself. “Even if we did start it at, like, one in the afternoon.”

You shook your head, smiling. “Go shower, Gracie.”

-----

“You’re a useless piece of shit.” Your boyfriend spat in your face. “You’ve been home all day, and didn’t even have dinner ready for me. And now you say no to sex?” He got angrier with every word he spoke. You just stood there, blinking away the tears that were forming in your eyes. He had been snapping at you like this more and more lately, and you knew that crying would just make the whole situation worse.

“Fine, if I can’t have my way with you, I’ll find someone else who will.” He grabbed his coat and walked out of the door. The door slammed shut with a loud bang that left you shaking, your breath was ragged, and your heart was beating out of your chest. Your body felt weak, as you dropped to the ground, finally allowing the tears to flow. 

You wanted to get out of there, but where would you go? You didn’t have a car anymore, Brad had sold it because you didn’t need it according to him. That honestly should have been the first red flag, but somehow at the time you thought he was right and it would probably save you money. And even if you had a car, where would you even go? It wasn’t like you had any friends left.

Mary, your best friend, had warned you about Brad plenty of times when the two of you started dating, but you had brushed it off. He was nice, and he cared about you. When you started spending more time with Brad, she had told you again that he wasn’t good for you, but you had told her that she was just jealous because you were spending less time with her. Now thinking back on it, she had been right, and Brad had convinced you of the things that you had said to her.

You cursed Brad for everything you now came to realise he had ruined for you. You picked up the phone and dialed Mary's number from memory, as her contact was no longer in your phone, you guessed it, Brad's doing.

The phone rang and rang, you almost hung up, but it went to voicemail and you heard her voice relaying the message you had heard so many times before. The beep tone was heard before you could even hang up, so you ended up rambling your thoughts.

“I probably have no right to call you.” You started, taking a moment to wipe away your tears. “You were right. Right about every single thing you said about Brad. I just wanted to call to let you know that I should've listened to you from the start.” 

You take a moment to gather your thoughts and wipe away your tears again. “I know I messed everything up, and you don't owe me anything, not even listening to this voicemail.” After taking a deep breath you continue, “If you are listening, Mary, I'm sorry for everything. I should've seen that you were right and he was wrong.”

After that you hang up the phone. Mary would likely never even listen to the voicemail, but it felt good to get that off your chest. She deserved your apology, no matter if she would ever forgive you or not.

When the doorbell rang a few hours later, you assumed it was Brad who had forgotten his keys. Despite really not wanting to see him right now, you got up to open the door, since he would probably be worse than earlier if you didn’t. No part of you had expected to see Mary standing on your doorstep.

You stood there for a moment, just looking at her, not sure what to say after the voicemail that you had left her. “You came.” You eventually spoke. She smiled slightly, “You called.” Before you could say anything else, she stepped forward and pulled you into a tight hug. It brought the kind of comfort that you hadn’t felt in months, so you melted into her touch.

She held you until you let go, understanding that you needed the comfort. Once you stepped out of her hug, she closed the door behind her and told you to tell her everything. Mary’s blood boiled more and more with each new story that you told her about Brad, when you were finished, she couldn’t take it anymore.

“Come on, we’re packing your things. You need to get out of here.” You knew she was right, but you couldn’t just leave, could you? “Where would I even go, Mary?” She looked at you like you were crazy, “My place, of course.”

Eventually you agreed, and started packing your stuff. Ever so often you glanced at the door, Mary noticed and tried to reassure you. Saying that she wouldn’t let anything happen to you, but you knew what he was like. He had the tendency to ruin every good thing that you had.

You had hoped to be able to leave without him coming back, a short note already written stating that you were breaking up with him and that you had moved out, but of course that was too good to be true. He came back to find Mary bringing one of your bags to the living room. She froze, but stayed composed. “Brad.” She said calmly. 

“You get in here right now!” He yelled, and of course you came running. Habits didn’t die down easily. “What the actual fuck do you think you’re doing?” Brad yelled again, his face full of rage. You flinched at the loudness of his voice, instinctively stepping back, but you didn’t need to do that this time as Mary stepped in front of you instantly.

“She’s leaving.” Mary stayed composed, calmly but firmly telling him. Brad looked between the two of you, probably thinking about when you two became friends again, and thinking if he could play into anything with that. “She’s my girlfriend, and she’s not going anywhere.” He spat in her face after taking a step closer.

Your heart was beating out of your chest, but Mary stayed calm, smiled at him even. “You don’t scare me, Brad.” She took a step towards him, showing that she meant it. He didn’t seem to care much though, towering over her. “She is mine, I own her. I’ve burned every bridge she ever built, she’s got nowhere to go.” He smiled sinisterly. Your chest tightened at his words and the look in his eyes.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Mary stood her ground. “Get out of my way, Mary. This has nothing to do with you.” His voice lowered in a way you knew all too well. You stumbled back the moment he tried to get around Mary, but Mary had stellar reflexes and pushed him back with two hands on his chest. 

Brad looked confused for a moment, he always got his way, no one ever fought back. But the confusement was quickly replaced by anger as he stormed forwards trying to swing at Mary, but again her football reflexes came in handy as she easily dodged his punch and connected her first with his cheek. 

He stumbled to the ground at the power of the punch. A silence fell over the room, until Mary broke it. “Go ahead to the car, I will be right there with your bags.” Her voice softer to you, than the way she had been talking back to Brad.

You rushed out of the room, taking Brad still being on the ground to your advantage. As you ran out the house you heard Mary’s stern voice again. “Don’t move. You’re gonna sit there until I’ve grabbed every single bag of her stuff. After that you will never see me or her ever again. If either one of us does, I will be more than happy to tell the police every single thing that you have ever done to her.” She smiled at the way his face fell, “Good, you don’t have the power anymore.”

Back in the car you were shaking and crying when Mary walked out with the last of your bags. She stepped into the driver's seat and drove out of the neighbourhood quickly. Her hand reassuringly wrapped around yours to try and ground you. 

“I’ve got you. He can’t hurt you anymore.” She told you when she parked the car at her place and opened your door. You fell into her arms again, “Thank you.” You managed to get out between sobs. She just held you and told you everything was going to be alright, and for the first time in a long time, you believed it.

-----

less | ‘hey. can we talk? i'm really sorry.’

the reply came within seconds, like ella had been waiting.

tooney | ‘course. whenever your ready, come by carrington.’

alessia stared at the message until the screen dimmed. even then, she didn't move. her fingers stayed clenched around her phone like it was the only thing tethering her to something real.

her stomach churned the whole drive over. her hands trembled on the steering wheel. part of her wanted to turn around. to just disappear. to just go back home where you and her mum was. but the guilt, the shame—it sat in her chest like a stone.

and underneath it all, a deeper, more painful fear: what if they didn't want her anymore? what if alessia had pushed too hard, too far, and broken the very thing that used to feel like home?

when she got there she stood outside the changing room for nearly five full minutes.

carrington sounded different now—brighter, louder. the energy buzzed in the walls. laughter echoed down the hall.

it felt so far from the silence of alessia's flat, from the wails and whimpers and isolation that clung to her like a second skin.

it felt like life. and alessia didn't know if she belonged in it anymore. but she stepped inside anyway. the room quieted almost instantly when the door clicked shut behind her.

several of the girls looked up from tying boots, laughing over playlist debates, sipping protein shakes. conversations stilled. expressions shifted. curiosity. concern. relief.

and then ella stood up from the bench. ella looked exactly how alessia remembered—steady, grounded, warm—but something flickered in her eyes. caution. hope. a kind of quiet ache.

"hey," alessia said, voice barely above a whisper.

"hey you," ella replied. alessia swallowed hard. the words were burning in her throat.

"i- i was wrong," alessia said. "i wasn't okay. and i took it out on you. on everyone. i thought i could hold it all together, but i couldn't. i didn't. i'm really sorry."

ella didn't speak for a moment. her jaw clenched—once, twice—and then she stepped forward. "we never needed you to be perfect, less," ella said a soft smile on her lips. "just honest."

alessia nodded as her voice cracked. "i- i didn't know how. i thought if i slowed down, everything would fall apart. that i would."

"you were falling apart," ella said gently. "you just didn't have to do it alone."

and that was it. the dam cracked open.

"i'm scared all the time, el," alessia whispered. "i love her so much it hurts and i'm constantly terrified i'm doing it wrong. that i'll mess her up. that i already have. i've been so angry and tired and empty and i didn't know what else to be. and i thought... i thought you'd hate me."

ella blinked quickly, trying to keep her own tears from surfacing. ella stepped closer, her voice a murmur.

"i was scared too," ella admitted. "not because you yelled. but because i thought you might hate me. for calling your mum. for stepping in."

alessia looked up at her then, properly. her mouth opened, then closed again. alessia shook her head, overwhelmed. "i don't," she managed. "i couldn't hate you. i think... i think you saved me."

and then ella—blunt, bold, unshakable ella—wrapped her arms around alessia like she'd been waiting weeks to do it.

held alessia like she wasn't fragile, but sacred. held alessia like friendship was a promise, not a transaction.

"you don't have to be anything but here," ella whispered. "we've got you. and we've got y/n."

around them, the girls slowly stood. millie came over first, squeezing alessia's shoulder without a word. then mary, who gently took alessia's bag and set it down like it was nothing.

one by one, the team drifted closer—not swarming, just present.

someone handed alessia water. someone else a towel. little things, quiet gestures.

but to alessia, they felt like lifelines. they didn't ask questions. didn't make a scene. they just showed up.

and after weeks of isolation and silence, that was enough to split something open in alessia's chest—something that ached and healed all at once.

for the first time in what felt like forever, alessia let herself believe it: she wasn't alone anymore. she didn't have to do this alone.

not with you. not with the fear. not with the healing.

alessia had them. and they had her.

⸻

a couple of weeks had passed and the mornings still started early. but they were getting lighter. you were waking only once a night now, around four a.m. your soft gurgles and sleepy kicks a gentle, almost sacred alarm clock in the grey-blue hush of dawn.

alessia didn't resent the early hour like she used to although she does sometimes find her self dreaming of a lie in once in a while but she now didn't meet the sunrise with dread or panic or that crushing sense of failure before the day had even begun.

there was a rhythm now. not perfect. not smooth. but it was hers.

alessia moved slower in the mornings, with more care than urgency. less like she was sprinting against time, more like instead she was moving along with it.

alessia lifted you from your crib and pressed a kiss to your warm, squishy forehead. you smelled like baby lotion, milky breath, and dreams. with your small fingers curled instinctively around alessia's shirt as you yawned, blinking up at your mummy with pure, sleepy trust.

"good morning, my little love," alessia whispered, rocking gently, swaying on the balls of her feet like it was second nature now.

the house still bore the marks of a life interrupted—but it no longer looked like a war zone.

there was a bib draped over the couch. a half-folded baby blanket on the armchair. your toys littered the corner like evidence of joy instead of chaos.

the sink had dishes, sure—but there was food in the fridge. a half-drunk coffee on the table. a warmth in the walls.

not neat. no where near pristine. but lived in. loved in. safe.

alessia's mum had returned back home to kent three days ago—but not before leaving order behind like breadcrumbs in the woods.

there was fresh calendar hung on the fridge, days colour-coded between training sessions, therapy check-ins, and your growing milestones. a corkboard held emergency contacts, appointment slips, and a laminated sleep guide ('just in case, love')

and there, stuck to the front of the freezer with a magnet shaped like a heart, was a small, handwritten note on floral stationery:

dr. finch – women's health & postnatal support private line. safe, discreet. kind.

alessia had stared at it since her mum had placed it there. she'd walked past it, opened the fridge for oat milk, stared, then shut the door again.

alessia had told herself she was fine. that the worst had passed. that she was stronger now.

but every night, when the quiet crept in again—when the world shrank to just alessia and you and the long dark—alessia felt that same undercurrent of fear tug at her ankles.

not drowning anymore. but maybe not exactly steady either.

and so, a few days later, alessia reached out and peeled the note from the fridge. sat on the couch. phone in hand. heart pounding.

alessia's thumb hovered over the number like it was a trigger. and then alessia tapped it.

the phone rang once. then twice. then a voice answered, warm and even. "dr. finch's office. this is morgan. how can i help?"

alessia's voice caught for a second, thick in her throat. then she exhaled. "i- um i think i need someone to talk to," alessia said quietly. "um i'm a new mum. and i... i think i'm not okay."

there was no judgment. no silence. just a gentle, "of course. we can help with that." and for the first time in a long time, alessia didn't feel weak for asking. she felt brave.

she looked down at you—now curled up on your mummy's chest, snoring softly—and tucked the blanket around your tiny body.

maybe it wasn't about getting it all right. maybe it never had been.