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.