Chapter Text
Marissa almost turned around twice. Milo cheerfully told her to go left, but her chest felt too small for her ribs. Milo hopped along the gobbled pavement, humming some half-remembered cartoon theme, blissfully unaware of the storm his mother was still trying to climb out of.
Jenny’s house appeared at the end of the winding street, they had just moved on. The Kaminski’s house was all glass and grey brick. Warm lights glowed behind wide windows. The house was super modern and it somehow didn’t come across as Jenny’s, the kind of place where soft blankets lived on couches and someone always remembered to water the plants.
Milo detached himself from Marissa’s hand before she could stop him. He ran to the gate with the jittery excitement of a five-year-old who wants to show off his new dinosaur sneakers. Marissa grabbed the bottle of white wine she’d bought tighter. It was too expensive, she realized now, too much like who she used to be before all this, and followed Milo through the gate up to the stone walkway.
Jenny opened the door before they could knock. Her smile was gentle and tired in a way Marissa understood immediately.
“Hi,” Jenny said, soft as an exhale. “Come in. Jakob’s already pacing like he’s waiting for his best friend.”
Milo barreled inside, and the boys disappeared toward the backyard, their shouts trailing behind them.
Marissa stood in the doorway for a second longer than she should have, feeling a strange reluctance to cross the threshold as though entering Jenny’s home might make all the recent days real again. Might force her to be a real person, not the shadow she’d been in the aftermath of Colin’s and Peter’s funerals.
“You’re okay,” Jenny said quietly. It wasn’t a question but more of an invitation, as she leaned against the door, welcoming Marissa inside.
Marissa stepped into the foyer. The house smelled like lemon cleaner and something fresh. She held out the wine, and Jenny laughed softly, a little self-conscious. “You didn’t have to bring anything.”
“I know,” Marissa said. “I… wanted to.”
“Thanks, let me get us glasses,” Jenny took the bottle, their fingers brushing. It was a small thing, but it went through Marissa like a nerve waking up.
In the kitchen, Jenny filled two glasses keeping up with Marissa’s compliments about the space.
Marissa accepted her glass and followed Jenny to the sliding doors overlooking the backyard. The boys were already immersed in a complicated game involving sticks, a soccer ball, and rules they seemed to invent mid-run.
For a long moment, the two women sat side by side on their lawn chairs without speaking. The silence between them wasn’t awkward but restful. Marissa hadn’t gotten rest in a long time. Jenny sipped her wine first. She wasn’t trying to snoop, she wasn’t waiting for Marissa to talk. Somehow that made Marissa like Jenny even more.
“You’re settling into the new house okay?” Jenny finally asked.
It was the careful version of the real question she probably wanted to ask: Are you falling apart? Should I worry about you? Are you telling anyone the truth of what you’ve been through?
Marissa tasted her own wine. It was too crisp. Too cold. It scraped the back of her throat on the way down. She should’ve brought a red.
“I’m… adjusting,” she said. “Trying to. Milo’s doing well. Better than I expected after all he’s been through.”
“That’s a good sign,” Jenny murmured. “Kids know when they are being loved and cared for.”
Marissa let that sit between them. The quiet implication of what a mess their life had been for the past three weeks.
The late-afternoon sun washed across the backyard, catching on Milo’s now blonde again hair, on Jakob’s smile, on the faint bruise still visible on Marissa’s wrist. She’d somehow gotten a souvenir from the day of Peter’s death, she didn’t want to talk about unless she absolutely had to. Jenny noticed the bruise. Marissa saw her eyes catch on it. She felt the warmth of Jenny’s attention.
Jenny didn’t ask nor pry. She just said, very softly: “You and Milo are welcome here. Anytime.”
Marissa breathed out through her nose, slow and shaky. Something in her chest loosened. She really appreciated this newly found friendship with Jenny. She was so pure, caring in that instinctive way some people are born with. Marissa didn’t understand it. Why a woman like Jenny would want to be friends with someone like her? Someone with shadows stitched into her every decision.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
They sat there, watching their sons run in circles, two women holding wine glasses like lifelines. The early evening settled around them with a hush that felt almost sacred. Jenny’s shoulder brushed Marissa’s, just barely, the kind of accidental contact neither of them moved away from.
Inside her chest, Marissa felt the faintest pulse of something she hadn’t felt since before everything in her life broke open. Not hope, hope was too large of a word, but a new beginning.
Jenny took another slow sip of her wine. Her voice, when it came, was casual on the surface, light even but Marissa could hear something finely tuned beneath it. Something careful and deliberately gentle.
“So… how are you liking the new house?” Jenny asked.
Marissa huffed a small laugh, the kind that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It’s… It certainly is a lot smaller,” she said, choosing her words. “Quiet. Sometimes it feels too quiet.”
“After the weeks you had?” Jenny tilted her head. “The quiet must feel strange.”
“It does,” Marissa admitted. “But I needed a reset, a clean break. I think Milo needed it too. We couldn’t have stayed there with all the memories.”
Jenny’s eyes flicked to the backyard where Milo was attempting to climb a playset ladder backwards. The sight should’ve made her laugh. Should’ve felt perfectly normal. But something in her chest tightened instead.
Jenny smiled at the scene, soft and fond. “It looks like Milo’s already feeling at home.”
“Yeah,” Marissa whispered. “It’s a miracle he’s not that affected by the loss around him.”
Jenny ran her fingertip around the rim of her wineglass, watching Marissa with a thoughtfulness that felt almost like a hand resting gently on her back.“That’s because he feels safe,” she murmured, her tone warm but edged with something sharper, almost protective. “That’s all kids need.”
Marissa swallowed. Safe. What a strange, loaded word. Because safety had never really been what she thought it was. Not with Peter. Not in that enormous, echoing mansion filled with secrets. The truth pricked beneath her ribs. Marissa had mistaken control for security. Possessiveness for devotion. And worst of all she had mistaken danger for stability until it was nearly too late.
Jenny’s voice broke through her spiral. “And… the funeral? Was it –” she searched for the right word and found none “ – what you needed it to be?”
Marissa lifted her glass to her lips to avoid answering for a moment. The wine had warmed slightly, fruitier now, less sharp. “It was… complicated.”
Jenny nodded, unsurprised. “I heard some people were asking questions.”
“People always ask questions,” Marissa said, her voice even but tight. “You know how it is. Somebody dies suddenly, and everyone becomes a detective.”
Jenny watched her for a beat longer than was polite. Her tone softened but carried something quietly resolute. “People can tell whatever stories they want. You did what you had to do.”
Marissa froze. Her throat constricted. The lies, the truth, the horror of it all had knotted together into a big lump in her chest.
Jenny continued, almost whispering, “If you hadn’t… who knows what Peter might have done? To you. Or Milo.”
Marissa’s fingers tightened on her glass. There it was, the thing neither of them said aloud. The thought that kept Marissa up at night, staring at the ceiling while Milo slept beside her. The truth that had saved her life and also damned her. She had killed Peter. Killed him as surely as he did, when he pulled the trigger on Carrie. It’s the same even if her weapon was a kiss, even if the poison was only food she knew he’d react to. She had planned it beforehand.
She, Marissa Irvine, was a cold-blooded murderer. And yet Jenny looked at her like she wasn’t a monster at all. Jenny’s deep blue eyes told Marissa she was brave. That her deed was justified, that deep down she was a good person, a good mother.
Marissa’s voice came out low, raw around the edges. “Jenny… you don’t know everything.”
Jenny held her gaze. “I know enough.”
Marissa searched her face for judgment but she found none. There was only sympathy and unwavering certainty that made Marissa’s breath hitch.
Jenny leaned slightly closer, her voice steady. “Marissa… you survived him. You protected your son. That doesn’t make you a villain.”
Marissa looked away, swallowing down the thick knot in her throat. “It still makes me something.”
Jenny’s eyes softened with almost painful tenderness. “It makes you a mother who did what she needed to do.”
A gust of wind rustled the trees. Milo laughed loudly with Jakob from the playset. Jenny took a slow sip of wine, like she’d said nothing extraordinary. Marissa sat there, her heart pounding against her ribs, realizing this was the first time anyone had looked at the darkest thing she’d ever done and not flinched.
“I’m just not looking forward to seeing all those nosy parents at the pick-up,” Marissa sighed into her glass.
Jenny let out a breathy laugh. “Please. Half the parents at school are spreading rumors of Richie’s selling drugs out of the science lab just because he parks crooked.” She took another sip. “People love theories. Makes them feel clever.”
Marissa stared into her wine, the liquid catching the fading light like gold. “There are… whispers.”
Jenny didn’t look away. “Does that bother you?”
“No,” Marissa said. “What bothered me was how many people seemed relieved.”
Jenny’s lips softened into something like sympathy. Or maybe understanding. “Peter wasn’t an easy man,” she said quietly.
Marissa’s breath hitched, barely. “No,” she murmured. “No, he wasn’t.”
Jenny didn’t hesitate. She didn’t tiptoe. She simply leaned a fraction closer, shoulder nearly brushing Marissa’s again.
“I always thought you deserved better,” Jenny said, soft but steady.
Something hot and painful and grateful moved through Marissa all at once. Marissa’s grip tightened around her glass. Jenny wasn’t afraid of her. Not a flicker of it. Her voice didn’t change, not even slightly. There was only certainty. And an odd, uncalled loyalty towards Marissa.
“I’m not here to judge you,” Jenny added. “You know that, right?”
Marissa swallowed hard. “I know.”
“And whatever happened… The case is closed. You’re free now. That’s all I care about.”
Marissa inhaled sharply, a tremor ran through her chest. She hadn’t prepared for kindness. She hadn’t prepared for someone seeing her and still choosing to stay close to her.
“Jenny…” she whispered.
But Jenny shook her head lightly, her gaze returning to the children. “You don’t have to explain anything to me.”
Marissa felt something easing in her ribcage. Jenny sat next to Marissa like a shield against the cruelness of the world.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Jenny said simply.
Marissa closed her eyes for a moment. Let the truth of that settle somewhere deep. “I’m glad too,” she whispered back.
The boys shouted from the yard, demanding attention, and Jenny laughed with a light, bright sound that broke the heaviness like glass turned to dust.
The boys eventually stormed into the house like small hurricanes, breathless and sweaty and hungry in the way children always are after an hour of playing outside
“Mom! We’re starving!” Milo declared, tugging at Marissa’s turquoise sleeve.
Jakob echoed him. “Starving.”
Jenny laughed, setting her empty wineglass aside. “Okay, okay, emergency sandwiches coming up.”
The kitchen was bright in the late light, sunlight catching on clean countertops and the chrome of the fridge handle. Marissa expected Jenny to wave her off, to insist she relax, but instead Jenny glanced back and nodded her forward.
“Help me?” she asked.
Marissa felt a small, surprising swell of warmth in her chest. “Yeah. Of course.”
Jenny handed her the cutting board without a word. Marissa washed her hands. They moved around each other easily, instinctively as though they’d been doing this for years instead of minutes. Jenny pulled out the loaf of bread and laid out the ingredients. Marissa began slicing the tomatoes. She didn’t need more direction to know what to do. They just flowed together.
The boys chattered at the table, kicking their feet, arguing gently about which dinosaur would win in a fight. The sounds faded to a soft background hum between them. Marissa reached for the scissors at the same moment Jenny did. Their hands brushed as they grabbed onto the plastic handles. Neither pulled back.
Jenny smiled, small and crooked. “Teamwork.”
“Apparently,” Marissa said, trying to sound casual.
They worked in synchrony. Jenny spread butter and mustard with quick, practiced strokes, Marissa layering ham and lettuce with clean precision. Every movement seemed to anticipate the other. Jenny placed the cheese exactly where Marissa had already reached for it. Marissa handed Jenny the salt before she even knew to ask.
There was no mess by the time they were done. No breadcrumbs scattered or smeared condiments on the countertops. Just two neat plates of sandwiches, cut diagonally, arranged perfectly for hungry boys.
Jenny laughed under her breath. “Wow. That was… strangely efficient.”
Marissa felt the corner of her mouth lift. “Maybe we should open a sandwich shop.”
“We’d put Starbucks out of business,” Jenny said with a grin.
Their eyes met with sparkling light, their shared amusement turning into something softer. Something that hummed quietly beneath the ordinary moment.
Jenny broke the gaze only when Jakob cleared his throat dramatically, reminding them of their hungry audience. She carried the plates over to the table while Marissa wiped the counter just to be sure. And Jenny noticed. Her face warmed with gratitude. This is what co-parenting should feel like. Not passive-aggressive glances from the table while she’s working her ass off.
When Marissa joined her at the table, Jenny leaned in just slightly, speaking low enough that the boys wouldn’t hear. “You know… It’s been a long time since anyone helped me like that,” Jenny said. “Richie doesn’t even rinse his plate.”
Marissa shrugged, shaking her head to Richie’s childish behavior. She couldn’t help but feel embarrassed by how good it felt to be useful in such an ordinary, human way. “Well… I’m here now. I’ll help you with anything you need.”
Jenny’s breath hitched in gratitude. The boys ate noisily, happily. Crusts everywhere. Their small hands were busy and their faces smeared with mustard. Jenny leaned her elbow on the counter, watching them, then glanced sideways at Marissa with a gentle, thoughtful expression.
“You fit here,” she said.
Marissa blinked. “What?”
Jenny didn’t repeat herself. Didn’t rush to clarify what she meant. Jenny just looked at her as though she knew something Marissa didn’t yet.
Marissa looked back at her, unsure how to hold the weight of that quiet truth. But Jenny smiled, soft and sure, and in the small kitchen with the smell of bread and two boys laughing, Marissa could feel it, a rare, fragile thing blooming in her chest. Belonging. She hadn’t felt it in years.
The boys had finished their sandwiches and scampered back toward the backyard, leaving their plates on the table. Jenny reached for them automatically, but Marissa beat her to it, stacking them neatly and carrying them to the sink.
“You don’t have to –” Jenny began.
“I want to,” Marissa said.
Jenny’s smile was soft, a little sheepish. “You’re spoiling me.”
Marissa felt something tender and dangerous move inside her chest. She dried her hands on a dish towel and leaned a hip against the counter, watching Jenny rinse out the cups Milo and Jakob had used.
It felt… easy. Weightless, even. And then the front door clicked open and slammed shut.
Jenny flinched towards the sound. Marissa straightened. Heavy footsteps moved down the hallway, slow and unhurried, like a man walking into a space he believed he owned. Richie appeared in the kitchen doorway, shirt wrinkled, hair flattened on one side as though he’d been napping in his car. His expression curdled the moment he saw Marissa.
“Oh,” he said, voice flat. “You’re here.”
Jenny froze for half a second before smoothing her features into a polite, brittle smile. “Richie. We were just –”
“I can see what you were doing,” he said, glancing at the empty wine glasses on the counter. His eyes lingered on the clean kitchen, on the lack of mess, the order that seemed almost suspiciously unchaotic. “Must’ve been a nice little setup.”
Marissa felt the warmth drain from her skin, replaced by something cold and familiar. She fought against the instinct to brace. Her shoulders tightened without her permission.
Jenny placed her glass in the sink more loudly than necessary. “Richie,” she warned under her breath.
“What?” he said, shrugging heavily. “I’m just noticing things.”
Jenny’s cheeks went pink, not with embarrassment but with anger. “We were making food for the kids,” she said tightly. “That’s all.”
Richie snorted. “Sure.”
Marissa tried not to react, but he turned to her like a dog catching the scent of insecurity.
“How’s life, Marissa?” Richie asked. “You must be the richest widow in the state?”
Jenny stepped in immediately. “Richie. Stop.”
But the damage was already done. The air thickened. The easy warmth of the kitchen evaporated. Marissa felt suddenly, painfully out of place, an intruder in a home she’d just started to feel comfortable in.
“I should get Milo,” Marissa said quietly, already moving toward the backyard.
“Marissa, wait –” Jenny began.
“It’s fine,” Marissa said with a tight smile that didn’t touch her eyes. “We’ve taken up enough of your evening.”
Richie folded his arms as if satisfied, as if restoring some unspoken balance of power.
The sound of the sliding door opening carried into the kitchen. Milo came running in, sneakers thudding, Jakob close behind.
“Are we going home?” Milo asked, confused.
“Yeah, sweetheart,” Marissa murmured, smoothing his hair back. “Say goodbye to Jakob.”
Milo hugged Jakob with the quick, rough affection of boys who believe goodbye means the next five minutes.
Jenny ushered them to the door, voice low and urgent. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Sometimes he gets like that. He didn’t mean to –”
“Jenny,” Marissa said softly. “You don’t have to explain him to me.”
Jenny swallowed. Her eyes shone with raw frustration. “I wish you didn’t have to go like this.”
“We’ll be just around the corner,” Marissa managed a small smile. “I’ll text you when we get home.”
Jenny blinked, visibly relieved. “Good. Please do.”
For a moment, they simply stood there close in the doorway, the late sun throwing a warm glow across Jenny’s face. There was a heartbeat of quiet. A breath where neither moved. Then Milo tugged at Marissa’s sleeve, and the spell broke.
“Bye, Jenny,” he chirped.
Jenny crouched to his height, brushing a hand through his hair with a tenderness that made something in Marissa’s chest twist. “Bye, Milo. Come back soon, okay?”
The walk home was quiet. Milo was tired, dragging his heels halfway. Marissa gripped the handle of her purse, letting out a slow breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She already missed the kitchen. She missed Jenny’s presence and the startling feeling of fitting somewhere. But more than anything, she hated the way Jenny’s smile had cracked the moment Richie entered the room.
.:.:.
By the time Marissa carried Milo up to bed, her arms ached and her mind was far too awake. Milo never stirred, just curled instinctively toward her shoulder like he used to as a toddler. She laid him down carefully, tucking the blanket around him the way he preferred. One arm out, face turned toward the hallway light. Milo sighed and sank deeper into the pillow, his lashes fluttering once, then settling. He looked peaceful. Radiant in that strangely holy way children could look while sleeping. Completely untouched by the ugliness of the past month.
Marissa stood there for a long moment, her hand hovering an inch above his hair, unable to bring herself to move away. It still startled her sometimes how ordinary he slept, as if nothing had happened. As if he’d never been taken.
In the aftermath, once he was home and the adrenaline drained, he’d asked her about Carrie. He wasn’t fearful but longing for her. “Where’s Carrie? When is Carrie coming? Carrie says I’m good at drawing.”
Questions that had felt like tiny knives in her heart. Marissa remembered the first time he asked. She’d been preparing Milo’s bath, hands trembling, heart still sprinting, when he chirped, “Carrie lets me pour the soap.” Marissa had felt her knees give out. What horrified her wasn’t that he remembered Carrie. It was that he remembered her fondly and he missed her almost as much as he missed Peter. She’d pressed her knuckles against her mouth to quiet the sound threatening to escape.
How was it possible? How could a child miss the woman who had dragged him away from everything he knew? Who Milo didn’t even know? How could he have looked for her in the weeks afterward, expecting her to reappear like a second mother?
Carrie hadn’t been cruel to him. She’d been kind. She’d held him. Fed him. Read to him. Given him constant attention and softness, perhaps the kind he had never gotten from Peter.
Carrie who broke into their house had been broken, unhinged and desperate for her son. But to Milo? She’d been warm, and that truth would haunt Marissa forever. That maybe Carrie could have been a good mother given the chance.
Marissa leaned over and kissed Milo’s temple, her lips lingering there longer than usual. He murmured something in his sleep, breath warm and steady.
“I’m here,” she whispered, as if answering a question he hadn’t asked yet.
Her eyes stung. I’m here, and I won’t let anyone take you again.
She tucked the blanket one more time, smoothing the wrinkles that didn’t matter but somehow did. Then she stood there a moment longer, hand against the doorframe, trying to catch her breath.
Nothing in her life was simple. Not the kidnapping. Not the lies. Not the switching of their babies. She was scarred for life in ways she couldn’t even name. In ways she’d buried so deep she didn’t know how to begin to dig them out. And beneath the fear and the relief and the exhaustion, there was grief. It was a quiet thing that had grown between her ribs from the minute of the confession. It had no edges because she had never allowed herself to hold it fully.
Marissa tried not to think about her biological baby. The boy she carried for nine months and never got to really meet awake. She lost her child in the crushed metal and windshield glass of that night that took her to coma. She had never met her son. Not really. She’d held him once after the birth in a haze of morphine and blood. A small, still weight placed in her arms while a nurse whispered something kind she couldn’t remember. A face she couldn’t memorize because her eyes kept closing, kept drifting, kept fighting to stay conscious.
Marissa couldn’t really remember what had happened on the way from hospital to home because of her head injury. All she knew was that she woke up two weeks later again in the same hospital with Peter and Milo in the bassinet beside her.
Peter had smiled with the doctors. Nurses had congratulated her for surviving the crash. And Marissa, broken and terrified and barely stitched back together, had believed them. She had taken Milo into her arms and felt her heart ignite with love so fierce she didn’t question anything.
How could she have noticed anything was off? She had woken from certain death to a miracle.
But now after Peter’s reveal the grief came in small, brutal flashes. Her child had existed only long enough to vanish and she hadn’t even known she’d lost him. She didn’t know his face. Didn’t know the sound of his voice. Didn’t know anything except the shape of absence he left behind. How do you mourn someone you never really met? She missed him in a strange, impossible way only a mother could.
Milo was her son, her whole world, her sole reason for waking up. But it didn’t stop the feeling of loss that lived inside her like a bruise under the skin. Sometimes like now, just looking at Milo made the grief swell unexpectedly. Not because she didn’t love him. She loved Milo more than air. But because love itself was complicated, motherhood was complicated. Her story had been rewritten without her consent, and she had been forced to step into the pages afterward and simply keep going.
Marissa wondered what her other son would have looked like. If their eyes would have been the same. She pressed her palm against the doorframe, fingertips trembling.
The house was quiet. The kind of quiet that used to make her nervous after the kidnapping. There was too much space between sounds, too much room for the mind to wander but tonight it felt somehow different. She walked to the kitchen, not turning on any overhead lights, just the soft under-cabinet glow illuminating the counters. She leaned against the sink and exhaled slowly.
Her thoughts turned back to Jenny Kaminski, to Richie’s voice. The way his presence had sucked the warmth out of the room. Overlapping that memory, came the earlier ones of Jenny always helping her. The soft brush of their hands. The laughter that loosened something in Marissa’s ribcage. The way Jenny defended her without hesitation. The certainty in her voice when she said Marissa had done what she needed to do.
Marissa’s fingers tightened on the edge of the counter. She shouldn’t be thinking about any of this. Jenny was… Jenny. A friend. Maybe her best friend, like she promised. Someone who made tea in emergencies and coded missing-child websites and opened her home without hesitation. Someone kind. Someone warm. Someone –
Marissa shut her eyes. No. Not that. She wasn’t allowed to feel anything right now. Her life was still a miscellaneous collection of shattered pieces. She was still learning how to wake up without fear, how to live inside her own skin without bracing for impact.
Feeling drawn to someone, especially another woman, felt impossible right now. It would be dangerous and completely reckless. Yet…
There had been a moment in the kitchen, when Jenny had looked at her after Richie snapped, not pitying her, but angry on Marissa’s behalf. No one had looked at Marissa like that in years.
She opened her eyes again, staring out the dark kitchen window, seeing the faint reflection of her own face. She was tired, still healing, but softer tonight in a way she didn't immediately recognize. Maybe she was just lonely. Maybe it was the residual shock of trauma rearranging her perceptions. Maybe –
Her phone buzzed on the counter. It was a message from Jenny.
“Did you get home okay? Just wanted to make sure.”
Marissa exhaled. She grabbed the phone quickly and typed back: “We’re home. Milo’s asleep. Thank you for today.”
Three dots appeared almost instantly, then disappeared. Then appeared again. Finally, she got her answer. “Anytime. Really.”
Marissa stared at the glowing screen for a long moment. Her heart didn’t race. It wasn’t the dizzying, helpless rush she remembered from another lifetime. It was a slow warmth that settled in her bones and refused to leave.
She set her phone down on the charger and headed upstairs to her bedroom. Marissa wasn’t ready to name anything yet. But something had started. Something quiet, cautious, and impossible to ignore.
.:.:.
The pickup line at Lincoln Park Elementary always felt like a small stage. Parents were clustered along the pavement, leaning on strollers, clutching reusable coffee cups like props. Drama filtered through the group in low murmurs and pointed glances. It was the everyday theater of suburban parents with too much time and too many opinions at their hands.
Marissa had avoided it since Peter’s funeral. Lia and Brian had been the ones on the first week to come and pick Milo up. But Milo was adjusting well to his new routine, and she didn’t want him sensing her tension forever. So she forced herself to step into the crowd, shoulders squared, sunglasses hiding the exhaustion carved around her eyes.
Marissa stood a little apart from the others, hands tucked into the pockets of her light blue coat, pretending to scroll her phone. She could feel the glances and whispers. Gossip clung to the air heavier than humidity.
“That’s her. Did you hear what really happened? I heard she poisoned him. No, no he had an allergy, right? A freak accident. An accident that convenient? Please. Think about all the money she’s left with! Honestly, good riddance. He was a – Shh, she’s right there!”
Marissa inhaled through her nose, her spine tightening. It shouldn’t matter. She had endured worse. But words still found their way under her soft skin, sharp as glass. She pretended not to hear them. She was good at pretending.
Jenny arrived with her car like a breath of warm air. She walked up with a tote bag slung over one shoulder, blonde hair pulled into a loose bun. She spotted Marissa instantly, smiling the kind of smile that made Marissa’s chest loosen without permission.
“Hey,” Jenny said, stepping to her side.
“Hi.” Marissa tried to make her voice even.
Jenny took one look at her and her eyes narrowed. “What happened?”
Marissa shook her head. “Nothing.”
Jenny glanced at the cluster of mothers leaning in too close back to the space Marissa occupied like a ghost. Understanding sharpened her features.
“Right,” she murmured.
The sarcasm was soft but unmistakable. One of the gossiping mothers, Sarah, who wore expensive athleisure like it was a uniform and treated the PTA like a courtroom, gave them a long look. Her voice was pitched just loud enough to carry over.
“I mean, I’d be devastated if anything ever happened to my husband,” she said dramatically to Aimee.
Aimee tittered. “Oh, absolutely.”
Jenny’s face changed as she grit her teeth together. Marissa recognized that look. Jenny might be gentle, but not weak. Jenny stepped a little closer to Marissa, her shoulder brushing Marissa’s lightly. It was intentional, meant to be grounding and bold without being aggressive. Then she turned her head toward Sarah and Aimee with a calm and polite smile that was absolutely deadly.
“You know,” Jenny said conversationally, “I’m always surprised when people gossip about things they know absolutely nothing about.”
Sarah blinked. “Excuse me?”
Jenny’s smile was pleasant. “You should be careful. Unfounded rumors can be really hurtful. Especially when someone’s been through something so traumatic.”
Aimee stiffened. “We weren’t –”
“You were,” Jenny said simply. “But it’s okay. That’s what happens when people have no life of their own.”
There was a ripple through the small group. Jenny Kaminski, mild and gentle and unassuming, had just dressed them down without raising her voice above a conversational tone.
Sarah’s face flushed pink. “Well, I didn’t mean –”
“Intent doesn’t erase impact,” Jenny said, still smiling.
Marissa stared at her. Jenny had drawn a clean, sharp circle around Marissa, saying, without saying: She’s with me. Fuck off.
The school doors opened then, sparing Sarah the chance to reply. Children poured out like a tide, shouting and waving their hands. Jakob spotted Jenny and sprinted toward her. Milo was right behind him, running with that bright, bounding joy Marissa loved more than anything in the world.
“Mama!” Milo crashed into her legs, hugging tight. Marissa knelt and kissed the top of his head, breathing him in. Safe. She needed the reminder.
Jenny was watching them with a softness that made Marissa’s throat tighten.
“You okay?” Jenny murmured once the boys were preoccupied with an argument about who could run faster.
Marissa swallowed. “Yeah. I just…” She didn’t know how to finish the sentence. How to explain that she’d expected judgment from everyone and had prepared herself for it, but hadn’t been able to expect this calm, unwavering defense from Jenny.
“You don’t owe anyone explanations,” Jenny said. “Least of all them.”
Marissa nodded, but her eyes were on Jenny’s face, on the steadiness there, the quiet conviction.
“You always see the best in people,” Marissa said before she could stop herself.
Jenny looked surprised. “I see you,” she corrected softly.
Marissa’s breath caught. There it was again that shift in the air between them, subtle but undeniable, something like a held note waiting for resolution. But Milo was tugging on her hand, asking if he could go to the playground with Jakob for a few minutes, and the spell melted into ordinary motion.
“Yes,” Marissa told him. “But stay where I can see you.”
Jenny smiled and walked with her toward the playground bench, their steps syncing without thought. And though Marissa refused to name it, she felt that small, dangerous easing in her chest again. Jenny stood with her, holding her ground and Marissa wasn’t sure she remembered the last time somebody had sincerely been there for her.
The boys had already made it halfway across the playground, Milo climbing the spiral ladder while Jakob pointed out every possible hazard with the earnestness of a miniature safety officer. Marissa sank onto the bench with a small sigh. Her body was tired in the deep, internal way that didn’t come from lack of sleep but from living too long in survival mode. The wind picked up, brushing loose strands of red hair across her cheek.
Jenny sat beside her, not too close, but close enough that their coats brushed when either shifted. It was the kind of closeness that didn’t require effort.
“Hey,” Jenny said softly. “You okay after all that?”
Marissa nodded, though her throat tightened. “I’ll live.”
Jenny glanced sideways, her voice dropping into that warm, steady register Marissa was starting to rely on. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”
Marissa exhaled, long and low. “I know.”
A group of moms passed the bench, quieter now, stealing glances. Jenny didn’t look at them. Her chin lifted almost imperceptibly, as if offering Marissa a shield even in silence. It meant more than she could say. A moment passed. Children squealed. The sun warmed their faces a little despite it being almost winter. A dog barked somewhere beyond the fence. It was ordinary, painfully ordinary and yet something between them felt poised and delicate, like a thread pulled tight.
Jenny nudged her knee gently, just enough to draw Marissa’s attention. “Listen… you don’t have to go home right away.”
Marissa blinked. “Oh?”
“If you’re not busy,” Jenny continued, fingers twisting the strap of her tote, “we could take the boys to Mo’s. For milkshakes.”
Marissa stared at her for a second, surprised at how easily the invitation settled into her chest.
Jenny kept talking nervously. “It’s just down the street from here. And it’s warm enough today. And the boys love it. Is it a bad idea? I thought –” She stopped herself, exhaled a soft laugh. “Sorry. I’m rambling.”
“No,” Marissa said quickly, far quicker than she meant to. “I’d… like that.”
Jenny’s smile was small but luminous. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Marissa said. “I think Milo would love it despite everything that happened. I don’t think he connects the milkshakes with… everything.”
Jenny looked relieved in the way someone looks relieved when something matters to them. Her expression softened, and her knee bumped Marissa’s again. This time it was not accidental.
“Good,” Jenny murmured.
The boys came running back, cheeks flushed red, hair full of static.
“Can we come to the playground tomorrow too?” Jakob asked breathlessly.
“We’re going for milkshakes,” Jenny announced.
Both boys gasped as if she’d told them Christmas was being moved to this afternoon.
Milo turned to Marissa, eyes wide. “Can we, mama?”
Marissa brushed a curl from his forehead. “Yes, sweetheart. Of course.”
The boys tore off to grab their backpacks from the fence, their joy echoing around them like bells. When they were out of earshot, Jenny leaned back against the bench and glanced over at Marissa with a quiet, thoughtful expression.
“It wasn’t all an act. I really like being around you, you know,” she said simply.
Marissa’s breath caught. Her heart made a small, startled jump in her chest. Jenny wasn’t flirting. She wasn’t pushing. She wasn’t asking for anything. She was just being honest, and that was a rare delicacy nowadays.
Marissa swallowed, her voice a little rougher than she intended. “I like being around you too.”
Jenny held her gaze just a second too long with a tenderness that held Marissa still.
“Good,” Jenny whispered.
The boys ran around the playground, back toward them, dragging their jackets, shouting about chocolate versus strawberry milkshakes, grounding the moment in the chaos of everyday motherhood.
Jenny stood, brushing invisible crumbs from her coat. “Come on. Before they crash-out.”
Marissa rose too, feeling unexpectedly light. The day hadn’t started that great with the complete chaos at work and with the whispers from the other parents, but now it felt like the world had given her a small, perfect reprieve. The utterly too sweet milkshakes with Jenny’s steady presence and their two boys laughing was just enough to calm her racing head.
.:.:.
By the time Jenny pulled into the driveway, the late afternoon light had dimmed into that pale, washed-out gray of winter. Jakob was still sticky from the chocolate milkshake, clutching a small dinosaur toy Marissa had helped him win from the old gumball machine at Mo’s.
“Mommy, can I show daddy the T-Rex?” Jakob asked, bouncing as they walked toward the front door.
“Of course,” Jenny said, smiling for him. She smoothed his hair. “He’ll love it.”
The moment the door opened, the smell of reheated pizza hit her. The living room lights were off except for the flicker of the TV. Richie was sprawled on the couch in the same clothes he’d left in that morning, a half-finished soda can on the coffee table next to a mess of crumbs. He didn’t look up or pause the show. Jakob’s excitement dimmed just a little, like someone turning down the volume on a stereo when his dad didn’t ask about his day.
“Daddy!” he said anyway, running forward. “Look! I got a T-Rex!”
Richie grunted as an acknowledgment. His eyes stayed glued to the TV that was playing some documentary. Jenny’s heart tightened.
Jakob climbed onto the edge of the couch, thrusting the dinosaur toward Richie’s line of sight. “Look! It roars!” He pressed the button. The toy made its tinny electronic growl.
Richie flinched slightly, annoyed. “Yeah, okay, cool,” he muttered. “Can you not do that in my ear?”
Jakob’s small shoulders slumped. He held the toy closer to his chest, as if shielding it.
“Come here, buddy,” Jenny said gently, trying to steer his attention away from his father. “Let’s wash your hands.”
Jakob slid off the couch and came to her without complaint. He didn’t look back at Richie, who continued to watch TV like nothing had happened.
In the kitchen, Jenny helped Jakob scrub the sticky chocolate from his fingers, humming softly. Jakob leaned into her side, seeking warmth the way children instinctively do.
“Did daddy like the dinosaur?” he asked, voice small but steady.
Jenny’s throat tightened. She kissed the top of his head. “I liked it,” she said. “And that counts too.”
Jakob nodded, satisfied enough, and ran off to his room. When Jenny turned, Richie was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, arms crossed, expression sour.
“So,” he said. “Had fun?”
Jenny dried her hands carefully, deliberately calm. “Yes. We did.”
“Milkshakes, huh?” His tone had that thin, needling edge she recognized too well. “Guess that’s what you do now. Spend afternoons gallivanting around with… whoever.”
Jenny stared at him. “Her name is Marissa.”
“Right. Right.” Richie snorted. “That black widow.”
Jenny stiffened. “Don’t call her that.”
Richie shrugged, entirely unbothered. “What? It’s true, right? No reason to get defensive.”
“You were rude to her on Saturday.”
He rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on. I wasn’t rude. I was surprised to see her here again. She’s got a lot going on. And people are talking, Jenny. You should be careful who you’re dragging into our lives.”
As if Richie ever cared about her reputation, her comfort or her friendships.
Jenny didn’t rise to the bait. She simply crossed her arms, mirroring him. “You don’t know anything about Marissa.”
“I know enough.” His eyes narrowed. “And I know you’ve been spending a lot of time with her.”
Jenny didn’t respond right away. A strange feeling bloomed in her chest. It wasn’t guilt, not exactly, but defiance.
“She’s my friend,” Jenny said.
He scoffed. “Right.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” Richie said, already turning away, “you get weird around some people. You get too attached. And then they get tired of you and drift off and it becomes my problem again.”
Jenny stared at him, stunned. “Your… problem?”
“Yeah,” he said over his shoulder, picking up the soda can and draining the last of it. “Whatever. I’m going to take a nap.”
And just like that, he disappeared down the hall, leaving the kitchen lights humming softly above her. Jenny stood alone for a moment staring at the empty can on the table. Her hands clenched around the towel she’d used to dry Jakob’s fingers.
How had she gotten here? To a home where she felt like a guest? To a marriage where her voice never reached the person standing right in front of her?
Her phone buzzed gently on the counter. It was a message from Marissa.“Thank you again for today. The boys had a great time.”
The warmth that spread through her chest was that of someone caring about her.
She typed back: “Me too. Get home safe every day, okay?”
A long moment passed before she answered. “I will. Goodnight, Jenny.”
Jenny looked around her dim kitchen, at the crumbs on the table, the empty can, the door Richie had walked through without looking back. And she felt the quiet, blooming awareness of something in her life shifting.
.:.:.
After bath time and reading stories, Marissa tucked Milo under his dinosaur blanket. She lingered in his doorway longer than she usually did. He slept curled around a plush ikea shark, mouth slightly open, one foot kicked out of the covers.
Milo was so small. So blissfully untouched by everything adults had ruined. He had been seeing a therapist for these past weeks to make sure he was okay. The therapist had called him well adjusted, but they should continue the visits for some time just to be sure. The problems could start to surface later. Marissa thought she should drag herself to a therapist once everything was afloat. She couldn’t afford it before everything in her company was back on track. She couldn’t afford to lose everything.
Marissa closed the door softly and walked downstairs into the soft hum of the dishwasher. The house still felt new. Everything still smelled a little like cardboard and fresh paint. She’d managed to get everything in place fast thanks to Lia and Brian.
Marissa stood in the kitchen, leaning against the counter where she had placed her phone down. The screen was still lit with Jenny’s message from earlier. “Get home safe every day, okay?”
The text made her think about Jenny closer. She was baffled by Jenny. They had only known for a month but they’d become so close during their search for Milo. Marissa rubbed her thumb over the countertop, breath steady but shallow.
Why did it matter so much? She had lost people before. Had been abandoned by her mother. Had been betrayed too many times to count. And she had survived all of it by staying self-contained and strong. But around Jenny… she was starting to feel transparent. And she didn’t know if that terrified her or relieved her.
She poured herself the last inch of the wine she had in the fridge. She took it to the living room and sank onto the couch, letting the silence fold around her. Her mind drifted despite her best efforts to the playground. The tiny bump of their knees on the bench. The softness in Jenny’s voice.
Marissa let her head fall back against the cushions. She wasn’t ready for this. She wasn’t ready for anything that felt like care nor affection. Her world had been carved into survival and suspicion for so long that tenderness like that felt dangerous.
A voice in her head whispered it was only dangerous because she missed it. Because she didn’t know how to stop thinking about Jenny’s beaming smile over the rim of her milkshake.
Her phone buzzed again. She reached for it too quickly, irritation flickering at herself. It was a message from Jenny. “Jakob says Milo is his best friend. Just thought you’d want to know.”
Marissa stared at the words. Her throat tightened. It was such a small thing, almost meaningless because kids changed best friends every other week. But it wasn’t meaningless to her. She replied: “That makes me really happy. Milo adores him.”
Those three dots appeared almost immediately.
“You did good today. You handled everything with so much grace.”
Marissa froze. Grace? She felt like she’d been held together with string and sheer force of will. But Jenny had seen it all.
“Thank you,” she typed. “That means more than you know.”
Jenny didn’t reply right away this time. When her message came through, it was simple. “Goodnight, Marissa.”
Marissa whispered into the quiet room, “Goodnight,” even though no one could hear. She placed her phone face-down, but it didn’t matter. The light had already gotten in.