Michelle was panting, leaning against the wall, across the room from her mother who was knelt over, trying to catch her breath. The living room was, to put it politely, demolished; their respective hair was a fright, both sweating to death from physical activity. Michelle glared at her mother, who backed up against the nearby couch and grabbed the top of it, in an attempt to steady herself. Neither one spoke, barely brave enough to breath, their eyes locked.

"How could you do this to me," Michelle whispered, "my whole life, all I ever wanted...and you knew this whole time, and you just...didn't say anything."

"What good would it have done?" Celia asked, "made us hate eachother a little less? Made you trust me a little more?"

"...I never hated you," Michelle whispered, her eyes wet with tears.

"Yeah, well...I hate you," Celia replied, causing Michelle's eyes to widen, her lip trembling. Celia finally stood up straight and ran her hands through her hair, exhaling as she added, "you took away all my chances at the life I wanted to have. Everything I could've been...could've done...and having you killed all of that."

Michelle wanted to feel pain. She wanted to feel hurt by these words. But...for the first time in her life, she actually felt nothing by her mothers cruel admissions. A lifetime of disappointment and deceit had finally decayed her heart enough to where she couldn't be harmed any further. A super power, or a fatal flaw? Who knew. She just knew that it was nice to finally not relinquish emotional control to someone like her.

"...you're a terrible mother," Michelle said, making Celia laugh anxiously.

"You think I don't know that? You think telling me I put in the bare minimum is some kinda 'gotcha' and will make me feel bad? I've acknowledge it myself," Celia said.

"...but, maybe worse, is that you're a terrible artist," Michelle said, and that got her mothers attention; Michelle started to laugh, "like, you made two things in life, me and your art, and both turned out awful. That's a reflection on the failure that is yourself, considering both are an extension of you. The only reason you're even remotely successful is because you've been entrenched in that world for so long that you've become impossible to ignore, but guess what, success doesn't equate to quality."

The two stared at one another, and Michelle knew she'd finally hit her mother right where it really hurt.

"I've achieved more by sheer accident in the same industry than you ever did through countless years of effort," Michelle continued, "you're not just a bad artist, you're a worse artist than your own daughter, who you didn't want who had no formal training or interest in the field. I want you to think about that."

With that, Michelle turned and walked out the front door.

***

"Michelle?" a voice asked, and Michelle snapped back to the moment; sitting here, in the diner, Lexi across from them.

"Right, I'm-I'm sorry, uh, I'm still thinking about the other day at the studio," she said, "uh, what...what did you ask me? I'm sorry."

"I told you that I have a business proposal," Lexi said, "and it all starts with that girl at the counter."

Michelle followed Lexi's gaze towards the counter where a teenage girl with baggy clothes and long black hair stood ordering something.

"Anndddd....who is she, exactly?" Michelle asked.

"That is Amanda Briar Peterson, she's fifteen years old...and she's a fucking genius," Lexi said, "this girl has an imagination unlike anything you could possibly fathom, and she's using it right now to keep herself tethered to her empathy. Creating characters who are all about kindness, all about understanding. She...is what Bea thinks she is...wants to be."

"How does this turn into a business proposal exactly?" Michelle asked.

"Because I'm thinking we do what Bea did, but on a modern scale," Lexi said, "you and I, Michelle, we've lost a lot. My father being killed....made me think about how you grew up without a dad, and it...it made me really understand how awful that must've felt. You look around you and you see all these other girls with their dads and you just want that same thing but you can't have it. But what if we used our loss as a way to move forward instead of stagnating? You know what I mean?"

"I'm listening," Michelle said.

"We have Justine, who literally makes childrens books. We have Amanda, who literally creates characters. We have you and Keagan, showrunners with experience. We have Eliza, who's an expert at design work. We have everything we need to make stuff on our own. With my fathers inheritance, we have funding. Michelle, we don't need Bea. We can be Bea," Lexi said, "we can do the job she should've done this whole time, in the way it should've been done."

Michelle sighed and looked down at the table. When had it all come to this? When had things fallen so far from grace that this split had begun? Was it really just Liam who had kept them all together all along? Had he truly been the glue? She shut her eyes and shook her head.

"I...need to speak with Bea before we decide anything," Michelle said, "we really need to talk. We haven't talked the entire time and that's been half the problem. I dropped all this stuff on her, her daughter and then the sabotage, and we just really need to see if we can at least reach some sort of understanding first and foremost at least."

"I understand, and the offer isn't going anywhere, I'd never do anything like this without you and Keagan anyway," Lexi said, making Michelle smile weakly. Her heart hurt so much. She knew she'd have to see Bea, but she certainly didn't relish the idea, after all that had gone down. But she knew she had to, regardless. They'd been through so much together, changed eachothers lives for the better in a multitude of ways, and Michelle literally had a part of Bea inside of herself. She owed her that much, at least.

Michelle, without saying a word, stood up from the table, and left the diner.

***

Claire was asleep, and Leslie had gone into town for the day to do errands, leaving Bea all by herself. She was currently in the kitchen, making a late breakfast, the radio on her counter tuned to an old jazz soft jazz station, the sound of sizzling bacon and frying eggs the only other noise filling the space besides smooth saxophones and timpani drums. Production had come to a halt after the sabotage, and Bea was surprisingly okay with that. If anything, she felt responsible for it, and decided maybe right now work wasn't the best use of her time, considering her daughter was here. She began to plate herself some food as she heard the front door open.

"I didn't expect you to be back so soon," she said, as she turned to face whom she assumed to be Leslie, instead finding Michelle standing there; "...oh. Hello."

"You really shouldn't leave your door unlocked," Michelle said, "any kind of weirdo could just walk in."

"I know, wouldn't that be awful," Bea replied, the both of them smiling weakly at this sad attempt at a humorous exchange. Bea continued, "I just made breakfast, if you want any."

"I just ate," Michelle said, "but maybe I'll have some bacon. Can never say no to bacon."

Michelle sat down as Bea brought her own plate plus another plate with bacon to the table and then sat down herself across from Michelle. The two started to eat, neither one saying a word. The quiet hum of the centralized heating kicking on and off, keeping the room a constantly mildly warm temperature as they chewed, both averting their eyes from the other. After a bit, Michelle sat back in her seat and exhaled.

"I'm not entirely sure what to say, but I think it's important that we lay bare what's happened recently, cause it-"

"Michelle I'm sorry," Bea said, interrupting, surprising her; she continued, "I am...no apology will ever be enough to express my feelings about how sorry I genuinely am about how I reacted to everything. Between losing Liam and then having Claire come back into my life in such a short amount of time, it's been....it's been a harrowing few months and I just...I'm sorry. You got caught at the brunt of it all, and that doesn't excuse my behavior, nor justify it, but I'm sorry. You deserved better. Deserved more. Especially from me."

"It felt like you threw me away. After so long, telling me how protective you felt towards me, almost as if I were a surrogate for your own child, she then shows up and you just throw me away," Michelle said, choking, holding back tears, "you and my mother, you're both artists, but you're so real, and she's such a fraud, and to give myself entirely to you and what you make only to have you in the end treat me the same way she did...I think it broke me. I don't...I don't know if we can keep being friends."

Bea bit her lip, trying not to cry herself. She had brought this on herself. The stress, the tension, it had all just finally built up to a boiling plot and overflowed onto Michelle, and now she'd maybe lost her forever as a result of how she'd handled, or rather mishandled, everything.

"I understand that," Bea said quietly.

A long pause held between them and neither one looked at eachother again. Finally, Bea sighed.

"What do we do now?" she asked.

"I don't know," Michelle replied.

"I was really hoping you would," Bea said quietly, almost whispering, her face stained with tears.

It was clear, even if neither wanted to say it, that it was over. That whatever partnership they had had was done for. Michelle briefly entertained the idea of asking to stay on the show, merely as a consultant, but at the same time, hadn't she given enough of her life to this woman at this point? Lexi was offering her something more concrete now. Michelle exhaled and stood up.

"Bea," she said, her hands balled into fists, nails digging into her palms solely to keep her from breaking down, but the only thing left to say was, "...I'm gonna go now."

And with that she exited. Bea stayed there, seated at the table, all the while her thoughts turning to Claire asleep in the bedroom. Bea slowly looked around the apartment at all the things that had become real thanks to Michelle's efforts. The doll. Photos of the parade balloon. The show existing again as a whole. And that's when she realized what she had to do. Michelle was waiting at the end of the hall when the elevator doors opened, and she stepped inside. But just as they started to shut, an arm reached in, stopping them, and there Bea was again.

"What? Did I forget something?" Michelle asked.

"...I always thought," Bea said, "...I always thought that...losing Beatrice would hurt the most. Then I thought that losing Claire would be something I couldn't come back from. Then I thought my mother dying would break me. Then I thought that losing Liam was the worst thing imagineable. Turns out it was none of those things. I already didn't chase after one young woman, and look where she ended up. I know you wouldn't do the same, but I'm...I'm not going to let you leave too. I'm not going to let you become, become disenchanted with everything and recede into nothingness the way that I did. I won't. lose. you. too."

Michelle smiled weakly and finally put her arms around Bea, who happily hugged her back as the elevator doors shut, the both of them inside now, heading to the ground floor.

"I'm sorry," Bea said.

"I know," Michelle said, "and I don't forgive you."

"I know, and you shouldn't," Bea said.

And that was all that had to be said between them to at least return to semi normalcy. Bea was right. Of everyone she'd lost, losing Michelle would be the one she couldn't come back from. Claire had at least returned to her. But Michelle couldn't return if she didn't feel the need to leave in the first place. They needed eachother. After all, it's a dog eat dog world out there.

***

Celia was loading up the dishwasher.

She was tired, it had been a long day. She'd spent the first part of the morning sculpting before moving to painting. After that she went out and ran errands, then went to get groceries before stopping by the gallery for a chat about her upcoming exhibit. So when she saw Michelle's car pull up at the curb outside the house through the kitchen window as she closed the dishwasher door, she couldn't help but feel a little annoyed. After all, she'd already done so much, and now she was expected to be social just a little while longer?

"Mom?" Michelle asked as she entered through the front door, the sound of it thudding closed behind her echoing throughout the foyer.

"I'm in the kitchen dear," Celia said.

Celia wiped her hands onto a dish rag and turned to see Michelle stop in the doorway.

"You look exhausted," Celia said, actually sounding somewhat genuinely concerned, "are you okay?"

"I've had a rough few weeks," Michelle said.

"Surprised you're here, you almost never come to see me voluntarily. I'm often the one who has to reach out."

Celia tossed the dish rag back onto the counter and walked past Michelle towards the living room, Michelle hot on her heels.

"My friends daughter came back into her life," Michelle said, "she'd given her up when she was a little girl because it wasn't right for her career. She regretted it every single minute since. And now her daughter is back, and it's got me thinking about you and me, and our relationship."

"Woman did what she had to to secure her place in the world," Celia said, "nothing wrong with that."

"...there's nothing wrong with that?" Michelle asked, arms crossed, brows raised, "I literally just told you how much she regretted it."

"People have trouble separating their emotions from their needs," Celia said, "This woman wanted a career, and giving up her child was the sacrifice she had to endure to do so. There's no shame in putting yourself first sometimes. It takes a strong person to do that, and she sounds like a strong person."

"She's an artist, like you," Michelle said softly.

"Well then she's definitely a strong person," Celia said, chuckling.

A long pause, and Michelle bit her lip.

"You know that being an artist doesn't inherently entitle you to greatness right? Greatness is earned, like anything else. Respect is earned, not automatically given. The whole 'treat others the way you want to be treated' schtick? Just because you make art doesn't mean you're smarter, or stronger, or anything. All you're doing is stepping down on those around you while claiming to create things that promise them beauty but instead show disrespect to their personhood because oh, you made this, so you're clearly better than them, smarter than them, can see the world more clearly or whatever pseudo intellectual bullshit artists like to spout off to make themselves feel less inferior. So you can paint a landscape? You can't run a cash register, Art is a skill like anything else. You aren't given a gift from god, you simply chose to dump all your efforts into one category as opposed to spreading them across multiple things to be more well rounded. You're not an artist, mom. You're a narcissist. The two are often interchangable, but in your case, one reigns supreme over the other. She hated herself for that decision for the rest of her life without her daughter. But you-"

"Yes, I'd gladly have done it myself," Celia said, taking Michelle by surprise; Celia chuckled, "oh, come on, don't be so shocked, that had to be where you were going right? Listen, Michelle, sweetheart, children are difficult, and especially so when they're as sick as you were, requiring constant attention and medical needs. Strained my career, my marriage - not that that was ever in a good place but still - and so much more. So yes, I'd have given you up if he'd let me, but he wouldn't."

Michelle couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"You...you would've...given me away? Without any remorse?"

"I never said there'd be no remorse. I'm sure I would've felt a slight pang of motherly guilt, but that's the thing, Michelle, I can easily compartmentalize those things and move on. I don't let things like guilt or sadness consume me. I could've moved to France, you know I always wanted to live in Paris."

"Dad wouldn't let you do that? So you talked about it?"

"Of course we did," Celia replied, "he was very firm on that. And then of course he goes and walks out on us, so apparently not as firm as he thought he was. It was okay for him to leave, but not for me to give you away. Hypocrite."

"You're a monster," Michelle whispered.

"Excuse me?"

"You're not just a bad mom, you're a monster," Michelle repeated, "You...you have no compassion for anyone else in the world, even your own child. I came from you. I'm a part of you. And all you've ever done is tell me what a burden I was, and how much harder your life has been simply because I exist. Well you know what, it's a two way street. My life hasn't been a fucking picnic either, mostly because of you. You're not a mother. You're not even an artist. You're just...a person."

Celia snapped. She felt her heart begin to race and her eyes narrowed as she glared at her daughter.

"He left because of you, you know," Celia said.

"...did you even love him?" Michelle asked, "are you even capable of loving someone other than yourself?"

"I did so much for you. I gave up my career-"

"Yeah, and constantly reminded me of it. Do you have any idea what it's like to be told that as a child? What that does to a person?" Michelle asked, tearing up, choking back tears, "no wonder I looked to a kids show for comfort and guidance, because I sure as shit wasn't gettin' it at home!"

"Well," Celia said, "maybe if you had deserved it..."

That broke her. Michelle ran at her mother and slammed her against the wall, taking Celia completely by surprise. Celia tried to push back, but Michelle had her pinned, screaming loudly as she dug her nails into her mothers arms, just pulling her off and then pushing her back against the wall. Celia finally looked to her side and grabbed a nearby flower vase, smashing it against Michelle's head. Michelle screamed and backed off as Celia approached her, now holding an umbrella she'd snatched from a metal holder nearby. Michelle, in response, quickly grabbed a throw pillow from the couch and held it up in front of her as Celia swung.

"You ruined my life!" Celia screamed.

"You ruined your own fucking life, I didn't ask to be born! You never should've procreated!" Michelle retorted. When the umbrella slammed into the pillow for the third time, Michelle reached out and grabbed it, then, using her knees, pushed her mother towards the couch where she tumbled over the back of it and rolled off into the coffee table. Michelle dropped both items and backed away as her mother slowly rose from the ground.

"You ruined his life too," Celia said, and that stung Michelle deep; she continued, "if he cared about you, wouldn't he have come back? Wouldn't he have talked to you in some manner? Everyone you come into contact with you hurt, because you're broken. Your father didn't want you, and I didn't want you, but unlike him I at least have the decency to respect societal expectations and stay. I stayed goddammit."

A pause as they both tried to catch their respective breaths.

"You expect, what? Pity?" Michelle asked.

"He did try to come back," Celia said, and this caught Michelle completely off guard.

"Wh-what?" she asked, her lip trembling.

"He tried to come back. I wouldn't let him. He wanted to see you, but I wouldn't let him. I figured he'd just leave and hurt us all over again anyway so why give him that power. And after that, he never returned, never even tried to get into contact with us. But I was still here, and yet I'm who you hate."

Michelle was panting, leaning against the wall, across the room from her mother who was knelt over, trying to catch her breath. The living room was, to put it politely, demolished; their respective hair was a fright, both sweating to death from physical activity. Michelle glared at her mother, who backed up against the nearby couch and grabbed the top of it, in an attempt to steady herself. Neither one spoke, barely brave enough to breath, their eyes locked.

"How could you do this to me," Michelle whispered, "my whole life, all I ever wanted...and you knew this whole time, and you just...didn't say anything."

"What good would it have done?" Celia asked, "made us hate eachother a little less? Made you trust me a little more?"

"...I never hated you," Michelle whispered, her eyes wet with tears.

"Yeah, well...I hate you," Celia replied, causing Michelle's eyes to widen, her lip trembling. Celia finally stood up straight and ran her hands through her hair, exhaling as she added, "you took away all my chances at the life I wanted to have. Everything I could've been...could've done...and having you killed all of that."

Michelle wanted to feel pain. She wanted to feel hurt by these words. But...for the first time in her life, she actually felt nothing by her mothers cruel admissions. A lifetime of disappointment and deceit had finally decayed her heart enough to where she couldn't be harmed any further. A super power, or a fatal flaw? Who knew. She just knew that it was nice to finally not relinquish emotional control to someone like her.

"...you're a terrible mother," Michelle said, making Celia laugh anxiously.

"You think I don't know that? You think telling me I put in the bare minimum is some kinda 'gotcha' and will make me feel bad? I've acknowledge it myself," Celia said.

"...but, maybe worse, is that you're a terrible artist," Michelle said, and that got her mothers attention; Michelle started to laugh, "like, you made two things in life, me and your art, and both turned out awful. That's a reflection on the failure that is yourself, considering both are an extension of you. The only reason you're even remotely successful is because you've been entrenched in that world for so long that you've become impossible to ignore, but guess what, success doesn't equate to quality."

The two stared at one another, and Michelle knew she'd finally hit her mother right where it really hurt.

"I've achieved more by sheer accident in the same industry than you ever did through countless years of effort," Michelle continued, "you're not just a bad artist, you're a worse artist than your own daughter, who you didn't want who had no formal training or interest in the field. I want you to think about that."

With that, Michelle turned and walked out the front door.

***

Keagan was in the studio, shutting things down for the evening, ready to head home and have dinner. She stretched, yawned and stood up. She pulled her headphones off and set them down on the console, then gathered her things and exited, locking the door behind her. Keagan headed out to the parking lot, happy with herself for yet another productive day. She reached her car, pulled her keys out and slid the car key into the hole and tugged the door open before she heard the sound of someone sniffling. Keagan stopped and turned, looking at the car parked beside her, where a battered Michelle stood.

"Michelle?" Keagan asked.

"I...I can't get into the building, so I couldn't...find you," Michelle said weakly, her voice heavy, cracking.

"What happened to you?" Keagan asked.

"You're my friend right, you're not gonna leave me?"

"Of course not, you're my friend, yeah, why, what-"

"Keagan, I...why do all the people I want to love me not love me?" Michelle asked.

"I love you," Keagan said, "I mean, not romantically, obviously, but...we wouldn't be here without eachother."

Michelle approached Keagan and hugged her, taking her by surprise but she happily hugged her back.

"It's gonna be okay Michelle," Keagan said, "you're safe. I've got you."

"I need your help," Michelle said, "only you can help me."

"Okay, what do you need?" Keagan asked.

A pause.

"I need you to find my dad," Michelle said.

Michelle stood by the door in The Hole.

She had been let onto the lot by Eliza, while she and Keagan delivered puppets and props to the stage for that afternoons production shoot. Justine was supposed to be there already, to help Michelle, but she was running late. Michelle sighed and checked her watch, then shook her head again. Filming was set to start in an hour, which gave her and Justine only a bit of time to get everything they'd written transferred onto the large cue cards and get them into the hands of someone they trusted. Honestly though...she kind of couldn't believe she was doing this. Sabotaging the very thing she'd worked on and defended so ferociously for so long? It felt surreal. But Bea had put her in an awful position, and she needed to claw back whatever shred of control she could, regardless of how she did so.

The door opened.

Michelle turned to finally see Justine entering. Michelle rolled her eyes as Justine walked in, looking like she at least made the attempt to be well dressed, even if nothing really matched and her hair and makeup were still slipshod. She tossed the cue cards down onto a nearby table and Michelle raised an eyebrow.

"You managed to grab 'em?" she asked.

"That's mostly why I was late, cause walking across this entire lot is a trek. I had to go all the way to Keagan's studio in order to pick them up, she'd left them for us in there," Justine said.

"Well, that's nice at least," Michelle said.

"Got markers?" Justine asked.

"Yeah, I took some from Eliza's workstation in here," Michelle said. Justine took her coat off and tossed it onto a nearby chair as Michelle handed her a marker and, together, they walked to the table to start transcribing the script onto the cue cards. Justine pulled the marker cap off with her teeth, her other hand gripping an iced coffee in a glass bottle, and then spat it onto the table. Michelle glanced her way and asked quietly, "are you sure this is gonna work?"

"It'll work, don't worry," Justine said.

"Who are we even giving them too?" Michelle asked, but Justine didn't answer.

***

"I'm exhausted," Bea said.

She was sitting in Stephanie's office, while Stephanie sipped from a small, crystal, squircle shaped glass with whiskey. Bea was in costume, but the head was sitting on the table by the chair she was currently plopped down into.

"Not sleeping well?" Steph asked.

"The last little while has been so hectic and strange," Beatrice replied, "my daughter showing up, and now Leslie being weird about it all and I...I just don't get how having my child back in my life could be such a detriment to those I love when it's such a boon to myself. Wouldn't they want me to be happy?"

"Are you happy?" Stephanie asked, causing Bea to stop and think; Steph took another sip, scooped up some nuts from the bowl on her desk and dropped them in her mouth before adding, "cause you sure don't seem happy, Bea. You're in my office, commiserating, and when you're not being verbal about it all you're just sort of floating around the lot like someone in mourning."

"I'm happy, yes, just...not about the reception," Bea said.

"Listen, I'm not here to mitigate your emotions," Stephanie said, finally sitting upright and finishing her drink, clunking the glass down on the desktop before adding, "all I'm saying is that while you certainly deserve to celebrate the return of someone you thought you'd never see again, someone you birthed into this world, that joy doesn't evaporate others upset. Put aside Leslie, put aside Justine, put aside Eliza...let's talk about Michelle."

"I don't want to talk about Michelle," Bea said flatly.

"And why is that?"

"Michelle was never my daughter."

"So now that the real thing has come home the stand in can move on? Is that it?" Stephanie asked, and this caused Bea to visibly grimace and shake. Steph was clearly getting under her skin. She stood up and sat on her desk, refilling her glass, asking as she sipped and smacked her lips, "come on Bea, out with it, why would you fire the girl you gave so much to? The girl you gave an organ to, a future to, a partner to, a career to? You two are about as close as you and Liam had been, so why, now, would you-"

"I should've found her," Bea said, her voice so quiet Stephanie had trouble believing she'd even said anything at first. A moment passed as Bea buried her head in her hands, eyes cast to the floor; she went on, voice ever quieter, "...I should've found her, and I didn't. Wouldn't have been hard. Knew enough information to keep mildly up-to-date tabs. But I didn't do it. Figured she either wouldn't remember me, or had such a nice life she wouldn't need me, or that my presence would only complicate things or upset her."

Stephanie crossed her legs as she sat on the desk and continued drinking, Bea's breathing shaky and fractured.

"I just didn't want to interrupt her the way she interrupted us," Bea whispered, and she didn't even have to elaborate. Stephanie understood full well what she meant by this. She swirled her remaining drink in its glass and exhaled through her nose.

"Sounds to me like you're mad at yourself for not doing the thing the girls did for you," Steph said.

"I'm not even mad at them," Bea said, "I'm mad at Claire. She's the one who came looking. All the girls were doing was putting two and two together. But you can't be mad at your own child for wanting a relationship with you, for seeking you out after you gave them up. Last thing I want to do is make her feel as though she's unwelcome - because she isn't - and run away. But no, even that's an excuse I guess. I'm really mad at Liam. He left me here to deal with this all alone."

"Yeah, he was a good right hand man," Steph replied, smirking.

"No, not because he was good help," Bea said, wiping her nose on the costume arm, "because he was her father."

Stephanie almost couldn't even breath upon hearing this sentence. This goddamned year, she swore.

***

Only four or five cue cards remained, and Michelle and Justine were working tirelessly to complete them. Michelle knew they'd have to be handed off any minute now, considering the shoot was coming up, so she was trying to work as fast as possible while still maintaining their readability. She finished one, slid it to the side with the others and wiped her forehead with her arm.

"Did I ever tell you about the day of the crash?" Justine asked, and Michelle shrugged.

"Kinda, I mean, you talked about the crash, the aftermath, distancing yourself from your mom, that kind of stuff," Michelle said.

"No, not the crash proper, just the day of it, leading up to it," Justine said, "Peter and I, we got up five hours early so we could have a nice breakfast at home, make sure we were prepared. Airport wasn't a far drive, and yeah, it was a busy time of year to travel, but we figured we'd be fine. So we arrive, we check our luggage, and then we go through security and everything before we go sit in the waiting area, you know?"

"Not really, never been on a plane," Michelle said, and this caused Justine to pause and look up.

"WHAT?" she asked loudly, grinning, "oh, it's...there's nothing else like it, honestly. It's such a freeing feeling being so far away from everything else, in a place you aren't supposed to be. You don't even feel like an intruder, it's just...it's the closest thing to being in a dreamspace that we can possibly achieve while being awake. Well, and being sober."

The two laughed as they moved onto the last three cards. Justine cleared her throat and continued.

"Anyway," she went on, "we're sitting there, we're reading, we're chatting, we get some food. And then, we get called up to the gate, and the woman there tells us that somehow they messed up our tickets and that they'd booked us on a flight tomorrow, same seats, same plane, just a day later. But then she goes on to clarify that, hey, the seats you booked are technically empty on todays flight, we can bump you up."

"Didn't know they could do that," Michelle said.

"I think they can't, she was just trying to make up for it, cause it would make the airline look good," Justine said, shrugging, "either way, we talked it over for a minute, and ultimately I decided we should just take that option, get bumped up, and still get out today. After all our luggage was already checked in, so. So we boarded the plane, sat in our seats, and crashed."

Michelle stopped what she was doing and looked up, Justine hyped focused on finishing her final cue card.

"...so...if you'd just waited one day..." Michelle said, and Justine nodded, tears rolling down her face.

"Yeah," she said, "if we'd just waited one day. But he let me make the decision, and that decision got him killed. I miss Peter so much, every single day, and it is my fault that we were on there. We had the option not to be but I made the choice to do so. He is dead because of me. And every day I wake up and I expect him to be in bed or getting out of the shower. I expect him to come home from work. I expect the front door to open and he walks in and he tells me about his day and we go out to dinner. But that isn't reality anymore. The reality is Peter is dead, and I killed him, and I have to live with that guilt forever. Bea did the same thing to Casey. And she needs to remember she has to live with it, Claire isn't the first little girl she abandoned, and Casey won't be the last, if someone doesn't show her that her actions have consequences."

Michelle nodded slowly as she watched Justine finish the card then wipe her eyes on her arm. Michelle finished hers and they gathered them all together. Michelle didn't know who would be holding these, but she knew one thing, that was that what they'd written got their message across loud and clear. And Justine was right. For someone so pious in their belief about caring for the disadvantaged, Beatrice had openly practiced the opposite time and time again. It was time for the woman, not the dog, to be reminded of her power.

"Let's take these to the stage," Justine said, checking her watch, "they should be starting soon."

***

Beatrice was standing by the service table, snacking, as everyone set up around her. Stephanie was standing beside her, leaning against the table, arms crossed. Bea picked up another cheese cracker and bit into it the way a chipmunk nibbles on an acord. Steph glanced over and shook her head as Bea finished, then turned around to face the stage, the crew, the cast.

"I remember bringing Claire to a shoot," Bea said, "she probably doesn't remember it, she was barely 3, but we brought her. I held her on my hip and I told her 'look, look what mommy does for a living' and she babbled excitedly. I made Beatrice for me. But really Beatrice is for her. It's for every little girl whose parents didn't love them enough."

"Bold of you to actually include yourself in that statement given your recent actions," Steph said, scoffing.

"I'm not an idiot, Stephanie, I can recognize my faults and my failings and my fuckups," Bea said.

"Well worded trifecta," Steph replied, the both of them smirking.

"-it just hurts," Bea continued, "to know that, in reality, I'm actually as bad as some of the parents I criticize. I guess I sort of thought that Michelle was a way to redeem myself of those regrets. Here was another girl, a girl who'd loved what I made with such burning intensity as a child that it helped her get better, who adored me. I could give to her the things I couldn't give to Claire, because Claire had been there at the wrong time. In actuality, we never should've had a child. That sounds harsh, like I don't love my daughter, and that isn't the case, but..."

She paused, Stephanie tapping her foot, one eyebrow arched as she awaited the rest of this thought.

"...I just don't think the world needs more of me," Bea finally said, her voice weak, shaky, "I've done enough damage as it is, the last thing I need to do is create another version of me to keep that going. So I created art, instead. But Liam, and myself...we didn't know who we were when we were doing what we did, that was why we did it. Society made us feel as though we couldn't be anything else other than what they expect men and women to be, so we tried. Claire isn't the output of love, she's the output of trying to be anyone other than ourselves."

"...that's really fucking sad, Bea," Stephanie said, shaking her head, "I won't even stand here and pretend like it ain't, cause it is. But I don't think I agree. You and Liam may not have loved one another in the way a heterosexual couple would, but...you obviously loved one another on some strange, cosmic level. You two were more devoted to eachother as queer people than any straight married couple I've ever met. That has to count for something. So maybe, instead of seeing your own daughter as an extension of your worst self, borne out of trying to escape, see her as a person, just...a singular person, who exists, who loves you, because you brought her into the world. She came looking for you, Bea. Remember that."

With that, Stephanie turned and left. Bea thought on her words for a bit before turning herself and starting to head to the stage, bumping into Michelle, her eyes widening.

"What are you doing here? Who let you in?" Bea asked firmly.

"...I really thought you might be happy to see me," Michelle said, "I've lived in your shadow for so long that I forgot to cast my own. I was going to try and talk to you, but clearly your biggest interest is simply being annoyed at my presence."

"Michelle, I did what I did out of anger in the moment, and then I let that anger not subside, and I am sorry, but-"

"You would have none of this without me," Michelle said sternly through gritted teeth, her blood beginning to boil, "without Keagan. We built you this goddamn empire and it still wasn't enough. I don't think you're capable of being happy or satisfied, and not because you couldn't be, but because you don't want to be. You want to be this tortured artist trapped in the dwellings of her own pain and internalized grief, but you're just not that fucking interesting, Bea. You're really not. I tracked you down. I brought you out. I showed you what I built in your name. I helped you bring all of this to fruition. My anger isn't with Claire. She's like me, she just wanted her fucking mom."

Michelle and Bea stared at one another, each of them feeling their hearts breaking but unable to stop the split that was happening.

"I'm sorry," Bea whispered, "I...I'm sorry. You're right. I've preached for so long about being there, and helping, and being loved by those you trust to love you, and then I turned around and did the exact opposite. You're right. I should always do what Beatrice believes because-"

"You're not Beatrice Beagle," Michelle said, glaring at Bea, until her eyes softened and, with an exhausted sigh she added, "...you just play Beatrice Beagle."

"And you're not my daughter," Bea said, taking Michelle by surprise, "...but that didn't stop us from pretending you were. I have to get on stage."

Bea walked past Michelle, heading to the shoot. Michelle couldn't hear anything around her. All of this. All of it. Everything. It had come to this? THIS? This was the outcome of all their hard work and passion and partnership? She knew there were people talking around her, but their voices were blurred like images through wet glass. She couldn't come out of this stupor. At least not until Justine walked up and shook her arm.

"I found someone," Justine said, "I'm gonna pay her, she doesn't want this job anyway, and so I'm gonna give her the cards and she's gonna-"

"No," Michelle said, grabbing the cue cards from Justine and turning to her.

"Michelle, what are you-"

"I do this," Michelle said under her breath, "give me a pen."

Bea was on stage, the lights were set, the camera was rolling. She walked out from behind the doghouse, in full costume, and she yawned and stretched in character before turning to face the camera.

"These are the best mornings, aren't they? The mornings where the sun is bright, and you just know it's going to be a good day!" Bea said warmly towards the camera, "and what's a good day without good friends? Why, after all, it's friends who get you through the worst days, and only brighten the best, but sometimes friends can make you angry, can't they?"

Bea then realized who was holding the cards. Her eyes scanned upwards and met Michelle's, realizing she was trapped here, forced to read these if she didn't want to make a scene.

"Sometimes...friends can do downright awful things to one another, and sometimes they do it on accident but sometimes they do it on purpose. That's why it's important to forgive them, even if they do it on purpose, because...you still want them to be your friend. Like my friend, Michelle. She's just had a birthday, she's nine years old now, and she wrote in to say that it would mean the world to her if I would visit her for her birthday, but seeing as I cannot do that, I figure the best I can do is say Happy Birthday, Michelle. You are a beautiful, intelligent young lady and I am happy you exist. I hope you have the best birthday you can have, and realize that every day you're here is a special day."

Bea and Michelle stared at one another again, and the entire set was silent, knowing full well this was not the intended script to be followed. Michelle then dropped the cue cards on the floor and walked away.

Eliza was seated in her bedroom, sewing sewing sewing. Nonstop sewing. The machine never ending, the puppet taking form and shape. Emotions surged through Eliza in ways she'd never felt, and never wanted to feel again. So she sewed. She sewed each stitch, each seam, each tassle and button and bit of clothe. And when it was finally done, she stood up, and she laid down in bed with what she'd created, this soft, almost identical puppet, and she clung it to her chest as she shut her eyes, and she whispered

"I missed you."

Because that was what Eliza did. She recreated the loss in a physical form. What had been taken from her she'd clawed back to reality, and though it made her father uncomfortable, and though she knew it wasn't exactly the right thing to do, the best way to handle stuff or go about processing things...it made her happy in the interim, and that was what truly mattered. It may have been a facsimile, but it was her mother nonetheless. Long after she'd been buried, Eliza had brought her back, and she could tell her she was sorry. She was sorry the last thing they'd ever done together was argue. She was sorry she had died.

But now, sitting here in The Hole with the Liam puppet, she didn't have anything to say to it. She didn't have any real reason for him to be here. They'd been friends, associates really, but they had no unfinished business. Still, it was nice to have his familiar face. She checked her watch. Almost 3pm. She needed to go. She gathered her backpack and she grabbed Liam off the table and she put her arm in him before lifting him to her face, making him speak.

"Where exactly are we headed?" she made him ask.

"Somewhere safe," she replied, "Somewhere...that can't take you away again."

And then she headed out.

***

"Do you not have anything going on today?" Keagan asked as she grabbed her car keys from the table, "and if not, you wanna come with me to work?"

Lexi shook her head, nary a word passing her lips. Keagan sighed and sat on the arm of the couch, reaching out and touching Lexi's bare leg. She was wearing an oversized shirt and a pair of gym shorts. This once well put together, ambitious, fashion forward girl she'd fallen for had devolved into somebody who didn't care about anything, much less her appearance. It hurt Keagan to watch her dwindle away like this.

"I'd like it if you came," Keagan said, "you can sit with me in the studio all day, just hang out."

"I won't be any fun," Lexi said flatly, her voice dry as desert air.

"Alright, well...I won't be home late, and we can order in okay? Whatever you want," Keagan said. Lexi shrugged, and Keagan left the house. Lexi rolled onto her side and stared at the fabric of the couch back, just breathing, existing, being. Her thoughts, once more, turned to her father. She didn't want to think about him, but he dominated her consciousness. Or, moreso, his absence did, because it was something that felt so impossible. So she did the only sensible thing she could think of....she took a nap.

When Lexi woke a few hours later, now on her back and staring upright at the overhead ceiling fan, she realized she was thirsty. Her mouth was dry. She smacked her tongue against her lips and then pulled herself up by the head of the couch, groaning as she did. To expend any kind of energy seemed to exhaust her these days, which she realized was likely a sign of severe clinical depression, but she chose to ignore it. Lemon lime soda was far more preferable right now than antidepressant treatments. Lexi walked to the kitchen and grabbed a cold can from the fridge, popped the top and guzzled it in almost one go before her doorbell started to ring. She glanced, confusingly, towards the front room, wondering who could possibly be bothering her right now. She walked, nearly empty can still in hand, to the front door and tugged it open, only to find a young woman standing there, looking disheveled, staring straight down at the porch. She appeared to be in her mid teens, wearing baggy clothes, long jet black shimmering hair covering her face.

"Uh..." Lexi started, "can I...help you, at all, or?"

"Hi," the young girl said, "my name is Amanda Briar Peterson, I'm 15 years old and I live on Northeast 81st Street, and I go to Richmond High, where I am a freshman."

Lexi continued staring, now all the more confused by this bizarre turn of events. She shook her head, finished her can and placed the empty aluminum container on the nearby table before turning her attention back to the girl.

"Okay, well, I appreciate the life story, but what can I do for-"

"I think my dad killed your dad," the girl suddenly blurted out. She still wasn't looking up, but Lexi couldn't take her eyes off the girl now. After a few moments, letting the gravity of what she'd just been told settle in, Lexi stepped aside and offered the girl entrance into the house. Amanda nodded without looking up, simply giving visual acknowledgement to Lexi's welcome, and walked past her as Lexi shut the front door.

***

Keagan opened the door to the studio and then shut it behind her, sighing as she dumped her bag onto the floor by her chair before heading to the small coffee cart Stephanie had set up for them. She made herself a coffee, then settled into the chair in front of the board to get to work preparing for radio show that evening. She raised the mug to her lips and took a long sip, closing her eyes and smiling as she did. Suddenly the door opened and Justine entered. Keagan turned in her chair and stared at her, confused as to what she was even doing here.

"How do you have access?" Keagan blurted out, "wait, that...that sounded accusatory, like I don't want to see you, and that's not the case, I'm more just curious cause-"

"Bea gave me a key card a bit ago because we're working on a book together, but that's beside the point," Justine said, approaching, dragging behind her a nearby metal chair and sitting down on it in front of Keagan, asking, "I'm actually here to talk to you specifically."

"Well that's a first," Keagan said, "what can I do for you?"

"You can help me piss of Beatrice," Justine said, "unless you like what she did to Michelle."

Keagan slowly nodded, listening. She hadn't been vocal about it, especially not outwardly so, but internally she had been fuming. After all both she and Michelle had done for Bea, she had had the gall to fire Michelle? None of this would even exist without their combined efforts, and she thought that line of action was okay? Yeah. Needless to say it didn't sit right with her. But what could she do? Endanger her own career? She cared for Michelle deeply, they were a team, but they needed the job.

"And how do you propose I do that?" Keagan asked.

"You have access to the communications stuff," Justine said, "I have a keycard so we can get on the soundstage, but we need you to be the final piece of this puzzle. All you need to do...is feed a different script into the teleprompter during the next production shoot. Think you can do that?"

Keagan crossed her legs, feeling anxious but also happy to be asked to be part of a push back. She'd always believed strongly and firmly in the concept of protesting. She ran a hand up into her bushy hair and nodded slowly, thinking about it, taking in Justine's request.

"If I can help get Michelle reinstated, show Beatrice how absolutely out of line she was, especially considering what we brought to her...yeah, I'd say that's worth doing. Why'd you come to me though?" Keagan asked.

"Well, I admit that first went to The Hole to see Eliza cause she's working with me on the book too, but she wasn't there. Left a note saying she'd be getting a slice. Not sure what the hell that meant though. Guess she went for pizza for lunch."

Keagan bit her lip.

"I need to make a phone call," she said.

Keagan took her cell and stood up, then stepped out into the hallway outside the studio, shutting the door behind her. The phone rang twice before Michelle picked up, and when Keagan told her what Justine had just told her, about Eliza not being at The Hole, or at work at all, Michelle was out the door, car keys in hand, in seconds. She'd known Eliza had been struggling, but to straight up skip out on work, that simply wasn't like her. After the call ended, Keagan stepped back inside the studio to find Justine admiring the switchboard.

"So," Keagan asked, "how do we rebel?"

***

"He was angry," Amanda said.

Amanda and Lexi were seated in the kitchen at the table, the lighting low. Lexi had gotten them each a piece of cake that she'd baked the other day, during one of her manic fits, and then made some cocoa to boot. Amanda, however, didn't really seem all that interested in the baked goods or the comfort drink.

"He kept talking about how he'd lost money and how we were going to struggle now and that the business had never seemed to be in trouble and he couldn't understand how greedy someone could be, and he blamed it all on your dad," Amanda continued, her run on sentences almost exhausting Lexi, seeing as she never once seemed to stop to take a breath.

"Well, for what it's worth, it wasn't my fathers fault," Lexi said, "he was framed."

"I know that's why it sucks so much that my dad did it, or helped do it, cause your dad wasn't even the reason, wasn't even responsible. My dad turned himself in and now we don't have him anyway and I wanted to apologize because he can't and I don't know if he would and you didn't deserve to lose your dad and I'm sorry."

Lexi bit her lip, thinking about it all. She'd had so much pain inside her since her father had been killed that she'd never really once considered what might have happened to the families of the men who'd taken his life. Now, here was that very proof. This weird, terrified teenage girl, who had sought her out as some sort of emotional payment for her soul, and the forgiveness of her fathers actions. Lexi sighed and scratched her forehead.

"You know, you don't have to apologize, you didn't do anything," Lexi said.

"But he was my dad and-"

"Yeah, and? You're not responsible for his actions," Lexi said, "you're just a kid, Amanda. I'm sorry you were put into this position."

And as the words left her lips, she realized how much she herself had needed to hear them. Lexi had, after all, been a kid technically when her father had been taken in for his supposed embezzlement charges. She had been in college. But nobody, not a single person, had ever stopped to tell her that she too hadn't been responsible for any of it nor should she have had to pick up the slack thereof as a result of the outcome. Nor had she been told she should never have been put in that position herself. It was at that moment that she felt lighter, she felt like she shouldn't be so hard on herself. What had happened had happened. It had been her fathers life, not hers, and he wouldn't want her to drag herself down as a result of what had occurred to him. She couldn't let Amanda go down the same path she was going down. She finally understood Beatrice in that split second, and why she felt so strongly about protecting, and guiding, kids. Lexi grinned, an idea popping into her head.

"Do you like puppets?" she asked.

***

She knew she'd find her here, and find her here she did.

Eliza was sitting in a booth in the dark, the Liam puppet on the table in front of her. The only lights on in the place were the ones illuminating the arcade games that littered the space, and a half empty pizza box was on the table as well. When Michelle first approached, she did so with the kind of caution one takes when going up to a wild, feral animal. Michelle then softly scooted herself into the opposite side of the booth from Eliza without saying a word. Eliza never even looked up. Michelle took a piece of pizza and started eating, occasionally glancing around as she chewed.

"I wonder who owns these places," she said, "it's amazing they're still open. Wonder how many there are."

"9."

"...you know?" Michelle asked, and Eliza nodded, causing Michelle to smile as she added, "well, guess I shouldn't be surprised, girl as beautiful and smart as you would know everything there is to know."

Her eyes moved from Eliza to the puppet.

"Looks just like him," she said softly.

"I can't let go of anyone," Eliza said.

"...who says you have to?"

"Can't be healthy to cling, right?" Eliza asked, and Michelle took a long breath through her nose.

"Eliza, look at how I clung to Bea, to the show, after all those years. I'm not one to dissuade someone from clinging to things that matter to us. You miss him. We all fucking miss him so much. Do what is necessary for you to get better. You know, when I was in the hospital, when I was a little girl and very sick, I saw this episode of Beatrice and in it she was talking to this Sunflower. I guess, I don't know, Liam wasn't available that day or something so they needed a stand in plant. Probably grabbed some woman from production. Anyway, Beatrice wasn't feeling good on the show, she was sick, and the Sunflower, of course, being the bright and cheerful entity that it was, told Bea that she just needed to take care of herself, be patient and she would get better. Told her that it was worth it to be strong and get healthy. That always stuck with me, cause I was sick, so if this Sunflower was telling Bea she too, who was sick then, could get better, and that it was worthwhile to do so...I don't know, felt kind of like it was talking directly at me. I mean, here I was, this terrified, sick little girl, and my own mother just complained endlessly about the prediciment, and not because she cared but because of what it cost her both in emotional weight as well as in her career, meanwhile my father was getting ready to take off, and it just...it felt nice. It felt nice having someone tell me it was okay to be sick, but that it would also get better."

Michelle finished her pizza slice as she shrugged and put the crust back in the box before wiping her mouth on her shirt sleeve and looked back at Eliza, who was finally making direct eye contact with her. Michelle giggled nervously.

"What?" she asked, "was that weird? I guess I do still relate too much of my life to-"

"That was me," Eliza said.

A stillness surrounded the table. Michelle felt like her brain had just been emptied.

"...what?" she whispered.

"The Sunflower, that was me," Eliza said, "they pulled me on stage. I was the Sunflower."

The women sat across from eachother, simply staring into one anothers eyes. Michelle couldn't believe what she'd been hearing. All her life...she'd gotten better because Beatrice - the dog anyway - had made her feel safe and seen, and this Sunflower had told her it was okay to be the way she was, and now...now that very Sunflower was the woman sitting across from her, the woman she'd fallen in love with, lived with? No. Had to be a mistake of some kind.

"I made that puppet, well, it was one of the first I'd made, and you're right, Liam wasn't available that day, so they needed me," Eliza said, "so they dragged me on stage and ensured I couldn't be seen and...and I...that was me. I'm the one who said that."

"It's you," Michelle whispered.

After a few moments of silence, Michelle got up from her side of the booth slowly and slid into the opposite site beside Eliza, who looked back down at the Liam puppet on the table.

"He would want me to heed my own advice, wouldn't he?" she asked, and Michelle put a hand on hers in her lap, gently rubbing it, not saying a word and instead allowing Eliza to suss out the situation for herself; she sniffled, continuing with, "I'm scared of losing you too. First Casey, then him, back to back...what if you're next. It's scary to love because it means loss is what follows eventually. I can't lose you."

"You're not gonna lose me," Michelle said softly, smiling sweetly, "I'm here, I'm healthy, healthier than I've ever been, and-"

"I can't lose you because you made me better. I made you better and you make me better and we saved eachother, and the accident made me...different, and my brain doesn't work the way it should anymore, and...and I feel so out of place around everyone, even Bea, but...not with you," Eliza continued, interrupting, catching Michelle off guard with her sincerity and the hurt in her voice; they locked eyes now, as Eliza added, "when I'm with you, I'm not out of place, I'm just...in the right place. You make it okay to be me. I don't wanna lose that. I don't wanna go back."

Michelle put her free hand gently behind Eliza's neck and leaned in, kissing her, Eliza happily kissing her back.

"Don't worry baby," Michelle whispered, resting their foreheads together, "you'll never have to."

Michelle couldn't help but remember what Delores had said to her the other day. How much of her identity was entangled with Beatrice, the show, and how she basically didn't know who she was outside of that. But she did know one thing...and that was that whoever she wound up discovering who she was, whatever it was she wound up realizing she wanted to do, Eliza would be there with her through it all. Maybe in an ironic twist, she was realizing, being fired was the greatest gift Bea could've given her after all.

"This is..." Delores said, but she couldn't even finish the thought. She set the script down on her lap and looked at Justine and Michelle seated across from her in the living room. She shook her head and sighed.

"Well that certainly isn't a hopeful reaction," Michelle said.

"It shouldn't be," Delores replied, "don't get me wrong, it's well written, it's strong, it makes a point, but it also feels...harsh, in a way that doesn't feel earned. It feels just plain aggressive."

Michelle nodded, taking her words in and thinking on them while Justine finished drinking the coffee that Delores had made for them. She then set the now empty mug onto the table beside the couch and exhaled, putting her hands on her knees. She hadn't been this sober in a good while, and it felt strange, seeing the world a lot brighter than she had in a bit.

"It's supposed to be aggressive," Justine said.

"I understand that, and there isn't something inherently wrong with aggression, but aggression for the sake of aggression is, more often than not, not as impactful as well meaning aggression."

"Well meaning aggression?" Justine asked, echoing her words, smirking and scoffing.

"Yes, you know what I mean; aggression where it's a necessity to prove a point or make a difference, rather than just for your own benefit or release of anger. And I'm not speaking about violence, for the record, I just mean emotional aggression. This is...well, this isn't emotional aggression."

Michelle nodded, taking in every word and thinking of it, while Justine leaned back into the couch and crossed her legs.

"Sometimes someone needs something with a bit more aggression than just a harsh tone," she said coldly, "sometimes you can't get a point across any other way. Again, as you said, not speaking of violence. Just speaking of forcing someone to actually hear words from others when they only ever hear themselves talk."

Delores nodded slowly, before looking from Justine to Michelle.

"Well then I think you're going to get your point across, but just be aware of what it might cost, and if that's worth it, because-"

"She saved me from my mother," Michelle said, sniffling, her eyes starting to wet, "my mother had me trapped, I was completely under her thumb, and Beatrice pulled me out of that. Gave me a future. A job. She saw my effort, and recognized my worth. My mother always put her work ahead of me, her art always was her baby moreso than her baby. Was I recreating the set because it meant something to me, or was I doing it as a way to maybe make my mother finally think we had something in common? It's the only artistic thing I've done."

"Then maybe it's time to do more, and for yourself, not for others," Delores said, leaning forward a bit and smiling warmly, as she always had when speaking with Michelle; she continued, "there is no rule that says you have to be an artist, or stick to doing what you've done. You are not an extension of your mother, or Beatrice's sidekick, you...are Michelle Helms, and you need to decide who she is."

Michelle nodded slowly, her mind expanding at the realization that Delores was right, she'd never once truly confronted who she actually was and what she really wanted to do with her life, herself, and if that was even related to art of any kind. All of this, everything with Beatrice, had just kind of...happened. She'd just gone along with it, and maybe now it was time to finally pull back and figure out who she herself was. Michelle looked back up at Delores, who looked her dead in the eye and smiled. This woman...this woman was the woman who'd really been there for her all along.

Unfortunately for Michelle....Justine was out for blood.

***

Leslie was cleaning up the apartment.

She'd taken a few days off, deciding that she needed a break, and was just staying home, getting things done, doing her hobbies, taking time for herself. Like Bea, she was a workaholic, but unlike Bea, she had interests outside of work that she longed to return to, as well as resenting herself for neglecting important things such as general household chores. The kitchen sink was often filled with dishes, laundry baskets full of unwashed clothes, and that was just the stuff that wasn't general cleaning like vacuuming, dusting and the like. So today Leslie put on podcasts, made herself some coffee and decided it was time to do these things, while taking occasional breaks to pop in on the puzzle they'd been working on in the living room or read a bit of the book she'd been struggling to finish for months now. And it was going well, until Bea came home. The door opened, and Leslie smiled to herself as she finished emptying the dishwasher and pausing her radio show on her phone.

"I was hoping you'd be back soon," Leslie said, "I really feel like going out to dinner tonight. I've been cleaning and being generally productive all day and I could really use a break, so if you-"

But when she turned, she realized Beatrice wasn't alone. There was a young woman standing there with her, looking nervous, uncertain. Beatrice approached Leslie, taking the final dish from her hands and popping it into the overhead cabinet before looking her in the eye.

"Leslie," she said quietly, "this is Claire. She's my daughter."

Leslie felt suckerpunched. She stepped backward, her lower back touching the kitchen counter now. Beatrice turned, still holding Leslie's arms in her hands, and looked back at Claire.

"Honey, this is my partner, Leslie," Beatrice said, and Claire smiled politely.

"Hello," Claire said, her voice fraught with nervousness.

"I..." Leslie started, pulling her arms free of Bea's fingers and reaching back, gripping the countertop firmly, "...uh, hi, hello, Claire, welcome to our home."

Claire continued smiling, but no more discussion filled the room. Beatrice was likely acting too quickly inviting Claire over to meet Leslie without first prepping Leslie for such an event, but...well, she'd spent so much of her life without her daughter, she just was thrilled to have her back, and have her meet the other most important people of her life. Leslie exhaled, and then walked past the both of them, heading into the bedroom. Beatrice whispered an apology to Claire, and followed after her, but as soon as she reached the end of the hall, the bedroom door shut. And then the sound of the lock clicking hit home. Bea stepped back from the door and stared at it momentarily. She may have messed up this time.

"I can go back to Justine's, if my being here makes things difficult for-" Claire said, now standing at the opposite end of the hall.

"No, of course not, that..." Bea said, before approaching her and placing her hands gently on Claire's shoulders, smiling, "...I've spent more of my life without you than with you, and this is my home, and you are my daughter, and I want you here with me."

Bea then glanced over her shoulder at the bedroom door and slowly shook her head, her heart pounding in her chest.

"Just...give her some time," she whispered, "it's a lot to accept."

"Are...are you...telling me that, or...yourself?" Claire asked, and Bea froze on the spot.

She didn't know.

***

Delores had gone to the kitchen for more snacks and drinks, before heading upstairs to the bathroom, leaving Michelle all alone in the living room. After a bit, Michelle exited out onto the front porch, where she found Justine standing there, smoking. She quickly waved away the smoke and coughed, before Michelle smiled and shrugged, indicating she didn't mind, and seated herself on the swinging porch bench.

"She's not wrong, you know, it is really aggressive," Michelle said.

"Sometimes aggressiveness is the only thing certain types of people understand. You have to understand something about Beatrice, and I realize this is going to sound wild coming from someone who has far less history with her personally than you but trust me when I say I know this type of person better than you could because we work in the same creative field, and that is that she's bought into this idea that she's infallible."

"If you actually knew her you'd know that isn't true," Michelle said, "she-"

"No, no, not her as a person. Her as herself," Justine said, and that caused Michelle to screw up her face in a confused look; Justine sighed and took another long drag before adding, "okay look, when you are a creative, like she and I are, and you work in childrens entertainment, you have two versions of yourself. There's you, the one who takes off the mask at the end of the day and lets down the persona and goes home to watch, I don't know, shitty crime dramas or whatever. Then there's you, the one who wears the mask and does the dance and puts on a performance via this public persona. She's spent so long being the second she's come to believe it's who she is, and because the public sees her as this wonderful, perfect person, she too has bought into that belief that she can't be wrong. How could she be wrong? Children love her, parents depend on her, she's a gifted genius in the arts! Any visible threat to that needs to be swiftly shut down. I'm not saying she's acting maliciously, because that would imply she has the intent. This isn't intentional. She's just protecting what she's built, what others have built her into. Do you get it?" Justine asked, and Michelle slowly nodded. Justine put her cigarette out and sat down beside Michelle.

They didn't say anything for a bit. They just sat there on the bench and stared at the street. It was a dense fog that had drifted in, enshrouding the neighborhood in a cozy greyness that didn't feel offputting but instead welcoming. Michelle could hear Justine breathing, clearly struggling to keep herself from panicking.

"I don't...I've never been able to connect with others easily," Justine said quietly, hands on her knees, "ever. For some reason it's always been difficult for me to have friends, let alone romantic partners. I just work on a fundamentally different level, sociologically, psychologically, than most people it seems and that isn't me saying I'm smarter than others or some weird art film loner bullshit. I'm saying it sucks. I want to be able to do those things. But I just can't. My brain works different. So, on the rare occasion that I finally find someone who also works like I do, it's like...it's like finally being seen. It's like when a lonely ghost finally makes contact with the living. It's happened exactly twice, and exactly twice I've lost both."

"You know you don't have to keep it inside," Michelle said, "you can talk to me about the plane crash, you don't-"

"He loved me so much," Justine said, interrupting, her voice cracking, tears starting down her face; she continued, nails digging into her knees now, "he loved me...in ways I didn't know I could be loved, for things I didn't think were capable of being loved. He didn't always understand me, but he loved me nonetheless. And Casey...Casey understood this need to create when you've lost so much. To fill the world with your truth because everyone else refused to see it. And then I lost her too. What is a life when it's only filled with loss?"

Michelle opened her mouth, as if she expected herself to respond, before realizing...she couldn't. She didn't have an answer. Justine had a point, after all. All that she'd ever cared about, the people she truly felt 'got her'...they were all gone, and when you feel that alone to begin with, that kind of loss, the one where you lose the only ones who make you feel found, is insurmountable. She couldn't even fathom it. Michelle sighed and pulled her legs up under her, sitting cross legged on the bench now as it started to swing softly back and forth.

"My dad left when I was really little," Michelle said, "I never even got a reason why. He just...left. And the thing is, a part of me wants to have that quintissential story about how when I was little we had this cute game we played together and losing that hurt but that just isn't true...until I met Keagan and Bea, I also never felt like anyone got me. So...I kind of get it. It should've been my parents, but it wasn't. It was total strangers, ironically, who finally made me not feel alone."

Justine nodded in understanding. She turned her head to look at Michelle, who looked right back at her, square in the eye.

"Then help me make her see that you already didn't have people who loved you, and how much losing someone who swore they did hurts," Justine said, "just...help me, Michelle, please."

Michelle looked back out across the street and saw a woman walking with their small son and she smiled. Justine was right. Beatrice needed to be held accountable, and recognize that, at some point in the process, she'd lost herself in favor of the version of her that everyone loved, while Michelle had come to love the actual Beatrice. Michelle sighe deeply and looked back at Justine, smirking.

"So," she asked, "...how much do you want it to hurt?"

***

It was 9pm when Beatrice finally regained entrance to the bedroom.

"Figured it was only fair to let you sleep in the bed," Leslie said, sitting cross legged on the bed as she looked through a large book of photos. In the time Bea had been out of the room, she'd cooked dinner, taken a shower, and hung out with Claire until she'd fallen asleep on the couch. Bea now had brought in some leftover dinner for Leslie, who gladly accepted it, being very hungry.

"I know it's a lot all at once," Bea said, almost whispering as she seated herself on the end of the bed, "it was a lot for me too."

"It isn't about it being a lot, Beatrice," Leslie said, "it's about expecting everyone to just...roll with it. For you, it's reconnecting, but for everyone else, it's someone completely new, someone with a deeper connection to you than any of us have, sans perhaps Liam, and now we have to reconcile with the fact that the woman we thought we knew and were the most important to has someone more than that."

"No, Leslie, it isn't like that at all, it-"

"I don't want to fight with you," Leslie said, "but you need to recognize what you did, how you did it, was wrong for everyone else and, lo and behold, Bea, you do actually need to take others into consideration. Look what you did to Michelle. You never told me why you fired her, you just came home and told me you did, and then you still hid your daughter from me until now? This isn't a relationship, it's a dictatorship."

Beatrice's heart groaned, her breathing labored. How could everyone feel so strongly against her in regards to something that was so personal to her?

"...I...I don't...understand," Beatrice said.

"I know," Leslie said, "...that's the fucking problem."

And with that, she put her now empty bowl on the bedside table, closed the book, and shut the light off before laying down on her side, back towards Bea.

***

Justine was sitting in the car as Michelle said goodbye to Delores for the night. She was watching the two of them hug from the passenger seat of the car, wishing she could hug her own mother in that way. But she knew it was for the best. She knew the distance was imperative. Michelle finally opened the driver side door and slid into the seat, turning the car on and pulling away from the curb.

"I don't speak to my parents anymore," Justine said, turning the heater towards her face, "after the crash, they were so insistant on talking to me, because we'd always been close up to that point, but to be close with anyone after that meant the possibility of inevitably enduring their loss as well. Couldn't allow that."

Michelle nodded, listening, not speaking. So Justine continued.

"We talk a lot, in pop culture, about having a parasocial relationship with the people we admire, the creators and artists and influencers and stuff. But nobody ever seems to recognize that you can also have a parasocial relationship with your own parents too. The very people from wence you came, the ones who, theoretically, should understand you better than anyone, can somehow be the most aloof and distant. The most unattainable. Wild."

"Is that how you see what Bea and I have? Parasocial?" Michelle asked.

"She gave you an organ, Michelle, I think the transfership of an internal organ alone eliminates that as a possibility," Justine said, making Michelle chuckle as she added, "I'm just saying that it makes sense why people connect to those people, why children look to childrens show hosts for guidance in a world where so many are often neglected in that guidance firsthand from the people who should be giving it to them. We connect to those we need, and children need that more than anyone. But adoptive agency...it's more than that. It still has to be two way. Otherwise what you have isn't nurturing, it's worshipping."

Michelle nodded slowly. Justine made so much sense, and Michelle herself had never recognized that before.

"Then why should I help you hurt her?" Michelle asked, "because she hurt me first? That doesn't seem fair? I think she feels badly enough about what happened to Casey, and, yeah, she was mean to you about it the last time you guys spoke, but still."

"You don't have to, nor should you, I'm just asking if you will," Justine said, "ultimately the choice is yours and yours alone."

Justine looked back out the window.

"But unlike your folks, and unlike Bea, I'm at least giving that choice. That has to mean something, right?"

Michelle's eyes widened a little. She was right.

And that scared the hell out of her.

Michelle was laying in bed, staring at the wall.

She refused to believe it was real. That the words that had been said had been meant. Bea was angry, scared, confused. She just needed some time off, she was simply letting off steam, and Michelle had caught the brunt of it. Surely she could go back tomorrow and everything would be the same as it always was. But her key card didn't work at the gate when she pulled in the following morning. Nor did it work the next day. Or the next. And it very quickly dawned on Michelle that, yes, in fact, she was fired. Bea had meant every word. So now she spent her days in a nearby cafe, sitting in a booth and drinking coffee, something she'd rarely done before, while she typed away on her laptop.

On the ninth day, Michelle was sitting there, still tapping away on her keyboard when she was finally discovered by Keagan. Keagan sat herself down in the booth across from Michelle, with a poppyseed muffin and a tea, but didn't say a word. Michelle didn't even look up or acknowledge her presence at all whatsoever. Instead she just stayed hyperfocused on her work. So Keagan ate her muffin in peace, until Michelle finally finished furiously typing, and relaxed back the vinyl booth seating.

"At least you're keeping busy," Keagan said, and Michelle stared out the window.

"I went to her apartment after Liam died. I found her crumpled on the floor against the wall crying. I picked her back up and got her back to work," Michelle said, "I did so much for her."

"Why did you tell her Michelle," Keagan said, "I know we agreed that it might come better from you, but that was not the opportune time. Why didn't you wait...or...I don't know, let me run the risk of-"

"Couldn't be you. We wouldn't even be here if it hadn't been for you," Michelle said, finally looking at Keagan, "all I did was digitize tapes. You're the one who found everyone. You're the one who should have had my job all along. Who should've had the relationship with her that I've had."

"I don't know that I wanted it," Keagan said, "I just liked discovering lost media."

"Well, either way, this whole thing only exists today because of your efforts. You need to be there," Michelle said, "I don't need to be anywhere. My mom made that clear. And now so has she."

And with that she went right back to typing, not saying another word the entire time. Keagan ate and drank in silence, watching Michelle, her heart breaking with every keystroke. Somehow, she knew, she had to fix this.

***

"This cake is really good!" Claire said happily as she took another bite, causing Bea to smile.

"Figured the best I could do is start making up for all the birthdays I missed, wasn't able to bake you a cake," Bea said.

"It's not my birthday though," Claire said, mouth full of cake.

"Doesn't have to be," Bea said, chuckling.

Bea and Claire were sitting in Justine's kitchen. Justine was hiding out in her upstairs bathroom, opting to stay as far away from Beatrice as possible whenever she come over to visit Claire. She'd hoped, that with Claire and Bea getting in touch, that perhaps this meant Claire would simply move in with her mother now, and Justine could have the quiet sanctity of her house back, but this wasn't appearing to be the case just yet. She could hear them very muffled through the floor as she lay on the bathroom tile.

"How did you even find me?" Beatrice asked.

"Well," Claire said, finishing chewing and swallowing her sweet treat before brushing hair from her face, "actually, it was surprisingly easy...my parents didn't really hide it from me, exactly. I just knew they weren't my parents. I kept asking. Pushing. They were always kinda cagey about it, but they did finally give in completely, own up to it all, told me what I wanted to know. But I always knew."

Claire put her fork down, wiped her mouth on a napkin and looked at her hands in her lap.

"...I never forgot you," she said softly, and Bea's heart cracked a little; Claire continued, "you think a child doesn't remember things if they're young enough, but I was old enough to remember. I didn't remember your name. I just knew you were 'mom'. But once I saw your face...saw the new show...it was so obvious."

"I'm so sorry," Bea whispered, reaching across the table and holding Claire's hand carefully, rubbing the back with her thumb; she swallowed, eyes wet, and added, "if it's any consolation, it was the single worst moment of my life. Your father and I, though, we...it was...messy. Creative partners. Business partners. Both a beard for eachother. We reached an impasse when we each realized we couldn't continue to be hidden from the world, and needed to be our authentic selves."

"But you weren't," Claire said, "I mean, I read, in the paper, when they saw you kissing your girlfriend at that event. You obviously weren't yourself. So you left me for no reason?"

"No, I..." Bea said, sighing, "um...your father sold the company out from under me to a pizzeria, and after a while it became too commercial, and lost all meaning. The pizzeria was going under as well, and...and I had to walk away. And after that, I realized I'd lost the three things I'd loved more than anything - the show, my daughter, and my best friend - and in my head I thought, well, this is what happens when you love something. It gets taken away from you. So I didn't love again. Not for a very long time."

"What happened then?" Claire asked, "what changed that?"

Bea didn't want to say it. But she knew it was true. It was Michelle. Michelle and her rebuilt basement set. That had reopened Bea's long since locked away heart and made her realize that loving, even loving something that was no longer there, was worth it if it brought you happiness even in its absence.

"I'm just glad you're home," Bea whispered, pulling Claire's hand towards her and planting a small, soft kiss on it.

"I missed you, mom," Claire said, the both of them crying happilty now.

Justine, however, was cold and emotionless. She could hear the crying, knew it was all good vibes, but she felt nothing. Why would she. Why would she ever feel anything for the woman who had, even unintentionally, driven her own creative partner and best friend to the void. Justine sat upright by the toilet and finished off another drink, then she stood up, grabbed her keys from the bathroom counter, and headed downstairs and out the front door to her car. She needed to see Michelle.

***

Michelle was back home, curled up in the recliner in sweatpants and an oversized sweatshirt. She wasn't doing anything, she was simply sitting there, almost motionless, expressionless, as she chewed absentmindedly on her nails. Eliza was at work, and without her, or without work herself, Michelle didn't have anything to do and nobody to distract her. She wanted to go to the studio so badly herself, to go back to working, but she knew that simply wasn't a reality. She needed something to distract her. Something that would keep her busy. She needed a project, like she used to have.

A knock at the door startled Michelle from her absentmindedness, and stirred her back into reality. She stood up and walked to the door, unlocking and pulling it open, only to find Justine, only mildly more sober than usual, standing on her porch.

"...come on in," Michelle said, not even hesitating as she stepped aside to allow her entrance.

"She's in my kitchen," Justine said, "they're both in my kitchen, and here you are, shackled to your loneliness."

"Wow, you really are a writer," Michelle replied, smirking as she walked past Justine and sat back in her chair. Justine paced in front of her.

"Exiled to the fringes, when none of this would have happened without you in the first place," Justine said, seemingly ignoring Michelle's good natured pithy comment; she continued, running her hands up into her hair anxiously, "she has a public facing persona that has no basis in reality."

"That isn't true, she really is good," Michelle said quietly, now pulling her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them and reting her chin on her knees, "she gave me a lung. She saved my life. I would still be living in my mothers rental home with nothing going for me if not for her."

"No, you wouldn't, and you know why I know that? Because you built that set. You did that without ever knowing her, without ever knowing she would see it or what it would lead to, meaning you do it for the love of the artistry, showcasing your skill and talent, proving that, if given the right opportunity, you were capable of more than everyone was telling you you were capable of."

Justine dropped to the floor in front of the chair and grabbed the armrests with her hands, clenching tightly, her nails digging into the soft foam.

"Do not let her discount what you started simply because she co-opted your involvement as a springboard for her own comeback," Justine said sternly, and Michelle nodded slowly, her eyes widening as Justines words hit hard and fast. She was...right. Without both Michelle and Keagan, Beatrice was the one who would still be living in the shadows, living her life in the doldrums of times gone by; she would have none of this success, this money or newfound fame, and she certainly never would have seen her daughter again.

"What do I do?" Michelle asked, sounding on the verge of tears as she wiped her nose on her sweatshirt sleeve.

"...you write me a script," Justine said.

***

"You know, you look just how I pictured you," Bea said, "It's really remarkable. I mean, I guess in a way I had some idea of how you'd turn out, since I did have you for a number of years, but...you look exactly like what I thought you might."

"I wish you'd been there," Claire said, "for all the things I did. All the stuff I experienced."

"Like what, tell me about them, tell me about your accomplishments," Bea said, crossing her arms on the table and smiling, listening.

"Oh, no, there's no accomplishments," Claire said, chuckling, tucking hair behind her ear, "no no, nothing like that. But just, I mean...how I turned out, the stuff I went through, you know, like, growing up. Not that she was a bad mom or anything, she was great, but...it just...she wasn't you."

Beatrice furrowed her brow and cleared her throat.

"...what do you mean there's no accomplishments?" she asked.

"I mean there's nothing to talk about. I haven't done anything of note," Claire said, "I went to school, but I dropped out, I couldn't handle it. I've tried doing lots of different things, but none of them have worked, or I didn't like them enough, or I wasn't good at them. I'm not you, despite being yours."

Beatrice nodded slowly, understanding. Claire hadn't done anything with her life thusfar, except find her. Beatrice was hoping she would have stories, tales to tell, but she had nothing. Bea cleared her throat again and sighed.

"When I was your age," she said, "I moved to the city, I started doing one woman shows, that's where I met your father. But the world is different now, I guess, and I shouldn't have expected you to have done the same things I've done, or even been able to, considering how drastically things have changed. The world isn't the same as it was when I was your age. Sometimes it's hard to remember that."

"You just weren't there, so why try hard," Claire said, and this...this statement above all others hit Bea at her core.

She'd spent a lifetime trying to tell children they were worth something, regardless of the opinions of adults around them. That they could do anything they wanted, be anyone they wanted. And yet the one who needed that most was her own daughter, whom she turned loose. She struggled to not cry, and bit her lip. Claire was starting to seem like a barely developed person. Thusfar, she'd exhibited absolutely no interests, no hobbies, no ambitions whatsoever. Her only goal, really, it seemed, was finding Beatrice. Bea finally exhaled, gathering her nerve back, and smiled sweetly.

"How would you like to help me with what I do?" Beatrice asked.

"Really? What could I do though?" Claire asked.

"I don't know, we'll have to check out your talents, skills, but personally, I've always been of the belief that you can do anything you want, if you just believe you ultimately can. Now, there's the obvious issue with this sentiment, which is that, inherently, some people can't do certain things, but there's no shame in that either, because nobody is good at everything. But everyone is good at something. Even just one thing. Let's find your thing, sweetheart, together."

Claire smiled, trying not to cry now herself. All she'd wanted her whole life was to have her real mother by her side, helping her through the world. And yet, within her, she had this horrible nagging reminder that someone close to Beatrice had taken the fall in order for Claire to get what she wanted, and that didn't seem right. The thing is, Beatrice was right, Claire was, in fact, good at something.

And that something, as it would turn out, was being the version of her mother her mother pretended to be.

***

Michelle was sitting on the bed, staring at her laptop screen, as Justine sat beside her. Michelle was furiously typing away, whiled Justine provided input - specifically in regards to wording, phrasing, tone - and it was the first time in a long while either felt like they truly had a purpose again. Meanwhile, Eliza was still at work, in The Hole, sitting at her workbench, loupe over her eye as she added sequins to a puppet with her hot glue gun. She stopped and glanced over to the Liam puppet sitting at the top of the bench. She put the glue gun down, grabbed the puppet and slid it on her arm.

"This isn't right and you know it," the puppet said.

"But what can I do?" Eliza asked.

"You stand up for the woman you love," the puppet replied, "you do what is necessary. Otherwise you are no more complicit in Beatrice's actions than she herself is."

Eliza nodded, then pulled the puppet back off and set it back down. Sometimes she just needed to hear the truth come out of a mouth that wasn't technically her own, even if the words were from her brain. She sighed and spun around in her chair, looking up at the puppet covered ceiling like some kind of felt sistine chapel, and she shook her head. Beatrice had given her this whole life, this job, believed in her work, tracked her down to bring her back, but Michelle...Michelle had given her the kind of love she never thought she would have. That was more worth protecting than her job.

Keagan and Lexi were at the house, Keagan continually beating herself up over what had happened while Lexi attempted, to the best of her abilities, to help her see that it wasn't her fault. And yet, like Eliza, they knew if they let Michelle continue to be fired, they too would be just as bad as Beatrice. Someone had to do something. The facade was cracking. They were starting to see Beatrice in a new light, as a person capable of making mistakes, being selfish, or perhaps even manipulative, even if she didn't know she was. That's the thing. It wasn't malicious, she was simply acting out of human nature.

She'd built her entire identity around being a dog; mans best friend, loyal and understanding, compassionate and always by your side to support you. But she wasn't a dog. She was a human being, full of flaws and quirks and capable of hurting others and screwing up.

And it was time they reminded her of that.

"I feel...like it's my fault," Bea said, "everyone tells me not to feel that way, but I do. I took something that was important to her, something she had, in theory, been doing already for an extended period of time, and I gave it to others. It was a betrayal, and in hindsight, she had every single right to be mad at me about. In turn, I'm mad at Michelle because she told me that Casey, and her emotions, were not my responsibility, but the thing is...they weren't anyones. She had no family. No romantic partner. She had nobody but me. So, if she wasn't my responsibility, whose was she? Her own? No. That's callous. Nobody should be alone."

The therapist nodded, taking it all in as Bea and Leslie sat on the couch together. Ever since Casey had killed herself, the two of them had made it a habit of coming here once a week to try and work through Bea's grief. Thusfar, however, it hadn't really been all that successful and endeavor, sad to say.

"I understand that your entire...schtick, so to speak, is caring about everyone, especially kids who had nobody else to care about them, but-"

"It isn't a goddamn 'schtick'," Bea grumbled, Leslie and the therapist exchanging a glance, indicating the therapist had indeed messed up with that verbiage; they tapped their pen on their clipboard a few times anxiously and quickly course corrected.

"Um, right, I'm sorry, I apologize. But even still, she wasn't a child. She was a grown adult," the therapist said.

"Was she?" Bea asked, "because trauma stunts the developmental process. So, sure, from the outside they may look like adults, but emotionally, psychologically, they're still the terrified little kids they were when the trauma occured. Saying she was a grown adult is only accurate if you're speaking of her physiologically."

Leslie exhaled and took one of Bea's hands in her own, squeezing gently.

"Hey," she said softly, "you cannot save everyone."

"I have to," Bea said, on the verge of totaling losing it, "I have to, cause nobody else will."

Her thoughts turned from Casey to Liam, to their daughter. Every single time she closed her eyes lately, she saw her little girl. She saw the day they left her. She saw the betrayal, front and center. Seemed all she'd done her life was betray little girls. Maybe that was why she'd attached herself so tightly to Michelle, because in a way, she saw a woman who hadn't really had a mother, and so in a sense, Beatrice could make up for her past mistakes.

"Does Michelle know about this?" the therapist asked and Bea scoffed, chuckling, shaking her head.

"We've barely spoken since the incident. We spoke at the speech, but that was about it. Since then I've kind of kept my distance, which I'm sure has hurt her but...it's better this way, cause I know...I know that the next time I see her face..." Bea stumbled for words, biting her lip, "...will be the last time I see her face."

***

Michelle was standing outside The Hole.

The lot was busy, bustling, preparing for the next shoot, but Michelle wasn't involving herself, opting instead to stand outside The Hole and simply stare at a nearby billboard featuring Bea's face. She was chewing gum as she stared at the billboard, featuring Bea, Liam's character and a few other puppets, advertising the show, and she shook her head as the doors to The Hole opened and Eliza stepped outside.

"Did you wanna come back in?" Eliza asked, wrapping her arms around Michelle's waist from behind, hugging her, "it's cold, and I could make you warm."

"I don't even think being here is good for me," Michelle said.

"Was it Keagan?"

"I mean it's not her fault someone sought her out as a line to Bea," Michelle said, shrugging, "that's what Keagan does, she...she finds things. That's how this all started. I can't blame her, she's my friend, and she's an unwilling participant. No. It's Bea's fault. It's Bea's fucking fault for doing this in the first place, for creating this landmine that was set to detonate at a later point in time, taking out everyone around her with it."

Eliza pulled away and looked at the Liam puppet under her arm, before sliding it back onto her arm and raising it up, standing in front of Michelle now.

"Don't be mad at her," Eliza said, pretending the puppet was talking, making Michelle smile softly, "she was young, she didn't mean to. You can't blame someone for something they didn't mean to do. Ask Eliza, she would know."

Michelle's eyes moved from the puppet up to Eliza's face, her eyes now cast to the ground, making Michelle slightly nervous. Was Eliza using this puppet as a way to work through things, or was this a subconscious thing she wasn't aware she was doing, thinking this puppet was actually Liam? Her heart ached at the idea of the second being true.

"He's right," Eliza said quietly, still looking at her shoes, "it isn't her fault. And even if it were, it's only partially, cause there's still the dad to blame, whoever he ends up being, if it even matters. But he's right."

Michelle pushed the puppet down a bit and took Eliza's soft face in her hands, pulling her in close and kissing her softly. Eliza blushed and gave in, her knees buckling as she leaned into it, so happily kissing Michelle back. Michelle and Eliza rested their foreheads against one another, both trying not to giggle uncontrollably.

"You make me feel so grounded in a world of uncertainty," Michelle said.

"And you make me feel like there's more to me than my work," Eliza replied.

"I love you, baby," Michelle whispered.

"I love you too," Eliza said, before holding the Liam puppet back up and adding, "and I love you both!" making Michelle cackle. Just then a car came screeching to a halt in the lot, almost doing a donut as it stopped, causing Michelle and Eliza to look up, surprised by the sudden noise and arrival. The car idled momentarily before turning off and the door opening, Justine stumbling out. She was wearing a pleated grey pencil skirt, a blue button down blouse with a cream colored houndstooth cardigan over it, her hair looking as though she'd at least tried to make it into a bun but had done so sloppily. She stood and stared at the girls over the roof of her car.

"Justine?" Michelle asked, "what are you doing here?"

Justine turned and looked up at the billboard, then pointed at it.

"Fuck that dog!" she shouted, making Michelle laugh nervously to herself.

***

"I don't know what to do," Leslie said, sounding exhausted, as she sank back into the couch. Bea had retreated to the restroom momentarily, leaving the therapist and Leslie alone. The therapist nodded, bouncing their knee as Leslie continued, adding, "I've...I feel, like, fuck, I've done all I can at this point, and it's absolutely killling me to watch this and what the guilt is doing to her."

"Until she accepts it wasn't her fault she won't move forward, it's simple as that," the therapist said.

"I don't think she can," Leslie said, "I genuinely...knowing her intimately, loving her, I don't think she's capable of allowing herself that grace. She's too harsh on herself."

The door opened and Bea quietly slipped back inside, shutting it gently behind herself. She then seated herself back on the couch beside Leslie, who leaned in and planted a small kiss on her cheek, making Bea smile and blush, just a little.

"Beatrice," the therapist said, "you grew up with a good family. Great parents. Where do you think this need to be a mother to every little girl comes from?"

Bea knew the answer, but admitting to it would forever change her relationship with Leslie, as well as Leslie's perception of her as a whole. No. She couldn't have that. She wouldn't. Bea shook her head and shrugged. Perpetuate the lie to keep the peace. That had always been their plan. Now, with Liam gone, the responsibility fell to her and her alone, even if it meant isolating the ones she loved around her further.

"It can't just be related to the show, to the morals you want to express," the therapist said, "because it obviously runs so deep in your soul, or else you wouldn't be feeling this way and doing it to such a degree offscreen. I'm just...I'm trying to figure out the source. Help me, Bea, so I can help you, and we can help eachother."

"There's nothing to figure out," Bea whispered, eyes looking at her hands between her legs, "please stop looking. I'm as plain as day."

Leslie felt her heart hurt just a little more. Beatrice sounded so wounded, so run down. But, as the therapist had said, without her cooperation, all their efforts were moot. Bea put her hands in her hair and started crying, making Leslie lean over and pull her head to her chest, rocking her gently.

"There there, I've got you," Leslie said softly.

"I'm a bad person," Bea whispered through her tears, her breathing shaky, her voice weak.

"Why do you say that, sweetheart?" Leslie asked.

But Bea, as per usual in these sessions, didn't elaborate. Elaborating meant facing the truth, and the truth would tear her whole world apart. No. Stoicism in the face of uncertainty, that was the path forward.

No matter what the cost.

***

"Goddamn dog came into my home, cleaned up my kitchen, removed all my alcohol!" Justine shouted as she stumbled towards Eliza and Michelle, "who is she to have such moral superiority!? As if she's better than me."

"Did you drive here drunk?" Michelle asked, now sounding more concerned than finding it amusing as she had before; she lowered her voice even more to spare Justine the embarrassment, adding, "Justine, did you drive here intoxicated? When did you start drinking?"

"When did I stop?" Justine asked loudly, "I'm drunk from the moment I wake up to the moment I fall asleep, and it wasn't an issue until she decided to stop by and take it upon herself to act like a goddamn AA sponsor!"

"I'm...going to go inside," Eliza said sheepishly, backing away. Michelle understood, and didn't stop her.

"This is serious, you cannot be driving under the influence," Michelle said, "for fucks sake, Justine, there's schools between here and there, not to mention the people who bring their kids to the lot. Or even hurting other drivers, pedestrians, yourself."

"As if hurting myself would be bad," Justine said, taking Michelle by surprise. Justine walked, or rather shambled, over to the nearby wall and leaned against it, sliding down it as she cried softly, "it's one thing to lose someone once, but to lose someone twice? That's...that is a loss that is insurmountable. I didn't have a choice in losing him, that was an accident, that was the result of weather and poor plane maintenance. But her?"

She didn't even need to say their name. Michelle knew all too well.

"...she didn't have to die," Justine continued, her voice so weak and soft, as if she were scared of hearing herself, "she didn't have to die, and she did, and it's my fault, and I could've stopped it. I couldn't stop the other one but I could've stopped this. But she's dead. She jumped off that bridge thinking nobody loved her. She was my friend. She was my friend, and I killed her. I was selfish for an hour and I killed her."

Michelle approached the wall and sat down beside Justine. Justine fall into Michelle, sobbing against her shoulder, as Michelle reached up and ran her fingers through her hair.

"You didn't kill her. She killed herself," Michelle said, "that's a distinction you need to recognize. Your actions didn't motivate that. After learning what her life had been like, I...I can't say I was too surprised. I mean I was surprised in the moment, cause, yeah, you never expect that. But in hindsight? Fuck. Impressive she made it that far, even. You didn't kill her, Justine."

"Why..." Justine asked, looking up at Michelle now, their eyes locking, as she uttered, in the lowest voice possible, "...why does everyone I love keep dying?"

That did it. That broke her. Michelle herself was now feeling tears form on her face.

"Uh," she said, wiping her face on her other arm, "um, fuck. I can't answer that, I'm sorry. I...I genuinely wish that I could, but I can't. If it's any consolation, though, it happens to everyone. Everyone that loves others loses them to death eventually."

Justine grabbed Michelle's arm and cried even harder. Michelle exhaled.

"I know how you feel," she continued, "I know it's not the exact same, Casey and I didn't really have the working relationship that you two did, but I know how you feel. After she died, I took it upon myself to bring Beatrice back from the brink of a breakdown once Liam left, and I...I need to save those around me, because I pushed Casey away from the production. I was the one who told Bea not to worry about her, which sent her spiraling, and onto your doorstep. You wanna blame someone for what happened? Fucking blame me, okay?"

Justine looked up at Michelle, their eyes meeting yet again.

"You didn't kill her, Justine, I did," Michelle said, crying now too, "and I'm gonna pay for that for the rest of my life, or die trying to save everyone else instead."

Another car pulled up and Beatrice climbed out.

"The hell is going on out here?" she asked.

Michelle stared Bea down.

"I have something you need to see," Michelle said flatly.

***

Inside The Hole, Eliza was sitting at her work desk, staring at the Liam puppet, still on her hand, raised to eye level.

"I can't help them," Eliza said.

"You can, you just don't know how to yet," the Liam puppet said.

"No," she shook her head, "I love Michelle so much, but I can't help her. I can't even cope with you being gone. That's why you're here now. And if...if she ever gets the idea of what you are, to me, then that's going to scare her and make her stop loving me."

"You know that girl could never stop loving you," the Liam puppet said, and Eliza lowered him onto the table, pulling him off her arm and laying him there. She leaned back on her chair, pulling her legs up into her chest and wrapping her arms around them, a physicality she always retreated to when things got scary. She knew the puppet wasn't talking. She wasn't hearing his voice. She was simply utilizing it in a way that helped her cope with the grief of his absence. Besides Bea, and her family, Liam was the only other person she had known for that long, and for him to now be gone, it had gnawed a hole clear through to her heart, and she didn't know how to handle it.

"...I wish it had been me," Eliza said softly, to a room full of nobody but puppets.

***

"Where are we even going?" Bea asked as the three women marched across the studio, heading to the trailers in the back.

"You'll see," Michelle said.

"I don't have time for cryptic vagueries today," Bea said sternly.

"You had time to clean my fucking kitchen," Justine said coldly, catching Bea off guard.

"Oh, I'm sorry, was helping you regain sobriety an inconvenience to you?" Bea asked, as Michelle opened the double doors at the back, the three of them continuing to head outwards and towards the trailers, now within sight.

"Do you really think the wisest way to respond to someone drinking to deal with loss they feel responsible for is to antagonize them further on the subject?" Michelle asked, and Bea shut up. Michelle was sounding...like her. Bea should've been proud, but instead, all she felt was even more ire for the woman now.

"Oh, you think...you think that was an inconvenience? Well you know what was a real inconvenience?" Justine asked, "telling a woman so devoted to the craft you'd built that she couldn't be a part of it because of her emotions, things you tell children every day they shoudln't be ashamed to feel or show."

Bea began to snarl through her teeth without saying a word, her insides fuming with rage. How dare Justine think she had the right to speak to her like this. Justine wasn't even really involved in this production, what the fuck was she still even doing in their lives?

"It's appropriate that your age range for your work is small children, considering the way you act," Bea replied sternly, making Justine laugh.

"That's a rich one coming from a woman who talks to puppets on fucking television!" Justine said, "no, ya know what, it actually makes sense you would pretend to be a dog, because you're definitely not a human, and everyone loves dogs, and you need everyone to love you, don't you?"

"You wish the worth of your work remotely rivaled my own," Bea said.

"Unlike you, Beatrice, I don't fucking judge myself based on arbitrary standards of the content I produce, you know why? Because it isn't indicative of my value! We are in the same business, we both make things for kids, the only difference between us is that I recognize that what I do is a job, and you think you're a saint for doing something other hosts have done longer and better than you have and ever could! It's a fucking TV show, get over yourself."

"I'm trying not to hold a lot of what you say in high regard considering you're drunk," Bea said, "but being drunk doesn't give you a license to just insult everyone around you."

"I'm not insulting everyone around me, I'm only. insulting. you," Justine said.

"Guess it was inevitable you'd turn to being an alcoholic, seeing as how you're a writer and all," Bea said.

They finally reached the trailers, as Michelle gathered her key from her pocket and put it into the lock.

"At least I'm not afraid to practice what I preach. You spout all this bullshit about togetherness and understanding, all while hiding everything about yourself, because to allow yourself to be a fully fledged person would mean you're not a faceless entity that children can project themselves onto."

"And what do you preach, exactly? How mommy gets drunk to escape her problems?" Bea asked, and that got it, as Justine turned and socked her in the nose hard. Bea stumbled back down the ramp a little as Justine recoiled in pain, nursing her fist in her hand. Michelle finally got between them.

"Guys! Chill the fuck out!" she shouted, "we are all suffering from the same thing, okay? She died. We all lost her. The last thing we should do is turn against one another."

"Why did you even bring me out here?!" Bea yelled, "she wouldn't be dead if it wasn't for you convincing me that I shouldn't chase after her!"

Michelle couldn't believe her ears. Bea was...blaming...her? Was that...was that what was happening right now?

"You...it was...you think it was my fault?" Michelle asked, her lip quivering, voice broken now, "...I just didn't want you to be stressed."

"Well I'm stressed. I'm stressed every goddamn day now," Bea said, "I was supposed to protect girls like that and you stopped me!"

"Then allow me to fix the goddamn problem!" Michelle shouted back, turning and kicking the door to the trailer open, "enjoy!"

Beatrice's eyes widened in shock. Time itself stood still. No noise penetrated this moment. There, sitting in the trailer before her, was a young woman who looked suspiciously like a mixture of both herself and Liam. No. No no no, there was no way, this couldn't be, how could this be happening? Bea slowly walked in, and Claire looked up from her chair. Bea reached out and slowly, so slowly, put her hand on Claire's cheek. Claire closed her eyes and smiled.

"Mom," she whispered.

Bea turned and looked back at Justine and Michelle, standing in the doorway. She then pulled her hand back and walked up to Michelle, looking her directly in the eyes, before taking her hands in her own.

"Michelle," she whispered.

"I didn't know you blamed me, but I...I guess I was hoping this might be a way I could make up for it. I took a girl away from you, and now I'm giving you this one back. Keagan, of course, is who actually got in touch with her first, but I asked if I could introduce you two, because I knew...I had to atone for my part in Casey's death. We...we built this thing together, you and me and Keagan. Just like you and Liam. We cannot devolve into what we're devolving into, Bea. We just can't. What we have built here is just...it's far too important for that."

"Michelle," Bea said, smiling, squeezing her hand.

"Bea, I'm sorry," Michelle said.

Bea turned and looked back at Claire, before looking back at Michelle, their eyes locked, their whole history lay bare between them. She smiled so wide, making Michelle giggle in response.

"Oh, Michelle," Bea said, "...you're fired."

Justine had never been a big drinker.

Even when she'd been younger, it simply had never been an activity that she'd found much pleasure in, but now...now she seemed like no matter how much she drank she couldn't stop being thirsty, and she couldn't stand the idea of being sober, so being drunk for as long as she was awake seemed to be the only option. She groaned as she woke up on the bed, still in her clothes from the previous night, and rolled onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. She slowly sat upright and figured, if nothing else, she should at least try to get some food inside her. Justine climbed off the bed, knees weak and wobbly, as she put her hand out and placed her palm on the nearby dresser to help steady herself. Then she started to make her way downstairs, a risky move in and of itself, considering. When she breached the kitchen doorway, however, she stopped and stared. There was Casey, standing at the stove, cooking.

"...Casey?" she whispered.

"Good morning," Casey said, turning to face her; her appearance was different, the color faded from her skin, her clothes sopping wet, her hair matted down from water. Justine slowly slunk into the kitchen and seated herself at the table.

"...what are...what are you making?" she asked.

"Fish," she said.

"For breakfast?" Justine asked, laughing nervously.

"For my breakfast. This is yours," Casey said, grabbing a packet of airline peanuts from the counter and plopping it down in front of Justine, who recoiled at the sight. Terrified, she looked up at Casey, their eyes meeting, though there was definitely no life behind her eyes.

"...why are you in my kitchen?" Justine asked, her voice shaky.

"Cause you want me to be," Casey replied.

And then she woke up, vomiting. Justine rolled to her side and continued throwing up off the edge of the bed. When she finished, she wiped her mouth on her sleeve and tried to catch her breath. She was so shaken from this dream, to see Casey again, but in that manner, had rattled her deeply. Justine did her best to scoot up the bed and lean herself up against the headboard, sighing and trying to catch her breath as she ran her hands up into her hair.

"I need a drink," she said.

***

"That tickles," Eliza giggled as Michelle kissed just under her ear.

Eliza was propped up on the nearby worktable, Michelle's hands on her hips, giving her soft kisses, teasing her, the both of them giggling. They had gotten breakfast on the way in, and then headed directly for The Hole, because Michelle simply didn't want to be apart that morning, and who was Eliza to argue. Besides, she figured, the more time she spent with Michelle, the less time she spent alone with the Liam puppet, and that was for the best.

"Do you like when I whisper in your ear?" Michelle asked, her lips right against Eliza's lobe.

"It feels funny, but it does feel nice," she replied softly.

"Yeah?" Michelle asked, her hands running up into Eliza's bushy mop of hair, adding, "you like that my pretty girl?"

Eliza blushed crimson and nodded as Michelle kissed down her neck and stopped on her collarbone. They still hadn't slept together, but that was fine. This level of intimacy was good enough for them both. Eliza liked the attention and Michelle liked taking it slow, giving things a chance to blossom naturally. Just then the door to The Hole swung open, and Keagan walked in. The girls stopped and quickly readjusted themselves, causing Keagan to chuckle as she approached.

"Sorry," she said, "did I interrupt?"

"Interrupt what? We obviously weren't doing anything lewd at all whatsoever," Eliza replied, making her laugh harder.

"Um," Keagan said, trying to stifle her laughter, "uh, Eliza, I need to borrow Michelle for a bit."

Eliza's smiled quickly faded. She knew that tone. It was time. Time to introduce Michelle to Claire. Eliza cleared her throat, her eyes darting around the room anxiously.

"Shouldn't I help?" Eliza asked, "wouldn't that be a good idea?"

"...sure, yeah, you're right, that's probably smart, have as many hands on deck as possible," Keagan said, "we're gonna go to the radio office. Just follow me."

Michelle, confused by the shift in tone and vagueness of it all, felt mildly concerned, but she knew neither woman would ever do anything to hurt her in any way so she trusted them. She picked Eliza up off the table and put her back on the floor, making her laugh again, then took her hand as the two followed Keagan. Eliza, as they exited The Hole through the swinging doors, glanced back at the Liam puppet sitting on her workdesk, and bit her lip. Her own secret, she figured, would pale in comparison to the one about to be unveiled.

"Why the radio offices?" Michelle asked.

"Bea never comes over there," Keagan said, "in fact only Steph does, and she's not here today, so. Just kinda want some privacy."

"Oooh, are we planning a surprise party for Bea?" Michelle asked, half joking.

"...you could say that," Eliza muttered under her breath.

***

Justine was sitting on her front porch now.

She had sobered up quite a bit, and was now watching the people of her neighborhood go about their day. She took a long breath in, then held it for a moment before expelling it. She was doing everything in her power not to get stinking drunk again at least until evening rolled around; after all, she did have a reputation around here to consider. She finally gave in and pulled a pack of cigarettes from her pocket, opting to light one up. She was doing her best not to smoke too much too - a habit she'd kicked after the crash - but right now she was so on edge and it seemed like the lesser of two evil vices, all things considered. As she clicked her lighter, a car pulled up and stopped in front of the house, and a woman stepped out before casually heading up to the front steps and stopping. Justine glanced up at her, she was an older woman, wearing a nice blouse and slacks, her hair well groomed.

"Hello," Justine said.

"I got your address from Liam's office," Bea said, "I hope it's okay that I come by here."

"Course," Justine said, blowing smoke out as Bea seated herself in the wicker chair beside her.

"Heard about your efforts with the book," Bea said, "the one that Casey left behind."

"Did ya now?" Justine asked, turning the cigarette between her fingers, admiring the light.

"I just...I wanted to come by and see if maybe you needed any help, or, perhaps, wanted a contributor," Bea said, "I guess I feel greatly responsible for what happened to her, and I...I just want to extend my efforts any way that I can to ensure she has a legacy of some kind."

"You feel responsible? That's weird, because I'm the one who killed her," Justine said, he cold, flat tone surprising Bea as she took a long drag and continued, crossing her legs, "she came by here, needing to talk, begging me to give her just a little bit of my time, and I didn't. I had people over. A social calling. I'm pretty sure she went and jumped immediately after that. She's dead because I had a party. You can't have joy in this life without giving sorrow to others."

"Well that just isn't true," Beatrice said, reaching out and putting her hand on Justine's knee, adding, "you had no way of knowing what state of mind she was in. You weren't her mother, her sister, or any familial kin."

"But I was her friend. Her creative partner. I have to be held to some level of accountability," Justine mumbled, her voice breaking, her eyes welling up with tears, "I had a moral obligation and I failed to uphold it, and as a result, she is dead. You of all people can't fucking sit here and tell me that people aren't supposed to help one another, it's what your entire goddamned brand is about! Being there for others! Listening! I didn't listen. And she's fucking dead."

Bea nodded slowly, taking it all in, as she pulled her hand away and sighed, easing herself back into the wicker. She looked around as the sky turned colder, and a soft, light rain began to drizzle down around them. Bea chewed her cheek and sucked air in through her teeth.

"People always say not to blame yourself, but sometimes, in order to process, to cope, to move on, that's exactly what one needs to do," Beatrice said softly, "there's no wrong way to work through things, and being told you're not to blame doesn't automatically make you feel less guilty. If anything, it just makes you feel even worse, cause, well, great, now you're not even grieving correctly, are you good at anything?"

Justine chuckled a little at this sentiment, which made Bea crack a smirk.

"I think," Bea said, continuing, "we need to work together, to make this happen. I...I really need to help you do this, if you'd be kind enough to let me. I think, maybe, together, we can kind of process it all, and create something great for her to leave behind."

"She already left something great behind. All I'm doing is polishing it," Justine said, and Bea smiled again, nodding. Justine truly believed in Casey and her work, and it was nice to see that, even if nobody else might, she would at least be remembered by one single person on this planet who clearly missed her very, very much. Justine took another long drag, then exhaled, tossing her bangs from her face before adding, "you can help if you want, but only my name goes on it with hers in the boilerplate."

"Understood and agreed upon," Bea said.

Justine didn't know it, but Bea had ulterior motives, though nothing sinister. She just felt like she had done the same thing to Casey that she had done to Claire, she had left her behind for the good of her work, and she hated that she'd made the same mistake twice. Now she was attempting to do whatever she could to rectify that to some degree. Justine invited Bea inside for some lunch, which she graciously accepted. Upon entering the kitchen, however, Bea noticed the enormous swath of alcohol bottles and containers, and quickly realized that the biggest demon Justine had wasn't her guilt, but was, in fact, her vice as a result of said guilt.

Bea had her work cut out for her.

***

Michelle, Eliza and Keagan stopped at the radio office, and Michelle couldn't help but notice the degree to which Keagan had ensured privacy within the studio. The curtains were drawn, shut tightly, and the door was locked. She stood behind a ways, arms folded, as she watched Keagan reach into her pocket for the keys. Eliza looked down at her shoes, catching Michelle's attention.

"What's wrong baby?" Michelle asked, and Eliza blushed a little.

"I just...I really hope you're okay after this," Eliza said quietly, making Michelle all the more nervous. She looked up again, hearing the jingling and spotting Keagan holding an enormous keyring full of keys.

"Are you a medieval dungeon master?" Michelle asked, making Keagan laugh.

"Quiet wench," she replied, causing Michelle to laugh in response.

The lock clicked, and Keagan put her hand on the knob, then stopped. She turned and looked toward Eliza and Michelle; Eliza and Keagan's eyes met, and they nodded as Keagan sighed deeply before shaking her head.

"I'm so sorry Michelle," she said softly, before opening the door, reaching in and flipping on the light. The room filled up with bright lights as Michelle entered and spotted a young woman, a little bit older than her, sitting at the editing bay. Eliza entered after Michelle, closing the door behind her so Keagan could secure it once again.

"You know this isn't Al Capone's vault, right?" Michelle asked.

"I do know, because unlike that, there's something in this room," Keagan said as the woman at the bay turned in the spinny chair to face them.

"This thing is complicated," she said, "there's so many buttons and knobs and, like, you'd think with things being so digital now that it'd be different, I guess? You've still got such an analog setup."

"Well, it's not just for editing," Keagan replied, shrugging, "it's also for taking the calls, stuff like that. Um, Michelle," she said, looking towards her now, "this is Claire, and Claire, this is Michelle."

"Hiya," Claire said brightly, clearly feeling more chipper today.

"Yes, hello," Michelle replied politely, smiling nervously, before asking, "is this, like, an intern, your assistant, I gotta be real with ya, Keagan, I'm at a loss here."

"No," Keagan said, "Claire...is Beatrice's daughter."

A long, heavy pause hit the room. The air was as still as air could possibly be perceived as being. Eliza and Keagan watched Michelle for any kind of reaction, but she remained stoic, cold, emotionless.

"...run that by me again," Michelle finally said.

"I'm Beatrice's daughter," Claire herself reiterated, "gods honest truth."

"...you know, I thought that, at this point, I wouldn't have to struggle to breath anymore, but you damn knocked the wind right out of me, I'll give you that," Michelle said, "uh...I...I need to..."

And with that she turned and faced the door to hide her tears.

"Did I do something wrong?" Claire asked.

"No, you didn't," Keagan remarked quietly, "Can't say the same for your mother, though."

***

Michelle was sitting in front of the TV, a big blanket wrapped around her, the lights in the room off. She was squeezing a stuffed dog to her chest, pretending it was Beatrice, as she watched a rerun of the show that day. The show hadn't had a new episode in months. She didn't understand why it wasn't coming back. Footsteps. Her mother entered the room, causing Michelle to look upwards at her as she stood in the doorway in her overalls, a paintbrush tucked behind her ear, her hands messy with material residue.

"Your father isn't coming home," she said sternly.

"Why not?" Michelle asked, "he's been gone so long."

"And he intends on keeping it that way. Says it's too difficult. You're too difficult. Everything encompassing your medical situation has him on edge, and scared, because he's weak. Can't be around it."

Michelle felt her pulse quicken. Her father was staying away because she was sick? That didn't seem right...he'd never really...though...she had heard them fighting about it, so maybe he had been upset about her illness...

"Can I see him?" she asked.

"He's not even in town, Michelle," her mother replied, "he probably won't be for a good while. Said he had to get away from all of this. But don't worry, I'm still here, and I'll take you to your appointments, help you manage your health, your breathing, okay? Just because he's a coward doesn't make you one."

"It's my fault though?"

"It's nobody's fault you're sick," her mother said, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed now, "but it hasn't helped things. Your father and I have always been shaky, but this pushed it all out into the open and over the edge. So, yes, one could make the argument that had you been healthy, we could've kept pretending, gods honest truth."

Michelle nodded slowly, gently, squeezing her plush dog tighter. She looked back at the TV now as her mother readied to return to her work.

"Why aren't they showing new episodes?" she asked.

"Show ended, I believe," her mother said.

"So dad is gone, and the show is gone?" Michelle asked, fighting back tears now.

"Seems that way. I'll be back out in a bit to make us lunch, okay?" her mother said, before rushing back off to her paints. Michelle stared back at the screen, her face now wet with a deluge of tears, even though she made no audible noise to indicate their presence. Her father had left. The show had left. Her mother probably would too, if she were given the opportunity.

Why did everything she love leave her?

Beatrice was vomiting.

This was the third time this week, and she wasn't even sure why. It was 4am and she was leaning over her toilet, holding her own hair out of her face as she stared down at the now stained porcelain interior. She laid her head against the toilet and chewed her lip. She had to be at the studio in an hour, and she hadn't eaten breakfast or bathed, and now she was scared to do both. What if she threw up breakfast. What if she threw up in the shower. Neither option sounded particularly enjoyable or worth the risk. So, instead, Bea got up from the floor, brushed her teeth, ran a comb through her hair and got dressed. She then exited the apartment, got into her car and headed to work.

Upon arrival, Bea parked in the parking lot, climbed out of the car and locked it, before turning and heading inside. As she did, she heard the sound of footsteps approaching, and smirked when she saw it was Liam. His hair messy, his face unshaven, dressed in casual work clothes, he looked handsome as ever, a joint hanging from his lips that he was attempting to light as they walked.

"So, how was your night?" he asked.

"It was wonderful, a coworker and I had dinner, then we went to their place and we watched classic foreign films and debated the artistic merit in todays media landscape before ravaging eachother on the couch," Beatrice said, as she and Liam stopped at the door outside the studio. Liam smirked and took a long inhale before passing it to Bea, who hesitantly took a hit.

"That does sound nice," he said, "it's weird, I had the exact same night."

Beatrice laughed, coughing out smoke as she handed him back the joint. They'd been sleeping together for years now, and it was nice, Beatrice had found, to have that kind of company in her life. Besides, she and Liam were two halves of the same mind, in a lot of ways. Both creative, with Liam being more business driven than her, so they made a great pairing, especially in the kind of world they inhabited, career wise. A true power couple. Liam took another puff, then exhaled, squeezed the tip and tucked it into his shirt pocket before turning to head inside when he felt Beatrice grabbing his tie and yanking him back to her, kissing him, making him laugh. He put his hands on her hips and kissed her back happily before parting and heading into the studio together.

And it was good that they would have this one night and morning to look back on, because this was the day that Liam would ruin her life, in more ways than one.

***

Liam was laying on his couch, staring at his TV as he watched a show about Antiques, arm half buried in a box of cereal. He watched with intense interest as the show switched gears, away from a doll collection, and instead now focusing heavily on a beautiful armoire. Vintage, large and oak with glossy finish, it looked pristine. Liam nodded along as he listened to the narration of the presenter, as they informed the person who'd brought it in exactly what it was they had. A clunk. His remote had fallen to the floor, and Liam rolled over a bit, reaching for it. When he rose back up from this position, he realized the camera had cut to a shot of the presenter, and he found himself still, almost frozen, at the sight of him.

A tall man, with well kept blonde brown hair and wearing a gorgeous cobalt blue suit with a dark yellow tie, his face lightly salted in stubble. Liam's eyes widened as he watched this man speak passionately, not taking in anything he was saying he was so focused on the mans features. Liam felt something inside him shift, and he sat upright now, slowly shoveling cereal into his mouth. His door opened, and he turned, taken totally by surprise, at Beatrice as she entered, softly shutting the door behind her.

"You look glum," Liam said, mouth half full of cereal.

"I didn't interrupt you did I?" Bea asked, and Liam shook his head as he stood up from the couch and wiped his hands on his pants.

"No, of course not," he said, "not at all. Um. You didn't call, what...what are you doing here? Did we have a date or?"

Beatrice carefully set her things down on his kitchen bar facing outwards towards him and then placed her palms flatly on the tile, sighing deeply. Liam got nervous. This sort of physicality rarely was followed by anything good. Beatrice wouldn't look back up at him as he shifted himself towards the counter and sat down on a stool opposite her.

"Bea?" he asked.

"...we have a problem," she said quietly.

"I guess you...you found out," Liam said, catching her off guard. Now she looked up at him, face screwed up in confusion as Liam sighed and said, "yeah, I knew this would happen. I knew I'd have to face this. Um, I'm sorry. I'm sorry but we needed the funding, and...and ya know, these sorts of restaurants are all the rage now and-"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Bea asked.

"...this...this isn't about the..." Liam asked before stopping himself, "what is this about?"

"What are you talking about?" Bea asked, now concerned.

"Uh..." Liam said as he watched Bea connect the dots in her head and her eyes widen, her jaw drop a little, her lip quivering.

"You didn't," she whispered, the rage in even a whisper barely hidden, "you fucking didn't."

"I'm sorry," Liam said.

"You son of a bitch!" she shouted, "you absolute son of a bitch! We talked about that!"

"Bea, listen to me," Liam said, walking around the counter and taking her hands in his own, linking their fingers as he looked her in the eyes, continuing; "listen, it was a literal necessity. They provide us with funding and, as a result, we do small promotions for the restaurant and they get to use our likeness in the establishments, it's a win/win, okay? Artistic integrity is great but it doesn't pay the bills or produce work."

"I was already mad at you, but now I'm furious," Bea said.

"What else could I have possibly done?" Liam asked, laughing.

"You got me pregnant, how about that?!" she shouted, and Liam's entire demeanor shifted. His smile instantly vanished, his anxious laughter turned to silence, his posture softened. He backed away, opened the freezer and grabbed a bottle of vodka, popping it open and taking a drink right out the spout.

"fuck," he said.

"Yeah, fuck is right," Bea said, leaning against the counter, arms folded.

***

When Bea and Liam had initially met, each one hadn't expected this to turn into what it would eventually become. Liam loved her immediately, but platonically, not romantically. He admired her creativity, her brazenness, her bravery to just go for the gold and chase her dreams the way dogs chased cars. Likewise, Beeatrice loved him for a multitude of reasons, but, again, not exactly romantically. But the more time spent together in this creative partnership, the more they began to see how obvious it was they were right for eachother in every possible way...except for the sexuality.

Liam had always hidden his interest in men. He'd always known it, but he'd hidden it. At least, after a certain age. When he was a young boy, he'd known another boy, named David. David and Liam had been in school together, been best friends, but when they reached middle school, when David started being interested in girls, Liam felt jealous. He wanted David's attention all to himself. Instead, he went along, also trying to like girls, simply so they had something to talk about beyond mere boyish interests.

Likewise, Beatrice had also always known about herself, but had tried to hide it even more than Liam had done for himself. She'd been so obsessed with certain girls growing up, certain women around her, that she would write their names in fancy cursive in her notebooks, fantasize about being with them, but would always know what society would do if she acted on any of it. She couldn't live like that. Moreso, she couldn't put her parents through that shame, even if she knew they would love her regardless.

So each hid it, as was custom back then. And then they had Claire, and, ironically enough, having a baby as a seemingly heterosexual couple was the one thing that finally pushed their hidden homosexualities out into the open.

Bea and Liam would attend dinners, playdates, school functions, play the role of doting, loving parents - which they were, none of that was ever pretend - when in reality they weren't straight in the slightest. And one night, at a social function for the kids in the neighborhood, Bea found herself in a neighbors bathroom when a woman she only sort of knew from Claire's school, asked to come in so she could adjust her makeup. Bea, having finished her business and now only washing her hands, agreed. And while the woman reapplied her eye makeup, she scoffed and shook her head, saying a single thing that would forever alter the way Beatrice saw love.

"They think having a baby is going to make them love eachother," she said, "but it doesn't, and I can say that with certainty, as it didn't save my marriage, and we still divorced. You can't love something you weren't designed for."

And with that having been uttered, Beatrice knew, deep down in her soul, that one day she and Liam would have to face up to what and who they were, and that Claire was the colatteral damage. And she fucking hated herself for that fact. But what she hated herself for more than that was she had had a chance to avoid her daughter from ever being hurt like that...

...by avoiding having her altogether.

***

"How much could it cost?" Bea asked, causing Liam to shrug as he poured her another shot before taking another long drink himself.

"Quite a bit, I would imagine, but it's not like we can't afford it now with what we just made from this franchise deal," Liam said, "but that's only if you want to do that."

"Perfect timing, huh? One problem solves the other," Bea said, "...this show is like our child, we don't need another."

Liam smirked and nodded as he watched Bea down her shot. Liam looked towards his wall and saw the photos of himself and his parents, how happy they were, and remembering his childhood. His home. His family. He felt a twinge of hesitation in his heart, and he glanced back at Bea, who was now smiling herself. He smiled at her, confused, as she looked up at him.

"I love my parents," Bea said, "my parents are so good. They were always so supportive, encouraging, they were, just...they were everything, still are. And, maybe, you know...maybe this wasn't planned and we're not prepared, but maybe it could be okay?"

"Don't be blinded by nostalgia, Bea, okay? And don't do it for the sake of my feelings. You're a woman, you're the one with the organs to make this come to full fruition, it is entirely up to you. I'm just...here to offer support and guidance if I can, where necessary. I'm okay with whatever choice you wind up making. Besides, a life like we have, with all the work that we do, could we realistically make time for a child? In a meaningful manner?"

"Don't know until you try, right?" Bea asked, "We're already 7 years deep into this, I think we could manage. We can definitely afford it."

Liam nodded, agreeing, even if he wasn't certain. But the more Bea talked about it, the more convinced he became it could be a good thing. And yet, in the back of both their heads, was that doubt. That nagging doubt. Not about their love for a child, their inability to be parents. That was never once brought into question. But about themselves. The truth of each of them. Truth each had tried to hide from the other. Bea tapped her shotglass on the counter, indicating she wanted another, snapping Liam back to reality. He poured her another shot and watched her drink it as she paced around his kitchen. She stopped and looked at the fridge, her eyes scanning over the photos he had plasted to the fridge with magnets and she smiled, chuckling.

"I remember this," she said, reaching out and touching one; she continued, "this was when we went to the fundraiser a few years ago, remember, and we took my parents? They were so excited to come see what the declared the 'fine arts'. Like, guys, just cause it's at a museum doesn't make it fine arts automatically."

Liam chuckled, remembering. Bea sighed and tapped the photo with her nails.

"...this will ruin our lives," she added, "this will absolutely ruin our lives, guaranteed. But, maybe...we deserve to have our lives ruined a little bit. We've had it too good for too long, after all."

Liam threw his head back and cackled, which, in turn, made Bea laugh. She reapproached the counter.

"If we do this, though," she said, "We cannot hold it against one another, okay?"

"Agreed."

"I will be mad at you for many things, but having a child will not be one of them. This is our decision, not theirs. They get no ire from it. I refuse to bring a child into the world if that's what awaits them."

Liam was so smitten with her in these moments, where she showed so clearly how empathetic and intelligent she was. How much she understood a childs psyche. And all without having undergone severe trauma or abuse. Beatrice was, by definition, the perfect antihesis to the belief that great art and compassion can only be borne from deep pain and suffering. Liam sat upright on his stool best he could, the both of them fairly drunk, and he stuck his hand out for her to shake.

"It's not a business deal," she said, the both of them laughing as she walked around the counter and climbed into his lap, whispering, "now kiss me before I change my mind."

Claire would be born nine months later. And six years after that, just as Beatrice had predicted, their lives would be ruined. But never because of Claire. At least, not in their eyes. Claire, however...Claire had never gotten over it.

***

"I always wondered what I did or said that made them leave me," Claire said quietly.

She was sitting in Justine's kitchen with Keagan while Justine drank a beer. The lights were dim, the air was quiet, and Keagan was simply taking in what Claire was saying, occasionally side eyeing Justine, seeing as she'd already drank quite a bit this evening.

"I was six, and they were all I knew, and then sudenly I was with an entirely different family. I think, maybe, they didn't expect me to remember them, and maybe, had I been, liked, four or something, that could be true, but I remembered. They were so good, how could I not? I remembered everything."

"Well, soon as we verify some things and form a plan of approach, we can bring this all to her attention, okay?" Keagan said, smiling warmly, "until then, you're free to stay here, nobody from production is going to come around and see you, so you'll be hidden away until the perfect time."

Claire nodded, then asked to use the bathroom. Justine directed her to it being down the hall and on the left at the very end. Claire exited the room, as Keagan turned to face Justine, who finished her drink and opened yet another. She'd gone through the entire six pack of ciders in the span of an hour. Justine laid her head flat facedown on the table and exhaled loudly.

"Are you okay?" Keagan asked.

"No," Justine said sternly, "of course I'm not okay. I'm working on the book of a dead girl, a girl who's only dead cause I didn't make time for her, why would I be okay?"

"Casey wasn't your responsibility, you know that right?" Keagan asked, and Justine scoffed as she looked up, smirking.

"That's what Michelle said to Bea the last time they saw her. Then she killed herself. I'm starting to think, I don't know, we all might be responsible for eachother," Justine said, her speech slurred. She was asleep seconds later. Keagan couldn't shake that out of her head, but she also couldn't deal with it right now, so instead she got a quilt from the couch and laid it over Justine before propping her head up on a couch pillow on the table. Keagan entered the living room to find Claire sitting on the couch now.

"What if she doesn't wanna see me?" Claire asked.

"That's not gonna happen," Keagan said, chuckling, "you're her daughter, so you say, I can only imagine she'll be excited as all get out to see you."

But Claire had a point. Neither knew it then, but the past was about to repeat itself. Claire was going to arrive, seemingly out of the blue, and Bea's life would be ruined once more, in the best kinds of ways. Keagan began pulling her coat on, reaching for her keys in her pocket, when she felt Claire's hand grabbing her wrist.

"Don't go just yet, okay? It's...it's lonely, far away from home," she said, and Keagan nodded, sitting beside Claire, the two just talking endlessly into the evening, the only ambient noise filling the silence being Justine's snores from the kitchen. Keagan knew all about found family, and even if Bea had trouble adjusting, she wouldn't let Claire feel alone. She knew what that felt like. They all did. But she bit her lip as Claire told her more about her childhood, and she thought about the one thing she had to do next that she really wasn't looking forward to.

And that was telling Michelle.

The felt had never felt better in her hands, the sewing machine clicking with an eerie precision as she continued her efforts to capture the essence of his personality. Eliza had always been excellent at making puppets, at getting their emotions just right, but for whatever reason, she'd been struggling with this one for weeks now, and hadn't yet managed to get it just the way she'd wanted. The way she'd hoped. She pulled away from the machine, the table, and pushed her glasses up her face so she could rub her eyes, groaning. The Hole was starkly quiet in a way that unnerved even her for a change, and she thought to herself maybe now would be a good time to get a snack.

Eliza headed out from the building and entered the main production area, walking to the vending machine. She stopped, slipped her hand into her pants pocket and pulled a few quarters, jingled them in her palm, and then started feeding them into the slot. She wasn't entirely sure what exactly it was she wanted, she just knew she wanted something that would be tasty enough to make her forget, even albeit momentarily, about her troubles with her work. She stared at the contents of the machine, running the gamut from salty pretzel sticks to chocolate covered raisins to, for some reason, a box of what looked like some kind of foreign trail mix.

She could still hear his voice in her head. She rested her forehead on the machine and raised her wrist, absentmindedly pressing in a selection, then listening to the whirring of its innards as it sprang to life to grant her request. She heard it drop into the bucket below, knelt down to retrieve it and when she stood back up, she screamed at the sight of someone standing behind her, visible in the reflection of the glass of the machine. Course, it was just Keagan. Eliza turned to face her.

"You can't sneak up on me like that!" she said sternly.

"Sorry," Keagan said, her voice hushed, as though she were frightened someone would hear them, despite them being, as far as she knew, the only two in the building right now; Keagan glanced around and stepped closer, "I need you to see something."

Eliza nodded, then quietly followed Keagan down the hall. They walked for a while, until they exited the building and were on the backlot of the studio now, where the mobile buildings sat. Keagan pulled a set of keys from her pocket, Eliza munching away, silent and confused, but watching intently as Keagan unlocked the door and then stopped, palm on the door as she turned to face Eliza once again.

"You can't tell anyone what you're about to see, is that understood?" Keagan asked.

"What are you hiding, a dead body?" Eliza asked, as Keagan pushed the door open, and the two of them stepped inside. There, sitting at a table, was a young woman, about Eliza's age, honestly. She had familiar features.

"You're back," the woman said as Keagan approached, "I was starting to think I was gonna just be a prisoner in here forever."

"I'm sorry that took so long, and don't worry, you won't be stuck here much longer, I've arranged it with a mutual friend of ours that you can stay with her for the time being," Keagan said, causing Eliza to furrow her brow in a mixture of confusion and suspicion; Keagan then turned to Eliza, motioning towards her with her hand as she said, "This is Eliza, she does all the puppetry and set stuff for the show. And Eliza, this is Claire."

Eliza reached out and shook Claire's hand, as she'd always been taught to do.

"Nice to meet you," they said at the same time, laughing nervously at the accidental synchronicity.

"And Eliza," Keagan said, exhaling as she looked back to Claire, "this is Claire. Bea's daughter."

Eliza had been hit with some whoppers in her lifetime. The death of her mother. Her feelings for Michelle. Liam's absence. But Bea having a daughter? That one took the cake.

***

Lexi was laying in bed when her curtains opened.

She wasn't undressed, hell, she wasn't even in pajamas. She had slept in her clothes - low rise jeans and a shirt with a leather jacket - after having passed out from drinking too much. As she lifted her head, hand half covering her eyes, she spotted the culprit of this invasion of privacy to be none other than Michelle herself.

"What are you doing here?" Lexi asked, groggy and frustrated.

"I'm getting you up," Michelle said, "what does it look like I'm doing? Now get up."

"Leave me alone," Lexi said wearily, tugging the blanket up over her head.

"Your life doesn't end just because his did," Michelle said, causing Lexi to pull the blanket back down a little, their eyes meeting; Michelle sighed and sat on the side of the bed, hands cupped in her lap as she added, "listen, I know what it's like, you know? To have your father taken away from you? You don't even get to say goodbye, or anything. He's just...gone. I know that feeling, Lexi, like, way too well."

"First he left me on purpose, then he left me by sheer happenstance," Lexi said weakly.

"He didn't leave you on purpose, he went to jail," Michelle replied, "and, for what it's worth, he was framed, as we know, so it wasn't even his decision."

"Yeah, well," Lexi said, rolling over to avoid further contact, "it was his decision to be involved with people like that, to work all the time and forget he had a daughter. I bet if I'd been a son he would've included me. Made time for me. But no, same gender as my mother, whom he also couldn't stand, so I had to be excluded as well."

Michelle sighed. She could hear, and understand, the deep pain in Lexi's voice. She stood back up and started to pace, rubbing her forehead. Finally she stopped and looked at Lexi, who was now staring at her.

"Come with me," Michelle said, "you want to prove your father wrong in regards to your knowledge about business? Come with me today."

"Where are you going?" Lexi asked, and Michelle grimaced.

"To help Bea settle Liam's estate," she replied quietly.

***

Eliza, now seated back in The Hole, was stitching.

This was deliberate stitching though, the kind that came with intent, not something she was doing as a way to maintain her sanity. The kind she did on days she was feeling bad to keep herself from falling further apart. Actually, as it turned out, this was a puppet she'd been working on for a while now, and she was finally coming close to completion, maybe another week or so at best. Not that she'd show it to anyone. As her fingers busily worked, her mind turned back to what Keagan had told her about Claire.

She'd come here from the city, and she'd been staying in a hotel on Keagan's dime, without Lexi knowing. The whole thing smelled like an emotional bomb waiting to go off, and frankly, Eliza didn't want to be at ground zero for this one.

So instead she set her sights, her focus, entirely on the puppet. She had everything she needed, of course - after all, the studio kept her fully stocked with material - but she also had the things she really required beyond that to make it personal. The items that had once belonged to them. Hell, even the fabric for the puppets suit had been made entirely out of one of their actual suits. She had reference photos, though, again, not that she'd need them. She knew what they looked like. After all, she'd only spent a good portion fo her life around them.

Beatrice had a daughter. Eliza bit and chewed her lip as her glasses slipped further down her nose. If Michelle learned this...course, Keagan had made her swear to secrecy for the time being, not that she would've said anything anyway but still. But if Michelle were to learn, no, when Michelle learns of this, goodness, the total and complete obliteration of her heart would be impossible to watch. Eliza knew of the road of shrapnel that was ahead of her, and sadly, her vehicle wasn't all terrain. Eliza finally stopped, her busy hands now sitting calmly in her lap as she leaned back in her chair, pulled the loupe up from her eye and exhaled deeply, blowing her hair from her face.

Everyone grieved in their own way, this just happened to be hers.

***

"I'm still not entirely sure what it is I'm doing here," Lexi said, as she and Michelle walked from the car into the law offices where Bea was preparing to meet with Liam's attorneys. To spare her the trouble of having to manage his estate while working through her grief, Liam had made it so that a few months could pass before Bea was contacted about the whole matter, and she did greatly appreciate that.

"You majored in business, that was, like, your whole thing," Michelle said, "I just...I guess I thought using it as a way to get you out of the house, and maybe be a voice of reason here, would be good for you."

"I don't think anything is good for me," Lexi said.

"Not even Keagan?" Michelle asked, grinning, but Lexi didn't return a reply, which made Michelle worry; Michelle tossed her hair, cleared her throat and added, "look, really it's just a way to make sure Bea doesn't get screwed, you know? Not that Liam would try to do that, but still, it's good to have extra eyes on stuff such as this and-"

"She's so busy with that call in show that I rarely see her," Lexi said, "between her work and my work and...I just...how do you stay a couple when you rarely interact? That might work for others, but that doesn't work for me."

Michelle and Lexi stopped in the hall, letting some people walk by them, waiting for them to pass before continuing.

"Have you told her this?" Michelle asked, and Lexi, leaning agains the wall, arms folded, shook her head. Michelle sighed, adding, "well don't you think you should, especially since it pertains directly to her?"

"I guess I don't think you should have to constantly be fixing things for a relationship to be manageable. Something shouldn't be so broken that it so consistantly needs replacing," Lexi said, shrugging, "and she would probably agree, but you know Keagan, she's like...well, she's like Bea. She's whole heartedly in love with the work. It's weird, it's like...it's almost like you and Keagan are both sides of Beatrice but cleaved into two halves."

"That sounds...painful," Michelle said, the girls chuckling.

"Like," Lexi continued, "you know, like...Bea loves her work, but she also loves the people around her. Keagan is like her in the sense of loving the job, and you're like her in the sense of loving the people. Not to say they don't overlap for both of you - obviously, you're capable of caring about the artistry just as much as she's capable of caring about the people - but I'm just saying it's like Bea's two main interests got split between you two, and she's...she's always going to drift more to work than to me. That isn't a dig against her, either, it's just who she is. She's driven. Motivated. I respect that, it's....it's like, one of the things about her that I was wildly attracted to, but at this point in my life..."

Lexi looked down the hall, tears forming in her eyes as she bit her lip, voice wavering.

"Attraction to a singular trait doesn't mean said trait can carry that attraction forever," Lexi finished, "at some point, you need more than that. Not everyone does. But I do."

Lexi and Michelle locked eyes, and Michelle nodded slowly, her heart breaking a little. She knew what this was. She was witnessing, first hand, the death of a relationship, whether it wanted to die or not. Michelle sighed and they continued walking again, Lexi wiping her eyes with her palms.

"Eliza and I...I think maybe it's that age gap that helps us," Michelle said, "she's old enough to recognize that her work isn't her defining legacy and reconciling the fact that her connection to someone, like me, is far more important in the long run."

"Well lucky you then," Lexi said coldly.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to make you feel-"

But before she could finish, they reached a room where Bea popped out through the door, exhaling, rubbing her forehead. She smiled at them both, then hugged each one of them tightly.

"Thank god you're here, both of you," Bea said, "I don't know what to make of what he's left me."

"...what did he leave you?" Michelle aske.

"Everything," Bea said softly.

As Michelle would soon learn, she meant that quite literally. Everything the franchise had ever made, that'd he gotten paid for, he'd kept. He kept, gained interest on and put aside for Beatrice in the result of his early exit before her. Now that that plan was the reality, this meant Bea was on the cusp of inheriting a lot of money, the kind of amount of money she didn't know what to do with, and that scared her. Wealth of that magnitude scared her to death.

"Alright," Lexi said, rolling her eyes, "allow me to help where I can."

And with that, she walked past Bea and into the office.

***

"Do you...do you think she'll be happy, you know, to see me?" Claire asked.

Claire and Keagan were still seated in the mobile office on the backlot, while they ate food Keagan had ordered in for them.

"I can't imagine not, if what you're saying is true, which, considering what you've told me so far, is hard to imagine it isn't. You're way too specific and detailed to be some kind of con artist," Keagan said.

"I just really wanted to know her," Claire said, "I always wanted to know my mom and...and when I finally had to face the truth of my birth parents, I just felt like I had to reach out no matter what the outcome might be."

Keagan smirked and nodded, listening closely. After all the horrible things Bea had endured in the last few years, she figured having Claire in her life may finally make up for it all. But for everything that seemed like it had the potential for positivity ahead, the same couldn't be said for Eliza, who finally finished her work and stood up, gripped the puppet and slipped one arm inside it before raising it to match her eye level, smiling.

"It's so good to see you," she said, sounding so relieved at its presence. And why wouldn't she be?

She had always liked having Liam around.