"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.