Smallara Bonus Episode – Consequences

Meant for this to be out sooner. However, writing and editing took a bit longer than I anticipated. I also upgraded my GPU this weekend so that set me back a bit. Here is a bonus Smallara episode. This actually came out while writing a different smallara bonus episode where Sara and Chloe were going snowboarding and Jordan demands that he gets to come with instead of being left with babysitters Mallory and Ellie. I may go back formerly write that one at some point.  

this one has a few different viewpoints in it that I incorporated into it which I don’t normally do but stitching them into one cohesive vision was a bit more challenging then just writing from Jordans Pov which is normally do or locked to one characters view the entire story.

Since it will be probably come up. This posting does not change the regular Whispers of a Former Life postings. 

 

Garage — The Night Before –  March 3rd 2022 

The sound of the garage door rolling shut echoed like the punctuation on a long day. The familiar scent of motor oil and pine-scented air freshener filled the space as Mark Reeves leaned against the side of his workbench, sipping from a cold beer, shoulders slouched just enough to signal the day was behind him. 

Sara stood in the middle of the garage, shifting her weight from foot to foot, her heart drumming loud in her ears. Chloe stood beside her, calm on the outside but close enough for their shoulders to touch. And perched on Sara’s own shoulder, no bigger than a thumbtack, Jordan sat quietly—clutching a lock of her hair like a lifeline, his presence featherlight but deeply grounding. 

“Dad?” Sara said, her voice thinner than she wanted. 

Mark looked up, eyebrows rising with a practiced curiosity. “What’s up, kiddo?” 

She glanced toward Chloe, then toward Jordan, who gave a tiny, encouraging nod. Chloe gave one too—just the barest movement—but it meant everything. 

Sara took a breath. Then another. She clenched her fists and unclenched them, like trying to wring out the fear. 

“Okay. Um. I have something to tell you.” 

Mark straightened, not alarmed but definitely paying attention now. “Sure.” 

Sara hesitated—then reached down and took Chloe’s hand, lifting it gently, letting it hang between them like a single thread made visible. 

“I’m not… I’m not into boys,” she said, her voice wobbling just enough to betray how long she’d rehearsed this. “I’ve known for a while. And I’ve been scared to say it because I didn’t know how you’d react. But I can’t keep hiding it.” 

She swallowed and tightened her grip on Chloe’s hand. 

“I’m with Chloe. We’re together. I love her.” 

Jordan didn’t move on her shoulder. He just stayed still—listening, present, small but solid. Sara was glad he was there. It made her feel braver. 

The words dropped like glass beads into a quiet room—soft, but impossible to ignore. 

Mark blinked once, then twice. Then, very slowly, he started to grin. 

“Oh, thank God,” he said, letting out a relieved chuckle. “You’ve been sneaking around like you were running a black market. I thought you were dealing drugs.” 

Sara blinked. “Dad—what?” 

He took another swig of beer and leaned against the workbench with the air of someone who’d just been let in on the punchline of a long joke. 

“I mean, seriously. Chloe’s been over here more than the furniture. I figured either you two were dating or you were running a Ponzi scheme from the upstairs hallway.” 

Sara stared at him, half in disbelief. Chloe bit back a laugh. On Sara’s shoulder, Jordan finally exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. 

“So… you’re not mad?” Sara asked, her voice cracking again—not with fear this time, but something closer to disbelief. 

Mark tilted his head. “Why would I be mad? Chloe’s great. Smart. Got that whole future CEO energy going. And she actually helps you with your homework. Plus—” he looked directly at Chloe, eyes narrowing playfully, “—she knows her football.” 

Chloe smirked. “Only if we’re talking real teams.” 

“Now that’s a deal breaker,” Mark replied, pointing at her with mock offense. 

Sara exhaled—half a laugh, half a sob, buried behind a trembling smile. Chloe squeezed her hand again, steady as ever. Jordan leaned slightly against her neck, warm and quiet and still hers. 

 
 
Reeves Family Living Room – March 4th, 2022 

 
Sara sat on the living room couch, palms pressed against her jeans. Her leg was bouncing like it had its own pulse. Jordan sat a few feet away on the coffee table, legs crossed, trying not to look too obvious about listening. He already knew what this was about, she had told him earlier that afternoon. 

“I’m doing it tonight,” she said, twisting her hair nervously. “Chloe’s coming over after dinner. I’m gonna tell them. For real this time.” 

Now, the sun was setting. The TV was off. The house was quiet. 

Her mom sat on the armchair, flipping through mail without really reading it. Her dad stood behind the couch in socks and a hoodie, one hand still on a beer from the fridge. 

Chloe knocked once and let herself in. 

“Hi, Mrs. Reeves. Mr. Reeves,” she said with a polite smile, shrugging off her coat. She gave Jordan a little nod as she passed the coffee table. 

“Hey, Chloe,” Sara’s dad said warmly. “How’s the empire?” 

“Still evil. Profitable though.” 

“I’d expect nothing less.” 

“Hi Chloe,” Sara’s mom added, more reserved. “Are you staying over or…?” 

“Just for a bit,” Chloe said, and sat beside Sara without needing to ask. 

Sara’s heart hammered. Chloe’s pinky brushed hers softly on the cushion between them, an almost-invisible tether of support. 

Across from them, Tiffany Reeves sat in the armchair, sorting through unopened mail as if everything in the room was still normal. 

But it wasn’t. 

Sara could feel it in her chest, like trying to breathe with a seatbelt cinched tight around her ribs. 

“Mom,” she said finally, her voice soft but steady. 

Tiffany looked up, pleasantly neutral. “Yeah, sweetheart?” 

Sara swallowed. Her hand gripped Chloe’s tighter. “There’s something I need to say. And I need you to really hear me, okay? Not with the voice that just nods and moves on. With the one that listens like I’m still your daughter even if the words feel hard.” 

That got her attention. 

Tiffany’s expression shifted subtly, her hands pausing over the stack of mail. 

Sara’s dad, Mark, leaned against the kitchen doorway, watching silently. 

Sara took a breath and exhaled slowly. “I’ve been holding this for a while. Too long, honestly. Because I was scared, scared of what you’d think. Scared you’d look at me different. Scared I’d ruin something between us. But the truth doesn’t stop being true just because I’m scared to say it.” 

Chloe sat still, quiet support radiating from her side. Jordan barely breathed. 

Sara’s voice wavered, then firmed. “I’m not straight. I like girls.” 

The silence landed heavy, as if the words were still reverberating in the walls. 

“I’m not confused,” Sara added quickly, eyes on her mom. “I’m not experimenting. I’m not trying to be edgy or different. This isn’t a phase, and it’s not new, not really. I’ve known… or at least suspected for a long time. I just didn’t have the courage to say it out loud. Until now.” 

Tiffany’s face remained unreadable, her body completely still. 

Sara blinked hard and continued. “And Chloe, she’s not just some friend I’ve been hanging out with. She’s my girlfriend. I love her.” 

Chloe looked down, cheeks flushing slightly, but her hand didn’t budge from Sara’s. 

Sara leaned forward slightly, searching her mom’s eyes. “This isn’t about rebellion. Or teenage drama. It’s about finally being honest with you. With myself. I know this changes things. But I don’t want it to change everything. I still want to be able to come home, and talk to you, and sit at this table without feeling like I’m carrying this huge weight that no one can see.” 

Her voice cracked. “I just want to stop hiding.” 

Mark’s brow furrowed softly, but he said nothing. 

Tiffany stared at her daughter. 

The room didn’t explode. It didn’t collapse. 

But something shifted. A line had been crossed, and there was no going back. 

Her mom nodded faintly. “You’re right. I wish you had.” 

The silence that followed wasn’t peaceful, it buzzed with the kind of tension that made Jordan’s chest feel tight. From where he sat on the edge of the coffee table, barely the size of a salt shaker, he could feel the emotional pressure in the room like it had weight. It didn’t matter how small he was. This wasn’t small. 

Sara shifted slightly, squeezing Chloe’s hand just enough to ground herself. 

“I just…” Her mom’s voice cracked slightly, raw, uncertain. “I think back now to every time you said you were studying in your room with a friend. Every sleepover. Every time I walked past the door and heard music or laughing…” 

Sara’s eyes widened. “Mom, no. It wasn’t like that. Seriously.” 

“I know that’s what you’ll say.” Her mom finally set the unopened mail down, carefully, like it might shatter if she let it fall too hard. “But how do I know? I trusted you. I thought I knew what was going on in my own house.” 

“You did,” Sara said quickly, trying to keep her voice calm. “Nothing ever happened until Chloe. And even then, we’re not doing anything behind your back. And before her, it was just… it was complicated.” 

Her mother raised an eyebrow. “Complicated?” 

Sara glanced down at Jordan, still quiet, still watching. Then at Chloe. Chloe just gave her hand another squeeze. Say it. 

Sara took a breath. “There was someone before Chloe. Kaitlyn.” 

Her mom’s expression changed instantly, some mix of confusion, recognition, and something else. “Kaitlyn? Kaitlyn Clark? That Kaitlyn?” 

“Yeah,” Sara said softly. “We were best friends. Then… more.” 

Her mom exhaled sharply through her nose, folding her arms. “And we had no idea.” 

“I didn’t want you to know,” Sara admitted. “Not because it was dirty or wrong, but because I was scared. Kaitlyn wasn’t. She was ready to be out. She told me I had to come out or she was done.” 

“And you picked Chloe,” her mom said flatly, her voice laced with disappointment. 

“No,” Sara said, a little louder than she meant to. “I didn’t pick anyone. Kaitlyn gave me an ultimatum and I panicked. I wasn’t ready to come out on someone else’s timeline. I didn’t even know who I was yet, and she was demanding answers I didn’t have.” 

Her mom stayed quiet. 

“I talked to Chloe about it,” Sara continued, her voice quieter now. “I didn’t mean for it to turn into anything. But she was just… kind. No pressure. No timeline. She listened.” 

Jordan felt something twist in his chest. That was the part that hit hardest. Sara hadn’t just fallen for Chloe. She had finally been safe. 

“She didn’t force me to be someone I wasn’t ready to be,” Sara said. “And that’s when I knew. That this, us, was something real.” 

Her mother looked at her long and hard. “So, you were in love with Kaitlyn.” 

“I thought I was,” Sara replied, “but I never felt peace in it. With Chloe, I feel like I can breathe.” 

Her mom nodded slowly, lips tight. “I remember Kaitlyn. I thought she was just your loudest friend.” 

“She was,” Sara said. “And when I didn’t come out, she tried to turn all our friends against me. It didn’t work. She lost them. I didn’t ask anyone to pick sides, but they did.” 

“So it wasn’t just a breakup,” her mom murmured. “It was drama.” 

“High school isn’t quiet,” Sara replied. “Especially not when you’re gay and still figuring it out.” 

Her mother sighed. “It’s not that I don’t want you to be happy. I do. And if this is who you are… then okay. I just…” 

Her voice faltered, and then came back flatter, harder. “It’s hard not to feel like you were lying. Or hiding. Or doing something right under our noses.” 

Sara’s throat tightened. “Because I was hiding. But not because I was doing anything wrong. I was scared. I didn’t want you to look at me like you are right now.” 

“I think you don’t know how this feels for me.” 

Sara blinked. “You? This is happening to me…” 

“And I’m your mother!” her mom snapped suddenly, not yelling, but sharp enough that the air in the room stiffened. “I raised you. I stayed up when you had ear infections. I helped you with science fair projects you forgot about until the night before. I thought I knew you. And now I’m sitting here, watching you hold hands with a girl and realizing you’ve been living a whole part of your life that I never even saw.” 

Sara’s body tensed. Chloe’s hand tightened around hers, gently. 

Her mom looked at Chloe then. “And you. You’re the one she did let in.” 

Chloe didn’t blink. “Yes, ma’am.” 

“You could’ve told us.” 

“She couldn’t,” Sara said, before Chloe could speak. “This wasn’t hers to share. It was mine. And if she had told you, I wouldn’t be speaking to either of you right now.” 

Her mother folded her arms again. “It just… messes with your head. I’m trying to go back and figure out what was real. Ellie, Mallory, Stephanie, your new friend Kayla, all your old friends, what was I looking at all those years? Just girls studying together, or something else?” 

“Just girls studying,” Sara snapped, voice cracking. “You don’t get to sexualize my childhood friendships just because I’m gay now.” 

Jordan flinched at the harshness in her tone, but didn’t blame her for it. 

“I’m not trying to,” her mom said defensively. “But it feels like I missed something. Like there was a whole movie playing behind my back, and I was the only one who didn’t get a ticket.” 

Sara sat back against the couch, exhaling like the wind had left her lungs. 

“I didn’t know what to say, Mom,” she said, quieter now. “I didn’t even know how to say it. And I didn’t want to disappoint you.” 

Her mother’s face softened, barely. “I’m not disappointed.” 

“Yes, you are,” Sara whispered. 

Her mom looked away. “I’m just… confused. That’s all.” 

“And I’m tired,” Sara replied, a little broken now. “Tired of feeling like I have to apologize for figuring myself out slower than other people wanted me to. Tired of defending my happiness.” 

Sara’s mom looked at her daughter, really looked, and saw something she hadn’t expected. 

Strength. 

Exhaustion. 

A line in the sand. 

It hurt. 

It hurt because she hadn’t seen it before. Because now everything she thought she understood about her daughter felt like it had been rewritten in a language she didn’t speak. 

Across the coffee table, Jordan finally spoke, voice soft but steady. 

“She’s still Sara. Nothing changed. You’re just seeing more of her now.” 

Tiffany’s gaze snapped to him, a literal miniature voice breaking through the fog. Her jaw tightened, but she said nothing. 

The room was quiet again, full of unsaid things. 

Mark finally stepped forward from the kitchen, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Well,” he said gently, trying to defuse the weight in the air, “I think that’s about as much drama as our living room can legally handle.” 

Sara let out a shaky breath, a flicker of laughter almost escaping,  but it died as her mother slowly stood. 

Mark looked over at his wife with a familiar warmth. “You’ll catch up,” he said confidently. “You always do. You’re just stuck in the past five minutes. You’ll catch up.” 

Tiffany froze at the doorway. 

And then, slowly, she turned back toward him, her voice cutting through the room like glass. 

“Oh, is that how this works?” she snapped, louder than she’d spoken all evening. “I just catch up? Like I’m behind on a Generilix show?” 

Mark blinked. “Tiff, ” 

“No. Don’t Tiff me.” Her tone wasn’t yelling, but it hit just as hard. “You get to stand over there, play the cool dad, make football jokes with the girl who’s been living in our house more than our own daughter, and I’m just the one stuck looking stupid.” 

“Tiffany, no one said you were,” 

“I feel like an idiot, Mark,” she hissed, her voice trembling now. “I feel like I’ve been asleep for the last two years. Like my own daughter had a whole life going on under my roof and I didn’t even get a goddamn ticket to the show!” 

Sara flinched. Chloe reached for her again but said nothing. 

“I’m sitting here,” Tiffany continued, eyes flicking to her daughter, “and all I can think about is every friend, every sleepover, every closed door, and now I’m wondering if they were all just… hookups. Was I just blind? Was I that naive?” 

“No,” Sara said quickly, voice shaking. “Mom, it wasn’t like that. You’re making it something it wasn’t…” 

“I don’t know that,” Tiffany snapped. “I don’t know anything anymore! You say it wasn’t like that, but how am I supposed to believe you now? When every memory I have might’ve been a lie? When I thought I knew you and now I don’t even know if you knew yourself?” 

“I didn’t,” Sara said, blinking back tears. “But I do now.” 

Tiffany’s expression hardened, her mouth a tight line. “Well, that’s great for you.” 

She turned toward the hallway again, then stopped herself, shoulders still tight, like she was holding a scream inside her bones. 

“I do love you,” she said finally, over her shoulder. Her voice was quieter, but no less raw. “But right now, I’m hurt. And angry. And I need time. Because I feel like I’ve been living in one world while you built another one behind my back. And maybe that’s not your fault… but it sure as hell feels like mine.” 

Sara didn’t speak. 

She just sat there, shaking, with Chloe by her side and Jordan watching quietly , all of them realizing that something had broken here, and it wasn’t going to be fixed overnight. 

Tiffany walked out of the room without looking back. 

The silence that followed wasn’t dramatic. 

It was heavy. Still. Like aftershocks waiting beneath the floor. 
 
The sound of Tiffany’s bedroom door closing upstairs echoed faintly in the silence she left behind. 

Sara didn’t move. Her fingers were still tangled with Chloe’s, but the tremble in her hand had returned. Chloe leaned her head against Sara’s shoulder, silent, steady. 

Jordan sat crosslegged at the edge of the coffee table, looking up at both girls like he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure it would help. 

Then Mark stepped into the room, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand and letting out a slow breath through his nose. 

“Well,” he said, breaking the quiet gently, “if I ever say I want to raise another teenager, someone hit me with a shoe.” 

Sara barked out a soft, exhausted laugh. 

Mark came over and dropped onto the arm of the chair Tiffany had just vacated. He didn’t lean forward. Didn’t try to force eye contact. He just sat there like someone who’d been on this planet long enough to know not every mess needs to be mopped up in the same moment it spills. 

“I’m sorry,” Sara said quietly. “I didn’t want it to go like that.” 

“I know,” Mark replied, calm as ever. “But kiddo, I’ve lived long enough to know that when truth finally shows up, it rarely knocks politely.” 

He gave her a sidelong glance, warmth in his eyes. 

“I’m proud of you,” he said. “That took guts.” 

Sara blinked, her throat catching. “You don’t think I blindsided you guys?” 

“Oh, you absolutely did,” Mark said with a shrug. “But hey, you’re young. You’re supposed to throw curveballs. I threw a few of my own back in the day. Your mom… she just wasn’t wearing her catcher’s mitt today.” 

Chloe chuckled quietly. Even Jordan gave a small smile. 

Mark looked over at Chloe. “You okay, kiddo?” 

Chloe nodded. “I’m good. Thanks for not, like… kicking me out or throwing a Bible at me.” 

“I’ve only got one Bible,” Mark said, deadpan. “And I use it to level the entertainment center.” 

Sara laughed again,  a short, sharp exhale that sounded more like relief than amusement. 

Mark turned to Jordan next. “You good, buddy?” 

Jordan gave a tiny thumbs-up. “I mean… as good as someone three inches tall sitting in a  living room during a family drama can be.” 

That got a laugh out of everyone. 

Mark leaned back and looked up at the ceiling for a second, thoughtful. Then he sighed. 

“Look. Your mom…” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “She’s not mad at you. She’s mad that she missed this. Mad at herself. She’s going to have to unlearn some stuff before she can see you clearly again.” 

Sara looked down. “You really think she’ll come around?” 

Mark nodded. “I know she will. She’s just on the struggle bus right now. But she loves you more than anything, and love’s a damn good tour guide. Eventually it’ll get her off at the right stop.” 

He stood up and walked toward the kitchen. 

“Now,” he called over his shoulder, “do either of you want tea, snacks, or something bad for your blood sugar? Because this feels like a Pop-Tart kind of evening.” 

“Brown sugar cinnamon?” Sara asked, half-smiling. 

Mark gave her a wink. “You know your old man.” 

He disappeared into the kitchen, the clinking of mugs and toaster dials replacing the silence. 

Sara leaned into Chloe, resting her head on her shoulder as she exhaled. 

Jordan looked up at them both. “For what it’s worth, this felt like one of those moments that matter. The kind you look back on later.” 

Sara nodded slowly. 

“I know,” she whispered. “That’s why it hurt.” 

Mark disappeared into the kitchen, the hum of the toaster and the clink of mugs echoing gently behind him, domestic sounds trying to return the house to normal. 

Sara stood up slowly, still clutching Chloe’s hand. Her dad’s words were still fresh in her ears, calm, warm, grounding, but her body hadn’t caught up yet. Her muscles felt like they’d been bracing for an earthquake that had only half finished. 

Jordan stood on the coffee table, looking up at her with quiet concern. “Do you wanna go upstairs?” 

Sara nodded, not trusting her voice just yet. 

Chloe carefully scooped Jordan up and cradled him in both hands as they headed upstairs, three people connected by what had just happened, and by everything it stirred up. 

No one said anything on the staircase. 

The house still felt too quiet. Not because it was silent , but because her mother’s silence was the kind that screamed. 

Once in Sara’s room, Chloe set Jordan gently onto the nightstand. Sara let go of her hand and sat heavily on the edge of the bed like the weight she’d been carrying suddenly came back in full force. 

She rubbed her hands over her face, then through her hair, tugging lightly at the ends like she was trying to wring the tension out of her scalp. 

“She said she loved me,” Sara muttered, “but it felt like she said it from a different room. Like she left it in the hallway on the way out.” 

Chloe walked over and sat beside her. 

Jordan stood near the edge of the nightstand, watching them. “I think she did the best she could tonight.” 

Sara gave him a tired look. “Yeah, well… her best sucked.” 

“Not arguing,” Jordan replied gently. “But it’s not nothing, either.” 

Sara leaned forward, elbows on her knees, hands knotted under her chin. “Dad said she’ll catch up.” 

“She will,” Chloe said. “You’re a hard person to let go of, Sar.” 

Sara gave a broken laugh. “I don’t want to be someone she has to let go of. I just want to be someone she can finally see.” 

Sara collapsed onto her bed, not dramatic, just drained. She lay on her back, one arm over her eyes, trying to slow her breath before it turned into crying. 

“I knew it was going to be bad,” she whispered, voice cracking, “but I didn’t think it would feel like that.” 

Chloe stood near the edge of the bed, unsure for a second. Then she sat down beside her, placing one hand on Sara’s knee through the blanket. 

“She’s hurting,” Chloe said gently. “That’s not your fault.” 

“It kind of is, though,” Sara mumbled. “I kept this from her. I waited too long. And now she thinks I lied about everything, like our entire relationship’s been some kind of performance.” 

Jordan sat on the edge of the nightstand, legs dangling, watching her quietly. He’d never seen Sara like this, not even in her worst arguments with Kaitlyn or Charity at school. This was a different kind of pain. Deeper. Older. 

“You didn’t perform anything,” Jordan said softly. “You protected yourself.” 

Sara lowered her arm and turned her head toward him, eyes wet. 

“I didn’t mean to make her feel shut out,” she whispered. “I just… I wasn’t ready. And Kaitlyn made everything worse. She gave me this awful deadline and made me feel like I was a coward. Like if I didn’t shout it from the rooftops, I didn’t deserve to be loved.” 

Chloe’s jaw tightened at Kaitlyn’s name. “She weaponized your silence.” 

Sara nodded. “And now Mom’s seeing ghosts that don’t exist. She’s convinced every girl I’ve ever studied with was secretly part of some gay sleepover orgy.” 

Jordan let out a sharp laugh. “God, that’s such a straight parent panic fantasy.” 

Sara laughed too,  short, bitter,  then pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. 

“I could’ve handled yelling. Screaming. But that look? Like I was some stranger who’d been living in her house under a fake name? That broke me.” 

Chloe slid her hand into Sara’s again. “She’s gonna come around.” 

“She might not,” Sara said, her voice small. “Not really. I think… I think this rewired something in her. And I don’t know if she wants to rewire it back.” 

For a moment, no one said anything. The room buzzed faintly from the LED strips Sara had stuck along the ceiling, their soft violet glow bathing the walls. Outside, wind pressed against the house like it wanted to listen in. 

Jordan stood up and walked toward the edge of the nightstand. “Can I come down?” 

Chloe nodded and gently reached out, lifting him down onto the bed. He climbed over to where Sara lay curled, then settled on the pillow beside her head. 

“You know,” he said, “I think your mom’s trying not to drown. But it’s like someone dumped her into the deep end without telling her the water was warm.” 

Sara stared up at him. “That’s… a really weird metaphor.” 

Jordan smirked. “Well, I am weird. But I’ve seen this before. People freak out when their mental picture of you gets cracked. Doesn’t mean they stop loving you. It just means they don’t know where to put that love anymore. It takes time to redraw the map.” 

Sara nodded slowly. 

“Plus,” Jordan added, “your dad’s got lifeguard energy. She’ll figure it out.” 

Chloe smiled and leaned back against the headboard, pulling Sara up with her so the two of them were sitting shoulder to shoulder again. 

“You were amazing down there,” Chloe whispered. “Even if it didn’t feel like it.” 

Sara sniffed and wiped her eyes. “Thanks.” 

Chloe kissed her temple gently. “You told the truth. You stood your ground. You chose yourself. That’s everything.” 

Sara leaned into her. “But it still sucks.” 

“Yeah,” Chloe said. “But you’re not alone.” 

They sat in silence for a while after that, curled together beneath a blanket, Jordan resting nearby like a watchful dot of calm in a world that still loomed too large. 

Downstairs, the toaster clicked softly, Sara’s dad keeping his promise, keeping the lights on in the kitchen like a lighthouse on shore. 

 

Tiffany Reeves’ POV 

The bedroom door closed with a soft click, but it might as well have been a steel bolt locking behind her. 

Tiffany stood in the center of the room, arms wrapped around herself like she was trying to keep her ribs from collapsing inward. The light on her nightstand lamp was too bright, so she reached over and dimmed it. Then sat. Then stood again. Then sat again. 

Her fingers kept moving, folding the edge of the comforter, smoothing out an invisible wrinkle, pulling at the corner of a decorative pillow that suddenly annoyed her just by existing. 

She wanted to cry. But the tears didn’t come. 

Instead, there was that same aching numbness she felt after a car accident once, years ago, the one where no one got seriously hurt, but for hours afterward, her whole body buzzed with adrenaline and confusion. Like her brain was lagging behind reality. 

Her daughter had just come out to her. 

Her daughter. 

The same little girl who used to sit on the kitchen counter in glittery tights and sing along to Taylor Swift while licking frosting off her fingers. The same girl who used to come home from school ranting about drama club auditions and unfair cafeteria lines. The same girl Tiffany thought she knew better than anyone. 

And now… 

Now, it felt like someone had handed her a movie halfway through and told her to understand the plot by reading the credits. 

She stared at the bedroom door like it could still open and rewind the night. 

Instead, she whispered out loud, to no one: 
“How long have you been lying to me?” 

It wasn’t angry. It was wrecked. 

She walked over to her dresser and opened the second drawer. Old photos were scattered across the top, school trips, birthday parties, pool days. Sara and Ellie eating popsicles. Sara and Mallory dressed like twins for some sleepover. Kaitlyn, grinning wide with her arm slung around Sara’s shoulder like she belonged there. 

Tiffany stared at that one the longest. 

She remembered Kaitlyn. She remembered the energy between them. How she used to hear them laughing late into the night behind a closed door. How she’d assumed, hoped, that it was harmless teenage silliness. That they were just close. 

But now? 

Now her brain couldn’t stop rewriting the memories. Couldn’t stop asking if Sara had kissed someone under her roof while Tiffany folded laundry in the next room, clueless. 

She wanted to believe it didn’t matter. That she wouldn’t care even if that had happened. 

But it did matter. 

Not because of what Sara was. 

But because Tiffany hadn’t known. 

And that’s what broke her. 

All these years, she thought they had trust. Thought they were close. Thought if there was one thing she hadn’t messed up as a mother, it was knowing her daughter. 

Now, even the memories were tainted by uncertainty. 

She sat down again, slower this time, the photo of Sara and Kaitlyn still in her hands. 

And then, quietly: 

“Why didn’t you trust me?” 

Her voice cracked at the end. 

She thought of Chloe. Calm. Mature. Polished, even in discomfort. Tiffany had no problem with Chloe. 

But watching them hold hands,  that moment at the table, it had felt like someone else’s daughter sitting there. Someone older. Someone changed. 

Or maybe just someone who’d been changing, and Tiffany was the last one to notice. 

She set the photo down and rubbed her hands over her face. 

Mark thought she’d catch up. Thought she just needed time. 

He was probably right. 

But catching up meant re-learning her own child, and that terrified her more than anything. 

Because what if, deep down, she couldn’t? 

What if Sara had already built a new world, one where Tiffany didn’t quite fit? 

Tiffany stared at the edge of the nightstand where Sara had once left her a glittery drawing of a stick-figure family, complete with a smiling sun and a dog they never owned. 

I love you, Mommy, it had said in crooked marker. 

Tiffany blinked, and the memory came rushing in too fast, like the past was mocking her. A montage of birthday parties, mother-daughter brunches, matching aprons, late-night tea when Sara had cramps, car rides full of bad singing. 

Had all of that really happened… or had she just imagined they were close? 

She tried to hold the answer in, to swallow it down like she always did when things felt too big. 

But this time, it didn’t stay down. 

Her chest clenched, and the tightness in her throat gave way with a choking sound she didn’t recognize as her own. 

She pressed a hand over her mouth as the first sob slipped out, too sudden, too sharp. 

And then came another. 

And another. 

She curled forward on the bed, shoulders shaking, her breathing hitching unevenly as years of certainty cracked open and poured out of her. 

She was lost. 

How did I miss it? 

Why didn’t she tell me? 

What else don’t I know about my own daughter? 

There were no answers in that moment,  just the sound of her own quiet sobs echoing against the bedroom walls. 

Tiffany Reeves, who always kept it together, always knew what to say, always smiled through the messy parts of motherhood,  sat alone in the dim light and cried like the ground had shifted beneath her feet. 

And in a way, it had. 

 

POV: Jordan 

The door had barely clicked shut behind Chloe when the room changed. 

It was like all the air left with her. The warmth. The thread of hope that maybe tonight wouldn’t sting forever. 

Sara stood still for a second. Then she moved toward the bed like her body was on autopilot, shoulders hunched, arms wrapped tight around herself like she was holding in the pieces. She didn’t even look at me as she sat down, climbed under the blanket, and curled onto her side facing the wall. 

I stood on the nightstand for a moment, unsure if she even wanted me near her. 

But then I heard it. 

The kind of breath you only make when you’re trying not to cry. 

The kind that ends up sounding more painful than if you just let the tears fall. 

I walked across the cool wood, sat down at the edge, and waited. 

Five seconds. Ten. 

Then she whispered, barely loud enough for me to hear: 

“I fucking blew it.” 

My stomach sank. “You didn’t blow anything.” 

Her voice cracked. “She looked at me like I was a stranger, Jordy. Like I was… gross. Or fake. Or just someone she thought she knew, but actually didn’t at all.” 

I climbed down from the nightstand using her phone cord like a rope and walked across the blanket toward her. It was slow going, every ripple of the comforter felt like a hill, but I got to her shoulder and sat there, just a few inches from her cheek. 

“Your mom’s going through her own thing,” I said gently. “That doesn’t mean she was right.” 

Sara sniffed, and her voice was smaller than I’d ever heard it. “I thought it’d be a relief. Saying it out loud. Finally, no more hiding. No more pretending to like dudes just to shut people up. But it didn’t feel like a relief. It felt like… like I broke something.” 

“You didn’t break anything,” I said. “You told the truth. If it hurt, it’s because they weren’t ready to hear it. Not because you said it wrong.” 

She rolled onto her back, wiping her face with her sleeve. Her eyes were red, nose stuffy, hair pulled messily over her forehead like she’d fought a hurricane and lost. 

“I wanted her to be mad, honestly,” she said. “Scream at me, ground me, slam a door. That would’ve been easier.” 

I nodded. “Because at least that would mean she was still with you.” 

Sara blinked fast. “Exactly.” 

I walked closer, stepping carefully over a loose thread in her blanket. “You’re not alone, you know. Not even close.” 

She looked at me for the first time,  really looked,  and there was something broken in her eyes that I hated seeing. 

“It’s just so stupid,” she mumbled. “Like… I didn’t ask to feel like this. I didn’t sign up to be someone’s drama. I just wanted to love who I love without it being a whole thing.” 

Her voice cracked on the last word. 

She didn’t say anything for a long while after that. Neither did I. 

We just sat there, the tiny space between us filled with quiet grief and the dull ache of honesty that didn’t land how you wanted it to. 

Eventually, she spoke again. “Do you ever… feel like being Little took you away from who you were?” 

That one hit me square in the chest. 

“Every day,” I said. 

She turned toward me a little more. 

I sat down near the collar of her sweatshirt and rested my arm on the soft fabric. “But also… it made me more me, if that makes sense. Like, all the noise of trying to fit in or be cool or be what people wanted? Gone. Now I just… am. And the people who stick around? They’re real.” 

Sara gave a tiny, exhausted laugh. “So what you’re saying is, I need to get shrunk to figure my shit out?” 

I smiled. “No offense, but I think the last thing we need is you at six inches tall trying to fight your mom from the dresser.” 

She actually laughed, a real laugh this time, and wiped her eyes again. 

“Thanks,” she whispered. 

“You don’t have to thank me. I’m your emotional support person.” 

Sara rolled her eyes, but there was a softness there now. 

“You’re gonna be okay,” I said. “She just needs time to stop seeing a version of you she made up and start seeing the real one. And that version? She’s kind of a badass.” 

Sara curled tighter under the blanket and let out a breath like she was finally letting go. 

“You wanna crash here tonight?” she asked, voice barely audible. 

“Only if I get pillow space and no sudden rolls in my direction.” 

She reached out and carefully lifted me toward her pillow, setting me gently beside her head. The lights were already dim, the room washed in a soft glow from the charging station on her desk. 

“Night, Jordan.” 

“Night, Sara.” 

Her breathing slowed eventually. 

And as I lay there, no bigger than a toothbrush, I realized something simple but important: 

Even the biggest heartbreaks feel smaller when someone sees you exactly as you are. 

 
 
March 5th 2022 – The Reeves Family House. 
 
I’d been around awkward breakfasts before, hospital cafeterias with buzzing lights, post wedding breakfasts that didn’t quite turn out, that one time Sara accidentally FaceTimed me while Chloe and Ellie were screaming at each other about Taylor Swift and whether she sold out. 

But this? 

This wasn’t awkward. 

This was quiet, the sharp, brittle kind of quiet that doesn’t just fill a room, it sinks into the walls and hangs over the table like a fog. The kind that makes you breathe a little shallower without realizing why. The kind that builds in the gap between people who used to laugh easily, and now don’t know if they should even be making eye contact. 

Tiffany Reeves sat at the far end of the table, clutching her coffee mug like it was an anchor. Her face gave away nothing, not irritation, not sadness, not even disapproval. Just… unreadable. Blank. The kind of blank that feels louder than yelling. 

Across from her, Sara sat stiff backed, pushing around a piece of dry toast with her fork like she might find a better version of the morning underneath it. 

Mark, her dad, the only one even trying to keep things from falling apart, was at the stove, flipping pancakes with the energy of a man auditioning for a breakfast commercial. He smiled too brightly. Moved too fast. 

And me? 

I sat dead center in a shallow ceramic dish in the middle of the table, about the size of a salad plate. Banana triangle in front of me. Tiny napkin under my feet. I’d been placed here like a centerpiece no one knew how to acknowledge. 

Mark turned from the stove with a flourish. “Got syrup, eggs, and three kinds of pancakes,” he said, voice borderline too cheery. “No one say I don’t love my people.” 

He slid a plate in front of Sara, who offered a faint smile. “Thanks, Dad.” 

Tiffany didn’t look up. 

Mark sat with a theatrical sigh and clapped his hands once. “Alright, Reeves family, What’s the plan for today?” 

The silence answered him before anyone else could. 

Tiffany sipped her coffee. 

Sara stabbed her toast. 

Eventually, I cleared my throat, which, in my size, was barely a squeak, and said, “Well, I was thinking of trying to climb the cabinet handle later. Might take all morning. Maybe pack a lunch.” 

Mark chuckled. Bless him. 

Sara smiled a little too.  

Tiffany stayed still. 

Her eyes stayed glued to her mug like it was the only thing in the room that wouldn’t betray her. 

Sara finally looked up from her plate, shoulders tight. “Morning.” 

Tiffany blinked. 

Then slowly turned her face back to the coffee like Sara hadn’t said a word. 

The shift at the table was immediate, the way Sara’s jaw tightened, how Mark’s shoulders rose ever so slightly, how even I stopped chewing. It wasn’t just cold, it was personal. It was precision. The deliberate omission of acknowledgment. 

Mark tried to cut in. “I was thinking maybe we could all watch something later. Chill day. Maybe that docuseries about the mountain climbers, or that show Jordan likes. The Little one with the spy stuff?” 

“Operation: Bit Size,” I offered, trying to help. “Elite television.” 

No one laughed. 

Sara pushed her plate forward. She wasn’t eating. She hadn’t been. Her voice, when she spoke, was sharp with the restraint of someone trying not to explode. 

“You’re really just not gonna talk to me?” 

Tiffany looked up slowly. Her expression didn’t shift. Her voice didn’t rise. She just said, flatly, “I’m eating breakfast.” 

Sara blinked. Just once. 

“Right,” she said, quietly. “Got it.” 

Mark set his fork down gently. “Okay, come on. We’re not doing this with pancakes on the table.” 

Tiffany turned to him. “I’m not doing anything,” she said, almost tired. “I’m drinking coffee. You’re the one pretending nothing happened.” 

Sara stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. The sound made me flinch more than I wanted to admit. 

“Sara,” Mark said, voice low, like he could still steer the ship back on course. 

She didn’t answer. 

She didn’t look at him. 

She stood with her back to the table for a second, hands clenched, chest heaving like she was holding something in. 

“This was a mistake,” she said. “I knew it.” 

Tiffany didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink. 

“Enjoy your eggs,” Sara muttered, and turned. 

I stood up, well, more like awkwardly got to my feet in the dish, and stepped toward the edge of the plate. “Sara, wait…” 

She stopped at the doorway. 

Didn’t look back. 

But her voice was steadier this time. Quieter, and somehow stronger. 

“I told the truth. That’s all I did. And I’d do it again.” 

Then she was gone. 

I watched her disappear down the hall, my heart pounding for reasons I couldn’t fully name. 

Mark sat silently, eyes fixed on the space she’d just left. 

Tiffany stayed at the table, her gaze now focused out the window, past the yard, past the street, like the world beyond the glass was more deserving of her attention than the one inside her own home. 

Mark let out a breath. 

He picked up his coffee and looked at his wife. 

“I know you’re hurting,” he said gently. “But don’t let that hurt build a wall you can’t climb down from later.” 

Tiffany didn’t answer. 

And I sat there, three inches tall in a dish meant for olives, staring between two people who couldn’t seem to hear each other anymore, not through pain, or pride, or whatever ancient, echoing fear kept mothers and daughters from just saying the damn thing. 

 

The door to the hallway clicked shut behind Sara,  soft, subtle, but louder than anything else in the room. 

It wasn’t the kind of slam that demanded attention. 

It was the kind of exit that withheld it. 

And that silence, the one that followed, felt like a physical thing. Like pressure in the air before a storm. The kind of quiet that didn’t soothe but strained. 

Mark sat back down at the table and stared at his plate. He didn’t touch it. 

Tiffany kept her hands wrapped around her mug like it might hold the last bit of heat her body had left. She didn’t look up. Didn’t blink. Her expression was blank, that specific kind of blank that doesn’t come from peace but from holding back everything that might pour out if she let it. 

And me? 

I stood in the middle of the table, stiff as a paperclip, hands tucked behind my back like I was in trouble during a toy soldier’s roll call. I couldn’t move, couldn’t sit, couldn’t do anything but breathe and hope I wouldn’t be the next fracture line. 

The plate of banana bits next to me looked like a joke now. A too careful offering from a world that suddenly felt too big for comfort food. 

Then she spoke. 

Tiffany. 

Her voice was calm. 

But it was the worst kind of calm. The kind that wrapped itself around you like a silk rope. The kind that snapped after it felt safe. 

“How long have you known?” 

My head jerked up. 

“What?” 

She turned toward me slowly, eyes locking onto mine with weight I hadn’t felt from her in weeks, not since the first time she called me “sweetheart” while handing me a chip the size of a mattress. 

But there was no warmth in her now. No softness. Only the quiet fury of someone who realized the truth too late. 

“How long have you known about them?” she asked. “Sara and Chloe.” 

My mouth dried instantly. 

“A while,” I said, barely above a whisper. 

She nodded, as if confirming a suspicion, she’d already lived through in her head. “And you didn’t think I deserved to know? That maybe her mother should be looped in before the whole goddamn house turns into an after-school drama episode?” 

“Tiff…” Mark said, gently. 

She raised one hand, a calm, practiced gesture, to shut him down, but she didn’t look away from me. 

“You just sat here,” she continued, voice tightening. “Ate my food. Slept in her room. Acted like part of the family. And the whole time… you knew. You knew, Jordan. And you let me walk around this house thinking I knew my daughter.” 

I didn’t know what to say. I felt like if I said anything at all, the weight of the conversation would just flatten me where I stood. 

So I told the truth. 

“It wasn’t my story to tell.” 

Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t give me that. You’re not some stranger off the street. You’re here every day. You live in her room. You’re—” Her voice cracked for the first time. “You’re part of her life.” 

“I am,” I said. “But so are you.” 

Her mouth twitched, like my words physically pained her. 

“Then why didn’t you warn me?” she asked. And now her voice wasn’t angry. It was wounded. Open. “Why didn’t you come to me and just say, ‘Hey, maybe look a little closer. Maybe ask better questions.’” 

I hesitated. Not because I didn’t know the answer, but because it wouldn’t fix anything. 

“Because you weren’t ready to hear it,” I said. “And I wasn’t going to be the one who forced it.” 

She gave a bitter laugh. Not cruel, just hollow. “So what, you thought it’d be funny? Let the dumb mom keep thinking her daughter was just having sleepovers with her girlfriends, while you all sat around laughing about how clueless I was?” 

“No.” I shook my head. “Never.” 

She didn’t speak for a long moment. Her gaze dropped to her coffee, like she was trying to find herself in the reflection. 

When she spoke again, her voice barely reached me. 

“I keep playing it all back,” she whispered. “Every sleepover. Every late night. Every time she said she was tired, or stressed, or nothing was wrong. I thought we were close. I thought… I was a good mom.” 

“You are,” I said, meaning it. 

Tiffany looked like she wanted to believe me. 

But she didn’t. 

“Then why didn’t she trust me?” she asked. The question cracked her voice open completely, and it landed like a punch to my ribs. 

And there it was. 

The real question. The one she hadn’t even let herself ask until now. 

I stepped closer to the edge of the plate, taking a breath. “Because she didn’t trust herself. Not at first. She didn’t know what it meant yet. She was figuring it out in pieces. And Kaitlyn, the girl before Chloe, she pushed her. Hard. Too hard. Gave her this ultimatum: come out or lose her.” 

Tiffany’s eyebrows lifted, startled. “I didn’t even know there was a girl before Chloe before last night.” 

“I know,” I said. “That’s part of why she was scared. She already felt like she was failing everyone. And she didn’t want to fail you, too.” 

She looked down again. Her jaw clenched, then loosened. Mark moved closer and put a hand on her shoulder. She didn’t shrug him off,  but she didn’t lean into him either. 

“I don’t hate her,” Tiffany said softly. “I just… I don’t know who she is anymore.” 

I swallowed hard. 

“She’s still your daughter,” I said. “She’s just… a version you hadn’t met yet.” 

And finally, finally, Tiffany looked at me, really looked. 

The anger had melted from her face. 

But what replaced it wasn’t peace. 

It was exhaustion. 

And fear. 

And loss. 

“I don’t know if I can go back,” she whispered. 

“You don’t have to,” I said. “Just start from here.” 

Her lips parted like she might say something, might ask more, or apologize, or cry. 

But she didn’t. 

She just stood. 

Lifted her mug. 

And walked slowly out of the room. 

I stayed on the table for a long while after that. Just me, a few banana crumbs, and the fading echo of what had been said. I looked at the empty chair where Sara had sat. 

And then at the one Tiffany had left behind. 

 
 
March 5th 2022 – Sara’s Bedroom 

 

The door clicked shut behind her like a punctuation mark she hadn’t meant to type,  abrupt, unthinking, final. 

Sara stood frozen just beyond it, her back against the wood, her arms still buzzing with leftover adrenaline. Her breath caught in the hollow space between her ribs, where her heart had been spinning too fast for too long. 

The house was silent upstairs. Too silent. 

Her room hadn’t changed in the last half hour, the same messy sheets half-kicked to the foot of the bed, the hoodie she’d worn yesterday still crumpled on the desk chair, the faint blue glow of her charging port blinking from the wall. It all looked… normal. 

Too normal. 

Like the room hadn’t gotten the memo that her entire emotional foundation had caved in over eggs and coffee. 

She crossed the floor in three steps and sat down on the edge of the bed like her legs didn’t belong to her. Her fingers dug into the fabric of her pajama pants. She tried to breathe, in through the nose, out through the mouth, like her therapist had taught her. 

It didn’t help. 

Her mother hadn’t spoken to her. 

Not one word. 

Not even a “goodbye.” 

And that silence hit harder than yelling ever could. It bloomed like a bruise under her ribs,  invisible, but impossible to ignore. 

She stared at the carpet. Her eyes unfocused. 

And then it hit her,  like a gut punch with gravity behind it. 

Her voice cracked as it left her mouth. “Jordan.” 

Her head jerked toward the door. 

She’d left him downstairs. 

Left him sitting at the breakfast table, alone, small, and stuck between her parents in the fallout of everything she couldn’t fix. 

“Oh my god,” she whispered, her voice brittle and hoarse. “I left him. I left him down there with her.” 

Her mom. 

The same mom who couldn’t even look at her, and now she’d just… abandoned Jordan to that same cold, silent room? 

Her whole body tensed, breath quickening. Her nails dug deeper into her legs. 

“I forgot him,” she said, horror blooming like heat beneath her skin. “I forgot him.” 

She pushed up from the bed and began pacing the room, the panic already swelling. Her limbs felt like they didn’t belong to her — too heavy, too tight, too much. The air got thinner, her pulse faster. 

“I forgot him,” she repeated. “I forgot him. I forgot him.” 

She was spiraling. 

Jordan, alone, scared, maybe having to smile through it or play polite or god forbid act like everything was fine. For her. 

What if her mom had said something awful? 

What if she blamed him? 

Her lungs stuttered. Her fingers went cold. The room tilted sideways. 

She dropped back down on the edge of the bed and buried her face in her hands. 

And then the tears came. 

Fast. Hot. Sharp. She didn’t even feel them coming, they just poured out like her body couldn’t hold it in anymore. 

A sound tore from her throat, too wet, too raw, and then another, and another. Her breathing got shallower, chest locking up like someone had clamped down on it from the outside. 

She couldn’t do this. 

She couldn’t fix it. 

She couldn’t even move. 

She grabbed her phone with shaking fingers and unlocked it blindly, thumb hovering over the first contact in her recents. 

Chloe 💙 

She tapped the call button. 

It rang once. 

Twice. 

“Pick up,” she whispered, tears soaking the screen. “Please, please pick up—” 

Then Chloe’s voice cut through the line, warm and low. 

“Hey, you okay?” 

The sound shattered her. 

Sara couldn’t speak. 

She just breathed, sharp, stuttering gasps, like her body had been holding it all in until that moment. 

“Sar?” Chloe’s voice sharpened. “What’s wrong?” 

“I forgot him,” Sara managed, her voice a hiccuping sob. “I forgot Jordy. I left him downstairs. I just walked away, I was so pissed, I didn’t even think,” 

“Okay, slow down,” Chloe said gently, grounding her words like stepping stones. “Is he okay? Did something happen?” 

“I don’t know,” Sara cried. “I can’t go down there. I can’t look at her again. She didn’t even look at me. She just… acted like I didn’t exist. And now I feel like I’m a piece of shit. And Jordan’s probably thinking I ditched him—” 

“Sara,” Chloe said, calm but firm. “You didn’t ditch him.” 

“I left him with her, Chloe. She was already upset, and he’s so small. What if she said something awful? What if he’s sitting there thinking I just didn’t care enough to come back?” 

“Hey,” Chloe said, voice softer now, that quiet strength she always carried in the spaces between Sara’s spirals. “Jordan knows you didn’t mean to. And you can fix it. But you have to slow down.” 

Sara curled in on herself, body shaking, the phone clutched like a lifeline to her cheek. 

“I feel like the worst person.” 

“You’re not,” Chloe said. “You’re a girl who went through hell this morning and accidentally forgot something important. That doesn’t make you awful. That makes you human.” 

“I’m scared to go back out there.” 

“Then don’t,” Chloe said. “Not yet. I’ll come get him.” 

“What?” Sara wiped at her eyes. “No. Chloe, it’s like… it’s morning. You should be at school…” 

“I don’t care,” Chloe said flatly. “I’ll be there in ten.” 

Sara let out a wet, broken laugh. “You drive like a grandma.” 

“I’ll be there in eight,” Chloe corrected. “Brush your teeth. Splash your face. I’m not showing up to find you looking like a haunted raccoon.” 

Sara managed a real smile. Small. Trembling. But real. 

“Thank you,” she whispered. 

“Always.” 

The call ended. 

Sara stared at the ceiling for a long moment, phone still clutched in her hand, tears still drying in salty tracks down her face. 

She didn’t feel okay. 

Not even close. 
 

I’d been sitting on the kitchen table for what felt like a full hour. 

Maybe longer. 

The last bits of pancake were cold now, the syrup dried in amber crusted rings on the plate beside me, like relics from some cheerful breakfast that had happened to someone else. The crumbs scattered nearby felt like the aftermath of a battle no one wanted to talk about. 

Across from me, Tiffany Reeves sat motionless. She had returned to clear the table but never quite made it to clearing. 

No words. 

No expressions. 

Just the slow, occasional stir of a spoon against her coffee, ceramic against ceramic, like a metronome keeping time for the silence between us. 

And me? 

I didn’t dare say anything. I didn’t dare move. 

The thing about being a few inches tall in a house full of tension was that even stillness became something you had to survive. I wasn’t part of the morning anymore. I wasn’t part of the family moment. I was a placeholder. A bystander. A fragile object on display in the wreckage of a conversation that had gone somewhere none of us could un-go. 

And I hated it. 

I thought about hopping down, making the long trek back to Sara’s room on my own. But the image of Tiffany’s face if I tried that? Not worth it. Not right now. So I waited. Sat there like a decorative centerpiece, trying not to feel like I’d overstayed a welcome that had never been fully offered in the first place. 

Then came the sound. 

Footsteps. Quick ones. Outside. 

Tiffany stood before the doorbell could even ring. She didn’t look at me. Just straightened her spine and walked out of the kitchen, her coffee forgotten on the table. 

The door swung open, and for a moment, I saw it, sunlight. Cold winter light, filtered through the porch. It hit the foyer like an accident, like something that had wandered into a place it didn’t belong. 

And then I saw her. 

Chloe Gracewood. 

Ponytail neat. Oversized hoodie. Leggings. Crocs with enamel pins that glittered when the sun caught them just right. She looked like a contradiction in every way, half corporate heiress, half teenage girl who had just rolled out of bed and still had lip balm on. 

But when she saw Tiffany, her entire body language shifted. 

“Good morning, Mrs. Reeves,” Chloe said, with the kind of calm that sounded practiced but not fake. Polite, but not sweet. Neutral. Grounded. 

Tiffany stared at her for a beat. Then nodded once. “Chloe.” 

They stood there like two chess pieces waiting for someone to make the first move. 

“I came to get Jordan,” Chloe said, her voice quieter now. Her eyes flicked toward me, still sitting on the kitchen table like someone had left me behind after a birthday party. 

Tiffany’s gaze didn’t follow. 

“She sent you?” she asked flatly. 

“No,” Chloe replied. “She called me. She was crying.” 

That made Tiffany pause. 

Her fingers gripped the doorframe, and I saw it, just for a second. The knuckles turning white. The calm cracking at the edges. 

“She’s not okay right now,” Chloe added, gentler this time. “This morning hit her hard.” 

Tiffany blinked, slowly, like she didn’t want to admit she heard it. 

Then she stepped aside. 

“Go ahead.” 

Chloe moved past her like she’d done it a hundred times, even though this time was nothing like the others. She walked into the kitchen, eyes locking on mine the moment she entered. 

“Hey,” she said like we were just in homeroom. But her voice changed, softened. Calmed. 

 “Sorry I’m late. Took me nine whole minutes.” 

“Grandma pace,” I murmured as she lowered her hand to the table. 

She smirked faintly. “Watch it, little man. I might revoke shoulder privileges.” 

I stepped into her palm like it was the only safe place left in the world. It kind of was. 

She lifted me with the practiced ease of someone who had held fragile things before. 

But she didn’t turn to leave just yet. 

Tiffany hadn’t followed her into the kitchen, she stood in the doorway still, arms folded across her chest like armor. Watching, but not engaging. 

Chloe paused. 

“Just so you know,” she said gently, “she didn’t leave him down here because she doesn’t care. She panicked. She didn’t even realize.” 

Tiffany didn’t move. 

“She’s trying, Mrs. Reeves. She’s just… hurting.” 

“I’m aware,” Tiffany said, flat and unbothered. 

Chloe nodded once. 

“That’s all I came to say.” 

She turned toward the door. 

We were halfway back down the hallway when Tiffany’s voice came again, softer this time. Like it escaped her without permission. 

“She could’ve told me.” 

It wasn’t an accusation this time. 

It was a confession. 

Chloe stopped. 

And I felt it, her breath catching, her spine stiffening slightly under me. She didn’t turn around at first. Just stood there, holding her keys in one hand and me in the other, like she wasn’t sure which she was holding tighter. 

Then she pivoted. 

Not fast. Not sharp. 

Just… firm. 

Her eyes found Tiffany’s. 

“You’re right,” Chloe said, her voice even. “She could’ve.” 

Tiffany’s mouth opened slightly, but no words followed. Like she was still trying to decide whether or not she’d spoken out loud. 

“But she didn’t,” Chloe continued. “Because she was scared.” 

Her tone didn’t rise. It didn’t need to. It carried weight without volume. 

“She’s your daughter,” Chloe said, stepping forward now, her presence filling the space. “You’re supposed to be her safe place. Not her obstacle course.” 

Tiffany flinched, almost imperceptibly, but it was there. The twitch in her fingers. The blink that lasted just half a second too long. 

“She didn’t tell you everything because she already felt like she was disappointing you,” Chloe said, gesturing vaguely to the walls around us. “She lied to protect herself. Not to betray you.” 

Tiffany drew in a breath like she was going to argue, but Chloe didn’t give her the chance. 

“If you’re going to blame someone,” Chloe said, voice tightening just a hair, “blame me. I’m the one who told her to stop hiding. I’m the one who said she deserved better than to shrink herself for your comfort.” 

The silence after that was heavy. 

Tiffany didn’t answer. 

Chloe didn’t wait. 

She just added one more line, softer now. But sharper, somehow. 

“This?” She gestured between them. “This isn’t how you love someone. This is how you punish them.” 

And with that, she turned and went upstairs. 

The hallway upstairs was dim, cloaked in early morning stillness. Chloe moved quietly, Jordan cradled gently in her palms, his tiny form resting in a fold of her sleeve like something precious and breakable. The door to Sara’s room stood slightly ajar. She didn’t knock. 

She stepped inside. 

Sara sat curled up on the floor between her bed and the wall, hoodie sleeves tugged over her hands, knees drawn up to her chest. Her eyes were red. Her breaths came in ragged, uneven gulps, like her lungs couldn’t decide whether they wanted air or wanted to collapse. 

Chloe didn’t say anything at first. She just crossed the room, slowly, and sank to the floor beside her. She placed Jordan in her lap, careful and tender, then reached forward and wrapped her arms around Sara. 

Sara didn’t flinch. 

But she didn’t lean in either. 

It was like her whole body was braced for something, like if she relaxed even an inch, she might shatter. 

“I can’t do this,” Sara whispered. Her voice was thin, shredded from crying. “I can’t.” 

Chloe didn’t respond. She just tucked her chin over Sara’s shoulder and held her tighter. 

Jordan sat quietly in Chloe’s lap, hands resting on the soft fabric of her leggings, unsure what to do, unsure what he could do. He looked up at Sara, who had never seemed smaller, even though to him she’d always been a giant. 

“She hates me,” Sara breathed, barely audible. “I saw it. I saw it in her face.” 

“No, she doesn’t,” Chloe said gently. 

“You didn’t see the way she looked at me. Like I was some stranger. Like she was scared of me. Like I did something disgusting.” 

Chloe didn’t try to argue. Not yet. Instead, she ran her hand slowly up and down Sara’s back. 

“This is my punishment,” Sara said, a broken kind of conviction in her voice. “This is karma. This is me getting what I deserve.” 

“Don’t say that.” 

“It’s true.” 

“No, it’s not.” 

Sara finally turned to face her, eyes rimmed with salt and guilt and too much pain for someone her age. “Chloe, I lied to her. For years. I let her think she knew me when she didn’t. And Kaitlyn, everything that happened with her, everything I did…” 

“That’s not a reason to suffer.” 

“It is. You don’t get to betray the people who love you and still expect them to look at you the same. You don’t get to hide who you are and then be mad when the truth breaks everything. That’s not how it works.” 

Jordan shifted slightly in Chloe’s lap. “Sara…” 

Sara didn’t even look down. Her stare was locked on the wall, vacant but burning. “You didn’t see her face. You didn’t hear the way she said my name. It was like it didn’t belong to her anymore. Like I didn’t belong to her anymore.” 

“She’s hurt,” Chloe said softly. “But that doesn’t mean she stopped loving you.” 

“I don’t care what she says,” Sara said, wiping her nose on her sleeve. “Love isn’t supposed to look like that. Love isn’t supposed to feel like a prison sentence.” 

Chloe’s voice was steady, low. “Then don’t put yourself in one.” 

Sara finally blinked. Her eyes dropped to Chloe’s lap, where Jordan was sitting with his tiny hands curled into his sleeves. 

“I forgot you,” she whispered. “I just left you there on the table. Like a piece of furniture. Like you didn’t matter.” 

“You were overwhelmed,” Jordan said gently. “You were trying to survive. I get it.” 

Sara shook her head, tears sliding fresh down her cheeks. “No. No more excuses. I forgot you, I betrayed Kaitlyn, I lied to my mom, and I dragged Chloe into this whole disaster. This is the consequence. This is what I earned.” 

She looked at Jordan then, really looked at him, and the guilt on her face deepened. “And you… I made you mine. I forced you into this world, into my world. I pulled you out of whatever life you had left and said, ‘Here, belong to me.’ Like I had the right. Like that was okay. That’s not love, that’s cruelty.” 

Jordan’s mouth opened slightly, but he couldn’t find the words. 

Sara wiped her eyes, hands shaking. “Sometimes I wish Ellie never found me. That I never got taken to the hospital. That I never got licensed. Maybe you’d have ended up somewhere better. Somewhere… safer.” 

“Sara,” Jordan said, his voice trembling, “don’t say that. Don’t wish yourself away.” 

“I deserve this,” she whispered. “I deserve the silence. I deserve her not seeing me as her daughter anymore. I deserve the looks. I deserve all of it.” 

“No,” Chloe said firmly this time. “This isn’t justice. This is grief. And it doesn’t play fair.” 

Sara broke. 

She leaned forward and collapsed into Chloe’s arms, sobbing in short, choking bursts, as if she could cough out the guilt if she cried hard enough. Chloe held her through it, rocking her slightly, grounding her in whatever safety she could give. 

Jordan pressed his hand lightly against Sara’s arm, as much contact as his size allowed. It felt like nothing. It felt like everything. 

“I don’t know how to fix this,” Sara gasped between sobs. 

“You don’t have to fix it right now,” Chloe said. “You just have to let yourself feel it. And know you’re not alone.” 

The sun had started to creep through the blinds, but the room stayed dim, like the world was waiting for them to be ready. 

 

 

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