I'd rather burn forever

by Girlonline19

Summary:

A series of non-linear glimpses into the lives of the Shipman family. 2 traumatized parents and 5 kids raised in the aftermath...what could go wrong.

Chapter 1: Info on the Shipman kids

Summary:

Date of births are in day month year format (not doing that American shit)

Henry Taylor Shipman

DOB: Winter 1997 (legally given as February 20th)-Somewhere in Canada 

 

Caroline ‘Callie’ Marie Shipman

DOB: 10/10/2006-Boston

 

Rylie Grace Shipman

DOB: 29/04/2011-Boston

 

Evelyn ‘Evie’ Blair Shipman

DOB: 22/07/2016-Boston

 

Penelope ‘Poppy’ Rose Shipman

DOB: 05/11/2021-Boston

Chapter 2: The Early Days of Callie Shipman

Summary:

October 2006

Henry-9

It was strange, the way joy could come wrapped in tension. That’s how Jackie would remember her first pregnancy—not as something glowing or soft, but something full of careful movements, thinly veiled fear, and Shauna’s clenched jaw behind every doctor’s smile.

Callie had been their third try. Third time’s the charm , Shauna had said half-jokingly when the stick turned pink, though her voice had shaken a little when she passed it back to jackie. The third try had finally stuck, after months of injections, bloodwork, and quiet hope, it was Jackie’s body, but Shauna’s egg. The way they saw it, they had both earned the right to bring a baby into the world the “normal” way. Together. This time, there would be no blood in the snow, no crying in a frozen cabin, no relying on Misty to be their job. 

Jackie attended every appointment religiously. Her OB June was gentle and patient with her, the nurses warm. She grew quickly Callie had room to stretch, unlike Henry who had somehow survived with the bare minimum of food they had been able to provide for him. This time, there was indoor heating and sonogram pictures on the fridge. A hospital bag packed at 30 weeks. She had vitamins, iron supplements, and a bed full of pregnancy pillows. The freezer was full of meals prepped weeks ahead. The cupboards had snacks just for her cravings.

From the moment Jackie’s pregnancy test turned pink, Shauna had hovered. Not in a helpful way—but in a possessive one. She tracked Jackie’s nutrition, She rubbed Jackie’s back and massaged her feet with oils her doctors recommended. She read every book, highlighted pages, made charts and schedules. She went to every appointment and asked dozens of questions. She made sure Jackie walked every morning and took naps every afternoon.

“We have good insurance,” Shauna said one night, hand over Jackie’s rounded belly, “so I want you in the best hospital in Boston. Private room. The works. You deserve it.”

Jackie had blinked at her, stunned. “You hate hospitals.”

“I hate bad hospitals,” Shauna corrected. “You’re not giving birth anywhere with flickering lights or a single goddamn cracked tile. I want to make sure you're in the safest place possible, okay?”

Jackie didn’t argue. Honestly, she didn’t want to.

She still dreamed about the wilderness sometimes. About Henry, pink and screaming in her arms, about Shauna going silent for hours while Jackie kept the child alive with shaking hands and instinct. She remembered that first winter like a scar. The pills she took in the winter for seasonal depression are proof of that. 

 

---

The labor started late at night. At first Shauna was more nervous than Jackie.

She paced the living room, they had just put Henry to bed and were camped out in their living room with Deb, who had been staying with them and was timing Jackie's contractions. Jackie had to reach out mid-contraction to squeeze her hand and calm her down.

“Shauna. Breathe. ”

“I am breathing,” Shauna snapped. “You’re the one in labor. Why are you calmer than me?”

“Because this is not a bear trap delivery. I’m lying down. We’re twenty minutes away from a hospital. There are snacks.” Jackie smiled faintly, then winced as another contraction hit. “God, snacks. Remember when we had to boil bark?”

Shauna grimaced. “Let’s never talk about that again.”

The first few hours, Jackie tried to breathe through it, sitting on the couch with her big belly propped on a body pillow while Shauna watched her with eagle eyes. She rubbed her back and offered words of comfort as best she could. Jackie was in so much pain from contractions she was screaming into a pillow to try and keep Henry asleep upstairs. When her water finally broke in the middle of the night Shauna didn’t panic, but her grip on Jackie’s arm turned white-knuckled as she let her out to the car. Deb was staying with them and waved them off as she stayed back at the house with Henry who was fast asleep. 

The ride to the hospital was silent besides Jackie's wimpers of pain.

The labor lasted almost twenty-two hours.

Jackie screamed, thrashed, and cried through the pain as the hours continued and the pain got worse. Shauna paced, snapped at nurses, and barely blinked between contractions. At one point, when Jackie asked for an epidural, Shauna clenched her fists and muttered something about how she never got one and “you didn’t see me complaining.” The nurse gave her a look sharp enough to slice her open on the spot.

“Ma’am,” she said flatly. “You're not the one giving birth.” That shut Shauna up pretty quickly.

Jackie barely noticed. Her body was already splitting at the seams.

At one point, as Jackie curled over the edge of the hospital bed and sobbed through a contraction, Shauna whispered to a nurse, “Please, please help her. I can’t do this again—I can’t watch her like this.”

The nurse misunderstood. “Don’t worry, Mom, baby’s doing just fine.”

Shauna shook her head, eyes glassy. “I meant her. ”

---

Eventually, Caroline ‘Callie’ Marie Shipman finally arrived—screaming, pink, healthy—Shauna barely glanced at the baby.

While the nurses cleaned and weighed her daughter, while Jackie’s body shook from exhaustion and adrenaline, Shauna knelt by her side and gripped her hand.

“You did it,” she whispered, brushing Jackie’s hair from her sweat-drenched face. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

She kissed Jackie’s temple over and over, like she was trying to press her soul back into her.

The nurse offered the baby. Jackie blinked, dazed, and held her for the first time. Her arms trembled.

Shauna still didn’t look at Callie.

Instead, she sat beside Jackie, touching her face, checking her pulse, asking if she was okay every few minutes.

---

Henry remembers it was a cold October morning. He had woken up earlier that morning to just his grandma Deb at home. Jackie had left a note for his lunch letting him she would see him later with his baby sister.  His grandma had picked him up from school later a class early and driven them both to the hospital. They stopped off at the store first to pick up come flower and some of Jackie's favourite treats. As they arrived at the hospital He held a small bouquet of flowers he had picked out, yellow daisies, his idea, because he remembered Jackie once said they looked like tiny suns.

He was excited, nervous and unsure. He knew his Mama had been pregnant—that part had been hard to miss. Her belly had gotten so round he could barely wrap his arms around her anymore, though she still let him try. He helped Shauna paint the nursery one afternoon and spent hours with his mama decorating it and talking about baby names. She’d kissed his forehead every night and told him, “You're not losing me, Hen. You’re gaining a new friend who’s gonna be so lucky to have you.”

And now Callie was here. His new baby sister.

He remembered how the hospital smelled—too clean and somehow still a little sad. The hallway was quiet as Grandma Deb led him past nurses and muted beeping monitors. They stopped at a door where his mom stood just outside, arms crossed and eyes fixed on the window.

Her shoulders softened when she saw them. “Hey, kiddo,” she said, kneeling briefly to give him a hug.

Henry had hugged back, but even at that age, he could tell something wasn’t quite right.

“Mamms still with the baby,” Shauna murmured to Deb. “She hasn’t even let the nurses take her yet.”

“Sounds like her,” Deb said softly. “She always did hold on tight.”

Shauna didn’t laugh. She looked tired. Frayed. Her eyes didn’t match her voice.

Henry pushed open the door to the room and stepped inside.

The lights were dim. Jackie was in bed, propped up by pillows, her long hair damp and tangled, face puffy but glowing in the way that made people say “you’re radiant” even when you felt like hell.

She looked up, and her face lit up in a way that made Henry’s stomach do a flip.

He was used to Jackie being strong, busy, always moving—but when they stepped into the hospital room, she looked small in the bed, pale and swaddled in thin sheets. Even so, her smile lit up like a match the second she saw him.

“There’s my boy,” Jackie whispered, voice hoarse but warm. She held out a hand, and he rushed forward, placing the flowers on the tray table before curling against her side as best he could around the wires and cradled himself in her arms.

“Oh my sweet boy,” she whispered, pulling him in tighter.

“There's someone who wants to meet you buddy.” She pulled away and pointed to the bassinet beside her. Henry turned noticing the bundle of pink for the first time.

“This is Callie,” Jackie said softly. “Your sister.”

The baby was so small. Her face wrinkled, her eyes closed in that tight, new-baby way. Jackie adjusted slightly, angling Callie so Henry could peek.

“She looks like you,” Jackie murmured. “Serious already.”

Henry smiled, shy. “She’s really small.”

“You were smaller,” Jackie reminded him. “But just as beautiful.”

He nestled in next to her, feeling safe and warm and proud, and it took him a moment to realize Shauna had entered the room behind them.

Shauna was pacing near the window, arms folded, eyes trained on Jackie like a guard dog on alert. Her expression was all tense. She glanced at Henry briefly—acknowledged him with a quick nod—but her eyes snapped back to Jackie as if afraid to look away too long.

“Hey, Henry, be careful of mama,” she muttered.

Henry nodded but said nothing. He was used to this. Shauna often acted like he was a guest in his own home. It wasn’t cruelty exactly, it was more like he reminded her of something she'd never forgiven herself for.

But Jackie never made him feel like that. Jackie always smiled like he was the sun in her sky.

He remembered Grandma Deb gently urging Shauna to come sit, to look at the baby, to “take a moment to hold your daughter.”

Shauna hesitated, then stepped toward the bed—but her eyes didn’t drop to the baby. They stayed on Jackie’s face.

“You need more water?” she asked.

Jackie blinked. “No, I’m okay.”

“You sure? I can go get more ice. Or... juice? The nurse said you should try eating something—”

“Shauna,” Deb said softly. “The baby. Look at her.”

There was a beat. And then, slowly, reluctantly, Shauna looked down—only because Jackie pushed the bassinet  towards her and Deb, the pink-wrapped bundle being presented like an offering.

For a moment, Shauna’s eyes softened. She reached out and gently stroked Callie’s cheek with her knuckle. But only for a second. Then her hand fell back, and her gaze returned to Jackie.

“She’s perfect,” Shauna whispered. But she wasn’t talking to the baby.

She was talking to Jackie.

Thinking back at it Henry felt a chill.

His mom moved to the far side of the bed and kissed Jackie on the forehead.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, brushing Jackie’s hair back.

“Tired,” Jackie said. “But good. Really good.”

Shauna nodded. Her eyes flicked to the baby, but lingered only a second before returning to Jackie. She pressed her hand gently to Jackie’s cheek, searching her face like she was scanning for damage.

“I hated it,” Shauna said quietly. “Every second you were in pain. I felt useless.”

“You weren’t,” Jackie replied, just as softly. “You were with me.”

Henry watched, confused. The baby was right there, but Shauna hadn’t even tried to touch her. Hadn’t asked to hold her.

But then Jackie shifted, pulling Callie into her arms, and only then did Shauna reach out. Not for the baby, but for Jackie’s hand, the one holding the baby. She traced a slow line along Jackie’s knuckles, then placed a kiss to the back of it.

It was like she could only look at the baby if it was through Jackie.

Henry remembered that clearly.

He remembered sitting quietly beside his Mama while his Mom sat across from them, eyes locked not on the newborn in her wife’s arms, but on Jackie herself.

Like Jackie was the miracle, not the baby.

 

---

 

Callie came into the world like thunder, loud, stubborn and impossible to ignore. But it wasn’t her arrival that tested them. It was everything after.

By week three, it became clear something wasn’t right.

She screamed. Not cried— screamed . A sound like something was being ripped from her, something deep in her belly that could not be soothed. Jackie held her for hours at a time, her shirt soaked through with milk and sweat, her eyes dull from sleep deprivation.

The doctors called it colic.

“Some babies are just like this,” they said with gentle smiles, like it was a phase, like it was bearable. Like Jackie wasn’t already unraveling.

They gave her the same advice over and over: warm baths, gas drops, swaddling, upright feeding, rocking, white noise. They handed her pamphlets. Told her to take breaks—as if that were an option.

Shauna, at first, tried to stay involved. She hovered in the hallway, holding out a bottle, wiping Jackie’s brow or having a clean shirt for Jackie to change into. But she didn’t like the noise. She hated the chaos. She grew more and more anxious with every piercing scream.

“I can’t—Jackie, I can’t think when she’s like this,” she’d say, pressing her palms to her temples. “Can you just… just take her into the other room?”

And Jackie would. Every time. No argument. No resentment in her voice, just quiet compliance.

Because this was her job, wasn’t it?

She had carried Callie. She had chosen to do this. She had promised .

---

Shauna hated it. Hated the noise, hated the lack of sleep, hated how Jackie disappeared all night and never seemed to be with it in the morning.

“She’s fine, Jack,” Shauna would snap eventually, hovering in the hallway at 4am one night like she wanted to help but didn’t want to hold the baby. “She’ll grow out of it. Just leave her in the bassinet and take a break.”

Jackie flinched. “She’s in pain, Shauna. I can’t just leave her.”

“Well, I can’t do this every night either,” Shauna snapped once—louder than usual. “I’m not sleeping. I have work. Henry’s got school. This is unsustainable.”

Henry had been standing just outside the nursery then, frozen in place. Shauna saw him and shut her mouth fast.

Jackie didn’t. She just whispered, “Then go sleep in the guest room.”

Shauna lasted about an hour in the guest room before going back to the master bedroom in a floor of tears and apologies.

---

For months Jackie spent hours rocking the screaming bundle on their little balcony in the cold at 3 a.m., whispering apologies into the baby’s hair.

She googled everything from “infant digestive disorders” to “does colic cause permanent damage.”

She took to sleeping sitting upright for weeks, Callie curled against her chest, because if she lay the baby down, she’d wail like her skin was on fire. Callie was a classic shipman…constantly needed Jackie's touch for comfort. 

Henry remembered sneaking into the kitchen one night for water and finding Jackie sobbing silently over the sink, the baby finally asleep in a sling against her chest. She looked up at the sound of Henry stepping on the creaky floor board by the door, startled—not ashamed, just raw.

“I’m okay buddy,” she said automatically. “She’s finally sleeping.”

And Henry, unsure what else to do, just nodded and put the glass back down.

 

Shauna did try. In her own way. She made appointments with specialists, switched formulas when Jackie’s milk wasn’t enough, obsessed over reflux and baby monitors and gas drops. But she didn’t bond with Callie. Not like Jackie did.

She loved her but she didn’t connect .

Her worry was for Jackie. Always Jackie.

It was like Callie’s screaming just confirmed every fear Shauna had ever had: that the world would hurt Jackie, break her, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

 

Callie cried for three straight months. Then slowly, finally , the storms grew less frequent.

By six months, she was a different baby. But Jackie—Jackie was not the same.

She had aged. Not in years, but in depth.

There were bags under her eyes that some people thought were black eyes, a certain slowness to her movements. She rarely laughed, not with her chest like before. She smiled often but only when someone else needed her to. She tried to keep her smiles for when Henry was around, not wanting him to worry. She smiled the same, loved the same, but there were new shadows under her eyes—ones no sleep ever seemed to erase.

Henry saw them even when no one else did.

When people commented on what a “natural” Jackie was as a mother, Henry wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or cry.

They didn’t see her weeping silently in the rocking chair at 2 a.m. They didn’t see Shauna disappearing to another room when the tension got too much. They didn’t see how hard it was for Jackie to ask for help—and how seldom it was offered.

---

Callie, in time, became a bright and curious toddler. She loved animals, told long stories that didn’t make sense, and clung to Jackie like she was the sun. But the months of colic left scars only one of them could feel.

Jackie never talked about it—not really. But once, when Callie was three and curled up on her lap during a storm, she kissed her daughter’s head and whispered,

“You’re both my storm and my peace.”

Henry, having heard it from the hallway, understood something no one else did.

The house had survived that storm—but Jackie had weathered it alone.

 

Chapter 3: Back to the beginning

Winter of 1996-somewhere in Canada

 

The attic was quiet except for the soft crackle of the nearby fire and Jackie’s breathing still uneven and raspy, but she was alive. Shauna sat beside her, knees drawn up, arms wrapped around her own middle. Outside, the wilderness loomed like a shadow with teeth, and downstairs, the others whispered, hunted and rationed downstairs. But up here, it was just them.

Just like always.

Jackie had been talking more lately. Not coherently. The fever still held her in its haze, dragging her halfway between sleep and consciousness. But it was her voice , and every word Shauna clung to like driftwood in the wreckage of her sanity.

Tonight, Jackie had been murmuring in her sleep again. Reminded Shauna of the way she used to talk during those long  phone calls, lying in the dark with the receiver pressed between cheek and pillow. Shauna leaned closer, brushing a sweat-damp curl from Jackie’s forehead.

“…wish you were a boy…”

Shauna blinked. “What?”

Jackie stirred, her eyelids fluttering. She wasn’t fully awake.

“…then it wouldn’t be wrong… kissing you… in the closet… i didn't want to practice, I wanted you …”

Shauna’s breath caught.

She wasn’t sure if Jackie was dreaming or remembering—but the way she said it, so soft and yearning, made something inside Shauna lurch.

“…used to… pretend Jeff was you… when he kissed me… boring mouth, not like yours…”

Shauna’s heart thundered. Her fingers trembled where they rested on the blanket. Jackie’s voice drifted again, half-slurred.

“…Jackie S. Stupid… always hoped it’d stand for Shipman not Sadecki…”

She sat there frozen. The words wrapped around her like the frost had once wrapped around Jackie—too intense, too sharp, but impossible to shake off.

They’d been like this since they were kids. Coiled around each other like vines with no separate roots. Jackie had always led, and Shauna had always followed. Jackie had been Shauna’s gravity since elementary school. Bright, beautiful Jackie with her perfect hair and sharp tongue and the kind of confidence that made other people feel like supporting characters in her story. And Shauna… she had been content to orbit her. No one else made her feel so seen.

Shauna remembered those “practice” makeout sessions at their weekly sleepovers. The way Jackie would always laugh right after, call it silly. “So we’re ready when it counts,” she’d said once.

And Shauna had agreed. Even smiled. But she remembered the heat of Jackie’s mouth, the scent of her shampoo, the way Jackie had lingered after the kiss just a second too long.

And now here Jackie was, half-conscious, finally saying the things Shauna never let herself believe could be real.

She reached out, took Jackie’s hand—thin, still far too cold despite the layers of blankets and skin-to-skin warmth over the past days.

“Jackie,” she whispered, eyes burning. “What are you trying to tell me?”

Jackie didn’t answer. But her fingers twitched, curling slightly around Shauna’s.

That was enough.

Shauna leaned down, pressing her forehead gently to Jackie’s temple. “You don’t have to wish I was anyone else,” she murmured, voice barely audible over the wind scratching against the roof. “I’m yours. I always have been.”

Downstairs, the world waited.

But up here—up here was a secret, sacred place. A place where the girl Shauna had loved since before she knew what love was lay wrapped in her arms, delirious and broken but alive. Speaking dreams Shauna never let herself believe. Dreams that maybe— maybe —could still be real.

She stayed like that all night, holding Jackie like a lifeline. And for the first time in weeks, maybe months, her heart felt something like warmth.

---

Jackie’s breathing had evened out as the weeks went by. The fevers weren’t constant anymore, and she could stay awake for more than a few minutes at a time. Her color was slowly returning, and her voice, though still hoarse and faint, had started to sound like her again and sweet, Sarcastic and Sharp Jackie.

But still, she mostly listened. Eyes heavy-lidded, watching Shauna with a gaze that flickered between confusion and something far older—something knowing.

Shauna didn’t know if Jackie remembered the things she’d said in her delirium. The name murmured in a dream-voice. The soft confessions. The truths too fragile to speak aloud before the world turned into this icy hell.

She didn’t ask.

Instead, she whispered.

Every night, curled around Jackie, Shauna would lean in and tell her what she never said before the crash. Before the secrets and betrayals. Before survival meant hiding everything tender inside a cage of fear.

“I love you,” she’d whisper into Jackie’s hair, stroking her forehead, her thumb tracing the sharp line of Jackie’s cheekbone. “I think I always did. Before I even understood what it was. It was always you. I don’t know where I end and you begin.”

Sometimes Jackie twitched or let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh. Sometimes nothing.

Shauna kept whispering anyway.

And then came the day Jackie sat up fully. Weak, pale, but awake. Present. Really there .

Inside the attic, the fire crackled low, casting gold and amber shadows across the beams and worn floorboards.  Jackie was no longer burning up. Her skin had some color again, her lips pink instead of blue. She still slept a lot, but when she was awake, she was really awake—lucid, looking at Shauna with eyes that were finally present.

They hadn’t spoken about the things Jackie had mumbled in her fever.

Shauna hadn’t asked. 

But something had shifted between them.

Jackie no longer recoiled from Shauna’s touch when she first started gaining  consciousness, no longer shrank into herself like she had after the cold nearly claimed her. Now, she leaned in. Touched back. Reached for Shauna’s hand when she thought no one was looking—though there was no one up here to see.

It was evening, and Shauna was helping her sit up, propping pillows behind her, brushing Jackie’s hair with gentle fingers. Jackie winced a little from the effort, but she smiled—small, soft, real.

“You’re getting stronger,” Shauna said.

Jackie gave a half-hearted shrug. “Barely. I still feel like my bones are made of wet paper.”

Shauna laughed, and it felt foreign in her throat—an old, lost sound. “Sexy.”

Jackie grinned, and then it flickered. Her expression turned quieter, more serious.

“You didn’t leave me,” she said.

Shauna looked up. “Of course not.”

“I… heard things. Felt you. When I couldn’t talk, or move, or really think. I still knew you were here.”

Shauna swallowed hard. “I wasn’t going anywhere.”

A long pause settled between them.

“Have I… said anything weird?” Jackie asked, her voice thin and cracked like old ice.

Shauna froze, sitting cross-legged beside her. “What do you mean?”

Jackie blinked slowly. “When I was out of it. I feel like I dreamed… talked a lot.”

Shauna’s throat went dry. She thought about lying. Thought about laughing it off. But instead, she reached forward and touched Jackie’s hand lightly.

“You said a lot of things,” she said softly. “Most of it didn’t make sense. But some of it…”

Jackie tilted her head. “Some of it?”

“You said… you used to wish I was a boy. So you could kiss me and not feel weird about it.” Shauna swallowed. “That when you kissed Jeff, sometimes you pretended he was me.”

Jackie didn’t speak for a long moment. Then, very quietly: “That doesn’t sound like a dream.”

Their eyes locked.

Then Jackie leaned forward just an inch and said, without looking away:

“Did you mean it? That night… when you said I didn’t have to wish you were someone else?”

Shauna’s breath caught. She hadn’t thought Jackie had heard that.

“I meant it,” she said, barely more than a whisper.

Silence again. But not empty. Charged.

Jackie reached up with trembling fingers, brushing Shauna’s jaw. Her eyes were glassy, but sharp. A little scared and A little sure.

And Shauna—shaking, terrified, aching—leaned in.

Their lips met awkwardly. Jackie tilted her head too far. Shauna's hand fumbled on Jackie’s shoulder. The kiss was off-center, teeth bumped, breath hitched. It was messy, clumsy, and desperate . They kissed like they didn’t know how, because maybe they didn’t—not like this, not when it mattered. But they kissed like they needed to, like they’d waited years without realizing it. Jackie was too weak to hold herself up, so Shauna caught her face, cupped it gently, cradling her like something holy.

Their mouths moved against each other in awkward rhythm—too much breath, too much trembling. It wasn’t the movies. It wasn’t like the pretend-kisses at sleepovers.

It was messy. Real . And Shauna would remember it for the rest of her life.

---

Shauna could taste salt. Her own tears, or Jackie’s, she couldn’t tell.

She pulled back just enough to rest their foreheads together, her hands cupping Jackie’s cheeks. Jackie’s fingers clung to the collar of her shirt.

“I don’t know what this is,” Jackie whispered, “but it feels like something we should’ve done a long time ago.”

Shauna nodded, eyes still closed. “Yeah. It does.”

Jackie’s laugh came out breathless, a little watery. “I hope I’m not just fever-dreaming this.”

Shauna smiled, kissed the corner of her mouth. “You’re not.”

They didn’t say I love you . They didn’t have to. The kiss—messy, trembling, unforgettable—said enough for now.

When they finally pulled apart after some more kissing, Jackie rested her forehead against Shauna’s, breathing hard, smiling like she’d just found something she never thought she’d be allowed to want.

Shauna smiled too, eyes wet.

“You’re going to be okay,” she whispered. “We both are.”

And for the first time since the crash, she almost believed it.

Chapter 4: Rylie to the rescue

Summary:

Summer 2010/Spring 2011

Henry-13/14
Callie-4/5

 

When they told Henry Jackie was pregnant again, he honestly thought they were joking.

He was thirteen, fresh off a six-week summer soccer camp in New Jersey, his longest stretch away from home ever, and riding high off scraped knees, team chants, and a fleeting kiss with a girl from Trenton he knew he would never text again. He came home sunburned and smug, tossing his duffel bag in the hallway like he owned the place. He’d barely dropped his duffel in the hallway when Jackie pulled him into the living room with that smile —the one that always looked like she was on the verge of giving him a gift he didn’t know he wanted.

Shauna had been sitting, oddly nervous on the arm of the couch, her foot tapping against the floor like she was trying to suppress an earthquake. Jackie had taken his hands, sat him down, and beamed. “You’re gonna be a big brother again.”

Henry blinked. “Again?”

He looked at Callie, who was about to turn five and was coloring on the floor in a pink tutu and sparkly boots. She had glitter on her cheeks and one of Jackie’s old necklaces around her neck. A walking storm of chaos and drama and probably sugar. She’d just stopped throwing tantrums every time the TV got turned off. She was barely kindergarten-ready.

Henry gaped. “ Again again ?”

Jackie just laughed, her cheeks flushed and glowing. “Again again, almost 6 weeks.”

“You’re  seriously doing that again ?” Henry asked, his voice too loud, too sharp. He didn’t even mean to sound mad—but he was , though he didn’t fully understand why.

Callie had only just started sleeping through the night without waking them up for water or nightmares. She was heading into kindergarten. Jackie was finally getting sleep. There was talk about her maybe doing part-time teaching again. Things had started to feel normal.

And now… another baby?

Henry blinked, not sure what to say. “ Are you guys really serious? After Callie?” he said, probably too loud, eyes darting toward his little sister now curled up on the couch, peacefully watching cartoons.

Shauna stiffened. Jackie sighed, rubbing her belly almost protectively. “Callie was a hard baby,” she admitted, “but things are different now.”

Henry narrowed his eyes. “Different how? She screamed for months. None of us slept. Mom was—”

“Henry,” Shauna cut in, voice sharper than usual.

And that’s when it clicked. Soccer camp. The suspicious enthusiasm from Shauna when the email about the extended program came in from his coach. The way she had really pushed for it “great coaches, great exposure, full scholarship for summer.” Henry had even been a little shocked when they let him go for six whole weeks (he hadn’t seen how Jackie had cried for the first few nights in his room). 

Looking back, he should’ve known. His mom didn’t do anything lightly.

“Oh my god,” Henry groaned, flopping back on the couch. “Mom sent me away so you could get pregnant.”

Shauna didn’t deny it. Her smile only twitched, just slightly. “Don’t be silly. That camp was good for you.”

Henry threw a pillow at her. It had been. He wasn’t complaining. But still.

Jackie shifted her weight, suddenly looking a little guilty. “It was the first try,” she mumbled, almost like an apology. “We didn’t expect it to work so fast. We were just… hopeful.”

Henry just shook his head and dropped his stuff yelling “You guys are insane.” as he stormed up to her bedroom. Shauna had to hold Jackie back from going after him. 

But later that night, after Callie was asleep and Jackie was in bed with a heating pad tucked against her lower back, Henry stood in the doorway and watched her for a while. She looked so calm. Not like when she was pregnant with Callie, full of nerves and tension and trauma that hadn’t healed.

This time, she was already smiling to herself, hand resting over her barely-there bump.

And maybe they were crazy, he thought. But they were their own kind of crazy.

A family shaped by wilderness and grief, by choices that didn’t make sense to anyone but themselves.

And somewhere between a wilderness firstborn and a colic second child, Jackie had found the strength to try again.

So Henry sighed, leaned against the doorframe, and said, “Well... if it’s a boy, I want say in the name.”

Jackie snorted. “Deal.”
Shauna, walking past with a cup of tea, added dryly, “We are not naming our baby after a bruins player.”

They all laughed.

And just like that, the house made room for another heartbeat.

 

---

 

If Callie was the baby who broke Jackie’s spirit then Rylie Grace Shipman was the one who mended it. Rylie was the baby who made Jackie say, more than once, “I could do this a hundred more times.”

She was born on a crisp April morning after a six-hour labor that barely gave Jackie time to register what was happening. Six hours from the first contraction to the first breath. No complications. No screaming marathon. Jackie barely had time to check into the hospital before she was pushing, and then there she was: quiet, alert, blinking up at the world with the calm of someone who had chosen to arrive, not been dragged. Just steady progress and a calm delivery that left Jackie blinking at Shauna in disbelief as the nurse laid her daughter on her chest. She looked down at the tiny, serene face and thought, That’s it? That’s all it takes sometimes?

From the moment she arrived, Rylie was easy . Eerily easy.

The moment they laid her on Jackie’s chest, she just… stared up. Wide eyes. Already at peace. 

Jackie laughed through her tears. “She’s so chill,” she whispered.

Even Shauna softened the moment she saw her. She reached out instinctively, touching Rylie’s tiny foot, and didn’t flinch when the baby blinked at her.

Jackie had to wake her up to feed her those first few weeks—Rylie would sleep for four, five, sometimes six hours at a stretch. She nursed without fuss, latched perfectly, and fell asleep without protest. She didn’t need to be rocked for hours. No white noise machines, no car rides at 2 a.m. She didn’t scream or arch her back or cry until the walls felt like they were closing in.

She was content.

And Jackie? Jackie glowed .

She’d expected months of sleepless night, had braced herself for months of tears and bone-deep fatigue. But Rylie gave her something she hadn’t had since before Callie was born: peace, Time and Space to breathe. 

“I think she’s broken,” Jackie joked once to Henry with a bemused smile as she nudged Rylie awake as they sat in the car in between henry's soccer games “What baby likes to sleep this much?”

But she loved it. All of it.

The quiet, the rhythm. The way she could put Rylie down and walk away, and the baby would just… nap. She could actually put the baby down and not have her shriek in protest. She could shower, drink coffee, fold laundry. No contact naps that required her to stay motionless for hours. Jackie could move. She could breathe. Rylie was perfectly happy in her bassinet or swing, watching the ceiling fan spin with sleepy amusement.

Even Shauna—who had never really bonded with Callie, who’d always hovered protectively around Jackie but avoided the baby in her arms—seemed different.

She held Rylie. Changed her without being asked. Took her for walks around the block so Jackie could nap or eat in silence.

At the time, Jackie told herself it was progress.

But looking back, Henry would think differently.
Rylie was Jackie’s baby. Biologically hers this time.

They’d used her egg and an anonymous donor—Shauna had insisted on it. She wanted a mini Jackie. Then Rylie was born. And for the first time, Shauna didn’t flinch when the baby fussed. She smiled more. She said things like “she has your mouth” and “look how calm she is—just like you.”

It was subtle, but Henry—thirteen by then and far too observant—noticed.

Shauna loved Callie, but Rylie felt safe to her. Easier to claim. Easier to hold.

Jackie, of course, didn’t dwell on it. She was too busy basking in the relief of finally enjoying a baby.

 

---

 

Rylie nickname was Sunshine and not the cutesy kind people throw around for any smiling baby. She was the light after the storm.

When Jackie had first held her—tiny, warm, content—there had been this moment, brief and overwhelming, where she felt like the world had clicked back into place. Like maybe she hadn’t been broken by motherhood after all.

Shauna had been the first to say it, actually.

“She’s like a little piece of sunshine,” she’d murmured, the morning after they brought Rylie home, standing in the nursery doorway while Jackie rocked the baby in the soft cream glider. Her voice was rough, a little stunned she had said it herself.

Jackie turned, surprised by the softness in her tone.

“You think so?”

Shauna nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

After that, the name stuck.

Sunshine.

It fit her—bright eyes like her mama, golden fuzz of hair that shimmered in the light, a smile that rarely left her face. She’d coo instead of cry. Stretch her tiny arms with lazy delight. Gurgle when someone talked to her like she understood every word.

Even Callie, at four, had taken to calling her “my baby sunshine” when she helped bring diapers or sang to her from the foot of the crib.

For Jackie, it was more than a name. It was a relief.
Rylie’s calmness gave her permission to enjoy being a mom again—to want to be present instead of just surviving the day.

For Shauna, it meant less fear. Fewer triggers. Fewer moments where Jackie dissolved under the pressure of a screaming child while Shauna stood helpless in the doorway. Rylie didn’t make Jackie stressed. Rylie made her shine .

And even Henry—thirteen and pretending he was above everything—found himself slipping into the nursery after school just to watch her kick her feet and blink up at him like he was the most fascinating person on earth.

“Hey, Sunshine,” he’d say softly, touching her tiny hand. She’d wrap her fingers around his, warm and perfect.

He’d smile, and feel something loosen in his chest.

She had that effect on all of them. She arrived in the middle of everything—gaps in Jackie and Shauna’s relationship, Henry’s teenage moods, Callie’s chaos—and just… stilled it .

Her presence was gentle, but grounding.

She was the baby who didn’t make demands. She simply was .
The joy they hadn’t known they were allowed to feel again.

Sunshine, Jackie would whisper when rocking her late at night, cheek against soft downy hair.
“You saved me, you know.”

Callie’s colic had left invisible scars. For months after Callie started sleeping through the night, Jackie would jolt awake expecting to hear her cries. Anytime she heard a baby cry she would flinch. She’d spent several years living like the world was about to collapse in noise again.

But Rylie changed that.

She made Jackie laugh again, made her sway to music in the kitchen with a baby on her hip and a smile in her eyes.

Rylie turned one with cake in her curls and frosting on her toes, and Jackie whispered to Shauna that night, in bed, “I could do this again. Maybe just one more.”

Chapter 5: C is for Callie but also for Chaos

If anyone ever asked Shauna “Which one of your kids would the cops call you about?” she had a answer without even thinking.

“Callie,” she’d say, deadpan. “It’s Callie. Always Callie.”

No hesitation. No debate. Not even a pause to consider the potential of the other four.

She was that kid. The wild card. From the moment that girl took her first breath Callie had been a force of nature wrapped in baby pink.

Shauna saw it early. It wasn’t the colic, although that certainly didn’t help. It wasn’t even the way Callie needed Jackie in a way that sometimes felt like oxygen—like she’d scream just from losing sight of her across the room. No, it was something in her eyes . Sharp. Watching. Calculating, even as a toddler. She’d pout before she could talk, stare you down like she knew something you didn’t.

---

One of her first words was “fuck.”

Not “mama,” not “dog,” not even “no.”
“Fuck.”

She said it at fourteen months old, in perfect mimicry of Shauna slamming her shin into the kitchen island one morning while rushing to get Henry to school early because she had a meeting downtown. Callie, sitting pretty in her high chair in a bib that read Mommy’s Little Sunshine with mashed banana on her face Callie parroted back, “ Fuck. ”

Shauna spit out her coffee. Jackie sat stunned. Henry, eleven at the time, laughed so hard he fell off the kitchen stool.

They knew they were doomed from that moment on.

---

By age three, her Shipman stubbornness was a daily part of bedtime routines. “Mama says I can have two stories.”
“Mama says no broccoli.”
“Mama says I'll sleep in her bed.”
Jackie, bleary-eyed and soft-hearted, rarely contradicted her.

Shauna, on the other hand, wasn’t fooled for a second.

“She’s working you,” Shauna would mutter.
“She’s three,” Jackie would reply, already handing Callie a second cookie.

It only escalated from there.

 

---

 

Callie had a mouth on her from the minute she could form full sentences. Like her mom she was sarcastic and Unapologetically blunt, but unlike shauna who could turn it off Callie had no filter. In preschool, she told a teacher the class storytime book was boring and probably written by someone “who didn’t even like kids.” In kindergarten, she convinced three other girls to trade their snacks with her daily, until one of the moms called and demanded to know why her daughter was coming home with nothing but carrot sticks and existential dread.
By five, she tried to convince Henry to give her half his Halloween candy with a legally-binding crayon-drawn contract.
By seven, she hacked the Wi-Fi password just because someone told her she couldn’t.

She had this way of walking into rooms like she owned them. Not arrogantly, just... unbothered. She wore mismatched socks on purpose and once dyed the ends of her hair green in middle school using Kool-Aid packets because Jackie wouldn’t let her near real dye. It s

She was smart, sharp as a knife and absolutely fearless . She didn’t just test boundaries—she bulldozed them with no consideration for others feelings.

She climbed one everything. Dared gravity to stop her. She cut her own bangs with safety scissors twice in one week when she was four and once tried to "rescue" the neighbor’s cat by climbing onto their roof with a lunchbox full of tuna. She even got suspended in preschool for biting a kid who tried to steal her crayon (“he deserved it”). She was stubborn, opinionated, and absolutely allergic to being told “no.”

Teachers would call the house almost weekly.
“She’s brilliant,” they’d say, “but she’s… a lot.”
Or:
“She asked the substitute if she was qualified to teach ‘emotions.’”
Or:
“She convinced half the class the moon landing was fake for a full hour before we caught on.”

She once punched a boy for calling Rylie “a teacher’s pet” during field day. When Jackie got the call from the principal, she asked what the boy had said first she just exhaled, long and slow, and muttered, “Yeah, that tracks.”

Shauna, on the other hand, brought home cupcakes that night and told Callie not to punch next time—“use your words to ruin their life instead.”

 

---

 

And Jackie, poor Jackie, tried so hard to rein it in.

She’d read the books. Listened to the other parents at the parents groups. Tried time-outs and gentle parenting, chore charts, consequence jars, rewards systems. But Callie steamrolled through it all. Jackie would try to reason with her, calm her down, and Shauna would stand in the doorway with crossed arms and a tight jaw silently wondering if this is what she might have been like had she not had someone like Jackie in her life plus a ton of confidence.

Callie was Shauna’s daughter through and through. Just… louder. With little impulse control, zero codependency issues and a flair for drama.

Like Shauna she was often Too smart for her own good. Too observant. The kind of kid who picked up on things adults thought they’d whispered. Who knew what tone of voice meant someone was lying and wasn’t afraid to call them out on it, teachers, babysitters, Henry’s high school girlfriend once during an awkward family dinner.

She made friends easily and lost them just as fast—always the one who said the too-honest thing at the sleepover, who didn’t know how to sugarcoat her thoughts because she didn’t want to. “Why would I lie to make someone feel better? Isn’t that just worse?” she’d ask, and Jackie would sigh while Shauna silently agreed.

“She’s the reason I have grey hair,” Shauna would mutter.

Henry used to say Callie was like one of those baby goats at the petting zoo—cute and hilarious until it kicked you in the shins for no reason. Jackie hated that analogy. Shauna loved it.

“Better a kicker than a doormat,” she’d say, sipping her wine. “At least she’ll survive the world.”

Because truth be told, for all the stress Callie brought with her—holes in the drywall, a brief but passionate interest in fire-starting, that one time she locked Rylie in the bathroom during a game of “pirate jail”—Jackie loved her like a fire loved oxygen.

Callie lit up the house in a way no one else could.

She was exhausting and brilliant. And probably going to get suspended for something ridiculous before she hit high school.

But if the cops ever did come knocking?

Shauna would already have her keys in hand, wallet ready for bail, muttering, “I knew it. I told you all it’d be her.”

Chapter 6: Shauna 'favourite' child

Evelyn “Evie” Blair Shipman came into the world five summers after Rylie, right on schedule, like her arrival had been penciled into the family calendar years in advance.

Shauna liked patterns, after all. Five years between each of the girls. Enough time for routines to settle and sleep to return before Jackie was gently coaxed—some might say manipulated —into another pregnancy. And, true to form, Shauna had started dropping hints when Rylie turned three. Jackie, as always, protested at first—tired, hesitant, clinging to the precious rhythm they’d finally found—but one morning in early September, she’d walked into the kitchen with wide eyes and a pink plastic test in hand.

Shauna didn’t even act surprised. Just kissed her forehead and called their OB. The nursery was ready before Jackie even hit her third trimester, and Rylie, sweet and curious, spent hours each week “reading” board books to Jackie’s belly, her little voice full of wonder.

Evie was born on a sweltering summer morning in Boston. Her birth was smooth and fast—textbook, as the nurses said. Jackie had labored mostly at home, crouched over the side of their bed while Shauna rubbed her back, murmuring encouragement, timing contractions with a practiced calm. When they arrived at the hospital, Jackie was already 7 centimeters. Evie slid into the world just after mid morning, with a full head of dark hair and a sleepy expression, as if she’d taken one long look around and decided, Yeah, this’ll do.

Like her big sister Rylie, Evie was calm. From the beginning, she had a peaceful, curious way about her. She never startled easily, never cried without reason. Her big blue eyes took everything in from the light filtering through the nursery curtains to the sound of Rylie reading picture books aloud in the next room to the smell of Jackie’s perfume and worn into the fabric of every burp cloth in the house. She had Jackie’s gentleness, her quiet way of tethering people. She made everyone feel like they mattered, like they were part of some unspoken story she was always writing in her head. But behind her long lashes and sweet giggles, there was always a flicker of mischief in her eyes.

But make no mistake—Evie was no docile angel.

There was a spark in her, something unmistakable. A glint of mischief behind her smiles.

Where Rylie had been sweet and serene, Evie was clever and quick. Evie had a way of doing things she knew she wasn’t supposed to—but with such innocent charm that no one could stay mad for long. She’d swipe cookies from the cooling rack and hide the crumbs behind her back with a big, dramatic “What cookie?” She’d draw on the walls, then help clean it with a baby wipe and a self-satisfied smile. 

 Even as a baby, she would lock eyes with you before pulling off her sock for the hundredth time. She giggled when she got away with things—grabbing Shauna’s glasses, unbuckling the high chair tray, throwing her pacifier just to watch someone chase it.

By one year old, she was climbing out of her crib.
By two, she was sneaking Riley's cookies off her plate and blaming it on the dog.
By the time she was three, she was Mimicking Shauna's sarcasm.

One day, Jackie had said, “Evie, are you being a little rascal?”
Evie, without missing a beat, shot back, “No, Callie’s the rascal. I’m just adorable.”
Shauna spit her coffee across the counter .

---

Evie adored her sisters, but she studied them, too.

She idolized Rylie, followed her around like a shadow, mimicking her gestures and phrases. But when Rylie wanted space, Evie respected it—sticking a post-it note on her door that read I still like you even if you don't like me right now.

She worshipped Callie—though that was more dangerous.

Callie encouraged chaos, let her watch scary movies too young, taught her how to fake a fever and sneak snacks into the playroom. When she was seven, Evie once asked Shauna with a totally straight face if it was “illegal to stage your own death for fun.”

Shauna blinked. “What?”

“Callie said it’s only illegal if you involve cops.”

Shauna poured herself a drink that night.

---

“Evie’s different ,” Jackie would say, laughing but tired. “She’s got Rylie’s chill with Callie’s chaos.”

Shauna loved it.

Shauna would joke that “She’s a little con artist in a tutu.”

But the truth, Shauna had a real soft spot for Evie.

Not because she loved her more—not exactly —but because Evie looked so much like Jackie that it was almost eerie. Same delicate cheekbones, same dimple in her left cheek, same almond-shaped eyes that flicked up when she was amused and narrowed when she was focused.

Rylie was very similar to Jackie but Evie was like having a miniature Jackie wander around the house, barefoot in a princess dress and sticky-fingered, asking “why” five hundred times a day.

And Shauna—who had lived through the wilderness, who had watched Jackie nearly starve and freeze and fall apart out there—found herself completely undone by this small, mischievous version of her.

She called Evie her “little fox”—quiet, clever, always one step ahead. She found it endearing, hilarious even, when Evie would look right at her, shake her head “no,” and do the exact thing she was told not to do. Maybe because she remembered how Jackie used to be at that age. Maybe because she saw the same steel wrapped in sweetness. The same disarming charm that made people underestimate just how stubborn she could be.

Jackie, meanwhile, saw the writing on the wall. She knew what it meant to raise a child with that twinkle of rebellion. She had been living it with Callie. And while Rylie was content with rules and schedules, Evie pushed boundaries just to see where they’d bend.

She once flushed a bracelet down the toilet “to see if it’d go to the ocean.” When Jackie scolded her, Evie calmly replied, “But I wanted a mermaid to have it.”

Shauna laughed wondering How do you argue with that?

Henry, eighteen by then and halfway through college, adored her. He thought of Evie as the perfect mix of the girls who came before her—Callie’s wildness tempered by Rylie’s softness. He would come home for breaks and find her waiting at the door in a tutu, holding a juice box like a cocktail shauna enjoyed sometimes, ready to report on everything that had happened since he left.

“Callie yelled at Mama ‘cause she was being bossy again, ” she’d say, confidentially.

Or: “Rylie let me put lipstick on her but I drew a mustache instead. She cried but it was funny .”

She had no filter. No shame. No fear.

And everyone adored her for it.

Jackie sometimes worried they let Evie get away with too much. She and Shauna were older now—tired in a different way than they were with Callie. The sharp edges had softened. The discipline was more relaxed.

But at the same time, Evie’s charm was disarming. She had an old soul’s eyes and a toddler’s impulse control, and somehow that combination made her irresistible. Even when she was pulling the cat’s tail or sneaking cereal into the couch cushions, she did it with a wink and a dimple that made scolding her feel like kicking a puppy.

And Jacki found herself, surprisingly, loving every bit of it.

Evie made her laugh Constantly ( Even when she shouldn’t).
Even when she was in trouble.

Because underneath the mischief, there was always love.
Fierce, bold, funny love.

And if Riley had healed something in Jackie, Evie had awakened something else entirely—joy, maybe Delight. That giddy, unexpected pleasure of raising a kid who was impossible to predict and impossible not to love.

Jackie knew—sooner or later—that little spark could turn into fire.

But for now, she was just their last girl.
Their clever, charming chaos.
Their quiet little fox.

Chapter 7: Jackie's pregnant and Shauna's stressed

Summary:

July 2016

Henry-19
Callie-9
Rylie-5

The first time Callie, nearly ten years old and already all elbows, attitude, and wild opinions, truly understood how protective her mom was over her mama was during the summer Jackie was pregnant with Evie.

Up until that point, Callie had always known her mom, Shauna, was a little intense, stern, easily annoyed and never the cuddly one. Jackie was the one who you went for a hug  and who remembered birthdays, Shauna was the one who muttered under her breath and handled anything that required a stern phone call. But when Jackie got pregnant with baby number four a shift happened. One Callie didn’t have the words for yet, but felt in the air every single day.

And it started early.

By 30 weeks, Jackie was already massive. Rounder than she had ever been with any of the other kids. By then, Callie was old enough to remember how it had gone with Rylie—calm, gentle, smooth. This pregnancy was different. The baby was a nonstop gymnast in utero, pressing up into Jackie’s ribs like she was trying to stretch out the real estate. Jackie was tired all the time. Her feet were swollen, her back hurt, and her belly looked like she was smuggling a beach ball under her dress.she was already the size she’d been at full term with Callie, who’d been born at nearly nine pounds herself. 

Shauna took one look at Jackie waddling into the kitchen one morning, belly out so far it almost knocked a bowl off the counter, and let out a slow, awed, “Jesus Christ, babe, are you sure it’s just one?”

Jackie glared, hands bracing her lower back. “You think I haven’t asked them that?”

---

Callie noticed it all.

She noticed how her mama barely made it down the hall without puffing, how she slept on the couch more often than not, propped up on a fortress of pillows because lying flat made her sick. She noticed how Jackie winced every time she laughed too hard or got up too fast. And she noticed most of all how Shauna noticed it too—except instead of standing back like Callie had been doing, her mom took over. Completely.

One afternoon, Callie walked into the kitchen and caught her mama trying to reach for a cereal box on the top shelf, stretching uncomfortably, her belly in the way. Callie saw her wince.

Before Jackie could even call out, Shauna appeared like a storm front.

“What are you doing?” she snapped, striding over, pulling Jackie’s arm down gently but firmly. “Why didn’t you ask for help?”

Jackie, in her usual calm way, shrugged. “Didn’t want to bother anyone.”

“You’re carrying an elephant, babe,” Shauna muttered, already reaching up for the box. “You don’t lift a damn finger.”

Jackie wasn’t allowed to carry a laundry basket.
Jackie wasn’t allowed to open the door if someone knocked.
Jackie wasn’t even allowed to drive past 30 weeks (she literally had to hide the keys).

Shauna, who’d never before packed a school lunch in her life, started waking up early to do just that.
Shauna, who had always been the parent who left in the morning and got home after dinner, was now the one doing drop-offs and pickups, learning the back route to Rylie’s preschool and the ever-changing bus schedule for Callie’s summer program.  Shauna learned how to do Rylie’s hair in lopsided pigtails and filled out the emergency contact forms for Callie’s new school year without making a single sarcastic comment.

She even made charts—color-coded, taped to the fridge, and called Henry at college to ask for his sports schedule too, just in case she needed to swing by on a game weekend.

Callie watched all of it with wary eyes.
She wasn’t used to seeing her mom so… attentive.

It wasn’t the same kind of soft Jackie gave. Jackie was warm and sweet with her love, hands always gentle, words always kind. But Shauna? Shauna loved like a force field. Her care came in the form of control. Of territory. Of not letting anyone—or anything—touch what was hers .

And when Jackie got pregnant with Evie? She became more “hers” than ever.

Jackie didn’t lift a finger for months .
She wasn’t allowed to and callie would hear it from another room. 

“I got it,” Shauna would say, even if Jackie just tried to fold laundry or open a jar.
“Sit down, babe.”
“No, seriously. I said sit down. ”
“Don’t you dare try to mop the kitchen. I’ll do it when I get back.”

It was almost comical how even more wrapped around Jackie she became. If she could have wrapped Jackie in bubble wrap and kept her in bed for the entire third trimester, she would’ve.

And the thing that really stunned Callie was this:
Jackie let her.

Not with a sigh. Not with a roll of her eyes.
She just… let herself be cared for.

Even doted on.

Maybe it was because Jackie had done it all before.

But this time, for once, Jackie didn’t have to be the strong one.
Shauna wouldn’t let her be.

Even Rylie got in on it. Rylie had appointed herself Mama’s Special Helper that summer, a title she took very seriously.

At five years old, she was earnest and sweet and a little bossy in a way that made Jackie melt. Rylie brought Jackie water bottles shauna put in a little mini fridge just off the living room, brushed her mama’s hair while humming off-key lullabies, and gently patted her belly every night like a good-luck ritual. Rylie didn’t understand pregnancy the way Callie did, but she understood her mama was tired, and she wanted to help.

“baby in there napping , right Mama?” she’d ask solemnly.

“Hopefully,” Jackie would say, with a groan. “She never stops moving.”

Because of course, even in the womb, Evie had attitude.

She kicked constantly. Rolled around. Pushed up against Jackie’s ribs like she was trying to find an escape hatch. She was stubborn and heavy and already testing her limits—and Jackie, despite the discomfort, couldn’t help but laugh every time her stomach lurched and shifted like something alien.

---

One afternoon in August, Callie was helping Jackie tie her shoes.
(Not that Shauna would’ve allowed it—she was out on a grocery run and had very specific instructions not to let Jackie move. But Rylie wanted to go out and play on her swing and Callie had volunteered to help.)

As she knelt and looped the laces, Jackie smiled down at her and said, “You’re so good at this. Remind me to tell Mom to stop buying the sneakers with double knots.”

Callie huffed. “She won’t. She says they ‘stay on better.’”

Jackie laughed softly. Then her face twisted slightly—the baby must’ve kicked hard, she though—and she laid a hand on her belly.
Callie paused. “Does it hurt?”

“Sometimes,” Jackie admitted. “She’s stronger than I expected. Like you were.”

They were quiet for a moment, until Callie—looking up from the floor—finally asked, “Do you like it? When Mom does everything?”

Jackie blinked. “You mean right now?”

“Yeah.”

Jackie tilted her head, like she was carefully weighing the truth.
And then she said, simply, “I do.”

“Even when she’s… bossy?”

Jackie grinned. “Especially then.”

Callie made a face.

Jackie’s smile faded, just a little. She reached out and tucked a piece of Callie’s hair behind her ear, soft and slow. “She gets scared, Cal,” she said gently. “She won’t admit it, but she’s terrified something’s going to go wrong. This is how she deals with it.”

Callie nodded, her chest tight. “You’re her favorite.”

Jackie blinked again. “No, baby. She’s mine.”

And that was it, really. The sentence that anchored the rest.

Callie, who had always seen her mom as sharp and strong, never soft—not like Mama—suddenly saw something different. A cord between them. Not just love but ownership . Fierce, mutual devotion.
Like they weren’t just partners—they were each other’s .

That pregnancy taught Callie a lot.
How heavy a baby bump could really be.
How important it was to put compression socks on right .
How much power a five-year-old could hold when they used their tiny voice to say, “Mama needs a nap.”

But most of all?

It taught her that her moms weren’t just in love.
They were entwined .

And nothing—not chaos, not time, not even a fourth kid—was ever going to change that.

---

“She’s going to be one big baby,” the OB warned at 34 weeks, and Shauna beamed like she was getting a trophy.

Jackie, on the other hand, groaned. “No medals for me unless she comes out sleeping through the night.”

Shauna spoiled her even harder after that appointment. By then, Jackie couldn’t even drive comfortably, so Shauna had taken over everything: the grocery lists, the carpool route, Callies soccer practice pickup, and even planning meals . Henry swore it was the most surreal part of the whole pregnancy.

“You’ve never cooked more than eggs,” he said, poking at a suspicious-looking lasagna one evening when he was home from college.

“I’m learning,” Shauna snapped. 

Henry grinned. “You’re nesting.”

“I’m surviving,” Shauna muttered, wrestling with a bottle of marinara sauce.

But in truth, she was nesting—in her own way. She didn’t fluff pillows or pick out crib mobiles. But she organized every detail of the household with military precision, kept Jackie’s prenatal vitamin bottle stocked, and rubbed her feet every night without complaint. She even bought a pregnancy pillow shaped like a giant C that took up half their bed, just because Jackie said she saw it in a magazine and her one from rylie had been destroyed by callie a few years back.

“You’re the best,” Jackie would whisper into her shoulder every night.

“Damn right I am,” Shauna would reply, pulling the covers up to Jackie’s chin. “Now stop breathing like you’re going into labor. I’ll lose my mind.”

The truth was, Shauna had barely coped with Jackie’s first pregnancy. Being helpless—watching her in pain, watching her bleed and cry and go still when Callie wouldn’t stop screaming—had left scars Shauna didn’t like to talk about. This time? She was going to do everything right .

This time, Jackie was going to feel safe .

And for the most part, she did.

Even with the weight. Even with the aching back. Even with Evie doing gymnastics at 3 a.m., Jackie felt surrounded, supported, cocooned in a kind of love that made her tear up when she least expected it.

“I don’t deserve all this,” she whispered once, late at night, curled against Shauna in the dim light of the nursery.

Shauna snorted. “You deserve better than this, but this is what I’ve got. So you’re getting the best version of it.”

Jackie sniffled and smiled. “That was weirdly romantic.”

And so they waited. Jackie swelled. The house settled. And when Evie finally arrived—stubborn, perfect, calm with eyes just like her mama’s—Shauna didn’t cry over the baby, didn’t even really look at the baby at first.

She kissed Jackie’s sweaty forehead, brushed the hair back from her face, and whispered, “You did it, babe. You’re okay.”

And that, in the end, was all she’d ever wanted.

 

Chapter 8: Shauna's little helper

Little Rylie loved helping her mama.

It was one of those pure, simple truths about her—a part of who she was, even before she could fully string together a sentence. From the moment she was old enough to toddle after Jackie with her big curious eyes and always-too-long sleeves, Rylie wanted to do things for her mama. If Jackie was folding laundry, Rylie would bring her mismatched socks. If Jackie was sweeping, Rylie would beg for the mini broom. If Jackie sighed or winced or rubbed her lower back while pregnant with Evie, Rylie was already scampering to grab a pillow, or a blanket, or her favorite stuffed bunny “in case Mama needed snuggles.”

She was almost 5 then—sun-kissed and sweet, all curls and gap-toothed grins and soft little hands. She had Jackie’s dimple and Shauna’s stare, which could be either a blessing or a curse depending on who she turned it on. But when it came to her mama, Rylie was all in . The loyalty, the love, the adoration—it was unshakable.

And Shauna?

Shauna used it .

Not maliciously, not in a cruel way—more like she saw the opportunity and leaned into it. She saw how Rylie’s devotion to Jackie made her a perfect little ally in Shauna’s ongoing mission to keep her very pregnant wife off her feet . And with the baby cooking like she had a personal vendetta against Jackie’s spine, Shauna needed all the help she could get.

So she made Rylie her tiny lieutenant cause Rylie loved everything about Jackie being pregnant.

She loved resting her tiny hand on her mama’s stomach and waiting to feel the flutter of kicks. She loved going shopping with her mama for baby clothes. She loved sitting beside Jackie on the couch and “reading” picture books to the bump, pointing at each animal and announcing, “That’s a cow! That one’s a duck!” as if her unborn sister needed to study for a quiz.

And she especially loved when Jackie called her Mama’s Best Little Helper . Her face would light up like a lantern—cheeks round, eyes proud. She glowed with that kind of warm-hearted pride that only a child, deeply secure in their family, could glow with.

Jackie, exhausted and sore most days, welcomed the help with open arms. Rylie’s eager presence brought her comfort. It made her laugh. And in those long, hot summer weeks when every movement felt like dragging bricks through molasses, Rylie’s cheerful chatter kept her from slipping into the quiet frustration that often came with late pregnancy.

Shauna adored Rylie. She thought her middle daughter was the sunniest creature on Earth, too good and too golden for anything dark in the world to touch. But Shauna was also practical —and exhausted. The pregnancy had turned their home into something of a temporary recovery ward, and Shauna had taken on everything: cooking, cleaning, school drop-offs, Callie’s chaos, Henry’s schedules, grocery runs, Rylie’s playdates. All of it.

And so, slowly but surely, she started letting Rylie help her , too.

It started small.

“Hey Ry, can you hand me that washcloth?”
Then: “Think you can pick up those toys while Mama rests?”
And before long: “Why don’t you go check if Mama wants a snack? She listens to you better than me these days.”

Shauna spun Rylie’s devotion into useful devotion.

“Mama looks tired. Let’s make her a blanket nest.”
“Rylie, wanna help me stir the soup so Mama can nap?”
“C’mere, babe—wanna learn how to fold these burp cloths the right way?”

Rylie beamed at every task. Every single one.

Because for her, it wasn’t work—it was love.

She didn’t realize she was doing the things her mom didn’t have the bandwidth for anymore. She didn’t realize Shauna was quietly redirecting her energy so she could fold laundry without a five-year-old hanging off her leg. Rylie just thought Mama needs help and I’m the helper.

But Jackie knew.

She noticed how Shauna started calling Rylie “my little assistant” with a smirk. She noticed how her kitchen started staying cleaner and how her back stopped aching as often because someone else was fetching her water every hour. She noticed how Rylie would come toddling into the living room like, “Mom says you need a snack and a nap.”

Jackie didn’t mind, though. Not really.
Because Rylie never once looked burdened.
She loved being helpful and kept her away from Callies choice schemes.

And Shauna—despite the manipulation, however mild—was doing it out of love too.

She just had that Shauna way of turning a soft thing into something else.

If Jackie even so much as looked like she was about to do something—stand up, get a drink, carry a basket of folded laundry—Shauna would swoop in with a firm “Nope,” and then she’d look over her shoulder and call, “Rylie, can you be my helper?”

And Rylie? Oh, she’d beam .

“YES, MOM!”
She was so proud to be needed. So proud to be trusted .

Sometimes Jackie would roll her eyes and mutter, “You’re turning her into a spy.”
Shauna would grin and kiss her on the forehead. “I prefer to think of it as training a very competent assistant.”

Soon enough, Rylie was reporting back with detailed intel.

“Mama stood up by herself when you were in the kitchen.”
“She carried her tea from the couch to the sink.”
“She tried to fold the towels again .”

And Shauna—who was juggling a work, house chores, multiple school schedules, and the moods of a hormonal ten-year-old named Callie—would sigh dramatically and say, “I knew she couldn’t be trusted. Thank you, Lieutenant.”

They made her a little badge one day. Rylie wore it on her shirt like it was made of gold.

And Jackie, for all her good-natured groaning, didn’t really mind. She loved seeing her daughter so involved, so full of purpose and pride. Even if it meant she couldn’t reach for the TV remote without hearing a tiny gasp and a “ MAMA! Let me do it!”

Shauna wouldn’t say it aloud, but Jackie saw it in her, too. A mirror of old wounds. Out in the wilderness, usefulness had meant survival . They’d all learned that. Jackie had just spent years trying to unlearn it.

Shauna hadn’t.

So when their child—so good, so golden—offered help, Shauna took it. Sometimes more than she should.

And Rylie, grinning ear to ear as she fetched Mama’s slippers, never once seemed to mind.

Because to her, love and service were the same thing.

 

---

 

One day, Jackie tried to sneak out the front door to get the mail.

She made it down the steps with some effort, huffing a little under the weight of her belly, only to turn around and find Rylie standing in the doorway—hands on hips, face full of betrayal.

“Mama! You forgot to ask permission! ”

Shauna, watching from the kitchen window, laughed so hard she dropped her coffee.

Later, Jackie said, “You’re raising her to be just like you.”
Shauna smirked. “That’s the goal, babe.”
Jackie shook her head, smiling. “God help me.”

But the truth was—deep down—they both knew that Rylie’s helpfulness wasn’t just about Evie, or the pregnancy, or Shauna’s little power plays. It was about love . About how Rylie had learned—by watching, by listening, by feeling —that in their family, taking care of each other was how you showed your heart.

Rylie mimicked what she saw every Shauna caring for Jackie, Jackie softening under the weight of it, Shauna growing more rigid the closer they got to Jackie’s due date, Rylie stepping in with her chubby hands and bright eyes and fierce insistence that Mama needed rest .

Rylie didn’t always understand why her mama had to stay still. She just knew that Mama was important. That Mama hurt sometimes . That Mama’s belly had a baby in it and babies needed soft, safe things.

And maybe Rylie was being used.
But maybe—more than that—she was learning what it meant to love someone so much, you build your whole little world around keeping them safe.

Shauna didn’t say it often, but one night, when she tucked Rylie in and kissed her forehead, she whispered:
“You’re doing a good job, kiddo. Mama’s lucky to have you.”

And Rylie, half-asleep and clutching her bunny, mumbled, “We’re all lucky, huh?”

Shauna stared at her for a moment—this little girl who looked so much like Jackie, who already loved with the same quiet intensity—and said softly, “Yeah. We are.”

 

Chapter 9: Date night traditions

Since Callie was just a chubby-cheeked, babbling one-year-old, still stumbling around on wobbly legs and demanding attention at every turn, Jackie and Shauna made a pact—one that would outlive the chaos of tantrums, teething, homework, ballet recitals, soccer tournaments, pregnancies, and postpartum recovery.

Date night. Twice a month. No excuses.

It started as a survival strategy.
Callie, bless her wild little heart, had been colicky from the start, and the first year of her life nearly wrecked them both. They were sleep-deprived, emotionally frayed, and more roommates than lovers by the end of it. They needed something to remind themselves they weren’t just co-parents or crisis managers—they were still Shauna and Jackie . Two women who had survived the impossible and still, against every law of odds and logic, wanted to build a life together.

The first few date nights had been at home, mostly—takeout and candles after Callie went down for the night, or a shared bottle of wine and a movie on the couch. But they felt sacred. They carved out time, just for each other, even when Jackie was exhausted or Shauna was stressed from work. They showed up for it.

And over the years, they never let it fall away.

Every newborn shifted the rhythm a bit. When Rylie was born, date night meant Shauna cooking pasta while Jackie rocked the baby in her sling. With Evie, it was sushi takeout and board games while they both wore pajama pants and grinned over glass bottles of sparkling apple cider, baby monitor propped between them.

But once the babies were old enough to be left with Henry for a few hours, or Shauna mom on the occasion she visited, Shauna always made a point of going out again. To real places. With menus and lighting and music and wine lists. Fancy restaurants in the South End. Cozy jazz bars tucked into Beacon Hill. The art museum after dark or quiet cafés with white tablecloths and waiters who never batted an eye at the hand-holding or quiet kisses exchanged over crème brûlée.

Jackie lived for those nights.

She loved an excuse to dress up. Not for anyone else—for Shauna .
She’d curl her hair, line her eyes, swipe on her favorite mauve lipstick and smile when Shauna’s eyes always did that thing—went a little wide, a little soft. “God, you’re gorgeous,” she’d mutter every time, even after twenty years together.

And Shauna… Shauna loved the ritual of it.
The intimacy of their nights.
She’d pull out her best blazer—black and perfectly tailored—over a crisp white shirt Jackie always pretended to button for her, even when it was already done. Her favorite dress shoes (the ones that made her just tall enough to lean down and kiss Jackie’s temple instead of her forehead). Colognes that Jackie liked.

What Shauna loved most, though, wasn’t the dressing up.
It was the undivided attention.

Jackie had a heart so big it cracked open for everyone. For the kids, the neighbors, the teachers, the grocery clerk who looked tired at the checkout. She had a love that stretched and stretched.

But on date night? That love focused entirely on her.

They’d sit across from each other in a dim booth, laughing over stories they’d already told and inside jokes that hadn’t changed since the plane crash. Jackie would tuck her bare foot into Shauna’s lap beneath the table, and Shauna would trace her fingers along the curve of Jackie’s ankle absentmindedly while talking about work, or the kids, or nothing at all.

No tantrums. No dishes. No diapers. No “Mama, I need…”
Just them .

Sometimes, Jackie would lean in with a teasing smile and whisper, “Remember when we thought we’d never get to do things like this again?”
And Shauna would grip her hand tighter, remembering the blood and snow and fear of those wilderness years, and say softly, “Yeah. I remember everything.”

Because that’s what date night really was—not just dinner and wine and dressing up.

It was a promise.

A promise that even after everything, after trauma and survival and sleepless nights and four (soon five) kids, they were still the center of each other’s world.

And Jackie would always smile, like she knew exactly what Shauna was thinking, and say, “We still got it.”

And Shauna, no matter how tired or busy or overwhelmed she might’ve been hours earlier, would always answer the same way:

“Damn right we do.”

---

As the girls got older, date night became a full-family event— not in the traditional sense, of course. Jackie and Shauna still left the house alone, just the two of them, but the lead-up became a production. Especially once the girls figured out there was fashion involved.

It started out simple. Rylie was maybe five the first time she wandered into the bedroom while Jackie stood in front of the mirror holding up two dresses.

Rylie, arms crossed in her little pink unicorn pajamas, studied both options seriously. “The green one mama,” she said confidently. “It makes your eyes look really pretty.”

Jackie blinked. “You think so?”

“Yes.” Rylie nodded like it was law. “Also, the black one is too boring. Mom hates black dresses.”

And just like that, a tradition was born.

By the time Rylie was a teenager, she’d graduated to full-blown stylist. She would dig through Jackie’s closet like she was backstage at Fashion Week—pulling shoes, accessories, even belts that Jackie forgot she owned. Rylie had an eye, no doubt about it. She instinctively knew what looked good on her mama’s frame, what colors made her glow, and what jewelry caught the light just right.

She also had strong opinions about lipstick.

“Not the brown one, that’s too ‘teacher,’” she’d say, hands on her hips. “Do the berry one. It’s prettier.”

Jackie took it all in stride, half-laughing, half-indulging. She genuinely loved it—loved how Rylie’s eyes lit up with every new outfit combo, how she’d watch her in the mirror like a proud little consultant.

Evie was less interested in full styling (her mischief leaned more toward sneaking snacks while everyone was distracted), but even she liked picking earrings or swiping blush on her mama’s cheeks with a glittery brush.

Callie, on the other hand… not so much.

Fashion was not her thing. Never had been. Callie, now a teenager and more into sneakers and band tees than anything involving a curling iron, would usually lounge on the bed, offering chaotic commentary from the sidelines. She’d toss up outfit suggestions half-sarcastically (“That red dress says vampire mob wife, go with that”) or shout out her brutally honest opinions on lipstick shades.

Still, she’d occasionally hover in the doorway, arms crossed, eyebrows raised as her sisters turned the room into a fashion hurricane.

“Y’all are doing too much,” Callie would mutter, only to be completely ignored as Rylie laid out heels next to a matching clutch.

But every now and then—on the rare night when Jackie was wearing something extra sparkly or had done her hair in soft curls—Callie’s voice would soften and she’d say, “You look good, Mama.”

That always meant something special. Jackie never missed the way her eyes lit up when her oldest daughter gave a rare stamp of approval.

---

Meanwhile, Shauna loved every second of it from the sidelines.

She’d usually be waiting by the door, fully dressed in slacks and blazer, pretending to be annoyed by the delay but clearly loving the sound of laughter and chaos pouring down the hallway. Jackie always made a dramatic entrance, arms out like a red carpet model, and the girls would cheer or gasp depending on the outfit.

“Wowww,” Rylie would say, like it was her masterpiece walking out the door.

“You’re gonna make Mom faint,” Evie giggled.

And more than once, Shauna would look at her wife—hair pinned up, dress hugging her in just the right way, a sparkle in her eyes—and let out a low whistle.

“Jesus Christ, Jax,” she’d mutter with a grin, voice low and warm, like she still couldn’t believe her luck. “How am I supposed to behave at dinner?”

The girls would squeal, gag and throw pillows at them, and Jackie would blush and laugh, but her eyes always softened in that way she only ever looked at Shauna.

Then the front door would close behind them, and the house would fall quiet. Henry, if he was around, would be in charge of babysitting, often bribed with takeout. Callie would usually retreat to her room, the other kids sprawled on the couch in Jackie’s robe pretending to be at a spa.

And for a few hours, their parents would disappear into the city, hand in hand, dressed to the nines like a scene from a movie.

The girls were too young to say it out loud, but they saw it.

They saw what love looked like. How it dressed up, how it planned, how it showed up even after long days and endless laundry.
They saw that being adored wasn’t something that faded with time—it deepened.

And Rylie, would always say it best:

“Mom doesn’t just look at Mama like she’s pretty.
She looks at her like she’s magic.”

 

---

Just before they were ready to leave, Shauna would come up behind Jackie at the vanity, her hands gentle but sure, and she’d pull a small velvet box from her blazer pocket. Inside it was Jackie’s engagement ring—an antique diamond set in a delicate gold band, passed down from Shauna’s grandmother. Jackie rarely wore it, too afraid of damaging it between diaper changes, cleaning, and hauling groceries, so she wore just her wedding band most days.

But on date night ?

Shauna insisted.

She’d hold the box open quietly, like an offering, and Jackie would smile like it was the first time all over again. Her eyes would flick up in the mirror, soft and a little shy.

“You really want me to wear it?” she’d ask, every time, even though they both knew the answer.

And Shauna would lean in close, voice low and reverent.
“Always.”

Then, with care and ceremony, she’d slip the ring onto Jackie’s finger herself.

It wasn’t just romantic—it was intentional . Like re-proposing. Like claiming her, all over again, in front of their kids, their house, the whole life they’d built together.

And it got the girls. Every single time.

Even Callie, who pretended to be annoyed by “all this lovey stuff,” would get quiet, a tiny smile tugging at her mouth. Rylie, always the observer, would beam with a kind of silent awe like she was storing the moment away for the woman she’d fall in love with someday.

And Jackie? Jackie would tilt her head, cheeks flushed, eyes a little watery, and whisper to Shauna, “I’m still yours, you know.”

Shauna would kiss her temple in response.
“Forever.”

And then they’d leave—Shauna with her hand on the small of Jackie’s back, Jackie glowing like she’d never given birth to four kids, never spent months swollen and aching, never carrying the weight of survival across a frozen forest.

Just Jackie and Shauna —two women in love, stepping into the night like it still belonged only to them.

Chapter 10: Facebook suggestions

Summary:

August 2018

Henry-21
Callie-11
Rylie-8
Evie-2

Misty had always kept tabs on the Yellowjackets. It wasn’t hard—at least not for most of them. She had systems, alerts, bots that scraped public data and cross-referenced obituaries, court filings, hospital records, and school alumni updates. Some of the girls were easier than others. Natalie showed up in news articles now and then, usually for less-than-glamorous reasons. Taissa was practically impossible to avoid, what with the whole political career. Van had gone under the radar for a while but eventually surfaced enough to give Misty peace of mind. Lottie… well, Misty always had her ways.

But Shauna and Jackie had been the hardest to trace.

For years, Misty had nothing on them. They’d disappeared into the fog of post-trauma obscurity, no social media, no public records under names she recognized, and Shauna had been smart—always cautious, always just out of reach. Misty respected that. Annoyed her, sure, but she respected it.

And then, one random Tuesday in 2018, while eating a lukewarm Lean Cuisine in front of her computer, Misty got a Facebook notification: People you may know. She almost scrolled past it. But the profile picture—smiling, soft-eyed, standing in front of a school sign—stopped her.

Jackie Shipman.

Of course. Misty almost laughed out loud. Of course she took Shauna’s name. There was never any other outcome. Shauna had been feral when it came to Jackie. Misty clicked the profile.

Jackie’s page was public. She didn't post everything about her life, but enough Misty got a glimpse.

The timeline was like a suburban scrapbook. Photos of school bake sales, autumn apple-picking trips, backyard birthdays. Misty counted four kids. Henry, now clearly in college—a far cry from the tiny toddler she vaguely remembered and three girls, the two youngest grinning in matching dresses in a recent family Christmas photo while the older girl was a classic shipman in her flannel and jeans. Jackie looked older, of course, but still undeniably Jackie. Misty stared at a photo of her holding one of her daughters on her hip, sunlight in her hair. She looked tired, maybe, but grounded. Happy .

Shauna appeared in a lot of the photos. Mostly in the background at first—hand on Jackie’s waist at a birthday party, holding a kid’s hand on Halloween. But then there were others. A cozy one on the couch, a beach shot where Jackie’s head rested against Shauna’s shoulder. In every single one, Shauna’s face was taut, serious, until Jackie looked at her. Then—only then—her eyes lit up, her whole expression cracked open into something soft and raw and real. Misty watched that transformation repeat in photo after photo. It was fascinating. Like watching a locked door briefly swing open.

And then, the clincher. The most recent post, just a week old: "Happy Anniversary to my best friend, my person, my forever. I love you more every year." Attached was a wedding photo, grainy but intimate. Shauna and Jackie stood together in what looked like a backyard, hands clasped, faces turned inward, eyes closed like they were praying to the same god. There were no guests in the frame. Just the two of them.

Misty sat back, chewing the last bite of her meal slowly. She should’ve felt satisfied. Mystery solved. Loose ends tied. But instead, a strange melancholy settled in her chest.

1997 felt like another life.

They’d all come home from the wilderness differently. Some splintered. Some buried it. And some, like Shauna and Jackie, had wrapped around each other so tightly that the outside world had no way to pull them apart. Misty had always wondered how they’d made it work. Now, looking at Jackie Shipman’s Facebook, the answer was clear.

They chose to. Every single day.

Misty stared at the screen for a long moment. Then she opened a fresh window and typed in a new tracking note:

Jackie Taylor (now Jackie Shipman) – Found. Married to Shauna Shipman. Four children. Residing in Boston. Alive. Seemingly thriving.

She paused, then added:

Leave alone.

And for now, she meant it.

 

Chapter 11: The day Jackie almost had a date with death

Summary:

November 2021

Henry-24
Callie-15
Rylie-10
Evie-5

Shauna had seen her wife on the verge of death more times than she could count. More times than anyone should ever have to witness the person they love more than anything in the world suffer, bleed, or fade. And each time, it carved a new scar into her soul and haunted her dreams.

The plane crash had been the first.
They were just teenagers, and Shauna still remembered the sound Jackie made the first night—after they realized help wasn’t coming, after the cold had sunk deep into their bones, after the reality set in that this wasn’t just a bad dream. Jackie, teeth chattering and lips blue, had curled into Shauna’s lap and whispered, “I don’t want to die out here.”

She almost had. More than once.

Shauna could still see Jackie’s face the night she nearly froze to death—her skin ghost-white, breath shallow, Shauna’s own coat wrapped around her uselessly while they huddled near the dying fire, trying to rub life back into her limbs. It had taken days for Jackie to be out of the danger zone. Shauna had smothered Jackie in affection, not allowing anyone near her and sobbed in relief when Jackie finally opened her eyes again.

Then there was the time she got struck by a crossbow and the fever that had followed had almost taken her.  Shauna could still hear the dull thunk of the bolt sinking into Jackie’s shoulder, the scream that followed, and the terrifying quiet that came after. She’d watched the fever come next, watched Jackie’s skin burn with it, her body wracked with pain and shivering. Watched her slip in and out of lucidity for days, clinging to life with the same quiet strength Jackie did everything with. Shauna had nearly lost her mind that week, watching the fever take hold. She’d sat beside Jackie every night, soaking rags in cold stream water, whispering please, please, please like it was a prayer.

Years later, after they were safe, after they were home, after they’d clawed out a life of something almost resembling peace, the danger didn’t stop.

There was the time Jackie fell down the stairs when Henry was still a toddler—just one moment of anger on a rainy day, and she’d slipped, arm twisted beneath her body, groaning through the pain as Shauna called 911 with shaking hands. That one haunted her more than she was willing to ever admit.

Then there was the appendix rupture during Henry’s senior year. A hot, sticky afternoon at one of his final home games. Jackie had been beaming all day in the front row, wearing her oversized sweatshirt for Henry's school and enjoying sharing an ice cream with a then baby evie. She’d smiled through the pre-game, cheered when Henry scored, and then, halfway through the second half, went pale. Whispered something like “I don’t feel right,” before doubling over in the stands. The ambulance came quickly, but not quickly enough for Shauna’s heart to stop racing. Jackie had been doubled over in pain, barely conscious by the time they wheeled her back for surgery.

By the time they got to the hospital, her appendix had not just ruptured but exploded. It was a blur of pain meds and surgery, Jackie curled into herself, whispering, “I’m fine,” like she always did, even when she clearly wasn’t. Shauna had stayed by her bedside, holding her hand, refusing to move. She knew what it was like to blink and lose Jackie. She wasn't doing that again.

All of it—every injury, every emergency, every second of watching Jackie hover on the edge—had left marks on Shauna. Quiet ones. Permanent ones that reinforced the paranoia she had constantly about keeping Jackie safe. 

But none of it, not one single moment , will ever come close to what happened the day their fifth baby was born.

 

---

 

They hadn’t meant to have a fifth.
Jackie had just turned forty. Evie had just started kindergarten. They’d had date nights in the town again. They were sleeping through the night. Jackie had been glowing —free, energetic, content. She had mentioned helping out at the girls of pre-school a few times a week.

And Shauna didn’t like that. So she did what she had done several times before. Pushed for another baby. Just one more. One last piece of their story.

Jackie had hesitated. She’d been tired, yes, but she also loved being pregnant. She loved the bond. She loved babies. And Shauna… Shauna had always known how to get to her . How to lean in close on those quiet evenings and whisper promises of soft newborn heads and sleepy family mornings and “our last little one.”

So Jackie said yes.

And everything had gone well—until it didn’t.

She was tired all the time—eight months pregnant when she turned 41, carrying a massive baby who had made themselves quite comfortable in her lower back for weeks—but still graceful in the way only Jackie could be. She didn’t whine and She didn’t panic. She just breathed. Trusted the team. Held Shauna’s hand so tight Shauna thought maybe she’d walk away with broken bones.

Jackie had been in labor for fifty-five hours.
Two and a half days of pain, exhaustion, and spiraling fear in Shauna.

They’d known the baby was big—measuring over ten pounds in the final scan—but Jackie, as always, had wanted to try. “One more,” she’d smiled, rubbing her swollen belly. “We’ll get through it. Like we always do.”

And God, she had fought. Through back labor, failed epidurals, stalled dilation, and contractions so intense Jackie bit down on a towel to stop from screaming.

Shauna had held her the entire time—stroking her hair, whispering nonsense, fetching ice chips, swearing at nurses when they weren’t fast enough. She hated seeing Jackie like that—wrung out and writhing, pale and shaking. She begged her to let them go to C-section sooner, but Jackie had been stubborn, determined.

Until finally, the baby came (almost 11 pounds)

And then the bleeding started.

 

---

 

At first, Shauna thought it was normal. They’d done this four times before. She knew it wasn’t pretty.

But then the nurse’s face changed.
Then the second nurse came and was shouting orders.
Then the OB’s voice dropped, urgent and clipped “Too much. We need to stop it—now.”

The medical team swarmed Jackie. Shauna was pulled back, away from Jackie, who was going limp and pale even as her eyes tried to stay open.

Jackie tired to talk, but her eyes had started to flutter and her skin had lost all its warmth. She was white as a piece of paper. Her gown was soaked through, and the blood was pooling in waves beneath her. It was everywhere—on the sheets, the floor, the doctor’s gown, Jackie's thighs. Her pulse was crashing, the monitors screaming, and someone was yelling for more help.

Shauna froze.

All she could see was the blood. The the doctor was calling for something Shauna but didn’t understand.

Jackie whispered her name once— Shauna? —and Shauna moved. Fast, like that whisper woke her from her trance. She grabbed Jackie’s hand and leaned close, whispering “I’m here, I’m here, don’t you dare leave me.” The same words she had said in the wilderness countless times. The same words she had whispered when they were eighteen and Jackie had shivered in her arms beneath then moonlight.

And then in a instant Jackie was gone—whisked into the OR, the baby thrust into Shauna’s arms with nothing but a “We’ll update you as soon as we can.” She didn’t get to kiss her. Didn’t get to say goodbye.

All Shauna could do was wait .
And break .

 

---

 

The baby had been quickly taken to the nursery for observation. Shauna had refused to go with the nurses. The nurses had offered her a change of clothes, food, water. Shauna had refused it all. She waited for hours. Sitting in the sterile family waiting room, clothes still stained with birth and panic. She didn't cry. She couldn't. She just sat, staring at the doors that separated  her from the one person she had ever loved.

Shauna had begged her for this baby. Pushed her for it. Wanted one more piece of Jackie in the world so badly that she’d tuned out the little voice warning her that five might be too many. Jackie was tired. Her body was older. The pregnancy had been harder. But Shauna had smiled and said, “Come on, babe. Just one more. You’re so good at this.”

And now? Jackie was in surgery. Maybe dying.
Because Shauna couldn’t leave well enough alone.

The guilt wrapped itself around her like barbed wire. It pooled in her chest heavier than fear. What if she had asked too much? What if loving Jackie had always meant taking too much? What if this time it had finally broken her?

It would haunt her forever—seeing Jackie fade like that. Knowing that her own desires had helped put Jackie in that position.

She just needed to get back to Jackie’s side.
To hold her hand, kiss her temple, and whisper again and again, “I’ve got you. I’ve got you. I swear I’ve got you.”

Because after everything—after all the times death had nearly stolen her—Jackie was still here.
And as long as she was still breathing, Shauna wasn’t letting go.

Notes:

So Boy or girl?

Chapter 12: Welcome Baby (no name yet)

Summary:

November 2021

Henry-24
Callie-15
Rylie-10
Evie-5

Henry had never seen his mom like that.

He’d seen Shauna furious. Sharp. Cold. Quiet in that dangerous, icy way when her patience wore thin and her control snapped taut. He’d seen her protective—especially with his mama, Jackie—borderline possessive in the way only people who had once survived something together could be.

But he’d never seen her like this .

Slumped in a plastic hospital chair, arms braced on her knees, her whole body trembling in small, involuntary shakes like the adrenaline hadn't worn off but her soul had just… given out . Her shirt was soaked. Not with water. Not with sweat. With blood . Red, dried, dark around her sleeves, the front of her jacket, even smudged faintly along her neck.

His mama’s blood.

Henry had walked in with Grandma Deb at his side, carrying flowers from the girls and one of Rylie’s glitter-covered cards that said "Welcome Baby (no name yet)" . They were expecting tired smiles, a pink-faced baby wrapped in a blanket, maybe even happy tears. Instead, the air had been thick with grief.

And his mom—his unshakeable, no-nonsense, tough-as-nails mom —looked wrecked.

Her hands were pressed tight between her knees, blood still on them. Her eyes were dry but glassy, and when she looked up and saw him standing there, her face crumpled. Not all at once. Just enough for him to see the panic underneath the control she was trying to keep. She didn’t stand. Didn’t run to hug him. Just stared for a long beat before finally rasping, “She’s in surgery.”

Deb sat beside her quietly, her arm around her, no words offered. There weren’t any, really.

They waited.

For hours.

Henry didn’t ask questions. He didn’t have the strength to. He just sat across from his mom in silence, trying not to stare at the red staining her clothes. Trying not to think of his mama’s soft voice, the way she called him “sweetheart,” the way she always rubbed his back when he came home stressed from college. Her smile, warm and real and never performative.

He thought of all the times she’d shown up for him. Bandaged scraped knees. Laughed at his jokes, even when they weren’t funny. Sat front row at his soccer games, even if she had to juggle two fussy toddlers and a baby in the stands. He thought of how she always said his name gently, never sharp.

And she might be gone, some part of him kept whispering.

He didn’t know how long it had been sitting in silence when a nurse finally emerged, a soft smile on her face. “Jackie’s out of surgery,” she said. “She’s in the ICU, but she’s stable. She’s going to be okay.”

Shauna gasped like she’d been underwater for hours and just breached the surface. Then, without a word, she stood up and followed the nurse out of the waiting room.

She didn’t look back.

Henry stayed seated for a long moment, shoulders sagging with the weight of relief that hadn’t quite hit yet.

“She’ll want you later,” Deb said, patting his knee softly passing him a coffee.

“Not yet,” he murmured. “She needs Mom first.”

The nursery was bright, sterile, and far too quiet.

But then he saw the baby. Easily the biggest baby he's ever seen, wrapped tight in a yellow blanket with tufts of dark hair peeking out of a little baby hat, peacefully asleep behind the glass.

The newest Shipman.

He didn’t know the name yet. Jackie usually chose the names. Shauna always joked she could name their baby Mud as Shauna was the one who filled out the birth certs. 

Deb stepped closer, sighing deeply. “What a cutie. Looks just like her siblings.”

Henry nodded, still staring. “That baby almost cost her her life.”

Deb didn't flinch. “Almost. But she’s here. And so is your mama.”

It didn’t feel fair. That something so beautiful could come from something so terrifying.

But as Henry pressed his hand against the glass, watching his youngest sibling sleep—peaceful, untouched by the storm that had just passed—he felt something settle in his chest. Not peace. Not yet. But a quiet kind of awe.

His mama was alive.

His mom was with her.

And in the nursery crib, blinking into the soft lights of the world, was proof that even after all they’d been through, life—somehow—kept finding a way through the wreckage.

 

---

 

The lights in the ICU were low, the only sounds the gentle beeping of machines and the soft exhale of the ventilator assisting Jackie’s still-shallow breathing. Shauna sat at her bedside, elbows on the mattress, hands wrapped tight around one of Jackie’s.

It felt like too much and not enough at the same time.

Jackie’s skin was pale, drawn, Her lips chapped and her hair damp with sweat, pushed back hastily by a nurse. An oxygen mask covered most of her face. A tube snaked from her arm. Her hospital gown was a mess of tubes, IV lines,, and heart monitor leads. She looked nothing like Jackie from days ago—pregnant and round and annoyed that Shauna had double-checked the go-bag five times.

But she was here.
She was alive .
And Shauna couldn’t stop crying.

Not the ugly, heaving kind. Not anymore. That part had already happened—out in the hallway when the OR doors had shut in her face. Now it was just a slow leak. Tears rolling silently down her cheeks as she traced her thumb over the back of Jackie’s hand, just to remind herself she still could .

Shauna hated seeing her like this. Covered in tubes and wires and those awful plastic clips. She looked tiny in the hospital bed. Her hands, always warm and soft and comforting, were icy under Shauna’s fingers.

The doctor had said it was normal. Said it could take time. Said her body had been through hell and she needed rest. But Shauna didn’t trust normal. Not when it came to Jackie. Not after what they’d been through.

So she waited.

“You scared the hell out of me,” Shauna whispered hoarsely. “You always do, but… this one was different.”

Jackie didn’t respond—couldn’t—but Shauna swore there was a flicker behind her closed eyelids. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking. She leaned closer anyway, resting her forehead gently on the edge of the bed, right next to Jackie’s hand.

“I know you didn’t want another baby,” she said quietly. “You didn’t say it like that, not out loud, but I knew. And I pushed anyway. Because I’m selfish. Because I thought we could handle it. That you could handle it. That you’d be okay. You always are.”

Her fingers tightened slightly around Jackie’s limp ones.

“But you almost weren’t, Jacks. You almost weren’t .”

Shauna pulled in a shaky breath. The machines kept humming, oblivious. Clinical. Steady. A cruel contrast to the chaos of the last twenty-four hours.

“I didn’t get to say goodbye,” she went on. “I sat outside that operating room and I—I swear I thought you were dying. I could smell your blood. It’s still on me. I can’t… I don’t know how to get it off. Not really.”

Shauna shook her head slowly, almost to herself. “I was ready to trade places with you. I would’ve done anything. I still would.”

She sat up, brushing her fingers gently over Jackie’s temple, moving a loose strand of hair away from her eyes.

“You’ve always done the hard part. With Henry. With the girls. With me.” She smiled faintly, bitterly. “Even when I hated babies, you still made us feel like a family. You never made me feel like I was failing. Even when I was.”

The silence was heavy. And she let it sit.

“They said you’re going to be okay. That it was close, but… you made it.” She smiled, barely. “Of course you did. You always do. You’re too stubborn not to.”

Shauna took a deep breath, scooted her chair a little closer, and lowered her voice like she was whispering a secret.

“I need you to wake up, though,” she murmured. “I need you to open your big beautiful eyes. Look at me. Yell at me for being dramatic. Ask about the baby, tell me to bring your chapstick from the bag. Something.”

The tears came again, soft but steady. She didn’t try to stop them.

“I’m sorry, Jackie. I’m so damn sorry. I keep taking from you, over and over, and you keep giving. I don’t know how to love you in a way that doesn’t hurt you sometimes. But I do love you. God, I love you so much. I don’t know how to breathe without you.”

Her voice broke then, just a little.

“You have to come back. I don’t work without you. I don’t exist without you.”

She pressed a kiss to Jackie’s knuckles, lingering there.

Then, finally, after what felt like a small lifetime, Jackie’s fingers twitched in hers.

Just once. But Shauna felt it. A movement. A promise.

Her head snapped up, eyes wide, and she saw it: Jackie’s eyes fluttering, struggling to open, her brow creasing faintly like she was trying to say something—like she’d been listening the whole time.

Shauna gasped and surged forward, brushing her hands over Jackie’s cheeks.

“Jackie?” she whispered. “Hey—hey, it’s okay. You’re safe. You’re okay. I’m right here.”

Jackie didn’t speak. Couldn’t. But her eyes—half-lidded, glassy, alive —met Shauna’s. And Shauna broke into a trembling smile, leaning down to kiss her forehead, her tears dripping onto Jackie’s skin.

“I’ve got you,” she whispered again. “Always.”

Jackie tried to say something, but her voice cracked into nothing. Her hand twitched again, reaching.

Shauna was already holding it. “Don’t talk yet, it’s okay. You’re okay now.”

The nurse had told her to call someone when Jackie woke up. That she shouldn’t be left alone, shouldn’t be startled, needed to be checked. Shauna ignored all of that.

She wasn’t leaving.

When the nurse poked her head in to check, Shauna didn’t look away from Jackie. “She’s awake. But she’s not ready for anyone else. Come back later.”

There must’ve been something in her tone, because the nurse blinked, nodded slowly, and shut the door again.

Back in their bubble, Shauna turned her full attention to Jackie.

“You lost so much blood,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to Jackie’s forehead. “But they got you into surgery in time. They saved you.” Her voice broke then, just a little. “You scared me more than I’ve ever been scared in my life.”

Jackie blinked slowly, her eyes starting to well. She tried again to speak.

Shauna leaned down until their foreheads touched. “Shh. I’ve got you. Don’t worry about the baby—they’re perfect. Henry and your mom are with them right now.”

A tear slid down Jackie’s cheek.

“I’m not leaving you,” Shauna continued, wrapping her hand around Jackie’s wrist gently, careful not to disturb the IV. “Not for a second. The doctors can yell at me all they want, but I’m not moving from this spot. You're mine , Jackie, and I almost lost you. Again.”

Jackie managed a weak smile—barely there, but enough for Shauna to see.

And something in her chest cracked open, then slowly knit itself back together.

“I know I pushed for this baby. I know you weren’t sure,” Shauna whispered. “And I’m sorry. I thought… I thought we were safe this time.”

Jackie blinked slowly—painfully—but she shook her head, just barely.

“No, baby,” Shauna murmured, brushing her knuckles over Jackie’s cheek. “You don’t have to make me feel better. Not now.”

She sat back slightly, letting her eyes trace every inch of Jackie’s face, memorizing her all over again.

“I’m going to take care of you,” she whispered. “You’re not lifting a finger for the next year. Hell, the next five . I’ll hire help. I’ll pull get Henry to come home and help. I’ll make my mom move in with out. I don’t care. You’re not doing anything except getting better.”

Jackie blinked once.

Shauna softened. “Yeah. I know. I’m overreacting.”

Jackie blinked again, a little slower this time. Like maybe the weight of what had happened was settling in, or maybe the exhaustion was winning again.

“Sleep,” Shauna said gently. “I’ve got everything else.”

And she meant it.

Shauna adjusted Jackie’s blanket, brushed the hair from her face, and sat down again, hand never leaving hers.

She stayed all night.

 

---

 

The next time Jackie woke up the following morning, her first words weren’t about herself or even the baby.

“Are you okay?” she whispered, looking at Shauna.

And Shauna—tough, guarded Shauna—just broke into a million pieces.
She buried her face in Jackie’s shoulder and cried for the first time in what felt like years.

“No,” she choked. “I’m not. You scared the hell out of me.”

Jackie, barely conscious, tried to lift her hand. It barely moved.

“You’re stuck with me, remember?” she mumbled with a tired smile.
Shauna kissed her temple, holding her as tight as she dared.
“I don’t want to remember it,” she whispered. “I just want you here.”

Jackie didn’t answer. She was already slipping back to sleep.
But Shauna stayed right there.

Because she had almost lost Jackie again .
And next time?

She wasn’t sure she’d survive it.

 

Chapter 13: The past can haunt you in mysterious ways

Summary:

Christmas 2015

Henry-18
Callie-9
Rylie-4

Shauna had thought the Wii would be an easy win.

 

Jackie had been deep in the fog of her first trimester—exhausted, queasy, and barely able to keep down plain toast. The doctor had said it was normal, but it still left Jackie mostly horizontal on the couch, green-tinted and too tired to lift her head for the first few hours of the morning.

At nine years old, Callie was a ball of energy and sass, and little four-year-old Rylie, while more laid-back, had started parroting her big sister’s every move. Shauna figured the Wii—along with a handful of age-appropriate games—would buy her and Jackie a few precious hours of peace over winter break.

Shauna figured a shiny new gaming console would keep Callie and Rylie entertained for a few hours without anyone needing to chase them around or set up messy crafts. Plus, Jackie had a soft spot for dance games. “It’s exercise and coordination,” she’d said with a warm little smile, leaning against the counter while Shauna wrapped the box in candy-cane wrapping paper. “Besides, we used to dance to the radio all the time when Henry was little.”

She didn’t even wait until Christmas morning. They set it up early as a “surprise for being such great big sisters.” I t was a hit from the second they unwrapped it. Callie had immediately asked Henry to install it. Shauna picked out some Mario games, a few sports ones, and—of course— Just Dance , which both girls latched onto instantly. They had had both girls in dance since they were two and they both loved it.  

Rylie, four and full of sugar and adrenaline, followed her big sisters every move in her own wobbly little way, giggling at herself in the reflection of the TV screen. Shauna only had to step in once when Callie called Rylie a “floppy little worm” and made her cry.

Shauna would wake up to the sound of tiny feet stomping across the living room rug and giggles echoing down the hallway, the TV blasting the cheerful, cheesy hits of the Just Dance soundtrack. Shauna had even done a round or two herself, once the girls begged. Jackie had watched from the couch with an amused little smile, sipping her ginger ale like she was judging from the ballroom panel.

 

So when she was jolted awake one Saturday morning by the unmistakable sound the tv on in the living room, her first instinct wasn’t to be concerned. It was more mild irritation and a groggy glance at the alarm clock.

7:12 AM.

Of course. They had a rule with the kids. No Disturbing them until 8am unless it's an emergency. They could go down to watch TV but keep the volume down. 

She rubbed her face, glanced toward Jackie who was curled up in her arms, pale and curled protectively around her tiny bump. They’d had a rough night. Jackie had thrown up twice and slept like a rock from sheer exhaustion afterward. She pulled Jackie closer into her arms and tried to fall back asleep when the lyrics filtered through the door.

“She’s a man-eater, make you work hard…”

Oh God .

Her blood went cold in a way it hadn’t in years .

Shauna sighed and dragged herself out of bed, slipping on a hoodie as she padded barefoot into the hallway trying not to panic. It wasn’t rational , she told herself. It was just a dumb pop song. Catchy, weird, a little gross—but it didn’t mean anything. And it wasn’t like the girls knew.

But there they were, in the middle of the living room—Callie in her rainbow pajamas, Rylie twirling in a tutu over leggings— absolutely destroying the choreography. Their little arms flailed in time with the animated dancers on the screen, laughing and shrieking as they tried to keep up.

But her mind went back there .

The cold.

The bone-deep hunger.

The way Natalie wouldn’t meet her eyes for days afterward.

The smell.

The part she never told Jackie. The part nobody ever told Jackie—because Jackie had been so sick, so pale, so disoriented. Because Shauna had dragged her into the attic and hidden her there. 

So now, waking up to her daughters dancing gleefully in the living room to a pop song belting “ She's a maneater, a maneater ” at full volume while Jackie slept upstairs—

It was insane.

In the living room, Callie was mid-spin, arms flailing like windmills, Rylie twirling like a ballerina behind her. 

Shauna blinked.

“Hey!” she said, forcing lightness into her voice. “What’s going on here?”

“DANCE PARTY!” Callie shouted breathlessly. “I’m winning!”

“She always wins,” Rylie pouted.

“It’s ‘cause you skip the jumps!” Callie grinned, proud.

Henry stirred on the couch and cracked an eye open, clearly having been dragged from his bed to turn on the tv. “They’ve been at it since 6:30,” he mumbled hoarsely, barely lifting her head. “Honestly, it’s been keeping them from fighting. I’m not complaining.”

She hovered for a second, arms crossed over her chest, eyes glued to the screen as the The living room was a sight, Callie in her plaid pajamas, hair wild, already sweating from dancing, holding the Wii remote like it was a microphone. Rylie in a tutu over her nightgown, spinning in slow, clumsy circles

Shauna cleared her throat. “Maybe… uh, maybe we switch to a different song?”

“Why?” Callie asked, not looking away. “This one’s so fun !”

Shauna tried to smile. Failed. Tried again. “Sure, but… y’know. There are so many fun songs. Like… ‘Happy’? Or that Bruno Mars one about dancing? What about those , huh?”

Callie narrowed her eyes, suspicious in the way only a nine-year-old can be. “You always say that when we play the weird ones.”

Shauna shrugged. “I’m old. Let me live.”

Behind her, there was a small shuffle. Jackie, still pale and tired in her robe, had padded in silently with her tea in hand, looking confused but amused. “What’s going on?”

Shauna froze. Jackie had no idea . No memory of what had happened in the wilderness. The worst of it, she’d never remembered. And Shauna had always vowed to keep it that way. Her wife didn’t need to know what it had taken to keep baby Henry alive. What they had done. What Shauna had eaten, once.

Jackie smiled lazily. “It’s one of the few they have agreed on. Leave them alone, Babe.”

Shauna didn’t answer. She just stood there, watching her kids dance and laugh and twirl and tried, desperately, not to look as haunted as she felt.

It was just a song.

Callie and Rylie resumed dancing with zero regard for the emotional landmines their mother was tiptoeing over.

Shauna stood in the doorway with Jackie leaning gently into her side, humming along to the beat while the kids shrieked and flung themselves across the floor. 

Shauna just tried not to look like she was being eaten alive

Chapter 14: The day Henry was no longer Shauna's least favourite child

Summary:

November 2021

Henry-24
Callie-15
Rylie-10
Evie-5

 

For most of his life, Henry had assumed it was just the natural order of things. Shauna didn't seem to like any of her kids all that much—not in the warm, way some moms did. But her dislike for Henry had always been... acute. He knew it, Jackie knew it, even the girls had picked up on it, though none of them ever said anything out loud. He was her reminder . Of the wilderness. Of the crash. Of what had to be done, and of who had to step up and who fell apart. 

Callie was a close second. Their shared sharp edges clashed too often for comfort, and Callie had inherited all of Shauna's temper without her restraint. But the others? Rylie and Evie? They were born in the after , in the soft domestic stillness that Jackie built brick by brick. Shauna tolerated them—occasionally even showed glimmers of affection, especially when Rylie brought Jackie her tea or Evie crawled into bed and curled into Jackie’s side like a cat. Both of them being Jackie's clones helped them as well. 

Until then, he and Callie had been tied neck and neck for “least favorite” in Shauna’s unofficial, very real, never-spoken-of child rankings. He used to joke about it with Callie sometimes when they got older, sarcastically, bitterly, usually on family vacations after a long day of Shauna snapping at one of them while coddling Rylie and Evie. “Guess we should’ve come out quieter. Maybe not ruined her life by not looking like mama.”

Callie would flip him off and then steal his fries. It was their love language.

But when  Penelope ‘Poppy’ Rose Shipman came along, the hierarchy shifted in a way even Henry hadn’t expected.

 

---

 

Henry could pinpoint it exactly.

Not the day the baby was born—though that was traumatic enough—but the moment it all shifted. He could see it like a movie clip in his mind: the fluorescent light of the hospital nursery, the quiet hum of machines, his mom sitting in a stiff-backed chair by the glass, her hands balled into fists in her lap, blood still dried in the creases of her fingers. And when a nurse came by, smiling and gentle, cradling the tightly-swaddled baby girl in her arms and asked, “Would you like to hold your daughter?” —Shauna had hesitated before asking her mom to take the baby.

And Henry, standing just a few feet away, saw the fear in her eyes.

It wasn’t fear. Not exactly. Not disgust either. It was... complicated. Like the baby was something radioactive. Something sacred and dangerous. Something that came at a cost too high to bear.

She eventually took the baby, of course.  The nurse smiled, adjusted her grip, and helped guide the small bundle into Shauna’s arms like she was a first time parent. But even then, she held Poppy like she might shatter. Not like a mother. Not like she had held Jackie in the ICU just hours earlier, clinging to her like an anchor. No—this was different.

Shauna’s arms were stiff, unnatural, elbows locked as if softening even a little might make the baby too real .

Like holding her too long would confirm what she couldn’t bear to name:
This baby almost killed the love of my life.

And Henry knew then, without a doubt, that the hierarchy had shifted.

 

---

 

Henry had seen her around every newborn they'd had. Shauna was never a natural , but she tried, at least with Rylie and Evie. She hovered. She made a show of being involved. She brought Jackie water, snacks, lotion, heating pads, dry shampoo—whatever she could to stay physically close. With Rylie and Evie especially, she’d sit beside Jackie and sneak glances at the baby like she was letting herself fall in love slowly.

But with Poppy?

She didn’t hold her. Not unless someone placed her in her arms.

And even then, she looked… wrong. Uncomfortable in a way that went deeper than exhaustion or anxiety. Her arms would stiffen, her mouth drawn tight, eyes cast anywhere but the baby’s face. Like Poppy was breakable not just in body, but in meaning . Like holding her too long might crack something open in Shauna she couldn’t afford to feel.

Henry saw it. So did Jackie, but she didn’t say anything. She couldn't. Not with her body still weak, with the scar healing across and the trauma so fresh you could still feel it in the house, humming low beneath the quiet.

Shauna didn’t change diapers unless Jackie asked her. Didn’t linger by the bassinet like she had with Rylie, or press sleepy kisses to soft newborn hair like she had with Evie.

She hovered near Jackie. Shadowed her like a ghost, hand constantly at her lower back, eyes darting every time Jackie so much as sighed.

Because Jackie had hemorrhaged.
Jackie had almost died.
Jackie had gone gray on the delivery table and stopped responding to her name.
And in that moment, Shauna hadn’t seen a baby being born—she’d seen her life flash before her eyes.

 

---

 

She didn’t hate Poppy. Henry would never say that. But he knew now what she meant when she used to say things like “I love all my kids, but don’t ask me to like them all the same.”

And the more Shauna tried to pretend that wasn’t the truth, the more obvious it became.

Henry watched it all quietly. He had returned home for a week after Jackie was released from the hospital, helping his grandma Deb wrangle the girls, cook dinners, and shuttle back and forth to the pharmacy because poor Jackie was on dozens of pills. And in those few days, he saw it all crystal clear.

Shauna went through the motions. She fed the baby when Jackie needed a nap. Changed diapers with military efficiency. Woke for midnight shifts, but never lingered after the baby had been put down. She never kissed Poppy's forehead. Never traced the soft curls on the baby’s crown with the reverence she had for Rylie or Evie.

Henry saw her flinch when Jackie called Poppy “our little miracle.”
Saw the shadow that crossed her face when Evie cooed, “Mama, the baby looks just like you!”

Because she did. Poppy had Jackie's nose. Her chin. Her exact shade of eyes.
She was the baby that looked most like Jackie.

Shauna couldn’t look at her for long. Couldn’t connect .

It was the first time Henry had ever felt protective of one of his siblings in that way. Not just as a big brother, but as someone who saw it . Who knew what it meant to be born into something heavy, something unwanted.

Jackie, for all her exhaustion, loved Poppy with the same fierce, gentle grace she gave all her children. Even when her body hurt just breathing. Even when her hands trembled. Even when the stitches had gotten infected and her eyes burned from lack of sleep.

Shauna hovered, still kept her close—God, did she. Wouldn't let her walk across the room without a blanket. Monitored her water intake. Made her sit down. Wouldn’t let her carry Poppy up the stairs for weeks. Her protectiveness had gone to eleven, and then some.

But not for the baby.

Always, always for Jackie.

So Henry took up the slack. He rocked Poppy when Jackie needed rest. He took photos of her tiny yawns and her big eyes and made a little album on his phone called “Poppy.” He whispered promises in her ear that she would always be loved—even if it looked different. Even if it was complicated.

Because he understood now. He wasn’t Shauna favorite kid. Probably never would be.

But at least he wasn’t the reminder of the day she almost lost the only person she ever loved.

Poppy, unfortunately, was .

 

Chapter 15: Roadtrip chaos

Summary:

Summer 2019

Henry-22
Callie-12
Rylie-8
Evie-3

The Shipman's don’t fly. It wasn’t a rule written down anywhere, but it was understood—ironclad. Non-negotiable.

 

Jackie has politely declined every wedding invitation that involved a boarding pass. Shauna flat-out refused a job offer once because it would’ve required cross-country travel (that and just the thought of being away from Jackie killed her). And every time someone joked, “Oh, come on, it’s been years ,” they’d both just smile that tight, don’t push it kind of smile, and move on.

Surviving a plane crash and then nineteen months in the wilderness will do that to you.

Which was why Shauna, 11 hours into a 20-hour drive to Disney World, sat stiffly in the driver seat of the family’s packed SUV, questioning every decision that had led her to this particular moment in time

When Jackie had floated the idea of a family trip to Disney—“The girls would love it, Babe. And Rylie’s the perfect age! And Evie’s still free!”—Shauna had grunted. And when Jackie said “We could drive , it’ll be an adventure!” Shauna must’ve blacked out for a second, because somehow she ended up behind the wheel of their SUV, eleven hours into a twenty-hour drive with a cooler full of string cheese, three girls under thirteen, and an already-throbbing headache.

They were somewhere in the Carolinas now. She wasn't even sure anymore. The GPS had given up twice. Rylie was singing the Frozen soundtrack at top volume. Callie had claimed her airpods died six hours ago but was still managing to huff and sigh dramatically every time Rylie so much as opened her mouth.  Rylie was too sweet to challenge her sister’s dictatorship but had taken to narrating every billboard they passed in a vaguely British accent, “Just to keep it posh , Mama.” And Evie— God bless Evie —had learned how to unbuckle her car seat while still strapped in, which Shauna was 80% sure defied physics and 100% sure would drive Jackie to an early grave.

 

---

 

Shauna loved her wife.
But she was two pit stops and one more “Mam, Rylie’s breathing my air!” away from veering into a cornfield.

She adjusted her grip on the wheel. “Remind me again,” she said flatly, eyes locked on the endless highway, “why didn't we fly and just drug ourselves through it like normal people?”

From the passenger seat, Jackie barely looked up from peeling a clementine, legs folded up like she was in a yoga studio instead of their overpacked car. “You said we’d never fly again .”

“Yeah, well, that was before Callie started a lip-sync battle with Rylie using a churro stick as a microphone and almost took out the backseat air conditioning vent.”

From behind them, Callie’s voice shot out. “It wasn’t a battle if she was losing!”

“I was winning !” Rylie screeched.

“Okay!” Jackie turned around in her seat, tossing a gentle but pointed mom look over her shoulder. “No more arguing. We’re all just going to take a deep breath and enjoy the—”

“Mama, Evie drew on the back of my seat with her yogurt!”

Jackie whipped her head back around and Shauna exhaled, tight and long, squeezing the steering wheel until her knuckles paled. “Babe.”

Jackie blinked. “Yes?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Shauna turned to glance at her. “But if you ever suggest a 20-hour drive again, I’m leaving the kids at the next Wawa. We really should have just flown.”

Jackie laughed, soft and tired, reaching over to pat her thigh.  “Because the trauma of what happened last time we were at 30,000 feet is a little hard to shake, babe.”

Shauna grunted. “Yeah, and now I get to die slowly in this damn car.”

Callie piped up from the back. “Technically, you wouldn’t die, you’d probably just snap and leave us at a rest stop!”

“Don’t tempt me,” Shauna muttered, as Callie snorted and Evie tossed her empty juice box into the front seat with a mischievous, “Oopsies!”

Jackie caught it mid-air and gave Shauna an apologetic little shrug. “You knew what this was when you agreed.”

“I agreed because you promised we’d drop them at Deb’s on the way back and disappear for a week. Just us. Somewhere with silence. And wine. And possibly sedatives.”

“That promise still stands,” Jackie said with a wink. “One more week of chaos, and then it’s just you, me, and a cabin in the Berkshires with no one screaming about who farted.”

Callie snorted again. “It was Rylie,” she muttered.

“ Was not! ”

Jackie turned in her seat, calm as ever, and gave them the patented Mama glare —the one that shut even Callie up for a blessed moment.

Shauna narrowed her eyes on the road. “Why did we do this?”

“Because it’s Disney , and the girls have been begging for years, and Evie still thinks Mickey Mouse lives on the moon. Because you love me. And because I promised you five uninterrupted days with no small humans climbing onto my lap and competing with you for my attention.”

That part was true.

They’d struck the deal back in October, when Jackie brought the idea up. Shauna had made a face. The kind of face that said, “Do you remember the last time we were in a theme park and Callie had a panic attack on the log flume and I almost punched the cast member who wouldn't give us a refund?”

But Jackie had sweetened the pot. She’d taken Shauna’s hands in hers, looked her dead in the eyes and said, “One week after, just us. No kids. Deb already said she’d watch them. We’ll go up to Maine or Vermont or wherever you want. I'll pack the wine. Just us."

Shauna had caved. Of course she had. She could never say no to her wife. 

And now, here they were, with snacks ground into the carpet, juice boxes leaking under the seats, a three-year-old softly singing the chorus of Let It Go in her sleep, and Shauna wondering how much therapy it would take to erase this road trip from her brain.

---

“Henry was right,” she muttered. “He saw through this madness.”

Jackie smiled, equal parts fond and sad. “He said thanks but no thanks and meant it. I thought he’d cave when I showed him the resort packages. But nope. Stuck to his guns.”

Shauna side-eyed her wife. “You were so heartbroken.”

Jackie didn’t deny it. “He’s my baby.”

“Jackie, he’s almost twenty-three .”

Jackie shrugged, eyes going soft. “Still my baby.”

Shauna rolled her eyes. Henry could never do wrong in Jackies eyes. “He said, and I quote, ‘I love you all, but I would rather eat glass than sit in a car with my sisters for 20 hours.’”

“Exactly. He knew what was coming. He was ahead of the curve. Now he just pops in for the holidays and family birthdays and lets us survive the madness down here like some kind of war correspondent.”

“Honestly, same,” Shauna muttered. “He was the smartest person in the house when we left. The rest of us are idiots.”

“Don’t say that,” Jackie said lightly. “We’re creating memories.”

“I’m in the process of creating a tension headache,” Shauna shot back. “My memories are going to be of fruit snacks in the air vents and Rylie telling me Let It Go is an emotional masterpiece. And Callie is rolling her eyes so hard I’m worried about optic nerve damage.”

From the backseat, Callie groaned. “ You’re not even doing anything. You’ve been sitting judging us for ten hours.”

Jackie giggled, and Shauna smiled despite herself.

Behind them, Rylie snorted through a laugh, Evie stirred in her seat and started mumbling about ducks, and Callie yelled, “MOM, how much longer?!”

“Ten hours,” Shauna said grimly.

“We’ve been driving forever,” Callie groaned.

“We’re not even halfway there ,” Rylie added with tragic flair while Evie giggled. 

Jackie turned her face toward the window to hide her smile, and Shauna just drove on, silently repeating a mantra to herself: Five days. Five days. Five days. Just you and her.

They’d drop the kids off with Deb on the drive back up. Jackie had already packed a separate overnight bag for their getaway—Shauna knew it was tucked behind the third row, right next to the emergency diaper stash and the backup Minnie Mouse ears.

There’d be no whining, no car seat buckles, no rogue applesauce pouches.

Just them. A quiet inn. Clean sheets. Morning coffee. Maybe they’d go hiking. Maybe they’d just sleep.

Shauna didn’t care what they did. As long as it was just her and Jackie. No DVD menus on repeat. No backseat fistfights. No chorus of Mama? Mama? Mama?

Just her wife.

That was the real vacation.

 

Chapter 16: How do you lose something you need to see?

Summary:

Set 2031/32ish

Jackie and Shauna-54
Evie-15
Poppy-10

It started with Jackie squinting at the TV from the couch one evening.

“You need to sit closer?” Shauna asked casually, curled up next to her, flipping through her phone.
“No, it’s fine,” Jackie waved her off, eyes narrowing a little more. “It’s just the lighting.”

But Shauna knew that lie. Jackie had used the same tone when she said she was "just tired" during labor with Callie, or "just needed a minute to rest" when she was clearly in pain during her appendix burst. Jackie was a master of soft denial, a champion of pretending everything was fine—especially when it came to her own needs.

Jackie Shipman had made it to 54 without needing glasses, and she was annoyingly proud of it.

“Well,” she used to say, squinting toward the TV or holding the thermostat two feet away from her face, “my vision’s not perfect, but it’s not bad either.”

Shauna was not buying it for a moment. She’d noticed the subtle signs, Jackie squinting when driving at night, missing the street signs until the last second, mistaking Callie for Rylie at a distance (a cardinal sin in their household). The final straw came when Jackie misread a scoreboard at Evie’s soccer game and cheered for the wrong team.

She made the appointment herself.

And she dragged Jackie there.

Literally.

“I can see just fine,” Jackie insisted, as Shauna steered her into the optometrist’s office.

“Sure you can,” Shauna replied dryly. “Except when you confuse a pinecone for a squirrel or think a stop sign says ‘shop’ .”

Jackie glared at her over the rims of her sunglasses. “One time.”

“ Three. ”

It turned out Shauna was right, of course.

Mild distance correction. Slight astigmatism. Nothing alarming, but enough that Jackie admitted—reluctantly, in the car ride home—that maybe the road signs had been getting fuzzier lately.

That was six months ago.

Now, Jackie was the proud (and still begrudging) owner of two pairs of glasses—one for everyday distance, and a fancy backup pair Shauna insisted she keep in her purse. She looked great in them, too—almost too great, which made Shauna feel smug every time Jackie put them on.

“You look hot in those,” Shauna whispered, not for the first time, as Jackie slid them on at breakfast one morning.

Jackie rolled her eyes but smiled. “You say that every time.”

“Because it’s true every time.”

And while Jackie did admit later that her new glasses made things clearer—she could read street signs, no longer had to rely on the kids to find the right TV input, and even commented, slightly horrified, on how much more visible dust was in the house—it quickly became apparent that keeping track of said glasses would become Shauna’s new full-time job because  Jackie could not, for the life of her, keep track of the damn things.

Jackie wore them only when absolutely necessary: watching TV, reading road signs, occasionally squinting at one of their daughters from across the soccer field.

But the problem wasn’t her refusal to wear them. The problem was that she never remembered where she put them after she took them off.

And so began the daily game: Where Did Jackie Leave Her Glasses Today?

---

“Mom,” Evie said one weekend morning coming down the stairs to see Shauna pulling out the couch cushions “Where are they this time?”

Shauna didn’t even look up from behind the couch cushions. “If I knew, Evie, I wouldn’t be three minutes away from putting a tracking device on your mother’s glasses.”

“They were in the fridge last week,” Poppy offered, coming in from letting the dog out into the garden.

“And in the laundry room the week before,” Shauna grumbled. “How does someone take off their glasses in the laundry room?”

Jackie, who had just entered the room with a towel around her damp hair, paused. “Oh. Right. I took them off when I was folding those sheets.”

“Which sheets?” Shauna asked, immediately turning toward her.

Jackie blinked. “The ones we put in the guest room—wait—no, maybe it was the flannel ones we said we’d store—”

Shauna held up a hand. “Never mind. I’ll find them.”

Poppy followed her mom to the linen closet, amused. “Why doesn’t Mama just get one of those neck cord things like Grandma Deb?”

“Because,” Shauna said, rifling through a stack of pillowcases, “she says they make her feel like an old librarian.”

“She is kind of an old librarian,” Evie mumbled from the hall.

“She’s a hot librarian,” Shauna corrected automatically.

“Ew, Mom!” both girls groaned.

 

---

 

It quickly became such a regular ritual that when Evie, and Poppy, now fifteen and ten respectively came home from school, they had barely dropped their backpacks in the hallway before hearing their moms voice echo through the house.

“Jackie! Where are your damn glasses?”

Evie didn’t even blink anymore. “Did you think she checked the laundry room?”

Poppy headed straight for the couch cushions. “I’ll check under the blanket from last night.”

Shauna stood in the kitchen, hands on her hips, looking entirely like a woman losing the will to live over a pair of designer frames (how Jackie convinced her to let her buy $400 glasses she will never know). “Why does she take them off while cooking ? Who takes off their glasses while chopping onions?”

“You’d be surprised what Mama does,” Evie said with a snort.

“She put them in the fridge once,” Poppy added, emerging from the hallway with a sock in one hand and no glasses.

“She thought they were in her purse,” Shauna muttered, stalking into the living room. “She meant the bag of bagels she was holding.”

 

---

 

Eventually, one of them would find them: on the bathroom counter, next to the cereal box, behind the throw pillows, or once—most mysteriously—on top of the vacuum cleaner that no one had used in days.

“I don’t remember putting them there, ” Jackie would insist every time.

“That’s because your vision’s bad, and you’re over 50,” Shauna would tease, snatching the glasses and gently sliding them back onto Jackie’s face. “There. Now you can see how annoyed I am.”

Jackie would just smile, unbothered. “I see you just fine.”

“You better, because next time I find them on top of the dog crate, I’m duct-taping them to your head.”

Shauna would laugh if it weren’t so constant.

Every day, Jackie took them off for something —to cook, to clean, to rub her eyes, to rest her face, to wash her hair—and every day, they disappeared like they had legs. Shauna had started casually buying the little packs of eyeglass cords and cases and microfiber cloths, tucking them into drawers, baskets, and coat pockets, but Jackie somehow evaded every attempt at organization.

“You need a tracker,” Shauna had muttered one day after finding the glasses tucked into the side pocket of the diaper bag they hadn’t used in 5 years.

“You need to chill,” Jackie said, reaching for them and slipping them back on with a sheepish grin.

And even though Shauna rolled her eyes, even though she grumbled every time she had to stop what she was doing to help hunt them down, there was something achingly endearing about it. It was so Jackie—fiercely capable and stubborn and a little chaotic around the edges.

In fact, she secretly liked the ritual of it all—the ridiculous, domestic chaos of it. The way the girls rolled their eyes but always helped. The way Poppy had started calling it Operation: Where’s Mama’s Eyes . The way Jackie looked up at her every time Shauna returned them like she was being handed something more precious than glass and metal.

“Thanks, babe,” Jackie would say, sometimes kissing Shauna’s knuckles, sometimes just smiling like she knew how ridiculous it was and how much Shauna loved her anyway.

And Shauna always grumbled, always complained.

But Shauna didn’t mind too much.

For all the teasing, all the half-exasperated eye rolls and muttered, “How do you lose something you need to see?” every time Jackie misplaced her glasses, there was something quietly sweet in it.

It was part of the rhythm of them.

Of years lived together, of quirks learned and loved and adapted around.
Of Jackie, still stubborn and soft and hers, getting older beside her.
Of a life built brick by brick with all its beautiful chaos and lost spectacles.

And besides, every time Shauna found them, she got to slide them gently back onto Jackie’s face, brush her hair behind her ear, and say:

“There. Now you can see how lucky you are to have me.”
And Jackie would grin and reply, every single time:
“I didn’t need glasses to see that.”

And every night, she made sure they ended up back on the nightstand beside Jackie’s side of the bed.

Just in case Jackie needed to see her first thing in the morning.

Chapter 17: When Shauna lost a bet with her Kids

Summary:

Set August 2018

Henry-21
Callie-11
Rylie-7
Evie-2

Shauna Shipman had never wanted a pet.

Not because she hated animals—she didn’t. She actually liked dogs just fine… other people’s dogs. She liked the idea of dogs in theory: the companionship, the tail wags, the occasional Instagram-worthy photo of a golden retriever in a bandana Jackie would show her sometimes. But in practice? In the middle of an already chaotic household with three very loud, very persistent daughters and a wife who had a tendency to side with the kids if they really wanted something?

No. Absolutely not.

And she’d made that clear. For years .

Every time the subject came up, it was an immediate and firm, “We are not getting a dog.”

It had become something of a tradition at that point. On long car rides, when dinner got boring, when homework was dragging into the evening—Callie would go in first, “All my friends have one,” she’d said, arms crossed and dramatic as hell. “You’re basically denying us a real childhood.”

Shauna had snorted. “You have each other. That’s enough chaos.”

“But Mom,” Rylie added, flopping onto the couch beside her pouthing her like Jackie does when she wants something from shauna. “We’re so responsible now. We won’t even ask you for help.”

“I don’t want to clean up dog pee,” Shauna said flatly.

Evie, just two would just parrot, “Doggy! Doggy!” until Jackie laughed herself silly and Shauna wanted to hide in the basement.

Every time, the answer was no.

Until the day she forgot her kids have selective hearing.

 

---

 

It was a Tuesday. Shauna had had a long day, and the girls were fighting about helping her with laundry again. She was tired and Frustrated. Jackie was the one who did the household duties but she was away for a few days helping Henry get unpacked for his second year at college at Brown. Rylie had dumped a full packet of glitter on the floor that morning, and Callie had managed to make this dishwasher break down twice in one day. Somewhere between cleaning up a spill and wrangling a grumpy Evie into pajamas, she’d muttered something reckless under her breath:

“I swear to God. If you girls can go a full month doing all your chores with zero complaints, I’ll consider getting a dog.”

She didn’t even mean it. It was an empty threat, like “Santa’s watching” or “I’ll turn this car around.”

Only the girl heard it. 

And they Took Her Seriously.

Thirty days. That’s all it took.

Thirty days of dishes being done, backpacks being packed the night before school not in the morning, laundry folded (questionably, but still folded), and not a single whine or eye roll from Callie when Shauna or Jackie asked for help.

The house felt like it had been taken over by aliens disguised as her own children. 

She was suspicious, of course. She knew something was up by day ten, but they didn’t crack. Not once. Even Callie— Callie , whose first word may as well have been “ugh”—smiled and asked if Shauna needed help making dinner. Shauna would later admit—privately, to herself—that the kids were terrifyingly motivated when they had something to work towards. They were like little cultists with a shared goal: win the bet, get the dog. 

By the end of the month, Shauna was backed into a corner. They’d done it. All three of them. Zero complaints.

Callie marched up to her mother, hand extended like a lawyer finishing a closing argument. “We held up our end. Your turn.”

Shauna stared at her kids—smug, wide-eyed, and so goddamn proud of themselves—and knew: she was screwed .

---

Jackie, to her credit, didn’t let the kids gloat— much . But there was a smug twinkle in her eye when she handed Shauna a coffee mug that read “DOG MOM” one morning and said, “So… you ready to meet Bodie?”

Because, oh yes—they had already picked out the dog . Apparently, Jackie and the girls had spent the last three weekends while Shauna was locked up in her attic office proofreading her next book secretly visiting the local rescue shelter instead of looking at new garden furniture like Jackie had told her. The moment they saw him—a big, floppy, golden-brown mutt with too-big paws and sad eyes—they knew . His name was Bodie, and according to Rylie, “He looks like a bear and a loaf of bread had a baby.”

Shauna didn’t stand a chance.

Bodie moved in on a Saturday. He took one look at the living room, walked in like he owned the place, and peed on the carpet.

It was chaos immediately. He barked at the dryer, chased Evie around the yard for an hour after kidnapping one of her stuffies and chewed through one of Jackie’s old slippers. He also slept curled up at the foot of their bed the first night and followed Jackie around like he was her shadow.

Shauna tried— really tried—to keep her distance.

But one night, maybe a week later, she couldn’t sleep. She’d come downstairs to get a glass of water and found Bodie on the couch, staring at the front door like he was guarding the whole house.

He turned, ears perked up when he saw her, tail wagging gently.

Shauna sighed. “I didn’t want you, you know.”

He let out a low boof , laid his head back down, and looked up at her with those dumb, kind eyes.

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. You’re growing on me. Don’t let it go to your head.”

By the second week, she was walking him on weekend mornings with Jackie. By the third, he started sleeping with his head on her feet while she worked on the laptop. And by the fourth, she found herself picking up specialty peanut butter dog treats on her grocery runs.

Jackie noticed. Of course she did. But she didn’t say a word—just smiled, kissed her wife’s cheek and teased her about how she seems to not mind the dog. 

Shauna groaned. Loudly.

But Bodie? He just wagged his tail, climbed up beside her, and laid his head in her lap like he’d always belonged there.

And… maybe he did.

 

---

 

Shauna pretended not to care. She muttered under her breath about “wet paws on the tile” and “fur in my coffee” and “this is why I didn’t want a dog.”

But then Bodie started following her up to her office every day. Waiting by the bathroom door. Sitting at her feet during dinner. Curling up beside her legs when she fell asleep on the couch after a long day. 

Once, when Jackie was in the hospital after having her appendix surgery and the house felt too quiet, Shauna had stayed until visiting hours were closed but now was alone in her bed, Bodie climbed into bed and flopped right onto jackie's side of the bed. She didn’t even push him off.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” she whispered into his ear, scritching behind it gently.

He curled up at her feet when she worked late at the kitchen table. He followed her to the bathroom andwWhen Evie had her first nightmare after starting preschool, it wasn’t Jackie or Shauna she wanted—it was Bodie, snuggled up at the foot of her bed.

Jackie saw through it immediately. One afternoon Shauna was cradling Bodie’s face in her hands while watching House Hunters and muttering, “That tile’s going to be a nightmare with a muddy dog” , and Jackie just stood there in the doorway grinning like a cat with a secret.

“You love him,” Jackie said.

Shauna didn’t even look away from the TV. “I tolerate him more than I thought I would.”

“Uh-huh.”

That night, Shauna was the one who filled Bodie’s water bowl and laid out his favorite blanket. She even tucked him in, the way Jackie used to do with the kids when they were small.

“Don’t say a word,” she warned Jackie, who was watching with the kind of smug fondness only someone who had known you since you were five could manage.

Jackie held up her hands, lips twitching. “Didn’t say a thing.”

But she leaned over, kissed Shauna’s temple, and whispered, “over a decade of stubbornness... all undone by one bet.”

Shauna rolled her eyes but smiled.

“Worth it?” Jackie asked.

Shauna looked down at Bodie, snoring softly on his blanket, tail twitching in some dreamland chase and smiled.

---

Years later, when Bodie’s muzzle started to grey and he was a little slower going up the stairs, Shauna still pretended she hated the hassle. But every morning, she was the one who filled his water bowl before anyone else was awake. She was the one who called him “baby boy” when no one was listening. And she was the one who snuck him table scraps after the kids went to bed.

She never wanted a pet.

But now, the house would feel incomplete without the sound of Bodie’s paws echoing down the hallway.

Chapter 18: The one time Henry and Shauna bonded over something that wasn't Jackie

Summary:

Set Spring of 2014

Henry-17
Callie-8
Rylie-2

Henry Shipman was far too much like his mother, and he hated it.

He didn’t even realize it at first. Not when he was little, when he idolized Shauna the way kids do their parents—especially the ones who know how to be in control of a room, who could make things happen . Shauna had always been that person in their family. She got things done. She didn’t wait for permission or worry about feelings if there was a more efficient way to handle something. She got things done while Jackie doted and smoothed things over. Shauna ran the house with a quiet steeliness, balancing bills and soccer carpools, parent-teacher conferences and Jackie’s prenatal vitamins like it was second nature. That part of her had carried them all through impossible things—trauma, survival, grief—and Henry respected that, in theory.

But as he got older, and especially once he hit his teenage years, he realized something that unsettled him to his core:

He argued like her.

He held grudges like her.

He needed to be right like her.

And worse— she knew it . And she hated it just as much.

By the time Henry was 12, they were oil and water. Explosive arguments, quiet tension, whole weekends where they barely spoke and used Jackie as the buffer, which only made Henry angrier. Because if there was one thing he could never stand, it was the way his mom treated his mama.

But as he got older, especially once he hit his teenage years, the sheen wore off. They butted heads constantly. He'd challenge her about how she talked to his mama, about the controlling patterns he was only just beginning to recognize. And Shauna, sharp as ever, didn’t like being questioned by a kid—especially her kid.

“You don’t understand the full picture,” she’d snap when he called her out on interrupting Jackie in front of company.

“I understand what I see ,” Henry would shoot back, jaw clenched, too stubborn for his own good. “And you talk to her like she’s breakable.”

That always hit a nerve. Because in Shauna’s eyes, Jackie was breakable—had been broken once, out there in the wilderness, and had never fully come back together the same way. Shauna had made it her mission to be the glue, the force that kept everything from crumbling. 

Jackie, for all her softness and warmth, was often steamrolled by Shauna. Not in loud, dramatic ways—but in those subtle, insidious ones. Henry noticed how Shauna would say things like, “Don’t worry about it, I’ll handle it,” and that was never a suggestion. How Jackie would shrink a little when Shauna was angry, or how Jackie always made herself smaller to keep the peace. As Henry got older, it stopped looking like devotion and started looking like control.

And Henry hated that even more than the ways he mirrored her.

Shauna, on her end, didn’t like how Henry questioned her authority—especially when it came to Jackie. She didn’t like how protective he was, how he sometimes stepped in like a second spouse instead of a son, how he’d shoot her a glare when she got snippy about something that didn’t matter. She also didn’t love that Jackie’s attention shifted so easily to Henry—their shared love of movies, how Jackie never missed a soccer game, how she always knew just when to knock on his door and leave a bowl of popcorn.

There was a wedge, and both of them pushed it in deeper every year. Jackie, ever the peacemaker, hated it. She tried her best to mediate. She’d sit beside Henry on his bed after a blow-up, rubbing his back, whispering, “She just doesn’t know how to let go, sweetheart. She’s scared of losing anyone.”

Henry, stubborn and heart-twisted, would reply, “She already lost me. She just doesn’t know it yet.”

But then came Henry’s junior year.

College applications loomed like a mountain, and despite all their issues, Shauna took that part seriously. Education was non-negotiable in her eyes, and for all their fighting, she wanted her son to succeed. Even if he didn’t want to admit it, Henry wanted her help too—because she was good at this. She was sharp and strategic, knew how to phrase things just right, and she knew people .

Shauna had graduated from Brown. She had thrived there. She knew how to play the game, and she was more than willing to pull every string she had to give Henry an edge.

there was one thing Henry was deeply, begrudgingly grateful for: Shauna’s brain.

She was brilliant, whether he wanted to admit it or not. A mind like a scalpel, always cutting to the truth. And when it came time to start applying to colleges in his junior year, there was no one better to help him than her.

Jackie offered to help, of course—gentle, supportive—but she admitted early on, “Baby, the last thing I applied to was a summer camp in eighth grade. Your mom's the pro here.”

So, night after night, Henry and Shauna sat at the kitchen table long after his sisters went to bed. Jackie would make tea, kiss them both goodnight, and quietly vanish to give them space.

It started awkwardly—silent scrolling, Henry typing while Shauna corrected grammar with a red pen like a ruthless editor. But eventually, a rhythm formed. They learned how to tolerate each other in that space, how to listen. Shauna—despite being icy in conflict—was patient when it came to academia. She knew how to finesse an essay, how to frame a story.

“You’re leading with your sports stuff too soon,” she told him one night, underlining a paragraph. “Anyone can say they’re a captain. What’s more interesting is why you care. The part about helping coach Callie's team? That’s the heart of it. That’s what makes you different.”

Henry frowned. “You think?”

She nodded. “Don’t just show them the résumé. Show them the human.”

Those weeks of applications were probably the first time they spent together— really together—without tension. It wasn’t smooth exactly, but there was a mutual respect that started to form somewhere between essay drafts and mock interviews. Shauna would stay up late with him, reading over his essays with a red pen in hand and a cup of coffee that slowly turned into beer. Henry would roll his eyes at her notes, but take them anyway, begrudgingly.

She didn’t sugarcoat anything. “This is good, but you sound like you’re trying to impress someone instead of showing them who you are. Start over.”

He did. Twice.

And it worked.

 

---

 

Shauna was working on an email in her office when Henry walked in—her posture rigid from a long day at work and Callie being… Well, Callie. Jackie was out bringing rylie to her swimming lessons so the house was unusually quiet, the kind of quiet Shauna usually didn’t like.

She didn’t look up at first. “If your gonna come in close the door, Henry. You’re letting in the cold—”

“I got in.”

His voice cracked just a little, and it stopped her cold. She glanced up, and there he was, her firstborn, holding a thick envelope in his hands like it was made of glass.

Shauna blinked.

He held it out wordlessly. Brown University. Her alma mater. The very place that had kept her alive in a way she couldn’t explain after the crash, after the wilderness, after… everything.

She slowly closed her computer. The silence stretched between them like old tension they both didn’t know how to handle.

He cleared his throat, looked away, awkward now. “I… figured you should be the first to know.”

Shauna stared at him. Her son. Tall, brilliant and stubborn as hell. Too much like her in every way she never wanted to admit out loud. They’d been butting heads for years—ever since Henry was old enough to see that the family dynamics weren’t perfect. Ever since he’d started challenging her in the same tone she used to challenge her own mother. Ever since he started pointing out how Jackie did everything, how Shauna took too much, how she never seemed to give enough back.

Shauna had always seen it as defiance. In truth, maybe it was just… loyalty. To Jackie. To the woman they both loved, in different, possessive, impossible ways.

Still, she hadn’t expected this. Not this moment.

Shauna stepped forward like she didn’t fully mean to. She took the envelope from him and turned it over in her hands. Her chest felt tight. “You got in,” she repeated, slower this time. Her voice was steady, but her throat felt tight

“I got in,” Henry echoed, a little more confident this time.

She stared at the Brown crest for a long second before handing it back to him. “You're gonna hate the summer hear.”

He huffed a laugh. “Better than a Boston winter.”

Shauna nodded once, her eyes softening for just a second. “Your personal statement was the best thing I’ve read in years.”

“You cried,” he said, smirking.

“I didn’t cry.”

“You totally cried. I saw the tissues in the trash.”

She scowled, but her lips quivered. “They were from allergies.”

“Mamas the one with the allergies.”

They both laughed—really laughed—for the first time in what felt like years. For one brief moment, they weren’t mother and son who didn’t understand each other. They were just two people who had worked hard for something that finally paid off.

They stared at each other for a long second, tension crackling in the quiet. Shauna didn’t have Jackie’s gift for gentle reassurance. Her love was steel-wrapped—stubborn and hard to carry—but it was there, and it was fierce.

“You’re going to do good things there,” she finally said. “And you’ll have earned every single one of them.”

Henry blinked, thrown off. That was… not the response he expected.

He swallowed. “Thanks again. For the help. With the essays.”

Shauna nodded once. “You’ve got a strong voice. Just needed shaping.”

There was a beat of silence between them. Then, unexpectedly, she stepped back and motioned toward the door. “You should go tell your mama. She’ll cry.”

Henry huffed a laugh and tucked the envelope under his arm. “Yeah. She will.”

As he turned to go, she called after him, “Henry.”

He stopped in the doorway.

“I’m proud of you.”

Henry stood frozen for a moment before giving her a small, quiet nod.

And for the first time in years, something between them eased. Not fixed. Not perfect. But real.

 

---

 

hat night, as Jackie clutched the acceptance letter with tearful joy and the girls danced around the kitchen singing “I’m gonna visit Henry at Brown!” , Shauna stood by the sink and watched her son laugh. It wasn’t a moment that healed all their rifts. But it was one that would stick with her—because in it, she saw a glimmer of herself in Henry, yes, but also something wholly his own.

And maybe—just maybe—that didn’t have to be such a bad thing.

 

Chapter 19: 2 diagnosis for the price of one

Summary:

Spring 2019

Henry-22
Callie-12
Rylie-8
Evie-2

Shauna never thought that taking Rylie in for an ADHD assessment would lead to a seismic shift in how she saw her wife. Not in the way that broke anything—but in a way that finally, finally made everything click.

Sweet, sleepy, easy baby Rylie who grew into a bright, emotionally intense eight-year-old with a mind that moved miles a minute and a body that struggled to keep up. She wasn’t trouble , not even close—just scattered sometimes. Forgetful. Constantly humming or fidgeting. Her emotions were enormous, flashing across her face like thunderclouds and sunshine in equal measure. When she was excited, the whole house felt it. When she was frustrated, the walls rattled.

Sweet, sleepy, easy baby Rylie who grew into a bright, emotionally intense eight-year-old with a mind that moved miles a minute and a body that struggled to keep up. She wasn’t trouble , not even close—just scattered sometimes. Sweet, easy, clever little Rylie, who lit up when she talked about her intrests for hours but forgot her shoes half the time and couldn’t sit still during storytime at school without a dozen gentle redirections or a fidget toy. Jackie had noticed it first, in the quiet way she always did—documenting patterns in a spiral notebook, wondering aloud if “maybe Rylie just needs a different kind of classroom.”

 Shauna hadn’t resisted—she trusted Jackie’s instincts, especially when it came to their kids. Shauna, ever the pragmatist, had been the first to say it aloud. “Maybe it’s time we talk to someone about getting her assessed.”

Jackie had hesitated—concerned, a little defensive—but ultimately agreed. They both wanted to help Rylie thrive. So they found a specialist, filled out the mountains of paperwork, and brought Rylie in for testing.

 And as it turned out, Jackie had been right: Rylie was bright and creative and neurodivergent. ADHD. Combined type. Nothing that couldn’t be managed with support and understanding.

But it was the conversation afterward —the psychologist’s simple question:

“Is there a family history of ADHD or autism?”

That stuck with Shauna.

Jackie had blinked. “No… I mean, not that I know of.”

But Shauna paused. Looked at her wife. Watched her fold and unfold the edge of her sleeve for the third time in five minutes. Thought about how Jackie had always struggled with last-minute changes, how she scheduled every detail of the day down to the minute when she could. How she couldn’t stand the sound of the vacuum and wore the same soft hoodie around the house until it was threadbare.

And how much she’d always hated eye contact—not just out of shyness, but something deeper. Something wired in.

It took a few weeks, but Jackie agreed to an assessment—not because she thought she needed it, but because she trusted Shauna, and she didn’t want to parent Rylie through something she didn’t understand.

The results had come back on a Friday morning, delivered gently by a neuropsychologist who was kind and clear:

Autism Spectrum Disorder. Level 1.

Jackie didn’t cry. She didn’t panic. She just sat very still in the car afterward, her hands in her lap, eyes on the dash.

Shauna had looked over, unsure what to say. “Jack?”

“I always thought something was wrong with me,” Jackie whispered. “I just thought I was broken.”

Shauna reached over and laced their fingers together. “You’re not broken. You were just... never explained properly. That’s all.”

And the thing was—now that she knew, Shauna couldn’t unsee it .

Jackie hated surprises. Always had. Her need for routine was practically sacred, and any disruption—school closures, rescheduled appointments, a last-minute change in dinner plans—could throw her off for days. She got sensory overload in loud restaurants and often needed to sit in quiet corners at family events. She didn’t always make eye contact, especially when she was overwhelmed, and Shauna used to think Jackie was just “shy” or “a little off.” But she wasn’t. She was processing.

She had food preferences that seemed odd from the outside—like how she couldn’t eat strawberries if they had the green tops still attached, or how she hated mixed textures in one dish. She hated loud music in restaurants, got overwhelmed by crowds, and wore the same three types of shirts because everything else felt wrong.

She had this stunningly detailed memory. Could recall entire conversations from ten years ago, remembered the weather on days of big emotional events, could quote a line from a book she read once at sixteen.

And maybe most of all—Jackie felt everything too much . When she loved, it consumed her. When she got hurt, it etched into her bones. She didn’t have an in-between, and Shauna had long ago built her life around protecting that delicate, wild, brilliant part of Jackie from the world.

She’d always done this thing where she clung to structure like it was a life vest. Even as a teenager in the wilderness, when everything else had fallen apart—when they'd been forced to eat dirt and rot and worse just to survive—Jackie clung to rules and order. Her sense of “what should be” had nearly broken her in that place. She masked all through high school, performed perfectly when the world made sense—but trauma cracked it. The mask broke, and she’d never been able to put it back on quite the same way after they had gotten on that plane.

Looking back, Shauna saw it everywhere .

The way Jackie always prepped days in advance for parent-teacher conferences and over-researched everything from baby formula to vacation destinations. How she didn't make true friends easily but was deeply loyal when she did . How she always needed a day to recover if their routine changed—like if a kid got sick or Shauna worked late and missed bedtime. How she was social—but only with people she trusted. Mostly just Shauna.

 

---

 

Later, when they told the kids—Rylie first—Jackie explained it in a way only she could: simple, honest, and full of love.

“Your brain and mine are wired in a way that makes some things harder, and some things really special. It doesn’t change who we are. It just helps us understand ourselves better.”

Rylie had just grinned and said, “So we’re, like… matching?”

Jackie laughed through her tears. “Yeah, baby. We’re matching.”

And Shauna, watching from the corner with a lump in her throat, realized she was watching her wife step into herself with a kind of peace she hadn’t seen in years.

They sat in bed one night a few weeks later, Jackie curled up with her tablet, blue light glowing across her face. She was researching something (Shauna had no idea what, but she’d hear about it eventually in passionate, precise detail).

Shauna reached out, brushed a hand through Jackie’s hair, and whispered, “I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner.”

Jackie smiled faintly. “You always saw me, Shauna. You just didn’t have the words yet.”

---

“I wish I’d known sooner,” She admitted one night, voice barely above a whisper as they laid in bed. “Maybe I wouldn’t have thought I was broken for so long.”

Shauna had wrapped her arms around her wife, pulling her close. “You were never broken.”

Jackie didn’t answer, but the way she pressed her face into Shauna’s neck, the way her body melted into the touch, told her that maybe— maybe —she was finally starting to believe it.

And Shauna?

She was still learning. Still unlearning, too. But one thing was certain: she would spend the rest of her life making sure Jackie never had to apologize for who she was again.

---

 

As an adult, Henry had long since stopped trying to understand his moms in the way kids tried to make sense of their parents—good or bad, right or wrong. He loved them, sure. Deeply. Fiercely. But there were stretches of time, especially in high school, when he didn’t like his mom, and when he couldn’t comprehend why his mama stayed.

He’d seen how controlling Shauna could be. How she needed everything—every plan, every child, every hour of Jackie’s day—to orbit her. How Jackie let it happen. How Jackie bent and softened and made room even when she shouldn’t have had to.

There were nights, especially during his senior year, when he’d hear them argue behind their bedroom door. Nothing explosive—Shauna didn’t scream, Jackie didn’t throw things—but the sharp edges in Shauna’s voice made Henry’s stomach twist. Jackie, in her usual way, would be calm. Gentle. Even placating.

It wasn’t like Jackie didn’t know how bad it got sometimes. Henry had been a teenager, storming out of rooms, begging his mama to stand up for herself. He’d pulled Jackie aside after fights and whispered, “You don’t have to take that,” while Shauna cooled off in the kitchen. She would just blink at him with those big, tired eyes and say, “It’s not that simple, Henry,” like he was too young to understand.

And back then, maybe he was.

Henry hated it.

He hated that Jackie never pushed back . That she never even considered leaving. That every time one of her kids suggested it—out of love, not anger—she would flinch like they’d struck her. Henry used to lie awake at night, angry tears in his eyes, wishing Jackie would just pack a bag and go. Take them with her. Start over. He knew Jackie would never hit back, would never even argue when Shauna’s voice got sharp and cold. Jackie didn’t fight , not really—not unless someone else was in danger. And Henry used to think that meant she was weak.

“Don’t say that about your mom,” she’d whisper, like it was a slur. “You don’t know what we’ve been through.”

It used to frustrate Henry to no end. The trauma, the crash, the wilderness—he knew it bonded them, but how could Jackie not see it? That this thing with Shauna wasn’t always love. Sometimes it felt like a trap.

But Jackie had never left.

Not when the arguments were sharp and silent. Not when she was pregnant and exhausted. Not even when her body was bleeding out on an OR table, because Shauna had begged for one more baby.

Henry hadn’t understood it then.

He just saw a woman who was being swallowed whole by someone she loved too much to fight. A woman whose light dimmed when Shauna was angry. Who would rather hurt herself than upset her wife.

But after Jackie’s autism diagnosis—after the slow, painful clarity it brought—Henry finally started to understand.

 

---

 

Jackie wasn’t staying because she was weak.

She was staying because she literally couldn’t imagine a world where she wasn’t with Shauna.

When Jackie found out she was autistic, Henry had been in his early twenties, in his final year at Brown. He didn’t get it at first. Didn’t see what that had to do with anything. But then he started reading, listening—really thinking .

And things started making sense in ways they never had before.

Jackie had never been good with change. She’d spent most of her life clinging to structure, to routine, to people who felt safe. And no one— no one —felt safer to her than Shauna.

Shauna was predictable in her intensity. Her moods might have swung, but her presence never wavered. She took care of things. She made decisions. She kept Jackie wrapped in a world where nothing unexpected had to touch her unless Shauna allowed it.

Henry used to see that as a cage. And maybe, in a way, it was.

But now he understood that for someone like Jackie—whose entire sense of peace could be knocked off balance by a last-minute change of plans or the wrong kind of fabric—Shauna was the structure. The anchor. The wall between Jackie and a world that overwhelmed her in ways she’d never learned to explain.

And the trauma? That made it worse. So much worse.

Jackie had survived things no one should. A plane crash. The wilderness. Isolation. Starvation. The death of friends. The loss of herself. When she came back to the world, Shauna was there. Shauna stayed . Jackie didn’t just love her. She depended on her—in a way that ran deeper than logic or emotion. Shauna was routine and rhythm and ritual. Shauna was the one person Jackie never had to mask around. Never had to explain herself to.

And maybe, yeah, sometimes Shauna abused that power. Maybe she had leaned too hard on that devotion, let her fear of being left warp into

That didn’t excuse the way Shauna sometimes handled that power. Henry still had a bone-deep resentment for the way his mom used Jackie’s dependence as leverage. She didn’t always do it maliciously—but she did do it. Her fears, her jealousy, her need for control… it all twisted around Jackie like ivy.

But it also came from a place of terror. Shauna had seen Jackie nearly die more times than anyone ever should. She had held Jackie’s hand in fever, through blood, through screams. She had spent the better part of two decades watching the world overwhelm her wife and had taken it upon herself to shield her from it.

Even when that protection became a prison.

---

The more he learned all those moments he couldn’t make sense of as a kid started to click into place. The way Jackie clung to routines like oxygen. The way she leaned on Shauna not just emotionally, but logistically. Shauna knew the world better. Shauna buffered the unpredictable. Shauna handled the appointments, the noise, the overwhelming flood of everyday chaos so Jackie didn’t have to drown in it.

Shauna understood Jackie in ways no one else ever had. She saw Jackie’s shutdowns and didn't take them personally. She learned Jackie's rhythms, her sensory preferences, her exact tipping point between peace and overload. She made the world navigable.

Yes, Shauna could be possessive. Overbearing. Even selfish.

But she was also, in Jackie’s words, her anchor.

For someone like Jackie—someone who had spent her life masking, managing, enduring—Shauna was safety. Even when she was maddening.

Henry didn't excuse Shauna's faults. He still had a long list of things he wished had been different growing up. But as he got older, and especially after becoming a partner himself, he began to understand something deeper than judgment:

Some people don’t stay because they’re stuck.
Some people stay because it’s the only place the world stops spinning.

Jackie wasn’t blind to Shauna’s flaws. She wasn’t trapped. She was entwined . They’d survived something no one else could understand—not just the crash, but the years after. The rebuilding. The raising of five chaotic, beautiful kids. The navigating of a neurotypical world that never once stopped to ask Jackie what she needed.

Shauna did.

Shauna was the one who made it safe for Jackie to be Jackie , in all her nuance and difference.

And for Henry… that mattered. That counted for something.

He no longer saw their relationship as one-sided, even if it looked that way to outsiders. It wasn’t simple. It never would be. But it was theirs . And when he saw them on the couch—Jackie curled into Shauna’s side, Shauna’s hand absently stroking her hair like it was second nature—he understood, finally, why Jackie never left.

Because love, for them, wasn’t about balance. It was about survival. About understanding. About home.

 

Chapter 20: 2 Horny Gym Lesbians

Summary:

2nd half set in Early 2022

Henry-25
Callie-15
Rylie-10
Evie-5
Poppy-3 months

Before the crash, Shauna had never really learned how to handle her anger—at least, not in any way that didn’t leave bruises on the inside or on others.

Before the wilderness, Shauna had no healthy outlet for her emotions. Her anger, her pain, her frustration—it all went inward. Buried deep. Turned into poison. She never let herself explode, not really. She journaled obsessively in high school, pen scratching through the pages in the dark. She tried to be the "good girl" everyone expected, even as something sharp and ugly simmered under the surface. She’d been the quiet one, the good girl, the one who kept her thoughts buried in journals no one read. When she did snap, it was never clean or clear. It came out sideways—through rash decisions, recklessness disguised as rebellion. Sleeping with Jeff behind Jackie’s back hadn’t just been betrayal; it had been a scream. A cry for something—attention, control, escape. But all it brought her was pain and distance.

And then the wilderness happened.

Out there, everything became feral. Grief was raw. Anger was constant. There was no time for careful emotional processing when survival demanded action, demanded force . Shauna learned to channel her fury into her body—into the crack of bone under pressure, into carving through snowdrifts with a knife in her hand, into the brutal silence that followed a kill.

Violence became her language of control. Of power. Of grief.

But when they were rescued and returned to something resembling a normal world, the rules changed again. Suddenly, there were no animals to hunt, no threats behind every tree. No one watching her every move, waiting to see if she’d snap.

College at Brown helped. It was a fresh start in name, if not in feeling. At first, Shauna kept to herself. She didn’t talk about the past—not even when someone recognized her name or whispered about those girls from the crash. But the gym on campus became her sanctuary. The gym was the kind with boxing bags and free weights and a trainer who didn’t ask questions when she hit the pads like they owed her something.

At first it was about distraction—something physical that didn’t require her to talk to others.  Something to fill the time in between her lectures when she didn’t want to study and silence the noise in her head. Then it became routine. The rhythmic sound of fists hitting a bag, the sweat dripping down her back, the ache in her muscles that felt cleaner than the pain she was used to.

She started going every other week. Then at least a few times a week. It was the only time she could breathe sometimes. Her body got stronger, sure, but it wasn’t about that for her. It was about sweat and effort and control. It was about hitting something and it not hitting back. About the silence in her head after a round of punches, the strange, blessed stillness that only came when she was completely wrung out.

It gave her something real. Something hers , this time in a way that didn’t require burning anyone else to the ground. Every time she left the gym, dripping in sweat and bruised around the knuckles, she felt a little more like someone she could live with. She could be a better partner to Jackie.

---

When they bought their house in Boston, just before Callie was born, Shauna had a short list of non-negotiables. A safe neighborhood. Enough space for their growing family. And a basement. A basement she could gut and convert into her own private gym.

Jackie had smiled at the request. “You know the baby’s not going to be lifting weights with you, right?”

Shauna smirked. “No, but I’ll need to lift her. Might as well stay strong.”

They built the gym before they painted the nursery.

The space became Shauna’s sanctuary. A punching bag hung in the corner. Free weights along the wall. Mirrors she didn’t often look into, a sound system blasting playlists that ranged from old grunge to angry girl rock to instrumental war drums, depending on the day. It wasn’t fancy. It didn’t need to be.

---

It became her sacred space.

Her fists could fly in there, but she wasn’t hurting anyone. It helped her when the kids got loud, when Jackie was too tired to talk, when motherhood clawed at her like a cage. It helped when she felt like no one saw how tightly she kept the world spinning. When Henry glared at her like she was the villain. When Jackie, exhausted and pregnant again, turned her eyes to the ceiling instead of toward her. The gym never flinched. The bag never judged.

Sometimes, when the house was asleep, she’d go down there barefoot in her pajamas and hit the bag until her arms shook and her chest burned. It kept her sane. Kept her from going back to that wild version of herself.

---

Jackie loved it, too—though for slightly different reasons.

Not just because it kept Shauna level—though it did. Not just because it gave her wife somewhere to put the restlessness that always threatened to boil over—though it absolutely did.

But Jackie couldn’t lie. Shauna looked amazing .

Broad shoulders. Toned arms. Defined core. Shauna was stronger than ever, still sharp-edged but contained. The discipline she'd once needed to survive now helped her live .

“I’m just saying,” she’d tease, draped across the kitchen counter in one of Shauna’s oversized college t-shirts, “there’s something deeply hot about watching my wife punch things and then come upstairs glistening like a goddess of war.”Shauna would roll her eyes, but her smirk would betray her.

---

The gym kept her level. When the girls were screaming. When Jackie was in the thick of another emotionally draining pregnancy. When Henry was testing every nerve in her body. When Jackie was recovering in the ICU after hemorrhaging and Shauna couldn’t sleep for weeks, terrified of what she almost lost.

Shauna didn’t talk much about her workouts, never called them “therapy” or “healing,” but Jackie knew better. Knew what it looked like when Shauna didn’t go down there for a few days—when her tension simmered just beneath the surface, her words clipped, her presence prickly.

Sometimes, on bad weeks, Jackie would gently ask, “You need the bag?” and Shauna would just nod and head downstairs.

She’d go down there. Wrap her hands. Put on her gloves. Hit the bag until her arms gave out and the noise in her chest quieted.

Jackie knew better than to follow her down there when Shauna was in one of her moods. But sometimes she’d wait at the top of the stairs, holding a towel and a water bottle.

“Done saving the world?” Jackie would ask, soft and loving.

“Done surviving it,” Shauna would say, her voice ragged, breathless.

She never liked to talk about what happened out there in the woods. But she never had to—not really. Jackie knew . Jackie remembered . Jackie held her afterward when the shakes came back in her sleep.

Shauna didn’t always know how to say “I’m struggling,” or “I’m scared,” or “I need a break.” But she could throw a punch. And when she came back upstairs, drained and raw but a little more whole, Jackie was always there to catch her breath.

So yeah, Shauna never went to therapy the way Jackie always wanted her to. But that gym? That gym was hers. That gym was survival and clarity and release.

That gym was how she came back to her family, over and over again—sweaty, sore, and steady enough to keep trying.

And Jackie, bless her, always welcomed her back with open arms. She watched her a little too long sometimes when she came up in a sports bra and loose sweats, if she wrapped her arms around her wife and let her hands roam a little lower—well. That was just a bonus.

“You keep that gym,” Jackie would whisper in her ear, laughing low. “For everyone’s sake.”

And Shauna, flushed and relaxed in a way she rarely allowed herself to be, would press a kiss to her cheek and say, “Only for you.”

---

Jackie had never been a “gym” person. In highschool she preferred playing than gym sessions. She’d done the odd workout class in her twenties , dabbled in yoga with neighborhood moms during her kids baby years, but the idea of working out for the sake of sweating had never appealed to her. Her body had as a adult had been a means of care—carrying babies, calming toddlers, comforting big kids in the middle of emotional storms. Not something she trained or toned.

But after Poppy—after their fifth baby, after a traumatic labor, after a postpartum recovery that took longer than any of the others—Jackie felt unmoored in her own skin.

Her body had always been a battleground, but this was the first time she didn’t recognize it at all.

She surprised Shauna one morning, three months after Poppy was born, Jackie stood at the top of the basement stairs with her hair up in a loose bun, an old tank top clinging to her postpartum softness, and said, “Do you mind if I come down with you today?”

Shauna blinked at her. “Wait. My gym?”

Jackie gave a soft smile. “Technically it’s our basement.”

Shauna smiled, then slowly smirked, setting down her coffee mug. “I think you just guaranteed yourself anything you want for the rest of your life.”

Jackie rolled her eyes. “It’s not like I’m trading in my walks with Bodie. I still like my fresh air.”

“Oh, I know,” Shauna said, already mentally rearranging the gym layout to accommodate Jackie’s treadmill. “But you want to spend time with me . In my space . I’m touched.”

It started small. A few times a week, after Poppy’s early nap and while the other girls were at achool, Jackie would slip on a pair of leggings, tie her shoes, and follow Shauna downstairs.

She took it slow. Shauna knew better than to push her—guided her through basic strength moves, showed her how to adjust the weights, how to move without hurting herself. Jackie wasn’t trying to “bounce back.” She wasn’t chasing numbers. She just wanted to feel capable again. Steady. In her own skin.

At first, Jackie groaned her way through most of it. She huffed through squats, whined about pushups, made dramatic faces when she tried to hold a plank. Shauna teased her mercilessly—but never once made her feel weak. Just strong in a different way.

By the end of their first week working out together, Jackie was hooked. Not just on the movement, but on the time. The space . Just her and Shauna, no kids, no questions, no noise—only music echoing off concrete walls and the kind of shared focus they hadn’t had in years .

Shauna loved it.

Not just because Jackie looked good in tight leggings—though, if she were honest, that was a serious bonus. But because Jackie was there , next to her, doing this thing that had always been Shauna’s own little island of control. And now she was letting Jackie in. Sharing it. Letting her sweat and laugh and curse through the same sets, the same circuits. It felt… intimate in a way neither of them had expected.

Shauna ordered a top-of-the-line treadmill and installed it right next to her punching bag. She rearranged the free weights, cleared a space, and set up a soft mat and a small basket of toys. She even researched the best baby bouncers and carriers for gym use until she found a secure little seat that would keep Poppy safe and comfortable while her moms worked out.

Sometimes, Jackie would get distracted watching Shauna hit the heavy bag—controlled, focused, fluid. It reminded her that Shauna’s strength had always been more than emotional. It lived in her body too. Muscle honed over years of rage and grief and healing.

Other times, Shauna would glance over and see Jackie holding a plank longer than last week, or curling dumbbells with her jaw set in determination, and feel that swell of admiration in her chest. That pride. That love .

One morning, mid-circuit, Jackie pulled her hair into a bun, cheeks flushed, sweat dampening her neckline. Shauna stepped behind her, arms looping around Jackie’s waist. Her breath brushed Jackie’s ear as she whispered:

“You know this is the hottest thing you’ve ever done, right?”

Jackie laughed, half out of breath. “You say that every week.”

“And I mean it every time.”

Most mornings, Jackie walked the kids to school with Bodie and Poppy while Shauna knocked out her usual routine. But a few days a week, Jackie would join her in the basement gym after getting back. Sometimes she walked on the treadmill while listening to true crime podcasts. Other times, she stretched on the mat while Poppy dozed or cooed beside her. On rare occasions, Shauna even convinced her to hold light weights or try a circuit.

Shauna pretended to complain—“You’re throwing off my flow”—but truthfully, she adored it.

She loved glancing over her shoulder mid-rep and seeing Jackie jogging lightly, sweat on her brow and eyes focused. She loved the sound of their shared playlists echoing through the gym, interrupted only by the occasional gurgle from Poppy’s carrier. She loved the way Jackie would peel off her hoodie halfway through a session, revealing that lean strength she never gave herself enough credit for.

It wasn’t about fitness. Not really. It was about them —this shared piece of life carved out between chaos and child-rearing. No school lunches, no sibling fights, no errands. Just Jackie, her breath steady beside her, and Poppy smiling up at them like nothing in the world had ever been this perfect.

One day, after Jackie finished her walk and sat cross-legged beside Poppy, gently rocking her while Shauna wiped sweat off her brow, she looked up and said, “You know, I get why this helps you.”

Shauna, catching her breath, nodded. “Yeah?”

Jackie smiled, soft and tired but content. “It feels like... strength on your own terms. Safe strength.”

Shauna walked over, leaned down, and kissed the top of her wife’s head. “It’s better with you here.”

And it was. Always had been. Even through blood and bone and wilderness.

The gym became more than a place to move. It became a place to connect. To rebuild. A place where Shauna didn’t have to protect Jackie, and Jackie didn’t have to worry about everyone else.

Just the two of them. Punching ghosts. Lifting weight. Reclaiming strength.

And somewhere between the reps and the sweat and the lingering touches, Jackie began to see herself again—not just as a mother or a partner or a survivor, but as a woman.

Shauna saw it too.

And she loved every second of it.

Chapter 21: Shauna's Mini Me

Poppy Shipman came into the world in a blood-soaked blur of panic and heartbreak. A hurricane of birth and fear and emergency lights in the delivery room, followed by sterile white hallways and ICU beeping machines that haunted Shauna long after Jackie had healed.

But somehow—somehow—that chaotic, terrifying beginning gave way to a peace Shauna never expected.

Because once Poppy was home… she was easy. Too easy, almost. Like she knew she had to be. Like she understood, on some instinctive level, that her arrival had almost cost the family everything and she was determined to be the calm after the storm.

She slept more than any of her siblings ever had. She latched perfectly when Jackie fed ber. She barely cried. She loved long naps curled up against Jackie’s chest, her tiny hand gripping the edge of her mama’s shirt, heartbeat syncing to the steady rhythm of the woman who’d fought like hell to stay alive . Jackie would sit on the couch for hours, Poppy curled up on her chest, chest rising and falling in perfect sync.

And Jackie? Jackie was fine. Really. She had survived worse. She bounced back—slower than usual, sure, and with more follow-up appointments and an iron pill regime she hated—but her spirit never dulled. Within a few weeks, she was back to cooking breakfast with a baby strapped to her chest, walking the girls to school with Poppy in the stroller and Bodie on a lead beside her, humming softly to Fleetwood Mac as if she hadn’t nearly died.

But Shauna couldn’t shake it.

She couldn’t look at Poppy without flashes of blood staining white sheets. Of doctors yelling codes. Of sitting in the waiting room while the love of her life fought for her life down the hall.

She tried to hold her. Once. Jackie handed her the baby, beaming through exhaustion, and said, “She needs her mommy.”

But all Shauna could see was red. Couldn't shake the image of Jackie’s lifeless hand slipping from hers in the delivery room, the sterile blue of scrubs covered in red, the sound of the heart monitor going flat before the crash of panic swallowed everything else.

She had pushed for this baby. Begged . She’d wanted one more—just one more chapter of their family story written into Jackie’s body. And Jackie, as always, had said yes with a soft smile and a trusting heart.

And it had almost killed her. .

She froze with Poppy cradled against her chest, every muscle in her body locking up. Poppy made a soft hiccuping sound, wiggling just a bit, and Shauna had to grit her teeth not to burst into tears.

She handed her back to Jackie with shaking hands.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, not meeting her wife’s eyes.

For a while, that was the routine. Shauna would stand in the doorway while Jackie nursed her, fed her, and rocked her to sleep. She’d pace the house with the baby monitor clutched in her hand, obsessively listening for every breath. She’d hover in the nursery doorway, arms folded tightly across her chest, while Jackie changed diapers one-handed like the seasoned pro she was.

She loved Poppy. There was no doubt. But love had never felt so tangled in fear.

---

Jackie noticed. Of course she did.

She let it go for a while, let Shauna come to terms in her own time. But eventually, one evening while they sat on the couch—Poppy asleep across Jackie’s chest, Shauna sitting stiffly beside her, close but not touching—Jackie turned her head and said, softly but firmly, “Honey, you need to get over it. I lived. We are fine .”

Shauna had blinked at her, caught off guard by the directness.

Jackie just sighed and rubbed Poppy’s back. “I don’t want to spend the next twenty years watching you flinch every time you look at her. She’s not a ghost. She’s a baby . She’s ours . We made it.”

And Shauna—who still woke up some nights gasping for air with her hand wrapped around Jackie's wrist checking her pulse, who hadn’t touched her home gym since the birth, who kept watching Jackie like she might vanish in a puff of smoke—had finally nodded. Not because it magically fixed anything, but because she believed Jackie. She always had.

And maybe… maybe holding Poppy more would help. Maybe kissing the top of that downy head and feeling her daughter breathe against her chest would start to replace the hospital flashbacks with something softer.

It helped that Poppy had Jackie’s eyes. Big, dark, and expressive—eyes Shauna had first fallen for when she was sixteen, half-frozen in a worldwin of teenage hormones and pent up frustration and wondering if she’d ever be brave enough to say what she wanted out loud. The same eyes that looked at her now like she hung the damn moon.

Those eyes were dangerous. Shauna had never been able to say no to Jackie, and she was even worse when those eyes were staring at her from a round little baby face.

Poppy was a classic Shipman kid in how Jackie was her favourite person. 

It became obvious before she could even talk—how she clung to Jackie like gravity itself tethered her there. Always watching her, always needing to know where she was. Jackie could barely go to the bathroom without Poppy knocking at the door, calling her name in her soft, high-pitched voice. If she could, she would’ve curled up under Jackie’s shirt and stayed there forever.

It wasn’t lost on Shauna, how her kids relied on Jackie as much as she did. 

Shauna saw herself in the fierce way Poppy clung to Jackie’s side. In the way she would scowl if one of her sisters interrupted Jackie mid-sentence. In how she hoarded moments with her mama like they were precious jewels. It wasn’t just affection—it was obsession, devotion. The same way Shauna had been since she was eighteen years old and watching Jackie sleep beside her in a cabin, half-starved and bone-cold, terrified that the morning might come and Jackie might not wake up.

“She’s you, ” Jackie teased one morning, cradling Poppy on her hip while trying to pour a cup of coffee. Poppy had both arms wrapped around her mama’s neck, cheek pressed tight against Jackie’s collarbone like she might dissolve if they weren’t touching

Shauna was still in her sleep shirt, standing in the doorway of the kitchen, watching them. Her expression didn’t change, but something in her chest tugged.

“You think that’s funny?” she muttered.

Jackie smiled softly and leaned her head against Poppy’s. “It’s sweet. It’s… something.”

Shauna let out a breath. “She doesn’t just love you. She needs you.”

Jackie raised an eyebrow. “So do you.”

Shauna opened her mouth to argue, but the words caught. Because it was true.

---

As Poppy got older, it became clear just how tightly she was wrapped around Jackie. From the time she could crawl, she trailed after her mama like a duckling. She’d crawl into the laundry basket just to be near her. She’d sit at Jackie’s feet during bath time for the older girls, babbling nonsense and holding a toy shampoo bottle like it was sacred.

By the time she could walk, it was over for everyone. Jackie couldn’t leave the room without Poppy waddling after her, arms outstretched, crying “Mamaaa!” like the separation was life-threatening. Jackie, of course, melted every time. She never once told her no.

“She’s going to be so clingy,” Callie complained, more amused than annoyed, as she watched Jackie peel a sleeping Poppy off her shoulder to lay her down for nap number three of the day.

By age two, she would plant herself in the kitchen when Jackie was cooking and burst into sobs if someone tried to move her. When Jackie went out without her (rare as it was), she would wait at the front door until she came home. Her favorite spot in the entire house wasn’t the playroom or her room—it was in Jackie’s lap.

“She’s going to be a nightmare in kindergarten,” Callie joked one afternoon, watching Poppy sit cross-legged on the floor in front of Jackie while they folded laundry together. “She’s gonna FaceTime Mama from the school bathroom.”

“She’s a stage-five clinger,” Rylie said cheerfully.

“She’s cute, ” Jackie corrected, smiling down at Poppy. “And just because she loves me doesn’t mean she won’t love school. Right, Pop?”

Poppy looked up and nodded solemnly. “I bring you.”

Shauna had to leave the room before she laughed. Or cried. Maybe both.

She recognized it—this fierce, burning devotion. This craving for constant presence. It wasn’t just childhood dependence. It was love, in its most raw and consuming form.

And it terrified her.

Because Shauna had built her whole world around Jackie, too. And when she’d almost lost her, something in her had cracked so deep it still hadn’t sealed shut.

Watching Poppy love Jackie the same way—the way Shauna had loved her for decades—felt like a mirror being held up to everything Shauna had ever feared. Because she knew what came with that kind of love: vulnerability. Risk. Pain.

But it also brought safety. Connection. A softness neither of them had ever really known how to name.

---

“She’s you,” Jackie had said one night.  watching Poppy crawl up beside them on the couch with her arms stretched out like she belonged tucked in the middle of their arms.Poppy had climbed out of bed again and snuck between them under the covers—one arm around Jackie’s neck, the other small hand gripping Shauna’s shirt—Shauna just stared at her for a long moment. “You can deny it all you want, but she’s your shadow, Shauna.”

Shauna had scoffed, but there was no real heat in it. She just kissed Poppy’s curls, tucked her tighter against her side, and murmured, “Poor kid never stood a chance.”

Shauna finally understood: Poppy wasn’t just a mini-Shauna because of how she loved Jackie.

She was a mini-Shauna because, just like her mom, she'd rather shatter into pieces than let go of the person who made her whole. Years from now, maybe no one would remember that Poppy had once been their easiest baby, or the one who came closest to breaking them. But Shauna would always remember that, in all her softness, Poppy was built of the same kind of fierce loyalty and sharp edges Shauna had spent her whole life taming. She’d just inherited her mama’s eyes to soften the blow.

Chapter 22: Shauna's Mini Me Part 2

Summary:

Set in 2020's

 

Shauna had never been the soft parent—not with Henry, not with the girls, and certainly not with babies. She tried, of course. She always tried. But it never came naturally, the baby talk, the lullabies, the effortless patience Jackie seemed to have in endless supply.

She wasn’t the cooing type, not the one who melted at chubby cheeks or giggles. With every one of their children, Jackie had been the soft arms, the lullabies, the soothing touch at 3 AM. Shauna cared for them them fiercely—of course she did—but newborns overwhelmed her. Toddlers, too. She wasn’t good with the mess, the noise, the unpredictability. She often felt like she was doing it all wrong, or worse, like she was doing too little .

With Poppy, things had been especially complicated.

The trauma of nearly losing Jackie in childbirth had imprinted itself into Shauna’s bones. For the first few months of Poppy’s life, Shauna could barely hold her without feeling her own pulse speed up, her chest clench. Every time she caught sight of her sleeping face in the bassinet, all she could see was Jackie’s pale lips, the tremble of the surgeon’s voice, the blood that stained her hands as she’d sat waiting outside the OR. She never said it out loud, but for a while, Poppy didn’t feel like a baby. She felt like a ticking reminder of what could have been lost.

It was Jackie who coaxed her out of that. Who handed her Poppy during naptimes, who gently placed her in Shauna’s lap with whispered encouragement like, “She’s yours too,” and “She’s safe.”

And still, Shauna struggled. She didn’t have Jackie’s lightness. She wasn’t built for bouncing knees and songs and round-the-clock giggles. But she could observe . And she could try .

---

But maybe the most Shauna thing about Poppy wasn’t the way she clung to Jackie—it was the way she read.

Poppy was the only one of their girls who loved books.

Callie had always been too loud and too wild for anything that required sitting still. Rylie preferred crafts and building things and once told Jackie that “books are fine but I’d rather do something with my hands.” Evie liked picture books and bedtime stories, but she was a chatterbox, always interrupting to ask what happened next, never quite satisfied with longer stories.

But Poppy? As a toddler Poppy would curl into Jackie’s lap with a board book and just listen . Quiet, intense, focused. She’d flip the pages herself when she got older, furrow her little brow like she was deciphering something secret.

Books had always been a sanctuary for Shauna—her escape, her armor, her truth. And when Poppy took to them like breathing, Shauna felt something start to ease open between them.

At first, it was small. Shauna would sit beside Jackie on the couch while Jackie read, listening to Poppy’s little giggles. Then, one day, when Jackie was out running errands and Poppy toddled over with a book in hand, Shauna had no excuse to dodge it.

She sat down on the rug and said, “Alright, kid. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Poppy crawled into her lap like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Every night, while Jackie got the older girls wrangled into pajamas and brushed teeth, Shauna would be in the nursery with Poppy. Two books, minimum. Sometimes more. Poppy always picked them. Sometimes it was the same ones, over and over— Corduroy , Goodnight Moon , The Gruffalo . Poppy liked rhythm and rhyme. Shauna liked how she’d lean her whole tiny body into her side, completely content, like she trusted her with her whole world.

It didn’t matter that Shauna wasn’t the best at cuddling or calming tears. She could read. And Poppy loved her for it.

It started with bedtime stories, the usual picture books with big, bright pages and simple rhymes. Jackie was usually the one to read them, with soft voices and little character impressions that made the other girls giggle. But one evening, Jackie was nursing a cold, too hoarse to speak, and Poppy—then not quite four—had brought a book over to Shauna and climbed into her lap without a second thought.

She didn’t expect Shauna to be silly. She didn’t demand a voice like Jackie does. She just sat there, curled up against Shauna’s chest like she belonged there.

So Shauna read.

Quietly. Steadily. Page by page.

---

By the time she was four, she’d bring books to Jackie, to Shauna, to anyone who would read to her. And when no one was free, she’d curl up with one and flip through it on her own, whispering the words she’d memorized, pretending to read until the real thing came to her.

Shauna would come downstairs some mornings and find her on the living room rug, legs crossed like a miniature Jackie, a picture book in her lap and her lips moving silently.

“She reads like you write,” Jackie said once, smiling softly as she watched them both—Shauna at the table with her journal, Poppy on the floor with her books. “Like the world makes more sense when it’s on paper.”

Shauna didn’t respond out loud, but she reached out and let her hand rest gently on the top of Poppy’s head.

Maybe Jackie had meant it metaphorically—but it felt truer than she could admit. Poppy, like her, lived deep in her head. Her emotions ran quiet but deep. She clung to comfort like a lifeline. She watched the world with wide, cautious eyes—and the only time Shauna saw her truly relaxed was when she was with Jackie, or with a book in her lap.

Every week, Shauna started bringing home new books. It became a ritual. If she had to stop by the grocery store, she’d swing by the bookstore on the corner first. If she had a bad day, she’d come home with two or three new titles, letting Poppy pick which one she wanted to hear first.

Their home slowly became filled with stories. Shelves in the living room, stacks beside the couch, a rotating pile on Poppy’s nightstand. Fairy tales and poetry, nature books, classics rewritten for kids. Jackie called it “the quietest form of love Shauna’s ever shown to one of our kids.”

And it was.

It wasn’t that Shauna didn’t care for Poppy—she did , in her own intense way. But books became the bridge between them, the thing that helped her feel like she wasn’t failing this little girl who looked at her with such wide, patient eyes.

Sometimes, they’d read together in complete silence, Poppy resting her head against Shauna’s shoulder as she listened. Other times, Poppy would read to Shauna, stumbling over words but determined, her tiny voice confident in a way Shauna could barely handle.

They didn’t talk much during those moments. They didn’t need to.

By the time Poppy was five, they were reading early readers together, side by side on the couch. She’d sound out each word, and Shauna would let herself smile—really smile—as she gently corrected her.

“You’re getting too good at this,” she said one night, ruffling Poppy’s hair as they finished the last page of Frog and Toad .

Poppy turned to her with a grin that could melt stone and said, “That’s ’cause you taught me.”

Shauna swallowed the lump in her throat.

She’d never been the perfect mom—not to Henry, not to Callie, not to any of them. But with Poppy, she’d found a quiet way in. Not through kisses or lullabies, but through paper and ink, through voices lifted in stories.

And Jackie—who always noticed everything—started slipping new books into the house every week. She’d leave them on the counter with a wink, saying, “I think you two will like this one.”

They always did.

Because maybe Shauna didn’t always know how to show her care to her daughter—but through books, Poppy felt it. And maybe, in her own way, Shauna was still the girl who’d filled journals with scribbled thoughts to survive the wilderness. Only now, she was passing on the words that helped her breathe to the daughter who made her want to try again.

 

---

Once, when Poppy was seven and had just finished reading a whole chapter book on her own, she looked up at Shauna and said, “I want to write my own story one day like you.”

Shauna had blinked hard, swallowed the lump in her throat, and said, “You will. And I’ll read every word.”

That night, she opened out a drawer in her desk that was filled  with blank notebooks. She wrapped one up and had it set aside Just in case Poppy was ready sooner than expected.

Shauna would always struggle with the day-to-day of parenting—the noise, the chaos, the mess. But she would never stop making sure her daughter had new stories to read, new adventures to explore.

Chapter 23: Shaunas adventures in the kitchen

Summary:

Set late 2023

Henry-26
Callie-17
Rylie-12
Evie-7
Poppy-2

Callie Shipman could survive a lot. She’d grown up in a house where the noise level rarely dipped below a dull roar, where chaos was normal and boundaries were flexible at best. She had three younger sisters with varying degrees of gremlin energy, a mother who could stare a cop down without blinking, and a mama who could guilt you into folding laundry with just one disappointed look.

But nothing—not sibling fights, not school drama, not even sharing a bathroom with Rylie and Evie—compared to the personal hell that was Shauna’s cooking.

It wasn’t that Shauna couldn’t follow a recipe. Technically, she could. She could read the directions, use the measuring cups, and set timers like any functioning adult. But somewhere between the instructions and the finished product, something always went wrong. Terribly wrong.

Spaghetti turned into a mushy pile of sadness. Chicken tasted like it had been baked in regret. Cookies came out either burned beyond recognition or still raw in the middle, and somehow she never seemed to notice until Callie’s first bite made her gag.

Jackie, Callies sweet mama, always tried to cushion the disaster with a gentle, “It’s not that bad, honey,” while subtly nudging a takeout menu closer to the edge of the counter when on the rare night Shauna suggest she do the cooking. But Callie? Callie had no such filters.

“Mama, if I die young, it’s because she made stir fry again.”

Jackie would shush her. “Callie don't be rude.”

“I’m serious. That wasn’t stir fry, that was cry fry. I cried, Mama. My soul left my body.”

To be fair, Shauna didn’t want to cook. She didn’t enjoy it. She didn’t find it therapeutic or artistic or any of the things Jackie did when she was humming over a pan with Poppy on her hip and flour in her hair. Shauna’s idea of a satisfying meal she makes herself involved a grilled cheese, maybe a protein bar, and if she was feeling generous—Domino’s.

But on Jackie’s rare sick days or the rare nights she is allowed stayed late volunteering at the elementary school or when Evie had a away game, it fell to Shauna to “nourish her children,” as Jackie put it.

And Callie, who was the one always at home in the evenings, naturally, suffered the most.

“I think I’d rather eat a Tide pod,” she once muttered after Shauna’s experimental “meatloaf” that looked suspiciously like wet concrete.

“I heard that,” Shauna replied dryly, not even looking up from her laptop. “Eat it or starve, kid.”

Rylie, ever the people-pleaser, always tried to fake it. “It’s not that bad, right, Evie?”

Evie, who once ate a crayon because she was dared to, just shrugged. “Tastes like dog food. But like… the kind Bodie likes.”

Even the family dog had opinions. Bodie once sniffed a fallen piece of Shauna’s tofu casserole, gagged dramatically, and left the room.

The only person who never had a single complaint was Jackie.

“Because she’s in love with her and she’s blind,” Callie said matter-of-factly. “Her love is toxic and flavorless.”

But despite the culinary trauma, Callie would admit—grudgingly—that those nights had a weird kind of charm. They were one of the only times her mom wasn’t hyper-focused on Jackie, wasn’t hovering or clinging or emotionally intense. When Jackie was away, Shauna took her job seriously. She made sure homework was done, girls were showered, and everyone at least tried her dinner. She even tucked Poppy in and stayed up late enough to rebraid Rylie’s hair for school.

Once, after choking down what she swore was the driest chicken known to mankind, Callie looked up and caught Shauna watching them all with a tired little smile, like she couldn’t believe she’d somehow landed in the middle of this noisy, messy family.

And for a moment, Callie saw it—not the terrifying Mom who could turn cold in an instant, not the one who argued with Henry about everything, not the woman who clung to Jackie like she was oxygen—but just Shauna. Trying. Failing spectacularly at dinner. But trying.

Later that night, while brushing her teeth, Callie mumbled through the foam, “Thanks for dinner or whatever.”

Shauna raised an eyebrow from the hallway. “You mean the cry fry?”

Callie snorted and spit into the sink. “Yeah. That.”

Shauna smirked, arms crossed. “You’re welcome, brat.”

Callie grinned back, just a little.

It was awful food. But it wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

Chapter 24: Things never go to plan in a small town

Summary:

Set Spring 2019

Henry-22
Callie-12
Rylie-7
Evie-2

It was the beginning of spring break, and Henry was doing the one thing none of his friends back in Brown could say they were doing: driving a box truck full of furniture through the winding backroads of Wiskayok, New Jersey.

The house—his mom’s childhood home—stood quiet and half-empty when he pulled out of the driveway. The air smelled like dust and old wood, and the porch creaked just like it had when he was a kid visiting Grandma Deb for summer weekends.

Deb had decided it was time. After decades in the same house, she was retiring, moving up to Boston to be closer to the grandkids. Jackie had cried when she heard the news, she adored Deb and had been wanting her to make the move for years. Shauna, naturally, had made a sarcastic remark about finally losing the excuse not to do Thanksgiving at their place. But underneath it, Henry could see the softness in his mom’s expression. She was glad.

Still, cleaning out the house was a job—one Deb had strategically planned to start with her only grandson. Henry, good kid that he was, volunteered to help during his spring break. His sisters' school schedule didn't line up, so he went down alone for a week in early March, eager for a change of pace, a little quiet, and maybe a few days off from the chaos that was the Shipman household. “You’re strong, and you know how to drive a truck,” Deb said, matter-of-factly. “I need muscles and a brain.”

He spent three days helping his grandma sort books, move furniture, load boxes into the rented moving truck. By the fourth day, the attic and garage were cleared out, and Deb had a solid plan: drive the nicer furniture—sofas, a few bookshelves, a dining set—over to the local secondhand store to be sold. The place hadn’t changed in decades, tucked on the edge of Wiskayok’s town center with the same peeling sign and clunky old bell over the door. 

---

So here he was, driving the rental box truck into town, taking the bigger furniture to the local secondhand shop Deb had called the day before. “You’ll just drop it off, they’ll help you unload,” she’d told him. “Should be a guy named Rick working. No big deal. I'll go in and sign the forms.”

What she didn’t tell him was that sometimes in small towns don’t go according to plan.

The bell above the stores door jingled when they walked in the drop off sections, papers in hand. “Hey,” he called out to the front desk. “I've got a truckload from Deb Shipman’s place.”

From behind a row of worn armchairs and a couple of questionable lamps, a man stepped forward. He looked maybe late thirties, early Forties, with a faded Wiskayok High hoodie and a slight limp to his step.

“Oh, Deb Shipman?” the man said, walking up and offering a hand. “I’m Jeff. I own the place.” Deb wanted to vomit. 

Henry shook his hand, not thinking anything of it. “Yeah. She said she called yesterday. Furniture’s in the truck.”

Jeff nodded, but his eyes lingered.

---

Deb tried to quickly sign the donation forms, trying not to look too closely at the man behind the desk.

But Jeff looked up from looking at Henry.

“Deb Shipman?” he said, voice slow with recognition. “Whoa. It’s been… what, twenty years?”

She turned sharply, plastering on the tightest smile she could manage. “Jeff. Hi. Didn’t think you still worked the front.”

“Only when I’m short-staffed. things are a bit tight these days,” he said, squinting slightly at her. Then his gaze drifted over again to Henry, who was now helping lift the legs of the dining table onto a dolly. “is that your grandson?”

Deb’s heart skipped.

Henry looked so much like Shauna it was almost eerie. The same sharp jawline, the same eyes, even that half-scowl he wore when he was focused. But he didn’t act like her. Not always. He was gentler. Quieter, most days. Jackie’s lifetime of softness had settled in his bones.

“Yep,” she said shortly. 

Jeff narrowed his eyes, watching Henry for a long beat. “Looks… a lot like Shauna.”

Deb nearly dropped her clipboard.

“People say that,” she said quickly, too quickly. “Strong family resemblance.”

Henry walked back toward them then, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Hey, we got the table in. Anything else from the truck?”

Jeff smiled at him. “You got a good arm on you, kid. What are you, college ball?”

“Soccer,” Henry replied, distracted. “Just finished my junior season at Brown.”

Jeff raised his eyebrows. “Damn. That’s impressive.”

Henry just nodded politely and went back to the truck.

Jeff watched him go, then turned back to Deb, a little frown forming. “Hows Shauna doing?”

Deb’s stomach twisted. “She's doing well. Just got a dog.”

“You know, he walks just like her.”

“Genetics are funny that way,” Deb said, her tone clipped now. “Thanks for taking the furniture, Jeff. Appreciate it.” 

Deb sat in her car waiting for Henry to finish helping them unload the back of the truck. Was all going well until Jeff came and helped Henry and a few others with a large couch.

Deb could see from the mirror as Jeff’s smile froze for a half-second as . He blinked. “Huh. You look… familiar.”

“Must be the Shipman genes,” Henry joked, holding out the paperwork Deb had dropped. “I’ve been told I look like Shauna.”

“Shauna...?” Jeff trailed off.

“Shauna. Deb’s daughter.” Henry tilted his head, wondering why this random dude seemed so thrown off. “She grew up here.”

Jeff blinked again. “Right. Right, Shauna. She, uh—we went to highschool together.”

“Oh really?” Henry asked, trying to be friendly. “Small world.”

Deb watched from the passenger seat of the van stomach in knots. No, no, no...

She had counted on this being smooth. Rick was supposed to be working. Not Jeff. Goddammit. She pressed a hand over her heart, watching Jeff study Henry’s face a little too long.

But Henry was oblivious—chatting easily, making jokes about how much furniture his grandma had crammed into one house. Jeff nodded along, occasionally glancing between Henry’s face and the clipboard like he was trying to solve a puzzle but had the wrong set of pieces.

Deb stayed in the car. Don’t overreact, don’t run in there, it’ll only make it worse.

Shauna had told Jeff years ago—back when she’d been twenty and scared and stubborn—that Henry was her cousin’s kid. Jeff had been dumb, easy to manipulate, and it had worked.

They’d had sex one night in his car after a party, a mistake she regretted instantly. When they returned from the wilderness she didn’t even ask Jeff to take responsibility. Just gave him a lie, and he bought it.

Now, twenty-two years later, that lie was unloading an antique dresser from a U-Haul while Jeff watched him like a man staring at a ghost.

Thankfully, Jeff wasn’t smart enough to put two and two together. Or maybe he just didn’t want to.

“Well,” Jeff finally said, scratching the back of his neck. “Tell Deb thanks. And, uh… good luck back in Boston.”

Henry shrugged. “Sure. See ya.”

---

As he hopped back into the truck, Deb gave him a tight smile. “Everything go okay?”

“Yeah. Jeff’s kind of weird, though. Kept looking at me like I had spinach in my teeth.”

Deb laughed, forced but passable. “He probably was thinking of your mom.”

Henry rolled his eyes. “Gross, Grandma.”

She ruffled his hair, her hand trembling just slightly. “Thanks for doing this, sweetheart.”

Henry smiled and pulled out of the parking lot.

Deb waited until Henry climbed back into the truck and they were safely halfway down Route 9 before she let herself breathe again.

“You alright, Grandma?” Henry asked, glancing over from the passenger seat.

“Fine,” Deb muttered. “Just tired of this town.”

Behind them, Jeff stood at the shop entrance, staring after the truck with furrowed brows and the vague sense of something he should understand—but didn’t.

And Deb thanked every higher power she could name that it would stay that way.

 

Chapter 25: Rylies school project

Summary:

Set September 2021

Henry-24
Callie-14
Rylie-10
Evie-5

 

“What do your parents do for work?” Mrs. Davidson had asked.

Rylie had blinked. “Like… for money?”

The class laughed, and Rylie turned red, but it was a fair question.

Rylie had always been the quietest of the Shipman girls in school—observant, soft-spoken, and known for her kindness and thoughtfulness. So when her fifth-grade teacher announced they would be doing a project called “My Family at Work” , Rylie approached it with her usual diligence, even if she didn’t exactly know how to explain what either of her moms actually did.

She knew the basics: Mama was always home. Mom was always writing. But how did you turn that into a five-minute presentation with a poster?

That afternoon, she flopped onto the couch beside Jackie, freshly home from school and still clutching her worksheet.

“I need to interview you and Mom for school,” Rylie said, propping her chin on her knees. “It’s about what your job is.”

Jackie smiled, turing her seven month pregnant belly as best as she could to turn to her daughter “Okay, shoot.”

“Well… what do you do?”

Jackie tilted her head slightly, amused. “You don’t know what I do?”

“You make the best pancakes, and you know where everything in the house is,” Rylie said. “And you know how to fix my math homework even though you say you were bad at math, which is a lie.”

Jackie laughed. “I’m a stay-at-home mom.”

“But that’s not a real job job,” Rylie muttered, then winced when Jackie raised an eyebrow. “I know , I know. Sorry. That’s not what I meant. I just mean like… you don’t go to an office.”

Jackie softened. “Well, being a stay-at-home mom is a real job. I just don’t get a paycheck for it. But I’m working every hour you’re awake—and some when you’re not. You know how you always have lunch for school? That your clothes are clean? That you get to ballet on time, and that the dentist actually sees you twice a year?”

Rylie blinked. “Yeah…”

“That’s me,” Jackie said, tapping her nose. “Behind the scenes.”

Rylie grinned. “Okay, I’ll put that. ‘Runs our whole life.’ That counts.”

---

 

The harder part was her mom.

Shauna always felt more mysterious. She had an office upstairs she worked in with a big desk and a wall of books, and she was often tapping on her laptop or editing things with a red pen. She also sometimes went to the city or met with people online using fancy publishing words Rylie only half-understood.

When she knocked on the office door, Shauna turned from her laptop. “What’s up, sunshine?”

“I need to interview you for my school project,” Rylie said, notebook in hand. “Can I ask you questions about what you do?”

Shauna gestured toward the guest chair in the office, the one Jackie always teased her about for being way too expensive for a chair only Jackie sits in when Shauna's lonely in her office. “Take a seat, Miss Journalist.”

“Okay. First question: What is your job?”

Shauna leaned back slightly. “I’m an author. And I also work in publishing as a manuscript editor and development consultant.”

Rylie blinked. “Say that again, but like, human .”

Shauna smirked. “I write books. And I help other people make their books better before they get published. Sometimes I help them figure out what the book is about , how to make it stronger. Other times I fix the words or the story structure.”

“So you do writing… and boss other writers around?”

“Pretty much.”

“Ooh, cool,” Rylie said, scribbling it down. “So you write books and help fix other people’s books?”

“Basically,” Shauna nodded. “Sometimes I acquire new books too, which means I decide which stories we want to publish.”

Rylie wrote that down carefully. “What kind of books do you write?”

Shauna hesitated. “Adult fiction, mostly. Literary stuff. Emotional character-driven stories. You’re not allowed to read any of them until you’re older.”

“Are there kissing scenes?”

Shauna gave her a dry look. “I plead the fifth.”

Rylie giggled. “Okay, next card: Do you like your job?”

Shauna considered that. “I do. I love it, actually. I get to create stories and help other people share theirs with the world. It can be stressful, but it’s worth it.”

“Have you ever written about the woods?”

Shauna’s face flickered for just a second before she nodded. “One time I did.”

Rylie looked at her mom over the edge of her index card. “Do you ever write about us?”

Shauna smiled slowly. “Not directly. But you all sneak in, in little ways. Some of my characters love the way Jackie cooks. Some of them roll their eyes the way Callie does. Some of them have your laugh.”

Rylie beamed. “Can I read one when I’m thirteen Like Callie?”

“sixteen.”

“Fourteen?”

“We’ll talk when you’re fifteen.”

“Ok last one, what would you change about your job?”

“Not much. I love it. Most of the time,” Shauna said. “But it’s lonely sometimes. Writing is a job you do alone. And I’m not always good at turning off my brain when I’m not working.”

Rylie looked up. “I think you’re a good mom.”

Shauna reached out and ruffled her hair. “Thanks, kiddo.”

Rylie grinned, then set down her pen. “ Do you think I could be a writer?”

Shauna didn’t hesitate.

“I think you already are.”

Rylie’s face lit up like a sunrise. She shoved her cards together, snapped her pen shut, and jumped up from the chair. “Mamaaaa! Guess what Mom said!”

Shauna chuckled as her daughter ran out of the room, her footsteps echoing through the house. She took another sip of tea, glanced at the notepad Rylie had left behind, and spotted a little drawing at the bottom: a stick-figure family, labeled The Shipmans , with a small dog and a smiling sun.

In the middle, Shauna was holding a book. Jackie was holding a baby.

It wasn’t a bestseller or a publishing deal, but at that moment, Shauna couldn’t imagine anything better.

 

---

 

The next day, Rylie worked quietly in her room for hours, shooing away Evie and even saying no when Callie tried to bribe her with half a candy bar for a sneak peek. She drew pictures, wrote her speech on the nice notebook paper with the glittery edges Mama bought for her last month, and put the finishing touches on a homemade poster board labeled: “My Moms at Work.”

When it came time to present, Rylie stood proudly in front of her class, her project leaning against the whiteboard. She spoke slowly and clearly, even if her ears turned pink the way they always did when she was nervous.

“My name is Rylie Shipman, and I have two moms. My mama’s name is Jackie. She’s a stay-at-home mom, which means she works all day taking care of me and my sisters and our house. She wakes up early every day to make sure we have everything we need. She keeps our house running and helps us with homework and makes really good dinners. Sometimes she doesn’t even sit down to eat because she’s helping the baby or finishing something for someone else. She says it’s her dream job, and I believe her because she’s always smiling—unless we spill glitter.”

That got a few laughs from the class.

“And my other mom is named Shauna. She works in publishing and writes books. She has her own office in our Attic, and she lets us come in and draw on the whiteboard as long as we don’t touch her story notes. Her job is helping other people make their books better, and she also writes books of her own. She says words are her way of making sense of the world. I think that means she’s really good at feelings, even if she pretends not to be.”

That part got a soft awww from her teacher, and Rylie’s ears turned even pinker.

“My moms are really different, but they’re a good team. My mama makes sure we’re loved. My mom makes sure we’re safe. They both work really hard in their own ways. I’m really proud of them.”

At the end of her presentation, Rylie said, “My moms are really different. But they’re also kind of the same. They both work really hard. And they both make sure I have everything I need. So I guess that’s their real job. Loving us a lot.”

When she got home that afternoon, Rylie handed the graded rubric to Jackie while Shauna looked over her shoulder. There was a big A+ at the top and a note written in red ink:

“Beautifully done. It’s clear how much you love and admire your moms. What a lucky family!”

Shauna didn’t say much at first, just handed the sheet back, then reached out and pulled Rylie into a one-armed hug.

Jackie kissed the top of her head. “We’re proud of you, Ry.” Shauna didn’t cry—but she definitely didn’t argue when Rylie asked for pancakes for dinner.

And later that night, when Rylie had gone to bed and the house was quiet, Shauna sat beside Jackie on the couch, scrolling through photos Rylie had drawn for her poster—one of Jackie with a baby on her hip, one of Shauna at her desk with papers flying.

“She got us down perfectly,” Jackie murmured.

Shauna nodded, her voice softer than usual. “Better than most adults ever have.”

Chapter 26: The benchmark of chaos

Shauna had always known Callie was going to be a challenge behind the wheel. She didn’t even try to deny it. The girl had been born with attitude, sass, and just the right amount of recklessness to keep every adult in her life constantly on edge. So when it came time to teach her how to drive, Shauna approached it with a strange mix of grim determination and pure dread.

What she hadn’t expected was that teaching Callie would be the kind of event she’d still have flashbacks to years later.

Teaching her eldest daughter to drive had been one of the worst experiences of Shauna’s life—and this was a woman who had survived a plane crash, lived feral in the wilderness for over a year and a half, and once watched her wife nearly bleed out on a delivery room floor. None of that came close to the white-knuckle terror of riding shotgun while Callie “practiced” parallel parking.

“I don’t think the curb’s supposed to cry,” Shauna had muttered once, watching concrete crack beneath the front tire.

“MOM. I tapped it.”

“You mounted it like a horse, Callie.”

It wasn’t just the technicalities that were the problem—it was the sheer chaos Callie brought with her. The music was always blaring. The windows were always down. At least once, she’d tried to drive while eating a sandwich and simultaneously texting her group chat.

And worst of all, Callie never listened.

“You took that corner too fast.”

“I felt it, Mom.”

“You almost hit a fire hydrant!”

“It’s fine . The hydrant moved.”

 

Then there was the time Callie reversed straight into a trash can, blamed the trash can , and got out of the car to yell at it.

Or the time she tried to merge on the freeway by closing her eyes and just going for it .

Or the time she was fiddling with the aux cord and didn’t notice they had rolled halfway down the driveway until Shauna screamed so loud Jackie came running from the porch thinking someone had been hit.

Shauna had begged Jackie to take over after one particularly traumatic session where Callie merged directly into a bus lane because she thought it would get her to Starbucks faster. Jackie had tried—sweet, patient Jackie—but even she came home pale and muttering about “maybe waiting until Callie discovers teleportation.”

By the end of Callie’s lessons, Shauna had developed a nervous eye twitch and a permanent crick in her neck from slamming the imaginary brake on her side of the car. She made Jackie take her out for the final few lessons, mostly because she didn’t think her blood pressure could take it.

“I swear to god, if the rest of them are like this, I’m walking everywhere,” Shauna muttered one night, forehead pressed to the kitchen table.

But they weren’t.

 

---

 

To her complete and utter delight, Rylie was a dream.

Patient, attentive, calm—Rylie read the driver’s manual like it was scripture. She asked smart questions, stayed under the speed limit, and actually used her blinker. She didn’t get distracted by music or pedestrians or a squirrel on the sidewalk. If anything, she was too cautious.

“Do you want me to parallel park again?” Rylie asked, calm as could be, already checking her mirrors before Shauna even reminded her.

Shauna blinked. “Uh. Sure.”

And Rylie did. Perfectly. No curb damage. No chaos. No swearing.

“You could probably go a little faster,” Shauna told her once, glancing at the speedometer. “You’re going 19 in a 35.”

“Safety first,” Rylie chirped, gripping the wheel with ten-and-two perfection. “We’re not in a rush, are we?”

Shauna blinked. “No, I guess we’re not.”

Evie , to everyone’s surprise, had a wicked sense of spatial awareness. She wasn’t as rule-obsessed as Rylie, but she picked up on how to handle the car so quickly it made Shauna wonder if she’d been secretly taking lessons behind their backs. She learned to parallel park in under three tries, and even Bodie seemed calm in the backseat when she drove.

“I got this,” Evie said once with her signature mischievous grin as she reversed out of the driveway. “I’ve been watching you and Mama do this for years.”

And Poppy , still several years away from learning, already had an opinion about how everyone else drove. From the booster seat in the back, she’d shout things like, “Turn your blinker on!” or “That’s too close, Mama!”

“She’s gonna be the most terrifying of them all,” Shauna muttered to Jackie after one such ride. “I’m calling it now. Poppy’s going to correct the driving instructor and somehow be right .”

---

But it was Callie who remained the family legend. The benchmark of chaos .

Whenever Rylie or Evie made a mistake, Shauna would raise an eyebrow and say, “Still not as bad as your sister driving us into a bush and saying it was a ‘shortcut.’”

Or, “At least you didn’t run over your own backpack.”

Jackie liked to tease her, too. “Maybe teaching Callie broke you. The rest were easy by comparison.”

And Shauna, arms crossed as she leaned against the counter, would sigh and agree.

“Callie didn’t learn how to drive. We survived her driving. There’s a difference.”

But deep down—very deep—Shauna knew something else: as wild and nerve-shattering as those lessons were, they were still hers . A strange rite of passage. She had been the one in the passenger seat when Callie yelled at a stop sign or tried to argue with a GPS. She had been the one to hit the dashboard imaginary brake, to shout instructions, to laugh in disbelief. To hold her breath and hope her daughter made it home in one piece.

And when Callie finally got her license (on the third try), beaming with pride, it was Shauna who had sat in the car a moment longer after Callie ran inside, staring at the empty seat beside her with a strange ache in her chest.

She never thought she’d miss it.

But in the Shipman house, even chaos had its way of leaving a mark. 

---

Particularly when two of her kids got perfect scores on their first try. 

Shauna couldn't believe it the first time it happened.

When Rylie came bounding out of the DMV with her temporary license in hand and a huge grin on her face, Shauna had been sitting in the family car, sipping burnt coffee, bracing herself for a "Well, I only missed two" or "The instructor was kinda mean." Her daughter was such a perfectionist, even if she had past she wasn’t gonna be pleased. Instead, Rylie yanked the car door open and said, “No errors.”

Shauna blinked. “No what ?”

“No errors,” Rylie said again, practically glowing. “Perfect score. He said it’s rare but not impossible.”

Shauna blinked again. “You’re not making that up?”

Rylie handed over the test sheet, not even smug—just quietly pleased with herself. Sure enough, it was clean. Not a single deduction. Not even for rolling a stop sign or forgetting to turn the wheels on a hill. Perfect .

“I—wow. Good job, kid.” Shauna ruffled her hair, still trying to make sense of it.

She thought that was a one-time thing. A fluke. Maybe Rylie was just one of those overly cautious types that instructors loved.

---

But then ten years later Poppy did it too.

Poppy. Her wild little shadow. Her baby with Jackie’s eyes and a sass quota that rivaled Callie’s. The one who had spent the week before her test teasing Shauna mercilessly—“What if I park on the curb just for fun? What if I ask the instructor if they’ve ever crashed a car?”

Shauna had narrowed her eyes and said, “If you do that kiddo I will be the one crashing.”

But then the day came. Shauna sat nervously in the car again, waiting while Poppy took her test in the DMV lot. It was early spring—dreary and gray—and Shauna had already started mentally preparing herself for a return trip. Maybe two. Poppy wasn’t bad at driving, but she had the kind of confidence that made Shauna double-check for life insurance forms and her will.

Then after a hour there she was. Poppy walking back across the lot, holding a folded piece of paper.

She opened the passenger side door and dropped into the seat, barely containing her grin.

“Well?” Shauna asked.

“Zero errors.”

Shauna turned toward her so fast she popped her neck.

“Come again?”

Poppy unfolded the sheet and pointed to the top. “Instructor said I was textbook . Said I should teach his kid.”

Shauna took the paper and stared at it. “I don’t understand. Did they change the requirements since Callie took it?”

Poppy laughed, tossing her curls over her shoulder. “Well it was Callie.”

Shauna couldn't help but smile—though she would never admit how proud she was. Not out loud. Not too much. She had to keep her edge with these girls.

That night, over dinner, Shauna recounted both stories to Jackie. Jackie beamed, absolutely glowing with that quiet pride she always had for her kids.

“I mean, it’s amazing,” Jackie said, squeezing her hand. “Two perfect scores. Must take after me.”

Shauna rolled her eyes. “Or they learned what not to do by watching Callie.”

Callie, now in her twenties and on FaceTime from her apartment downtown, narrowed her eyes from the phone screen. “I still drive better than most people.”

“You once took out a mailbox because you were trying to change the playlist,” Rylie chimed in, smirking.

“You reversed into a stop sign because you were laughing at a poop joke,” Evie added.

Callie waved them off. “You’re all just haters.”

But beneath the teasing and the chaos, Shauna felt it—a strange, tender pride. The kind she never quite expected to sneak up on her. Her kids, for all their quirks and fire, were growing into capable, independent people. And even if Callie was the wild card, and even if she still couldn’t find reverse without squinting at the gear shift, they were all hers .

Jackie leaned her head on Shauna’s shoulder as the laughter filled the kitchen.

“They turned out okay,” she said softly.

Shauna nodded. “Yeah. They really did.”

 

Chapter 27: 3 weddings

Summary:

Set Summer 2004/Summer 2014

Henry-7/17
Callie-0/7
Rylie-0/3

One of Henry’s most cherished memories—the kind that glows in soft amber tones when he thinks back on it—was from when he was seven years old, still small enough to crawl into his Mama’s lap during cartoons, but old enough to notice when something really mattered to the adults around him.

It was a gray Saturday afternoon in their first apartment in Boston. The kind with creaky floors and kitchen cabinets that didn’t quite shut all the way, but it was theirs. Cozy, Filled with love and warmth and an endless stash of Goldfish crackers for Henry.

Grandma Deb, Shauna’s mother, had come to visit. She had brought with her not only the usual bag of goodies and unsolicited advice, but also a handful of printed pages and a worn book on Jewish wedding customs. She sat cross-legged on their worn couch, glasses slipping down her nose, as she patiently talked through the elements of a traditional Jewish wedding—the chuppah, the ketubah, the breaking of the glass.

Massachusetts had just legalized gay marriage, and though Jackie and Shauna had already considered themselves married in every way that mattered—they had Henry, they had a life—they’d decided they wanted something real . Something official. Jackie had said it first. Shauna had rolled her eyes, but Henry caught the way she smiled when Jackie started talking about flowers and dresses and rings. Jackie wanted a wedding. She wanted a white dress, a first dance, the whole thing. Shauna, who had always been quieter about her wants, just wanted to see Jackie happy. And if that meant seeing her in a wedding dress? Even better.

 

They wanted to blend traditions. Shauna was Jewish, Jackie was Catholic, and Henry... Henry got to grow up in a home where challah bread and Christmas trees lived side by side. That day, Deb was walking them through a Jewish wedding ceremony, and Jackie was happily chiming in with bits she remembered from childhood.

Henry was curled up on the couch with a juice box, one sock on, one missing, watching it all play out like a live-action play starring the people he loved most. Henry had been sitting at the table with his notebook and a big pack of crayons, not really paying attention at first. But then Jackie said something about “stomping the glass,” and Shauna groaned and said she wasn’t wearing heels if she had to stomp anything . That’s when Henry looked up.

Shauna stood under a makeshift chuppah they’d created by balancing a shawl Deb had in her car over two broomsticks and a lamp, looking a little awkward but trying her best. Jackie—who had absolutely insisted on doing it right—was holding an old plastic ring they'd pulled from Henry’s toy chest and pretending it was a diamond. Deb had a book in hand, coaching them through the Hebrew and blessings with the calm precision only a Jewish mother could master.

Deb explained the seven blessings and Jackie was giggling as she practiced circling Shauna, like in a traditional Jewish ceremony.

“Wait, wait—am I doing it right?” Jackie asked, halfway through a circle.

“Sort of,” Deb laughed. “But you're supposed to circle seven times, not one. And maybe not while tripping over the rug.”

“I’m marrying the rug, clearly,” Jackie deadpanned.

Shauna was trying not to laugh, but the way she looked at Jackie in that moment—like Jackie had strung the stars herself and handed them to her—it made Henry’s little heart flutter with something he didn’t yet know how to name.

 

When it came time to break the glass, Deb grabbed one of Shauna’s old coffee mugs, wrapped it in a towel. 

“Won’t that ruin the floor?” Jackie asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s already ruined,” Shauna muttered. “This carpet’s been through Henry’s finger paint phase.” Shauna stomped it with her sneaker, shouting “Mazel tov!” with a flourish.

Jackie laughed so hard she had to sit down.

Henry would always remember that laugh.

He’d never seen his mom so happy—not until the real wedding, years later. But there was something special about that moment. The way Shauna kept stealing glances at Jackie when she thought no one was looking. The way Jackie glowed with anticipation, already picturing herself in a wedding dress, surrounded by candles and people and a future that had, up until recently, felt just out of reach.

“Do you think you’ll cry?” Deb had asked Shauna at one point, teasing.

“No,” Shauna muttered—but Henry had seen her cheeks flush.

---

 

Shauna never thought she’d be the one to cry.

She'd spent most of the lead-up to the wedding brushing off the emotional parts—eye rolls when Jackie brought home a giant binder full of color palettes, grumbles when she had to try on three different blazers for fittings, dry sarcasm every time someone said, “It’s going to be such a beautiful day.”

But the moment Jackie stepped into view, everything cracked open.

They were standing in the garden of a small venue just outside Boston. Summer light filtered through the trees. Shauna stood under a carefully constructed chuppah , her heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with nerves and everything to do with Jackie —who walked toward her in the simplest, most beautiful white dress she’d ever seen. Hair swept up. A little nervous. A little radiant. All hers .

And beside Jackie? No one.

Jackie’s parents hadn’t come.

It hadn’t been a fight exactly. But it also hadn’t been a surprise. Her mother sent a card and her father sent silence. Jackie had cried quietly the night the RSVP came in—blank where their names should have been—and Shauna had just held her, whispering things she hoped made a difference.

And so Jackie walked herself down the aisle—or, rather, she walked down it with Henry.

He was very serious about his special job in a slightly-too-big suit that matched Shaunas had taken.  And proud. So, so proud to be walking his mama toward the woman she loved.

When the music changed and Jackie appeared at the end of the aisle on Henry’s arm, Shauna forgot how to breathe.

 Not because Jackie looked perfect (she always did). Not because she was getting married (they’d already been living like a married couple for years). But because Jackie was walking down the aisle like she had walked through the rest of her life: strong, determined, smiling even when it hurt.

And Shauna, who had spent her life learning to push emotion aside, felt tears spring to her eyes.

She tried to blink them back, tried to hold her jaw firm and her spine straight, but when Jackie finally stood in front of her—those soft brown eyes meeting hers—and said, “Hi,” like they hadn’t already spent half their lives loving each other?

Shauna lost it.

The tears slipped out fast and hot. Not loud, not sobs. Just steady, quiet crying. 

When Henry passed Jackie’s hand to hers, his face a perfect blend of honor and quiet excitement, Shauna could barely whisper “thank you” before she felt more tears escape.

Jackie noticed, of course. She always did. Jackie reached up without hesitation and wiped one off her cheek with her thumb, smiling like she knew it was coming all along.

“Oh, babe ,” Jackie whispered with a teasing grin as they stood beneath the chuppah. “You swore you wouldn’t cry.”

Shauna swallowed. “You showed up in a wedding dress. I was doomed.”

They laughed, together, holding hands like they were holding lifelines. The rabbi started the ceremony, the candles flickered in the breeze, and Shauna couldn’t stop looking at Jackie—not once. She kissed her knuckles when no one was watching. She mouthed “I love you” a dozen times. And when Jackie’s voice cracked during her vows, Shauna reached up, wiped her tears away before she could blink, and said softly, “I’ve got you.”

They blended it all. A Jewish ketubah signing. A reading from Corinthians. Deb read a poem Shauna loved. Vows they'd written on scraps of notebook paper. A blessing. The glass.

They kissed under a shower of rose petals and cheers. Jackie cried when Henry gave a toast that included both moms and called Jackie “the strongest person I know.” Shauna cried again when she caught Jackie sneaking a look at the empty chair near the front—reserved for a mother who didn’t show.

But the part that stuck with Shauna wasn’t the missing people. It was the overwhelming presence of love .

Their family wasn’t traditional. It never would be. But it was theirs .

As the music played and guests laughed and danced under string lights, Shauna found Jackie leaning against a column, sipping champagne and barefoot already, smiling in that quiet way she always did when she was happy but tired.

Shauna walked up behind her, wrapping her arms around her waist, resting her chin on Jackie’s shoulder.

“You married me,” she whispered.

Jackie tilted her head back. “You cried.”

Shauna groaned softly. “I’ll never live it down.”

“Nope,” Jackie said, grin wide. “But you loved me enough to cry.”

Shauna didn’t say anything to that. She didn’t have to.

Because she did . More than anything. Always.

---

Ten years after that first joyful wedding ceremony, Shauna cries again—the kind of tears she doesn’t even try to hide.

It starts, of course, with Callie and Rylie.

Callie, seven and full of sass and questions, had been flipping through their wedding album with Jackie one rainy afternoon when she blurted out: “Why wasn’t I there?” Her tone was sharp, like she’d been personally betrayed.

Rylie, three and impressionable, immediately followed with a distressed, “Yeah! Me too! I want to be at the wedding!”

Jackie tried explaining it gently over dinner. How they weren’t born yet and weddings are usually a one-time thing But Callie was relentless . “Well then you should do it again,” she declared, crossing her arms. “So we can all be there this time.”

Shauna had been half-listening from the living room, sipping her second glass of wine of the afternoon and mentally tallying how many more emails she still had to write. When Callie’s declaration echoed into the hallway, she rolled her eyes, muttering, “Here we go…”

“You had a party and didn’t even invite your own kids?” Callie huffed over dinner, hands on her hips like she was filing an official complaint with the universe.

Rylie, three at the time and still copying everything her big sister did, nodded solemnly. “Not nice.”

Henry, seventeen and in the thick of his everything my mom does annoys me phase, had snorted into his pasta and muttered something sarcastic about “a Shipman family reboot.”

But Jackie had smiled—one of those soft, slow smiles that meant she was already imagining how it could all come together. And Shauna, despite herself, had agreed. Not because she needed the ceremony, but because Jackie wanted it . And if there was one thing Shauna Shipman would always do, even when she didn’t say it out loud—it was give Jackie the world if she asked for it .

Shauna sighed, set her mug down, and said, “Fine. Backyard. Nothing fancy.”

The girls cheered.

And so, ten years after their first wedding they stood again in front of friends, family, and their chaotic little brood. They kept it simple. Close friends, a few neighbors, Deb (who cried almost as much as Shauna), and of course, the kids. Jackie wore a white sundress this time, hair curled at the ends, barefoot in the grass because “wedding shoes are a scam.” Shauna wore her nicest blazer again, the one Jackie always loved on her, and a crisp white shirt that Callie had begged to pick out.

Rylie was the flower girl, scattering petals in chaotic, joyful bursts. Callie insisted on officiating and read her “vows” from a glittery pink notebook that included the line: “You guys fight sometimes, but you still love each other, and that’s what counts, right?” (Everyone laughed—except Shauna, who flinched a little. Jackie squeezed her hand.)

 

---

Henry was seventeen now. Tall. Quiet. Distant. He and Shauna were not in a good place—not by a long shot. Jackie had started jokingly calling them “fire and gasoline,” except it wasn’t really a joke.

They’d fought about everything: curfews, college visits, how Shauna talked to Jackie, how Henry talked to Shauna. He didn’t understand her, didn’t want to be like her, and every time he caught himself mirroring her sharp tongue or stubborn will, he resented it.

So he hadn’t been thrilled about the vow renewal. He planned to hang in the back, keep his head down, make Jackie smile when it counted, and be done with it.

But that wasn’t what happened.

Jackie walked down the aisle—their backyard aisle, lined with fairy lights and petals that Rylie  had dutifully scattered—and Shauna broke.

No warning. No breath-catching. Just tears. Real, raw, full-on crying .

Her hand trembled as she reached for Jackie’s. She looked like she’d forgotten there were other people present. For a second, it was just the two of them again.

---

She’d expected the softness in her chest, the way Jackie always made her feel grounded and seen—but not the tears . Not the raw ache that rose up in her throat, thinking about everything they’d been through: the crash, the wilderness, Jackie’s nearly bleeding out just a year ago, the fights about the kids, about control, about love, about them . And yet— here Jackie was , smiling at her like she was still the only person in the world.

Shauna blinked fast, tried to keep it in, but the tears slipped down anyway. She covered her face with one hand for a second, embarrassed, but Jackie just reached out and tucked a finger under her chin, smiling through her own tears.

“I still choose you,” Jackie whispered, just for her.

And something in Shauna cracked open.

Off to the side, Henry stood with his arms crossed, leaning against the porch railing. He hadn’t been thrilled about the whole thing—he and Shauna had barely spoken all week, still tangled up in a web of teenage resentment and too-similar personalities. He loved his Mama fiercely, but his relationship with his Mom had always been… complicated.

But watching her cry, Henry saw something he hadn’t in a long time. Not the version of Shauna that barked at him to take out the trash, or the one that always seemed a little too focused on Jackie. He saw the woman who had survived hell and was still standing. Still loving. Still trying.

She looked fragile in that moment. Human .

Henry didn’t say anything. But he watched her the entire time, and for once—he didn’t feel angry. He just felt something shift . A softness he hadn’t let himself feel in a long time.

Shauna wasn’t armored or prickly or trying to keep everything together. She was just a woman in love , overwhelmed at the sight of the person who had held her through trauma, motherhood, and every crack in between.

Jackie’s dress was simple, more casual than her first, but she looked radiant. The kids were all around them—Callie gleefully shouting “You may now kiss!” before the officiant even finished, Rylie spinning in her flower crown.

And Shauna… she laughed through her tears.

Henry watched her press her forehead to Jackie’s during their vows. He watched her hands tremble as she cupped Jackie’s face. He watched the softness return to a woman he had spent the last four years painting as a tyrant.

He still had questions. Still had issues. But for the first time in a long time, he remembered who his mom was underneath the control and the sharpness. And more importantly, who she was for Jackie .

That night, when the younger kids were in bed and Jackie was tucked up on the couch in her robe, Henry walked into the kitchen where Shauna was washing champagne flutes. He hesitated in the doorway.

She looked over, cautiously. “Need something?”

He paused, then shrugged.

“You really love her,” he said.

Shauna blinked. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “I really do.”

And for the first time in a long time, Henry believed her without hesitation.

 

Chapter 28: Callie comes to the realisation

Summary:

Set winter 2024

Henry-27
Callie-18
Rylie-13
Evie-8
Poppy-3

Henry had always known the day would come.

He didn’t know when or how, but he’d always felt it deep in his gut—that one of the younger Shipman girls, most likely Callie, would one day see it. The undercurrent. The dynamic. The thing no one ever really talked about because it was just normal in the Shipman house: how tightly Shauna held on to Jackie. How she clung, obsessed, hovered. How Jackie just… accepted it.

By the time Henry was seventeen, he’d already clashed with his mom enough times to understand that questioning her—especially when it came to Jackie—was a dangerous sport. Their arguments had been explosive and brutal. Jackie would cry after, quietly in the bathroom. Shauna would sulk and go to the basement to hit the punching bag. Henry would stomp up to his room, swearing he’d leave the second he turned eighteen.

And he did.

He didn’t know when or how, or what straw would finally snap the thread of childhood naivety that kept Callie—fierce, stubborn, dramatic Callie—from seeing what had always been obvious to him.

But when she showed up unannounced at his apartment one Saturday afternoon, looking like she’d just had her entire worldview shaken to its core, Henry didn't even have to ask. He knew.

She’d seen it.

He let her in without a word and pointed her toward the couch.

She didn’t even wait to sit before she said, “What the fuck, Henry.”

He blinked slowly. “Okay. Hi to you, too.”

“I’m serious,” she said, dumping her backpack on the floor like she was trying to rid herself of the weight of the last 18 years. “I knew you and Mom didn’t get along, but—holy shit.”

Henry stayed quiet, letting her spiral.

---

She paced his living room like she was trying to walk the emotion off, tugging at the sleeves of her oversized hoodie, her jaw tight with fury and confusion. Henry leaned against the kitchen island and didn’t say a word. He knew that tone. He’d heard it in his own voice too many times before.

Callie finally stopped and turned to him, arms crossed. “How the hell did you deal with it? Like, growing up? The way Mom is with Mama—how did you not lose your mind?”

Henry took a slow breath, then shrugged. “I did lose my mind. All the time.”

She flopped onto the couch and stared at him. “It’s like… it hit me all at once. I’ve seen it my whole life, but it’s always been normal, right? Mom hovering, Mama brushing it off, them acting like they're one person and not two separate adults with their own identities. But today, I saw it. Like really saw it.”

Henry raised an eyebrow. “What happened?”

Callie groaned and leaned her head back on the couch dramatically. “Mama wanted to go to this early childhood conference thing in Cambridge. Rylies friends mom is running it and invited her. You know, because she has that degree and she wants to start subbing again now that Poppy’s gonna be starting preschool a few days a week. Nothing major. Just dipping her toe back in. She was excited about it.”

Henry could already feel the pit forming in his stomach. He nodded slowly. “And?”

Callie sat up, eyes wide with disbelief. “And Mom lost her shit. Not yelling. That cold thing she does—passive aggressive, emotionally manipulative, like ‘oh, I guess I’ll figure out Poppy’s pickup schedule on my own then,’ and ‘what if something happens while you’re gone’ and ‘are you sure this is a good time to be stepping back from the kids?’ Like Mama hasn’t spent twenty goddamn years raising us basically full-time.”

Henry’s jaw clenched. “Classic.”

“She made Mama feel guilty for wanting something for herself,” Callie said, now visibly shaking. “Like, I saw Mama shrink. Actually shrink. And I called her out. I was like, ‘Mom, you’re being controlling.’ And she just stared at me like I’d slapped her. She said I didn’t understand. That they’d ‘been through things I could never comprehend.’”

Henry let out a dry laugh. “Oh, that line. She said the same thing to me when I was fifteen and told her maybe Mama should have her own bank card.”

Callie’s eyes widened. “She doesn’t?!”

“Nope,” Henry said. “Joint account only. Mom controls the budget. Mama gets what she needs, sure, but it's all filtered through Mom. Has been forever.”

Callie slumped deeper into the couch, her face a mix of horror and realization. “It’s so messed up.”

“It is,” Henry said quietly. “And the worst part is? Mama doesn’t even see it. Or if she does… she’s so deep in it she doesn’t know how to get out. And I don’t think she wants to.”

Callie didn’t respond right away. She stared out the window, processing it all. Then, almost in a whisper, she said, “I always thought you were kind of a jerk, the way you pushed back on Mom. Like, why couldn’t you just let it go? She’s our mom, she loves us. But now… I think you were the only one really seeing it.”

Henry gave a sad smile. “I didn’t want to see it, either. But I had to. I saw the way she wrapped herself around Mama, like if she let go even a little, she’d fall apart. And the guilt? The control? That wasn’t love. Not the way it’s supposed to be.”

Callie looked up at him, her voice quiet and broken. “What do we do?”

Henry walked over and sat beside her. “You love Mama. You let her know you see her. And when you can… you make space for her to see herself, outside of Mom.”

Callie blinked back tears, something she’d never let anyone see unless she was truly wrecked. “It sucks.”

“Yeah,” Henry agreed. “It really does.”

They sat in silence for a long while, the kind that only siblings who’ve survived the same storm can share.

When she finally spoke, her voice was small. “She’d fall apart without Mama.”

Henry didn’t have to ask who “she” was.

He nodded. “And Mama would try to hold her together, even if it broke her in the process.”

They sat in more silence after that.

Eventually, Callie pulled her legs up onto the couch and curled into the corner. “Can I stay here tonight? Really don't want to be at home.”

Henry smiled softly. “Of course. I'll just text mama to let her know.”

And in the dim quiet of the apartment, Callie realized that maybe she wasn’t as alone in her realization as she thought. Henry had been where she was. Maybe he still was. And maybe together, they could figure out how to protect the one person they both knew needed it more than she’d ever admit—Jackie.

 

 

 

Chapter 29: Having a son with a law degree comes in handy

Summary:

Summer 2023 (imagine season one starts in 2023)

Henry-26
Callie-16
Rylie-12
Evie-7
Poppy-2

Tai hadn’t meant for it to be personal .

It was politics. Pure and simple. Due diligence. Her campaign manager had strongly suggested she tie up any loose ends from her past before launching her run for State Senate. The wilderness, as it always did, loomed behind her like a shadow no one could explain but everyone seemed to whisper about. If it ever got out— the truth —it would end everything. Not just her campaign. Her career. Her marriage. Her life.

So she hired a private investigator. Quiet. Discreet. Expensive. The best.

She didn’t even blink when she signed the retainer. She told herself it was a precaution, that she wasn’t actually expecting anyone to talk. Most of them had gone to ground years ago. Natalie was gone. Van didn’t talk. Misty? Well, Misty had her own secrets to keep. And Shauna… Shauna was Shauna. Buttoned-up. Married. Kids. Living the quiet suburban life in Boston with Jackie.

Tai hadn’t even considered that Shauna would be the one to come out swinging.

 

She hadn’t expected a thick, perfectly formatted, utterly terrifying letter from an attorney whose name she didn’t recognize but whose firm she absolutely did. It arrived via courier, not regular mail. Not email. No trail easy to trace. Just a quiet knock at her office door late on a Friday evening, and a man in a crisp black suit saying, “For Ms. Taissa Turner. From Mrs. Shipman’s counsel.”

Mrs. Shipman’s counsel.

Shauna.

Of course it was Shauna.

The letter was sharp, even elegant in its articulation—classic Shauna, always ten steps ahead, even when she was smiling politely like she hadn’t gutted you behind your back. The message was short, surgical, and written with a kind of cold professionalism that felt like a scalpel to the throat. 

Re: Invasion of Privacy – Unauthorized Investigation into the Personal Histories of the Survivors of Flight 2525

It has come to our attention that an agent under your employ has attempted to solicit information from third parties regarding the events surrounding the 19-month ordeal experienced by the survivors of the aforementioned plane crash. This act constitutes a violation of privacy, with potential legal ramifications under both Massachusetts and federal law.

My client, Mrs. Shoshana Shipman, as well as her spouse Mrs. Jacqueline Shipman, reserve the right to pursue legal action should any further inquiries, formal or otherwise, be made into their personal affairs, the well-being of their children, or the circumstances surrounding their survival.

Should your intention be to monetize or publicize any portion of this history, I recommend you consult your own legal representation before proceeding.

Sincerely,
Rebecca Lang, JD
Martinez, Walsh & Carr LLP

Boston, MA

Tai stared at the letter for a long time. Her hands trembled, and not just from guilt. It wasn’t just the legal threat—it was the way Shauna had done it. Clean. Quiet and Ruthless. And she hadn’t even bothered to call first. No yelling. No angry confrontation. Just pure, calculated dominance.

And that meant one thing: Shauna wasn’t just protecting herself.

She was protecting Jackie .

Tai had hired the PI because she needed to know —to know whether the others were thinking about telling their side of the story. There had been whispers. Podcasts sniffing around. Book agents floating inquiries. The country was hungry for another survival tale, and with the anniversary looming, the vultures were circling again. Tai had told herself it was a precaution. That she was trying to get ahead of it. That she needed to know who might crack.

But really? Deep down?

She’d wanted to know who still held the secret the same way she did. Who was still haunted. Who might finally slip and let it all spill out.

But this?

This was a line in the sand.

Shauna had drawn it.

Don’t ask about Jackie. Don’t ask about us. Don’t come near our children. Don’t pretend you’re protecting anyone but yourself.

Tai sat back in her chair and let out a long, tired breath. The old wilderness version of her—animalistic, paranoid, all teeth—wanted to snap back. To retaliate. But the part of her that still loved them—loved what they had survived, who they had survived it with—knew better.

 

---

 

On the back page there was a note:
“I suggest you grow the spine to ask me directly. Otherwise, stay the fuck away from my family.
—Shauna Shipman.”

Tai let the letter fall to her desk like it burned her fingers.

She hadn’t expected Jackie to still be with Shauna—she hadn’t expected anything from Shauna, really. Not after all these years. Not this level of ferocity. But now that she thought about it, of course Shauna would protect what she had. She always did. Especially if it involved Jackie.

The campaign manager paused, noticing her pale expression. “Everything alright?”

Tai forced a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Just a reminder that the past doesn’t like to stay buried.”

Later that night, Tai sat alone in her home office, the letter on the desk in front of her. She stared at the bottom of the page where Shauna’s message lived—unapologetic, cold, sharp-edged and true.

Shauna hadn’t just buried the past. She’d walled it in, sealed it shut, and dared anyone to chisel their way through. And Tai had poked the bear.

She poured herself a drink, wondering—not for the first time—how many secrets each of them were still carrying, and how far Shauna would go to keep hers safe.

If she had to guess?

All the way.

Chapter 30: Its a mini Shauna

Summary:

Follow on from last chapter
Summer 2023

Henry-24
Callie-16
Rylie-12
Evie-7
Poppy-2

A few months had passed since Tai received that chilling letter from Shauna’s lawyer, and despite her better judgment, she found herself agreeing to a trip to Boston with Nat and Misty. The three had been nudging her for weeks, reminding her that sometimes the best way to face ghosts was head-on, preferably surrounded by people who understood the weight of survival.

Misty—ever resourceful—somehow got hold of the Shipmans’ address. Whether she hacked it out or sweet-talked it from some mutual acquaintance, no one asked.

The day they showed up at the door, Tai’s heart hammered a little—not from fear, but from the swirling mix of emotions the Shipmans still stirred inside her.

 

---

 

The knock at the door echoed through the quiet Shipman home, loud and unexpected. Callie Shipman—sixteen, freshly grounded (again-this time for stealing booze from Shauna's beer fridge), and freshly irritated—stomped down the stairs, phone in hand, muttering to herself.

“Jesus, can’t people text before they show up anymore?”

She yanked the door open with all the enthusiasm of a girl dragged from her late-afternoon TikTok doom scroll and blinked at the people standing on the porch.

three women.

One with a too-bright smile and huge, eager eyes (Misty).
One with a beanie pulled low and eyes like a cornered fox (Natalie).
And one with arms crossed, like she was already regretting being here (Taissa).

Callie’s brow furrowed, and her voice came out as sharp as a scalpel. “Who the fuck are you?”

Tai immediately winced and took a step back, bumping into Misty, who let out a weird delighted “Oop!” like she’d just stepped into a live theater performance. Nat started to laugh —not cruel, just that shocked, amazed kind of laugh.

Misty, ever the quick thinker, blurted out, “Uh… we’re, uh… friends of your family. Sort of.”

Callie narrowed her eyes even further, clearly unconvinced. “Friends? Don’t know any friends who show up and don’t even text first.”

“Oh shit ,” Nat said under her breath. “It’s a mini Shauna.”

Callie scowled. “Excuse me?”

Misty stepped forward, hands clasped like she was about to try and sell Callie a vacuum. “Hi! We’re old friends of your moms. We were in the crash. We—”

“Yeah, no. Stop. What?” Callie interrupted, blinking rapidly. “Crash like… the plane crash?”

Misty looked positively gleeful . “That one, yes!”

Callie blinked. Then she shook her head. “Okay, well, you’re gonna have to come back in like... six hours. My moms are on a day trip up to Martha's vineyard or wherever lesbians go to drink cider and avoid some of their children.”

Tai’s jaw tensed. “They’re... away?”

“Yeah. They won't be back until tonight.” Callie leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You should be so lucky they’re not here. You’d already be in an Uber back to the airport if my mom saw you on this porch.”

“She definitely means Shauna,” Nat muttered to Tai.

“No shit,” Tai whispered back.

“Wait—wait—are you Callie?” Misty chirped, her eyes wide.

Callie arched her brow. “Do you people not realize how weird it is to show up at someone’s house uninvited and ask for their moms like it’s 1997? Also, how the hell do you have our address? Is this legal?”

“That’s not important,” Misty said way too quickly.

Callie narrowed her eyes. “Are you stalking my family?”

“No,” Nat and Tai said in unison.

“Yes,” Misty said at the exact same time.

Nat facepalmed.

Callie ran her hand down her face. “Jesus Christ , this is why my mom says she hates people.”

“She means Shauna,” Nat whispered again.

“Yeah, we got it, Nat,” Tai said with a snort.

Callie looked them all over once more, gaze lingering on Tai just a beat longer than the others. “You’re the one running for senator, right?”

Tai gave a terse nod.

“Yeah, cool. You look like you have a stick up your ass. And my mom said if anyone ever tried to profit off of what happened, it would be you. ”

Tai looked mildly offended. Nat tried to hide her laugh. Misty just looked thrilled to be recognized.

Callie watched them for a moment more. Then, curiosity edging into her expression, she asked, “So… were you guys like, in a cult or something? Cause I’ve read stuff .”

Misty’s eyes sparkled.

Tai groaned.

Nat flopped down onto the porch step with a sigh.

“Okay, well, this has been deeply unsettling,” Callie said, slowly closing the door. “I’m going to go back to pretending I live in a normal family now. If you’re still here when they get home, may God have mercy on your souls.”

And then the door clicked shut.

There was a beat of silence on the porch.

Natalie groaned. “We’re so fucked.”

Misty looked positively radiant. “I love her.”

Tai nodded. “Yup. Mini Shauna. That kid’s gonna rule the world someday.”

Tai turned on her heel. “We’re leaving.”

“Wait, wait, Tai!” Misty scrambled after her. “Let’s just wait till they get back—”

“No. We’re done. That’s a child and she just outmaneuvered us. I’m not tangling with two decades of pent-up Shipman rage.”

Natalie sighed, following reluctantly. “I still don’t get how Misty got the address.”

“I have sources ,” Misty said proudly.

“Jesus,” Tai muttered. “Never again.”

Behind the door, Callie stood very still for a moment, then turned and shouted up the stairs:
“Rylie! If some creepy old ladies show up asking for our moms again, don’t open the door! ”

And with that, the legacy of Shipman-level boundary enforcement lived on for another day.

 

Chapter 31: Having a son with a law degree comes in handy (Part 2)

Summary:

Summer 2023

Henry-26
Callie-16
Rylie-12
Evie-7
Poppy-2

 

Henry liked to think he was smarter than his mom. After all, he had her sharp tongue and her sharper instincts—he’d inherited that calculating streak, the ability to read a room and know what cards to play. He’d even turned it into a career. Law school had been brutal, but Henry Shipman came out the other end with top marks, a job at one of Boston’s most prestigious firms, and an eye for litigation strategy that had earned him more than a few quiet nods from the partners.

What he forgot was that everything he’d learned, he’d learned from Shauna.

Henry should have known better.

He really should have. But when it came to his mom— his mom , not his mama—there were blind spots. Huge, gaping ones. No matter how much distance he put between himself and the Shipman house, Shauna always had a way of working herself back in. Usually through guilt. Sometimes through charm. But when it came to Jackie , her secret weapon?

 

---

 

It started like most things with Shauna did: innocuously. A phone call on a random Wednesday. Her tone just shy of frantic, but still calm enough to seem like she was trying to protect him .

Henry rolled his eyes. “Mom. What’s going on?”

She sighed dramatically—her signature—and said, “It’s about your mama. Someone’s poking around. Again.”

That was all it took. Not even a full explanation. Just that: your mama .

Henry’s heart clamped tight.

“Is she okay?” he asked immediately. “What do you mean ‘poking around’? Is someone bothering her?”

Shauna paused. It was theatrical, calculated. “I need your help, Henry,” she said. “It’s about something that could affect your mama. I didn’t want to involve you, but…”
A pause. Long. Weighted. “…she’s upset. Really upset.”

 

---

 

Henry’s heart had dropped immediately. “What happened? Is she okay?” 

“She’s okay. For now,” Shauna replied, layering the maternal concern over her voice like honey. “But there’s a situation. A legal one. Someone’s been poking around about the past. And I just want to get in front of it. Protect her. I figured since you’ve… y’know… built some bridges at the firm—maybe there’s someone you trust?”

Of course there was someone. Henry was a second-year associate now—still junior, still working 70-hour weeks—but well-liked. Smart. Charismatic. And thanks to his surname and a bit of legacy polish from his degree at Brown, and with his Harvard law degree he'd gotten in the door of one of Boston’s most prestigious firms. He’d even started doing small work on some privacy law cases, so it made sense. It made sense , he kept telling himself.

Henry didn’t even hesitate. “I’ll get you a meeting. We have a couple partners who specialize in personal privacy cases. I’ll make a call.”

He’d never said no to Jackie. She was his softness. His center. The woman who kept him alive in the woods, who kissed skinned knees and helped him pick out his first tie. And Shauna—Shauna had been the general. The warrior. The storm. But in moments like this? She wore Jackie like armor. Used her to push every button she knew Henry had.

He called in a favor. Set up a meeting. By the end of the week, Shauna was sitting in one of the firm’s glassy boardrooms, sipping espresso like she hadn’t emotionally hijacked her eldest child. Henry stood beside her, smug with usefulness, proud that he’d pulled strings. The partner—Miriam Klein—was polite but cautious, clearly aware of who Shauna Shipman was and the complicated legacy that name carried.

The letter was presented. The facts, vague as they were, laid out. Shauna kept her voice low and steady.

“I just want to know what our rights are,” she said sweetly, placing a soft hand over her chest. “My wife has been through enough. I want to make sure no one drags her back into all that.”

Henry sat beside her, nodding like a loyal soldier.

Later, when it was over and Shauna was walking out of the firm with a strategy, a contact list, and a possible restraining order drafted in her briefcase, she gave her son a hug at the door.

“You’re a good boy, Henry.”

He smiled, ducked his head. “Anything for Mama.”

And he meant it. He meant it.

 

---

 

He didn't realize he'd been hustled until a week later, when he overheard Shauna on the phone.  outside the kitchen while Jackie fed Poppy in the next room, was that his mom hadn’t just used him to protect Jackie.

Her voice floated in from the back porch, confident and cold:

“No, it’s handled. We’ve got legal standing now. The lawyer says we could file an injunction if they try anything. No, Henry got us in. Of course he did. I told him it was for Jackie.”

Henry had frozen.

And then it hit him: the urgency, the dramatic concern, the strategic use of Jackie’s name. All of it.

He’d been played.

Again.

And the worst part?

He didn’t even regret it.

Because his Mama was safe. And if Shauna was manipulative—if she had steered the ship right through his soft spot, full speed ahead—well, wasn’t that what she always did? Use her smarts and her ruthlessness to keep her family right where she wanted them?

That night, when he finally confronted her, she didn’t even deny it.

“I did what I had to,” she said coolly, swirling a glass of wine at the kitchen counter. “To protect your mama. And you helped. You should be proud.”

Henry just stared at her.

And even though the words burned in his throat, he finally said the one thing he’d been holding in for years:

“You don’t protect her. You control her.”

Shauna looked up. Met his eyes. Her smile faded. But not in defeat—just recalibration.

“If I do,” she said evenly, “then why does she stay?”

That shut him up. Not because she was right. Not because she won.

But because, deep down, Henry didn’t have the answer either.

Not yet.

Chapter 32: Mamas Rule

Summary:

Set Summer 2024

Henry-27
Callie-17
Rylie-13
Evie-8
Poppy-2

Shauna should’ve known the second Jackie uttered the words “you don’t spend enough time with the kids,” that it was only a matter of time before she’d be roped into some well-meaning, painfully chaotic family ritual. That “time” had come in the form of Family Outing Saturdays —one Saturday a month, Shauna was expected to participate in a wholesome group activity with at least three of their five children, bonus points if it involved fresh air and a lack of cell service.

This month’s horror? A local petting zoo.

“It’ll be fun, ” Jackie had said, with that glint in her eye that Shauna knew meant this is going to be a disaster but I’m emotionally invested anyway.

“Define fun,” Shauna muttered, wrangling Poppy into her coat while Evie darted around the house looking for her left sneaker and Rylie passive-aggressively reminded everyone that she could’ve stayed home and watched Netflix but nooo, family bonding time is important.

By the time they pulled into the gravel lot of the petting zoo thirty minutes later, Shauna’s headache was already blooming behind her eyes. But Jackie had packed them Shauna's favourite lunch and Shauna had reluctantly promised not to kill anyone.

---

Shauna should have known better.

Really, she should have. After almost thirty years with Jackie, she knew how this went: one look, one please baby, and suddenly Shauna was doing something she swore up and down she'd never do. Like voluntarily spending a Saturday morning at a sticky, hay-scented petting zoo with three of their five children while their teenage daughter Callie was off at a sleepover and Henry was, wisely, living his best childless adult life far away from this chaos.

It had started off tolerably enough. Shauna had loaded the girls into the car, coffee in hand, mentally prepping for the heat, the smells, and the inevitable mud stains on someone’s clothes. Jackie, trailing behind in her breezy sundress and sunhat like a Pinterest mom come to life, had declared it “a perfect day for making memories.”

Shauna muttered something about making it through the day without anyone stepping in goat poop and called that a win.

Poppy, now two and chatty as ever, was practically vibrating with excitement. “I see da baa-bits, Mama? I see dem?”

Evie, their mischievous eight-year-old, had already plotted a personal mission to sneak into the chicken coop because “I wanna hold the fat one that looks like Grandpa’s neck.” And Rylie, thirteen and entering the early stages of teen disinterest, had earbuds in—one ear only, because Jackie had rules—while scrolling her phone and pretending she wasn’t already taller than both her moms.

They made it through the goats. Survived the sheep. Shauna even managed to not lose her temper when Poppy tried to feed a llama her juice box.

Then they got to the rabbits.

The rabbits were nestled in a shady pen with a “quiet zone” sign and a volunteer teenage girl explaining in a too-soft voice how calm energy helped the animals stay relaxed. Jackie knelt next to the fence. One fluffy white rabbit hopped toward her outstretched hand and she gasped like it was fate.

“Oh, Shauna,” she whispered, voice full of wonder. “Look at him. Isn’t he beautiful?”

Shauna, standing three feet back and already plotting how to keep Poppy from climbing into the pen, grunted. “Sure. Very fluffy. Great ears.”

Jackie turned, eyes sparkling. “They’re bonded. They only adopt them out in pairs.”

Shauna blinked. “What?”

Jackie’s smile turned to something more dangerous—hopeful. Sweet. Manipulative as hell.

“The white one is Clover. The brown one is Biscuit. They’re best friends,” Jackie explained as if she hadn’t just upended the trajectory of Shauna’s entire weekend. “The volunteer says they’ve been here a while. They don’t like being separated.”

Shauna narrowed her eyes. “Jackie.”

“I’m just saying—”

“You said we were getting ice cream after this. Not livestock.”

Jackie leaned in closer, voice low and persuasive. “The girls would love them. Poppy’s in that perfect age for bonding with animals. Evie is gentle when she wants to be. And Rylie’s been really into taking care of things lately—remember how she set up that entire fish tank for science class?”

“She killed all the fish.”

“She was learning .”

“I’m not cleaning up rabbit poop.”

“I will.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I’ll swear on the original Weezer record you framed in your office. ”

Shauna blinked. “You’d do that… for two rabbits?”

Jackie’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I just think they’d bring joy into the house. And… I miss having something soft and quiet around.”

That was the line. Soft and quiet. Jackie knew what she was doing—playing the nostalgia card, the post-baby wistfulness, the glow of domesticity Shauna could never seem to refuse no matter how hard she tried.

And so, two hours later, Shauna found herself back in their minivan, Poppy asleep in her car seat with bunny stickers on her hands, Evie arguing over who would name them (she had already vetoed Clover and Biscuit for being "too soft"), Rylie googling “rabbit lifespan” like the responsible oldest-at-home child she was (but not before texting Callie), and Jackie holding a cardboard carrier on her lap like it was full of gold.

They stopped for ice cream after all.

Shauna didn’t say a word as Jackie reached over and stole a spoonful of her mint chocolate chip cone. She just stared straight ahead, already planning where the hell they were going to fit a rabbit pen in the house.

Jackie leaned her head on Shauna’s shoulder.

“You’re the best,” she murmured.

Shauna sighed. “We’re getting a cat next time. I get to pick it.”

Jackie smiled, smug as hell. “We’ll see.”

---

Callie thought Rylie was messing with her when the text came in:
Sunshine (Rylie): we got rabbits lol. two. like actual live ones .

Callie, standing on break at the smoothie place where she worked weekends, stared at the message with a skeptical eyebrow raised. She texted back:
Callie: HAHA sure. What did we really get. Mom would rather eat glass.

Rylie sent a blurry photo in response. Two fuzzy shapes in a cardboard box. One white. One brown. The caption read:
welcome to the jungle 🐇🐇

Callie blinked. "Oh my god."

Her shift couldn’t end fast enough.

When she walked into the house that evening—kicking off her shoes and dropping her bag in the hallway like always—she wasn't sure what she expected. Chaos? Maybe. A crying toddler or someone screaming about poop, probably. But what greeted her was worse: silence. Suspicious silence. The kind that meant her family was up to something.

She followed the faint sounds coming from the living room and found Evie crouched in front of a brand-new rabbit pen that had magically appeared in the corner of the room. Brand new hay, food bowls, little bunny tunnels… the whole setup. Poppy was sitting next to her on the floor, holding a carrot half her size, talking sweetly to the white rabbit as if it could understand full sentences.

And there, on the couch, was their mom. Shauna. Arms crossed. Eyes half-lidded. Staring at nothing. Resigned to her fate.

Callie’s jaw dropped.

“You actually got rabbits,” she said, looking around like she’d walked into the wrong damn house. “What the hell happened to ‘we’re not running a zoo’?”

Shauna didn’t even look at her. Just muttered, “Talk to your mama.”

Jackie, of course, emerged from the kitchen carrying a mug of tea like the absolute picture of domestic peace. Dressed in soft leggings and an oversized sweater, she looked pleased with herself in that subtle, infuriating way that always told Callie she’d just wrapped their mom around her little finger again.

Callie pointed dramatically. “You. What did you do to her?”

Jackie blinked innocently as she settled herself on Shauna's lap. “We had a lovely family day out. The girls bonded with the rabbits. And your mom agreed they were sweet.”

“She barely tolerates Bodie,” Callie scoffed. “She nearly disowned us when he chewed her boot last Christmas!”

Rylie smiled and turned from her spot on the other couch. “You forgot the rule, Callie.”

Callie froze. Then groaned. “The Mama Rule.”

Jackie just sipped her tea pretending not to hear them, pleased.

The Mama Rule was something Henry had made up and Callie had known instinctively since she was old enough to form sentences: If Mama wants it, Mama gets it. It was an unwritten law in their house. Jackie didn’t ask for much, but when she did? Shauna caved. Every single time. It was the gravitational center of their family orbit—everything eventually curved back to what would make Jackie happy.

Callie flopped onto the couch next to her mom with a dramatic sigh. “How much did it cost?”

“Not your concern,” Shauna muttered, Callie rolled her eyes.

“I give it three weeks before one of them eats Poppy’s doll clothes.”

“I give it two before you’re calling them your children,” Jackie said with a smirk.

“Absolutely not.”

That night, Callie sat on the floor next to the pen with Evie and Poppy, casually feeding a piece of lettuce to the brown rabbit—Biscuit, apparently. She didn’t want to admit it, but they were kind of cute.

She looked back at Jackie and Shauna, curled up on the couch together like some sickeningly sweet Hallmark couple, and shook her head.

“God,” she muttered to Rylie, as she flopped down beside her, “she could ask Mom for a llama and she’d say yes.”

Rylie grinned. “Yeah. But only if Mama promises to clean up the poop.”

Callie laughed despite herself. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”

 

---

 

When Henry got the Text from Callie, he genuinely thought it was one of her poorly executed pranks.

Agent of Chaos (Callie):  u are not going to BELIEVE what mama got today

He sighed. Probably another candle, or a new decorative vase shaped like a animal, or whatever weird, cozy nonsense Jackie had gotten into since the “no more babies” verdict from her OB six months ago. Still, curiosity got the better of him.

He called her back.

Callie picked up with her camera facing the floor, then slowly panned upward to reveal… a rabbit pen. Two bunnies. Little Poppys voice in the background: “Hi Bunbun! You want snuggles?”

Henry blinked. “No. Nope. You're messing with me.”

“I thought Rylie was messing with me,” Callie said. “But they’re real. They have names . There’s Biscuit and Clover. Mama is obsessed. Mom looks like she’s seen death.”

Henry ran a hand down his face and laughed—loud and genuine. “You’re kidding me. Wait, wait—does Mom know?”

“She was there . She drove them home .”

Henry let that sink in. “Wow. Okay. Farm life it is.”

“Right?” Callie groaned. “You know what she said when I asked her how she allowed it? ‘Talk to your mama.’”

Henry sat back in his office chair, shaking his head. “The Mama Rule strikes again.”

“You made that up !”

---

It started as a joke when he was twelve, sitting at the kitchen table doing math homework while Jackie stood beside Shauna at the sink, softly talking about getting a new coffee maker because their old one made a grinding noise that “sounded like it was trying to die.” Jackie hadn’t even asked outright—just mentioned it, with that little tilt in her voice Henry knew meant she wasn’t trying to ask but definitely was.

The next morning, there was a brand-new coffee maker on the counter. A fancy one. Digital display. Auto-brew timer. It ground beans fresh. Jackie had squealed, and Shauna had just mumbled something like “it was on sale” and refused to meet Henry’s eyes.

That’s when he said it, grinning:
“If Mama wants it, Mama gets it. It’s the Mama Rule.”

Shauna had glared at him. Jackie had rolled her eyes, but also kissed the top of Henry’s head, clearly delighted.

Over the years it became a mantra. Jackie wanted something? Shauna made it happen. Jackie wanted an antique pan for bread making? Shauna found one. Jackie wanted to paint the kitchen that weird cream color even though everyone else hated it? Done. Jackie wanted Shauna to plant herbs on the back porch even though she couldn’t tell thyme from cilantro? You bet (thank god for the label maker Henry had gotten shauna for Christmas that year).

 

---

“Exactly. I know how powerful it is.” He smirked. “Honestly, I’m surprised it took this long. Mama can’t have more kids, so what’s the next best thing? Furry things that depend on her.”

Callie made a noise of horror. “Don’t say that. Next thing you know, we’ll have chickens. Or goats.”

“You’ll be milking something by next spring,” Henry said cheerfully.

“Jesus Christ.”

Henry couldn’t help but laugh. “Mom hates animals. You remember how she acted when Bodie licked the christmas tree? She talked about selling him to the fire station.”

“Yeah, and then Mama cried because she saw Bodie curled up in the laundry after mom yelled at him and made Mom apologize to the dog. Remember that?” Callie smirked.

He sighed. “The power that woman holds... honestly, it should be illegal.”

Callie dropped her voice to a low, dramatic tone. “Jackie Shipman: soft voice, iron grip.”

Henry couldn’t help but smile. “Don’t act like you’re mad. You love the rabbits already.”

“I am mad. I’m mad I didn’t think of asking for a pony first.”

They laughed together, and for a moment, Henry forgot how distant he’d felt from the house sometimes—how suffocating it used to be, how protective Shauna always was with Jackie, how complicated his own relationship with his mom had become.

Because the thing was, he never resented Jackie. He Never could. Even the rare time they disagreed. Even when he saw Jackie bend a little too easily under Shauna’s thumb. Jackie was the light of their household. Everything revolved around her. Not because she demanded it—but because everyone wanted it to. Especially Shauna.

And that was the truth about the Mama Rule. It wasn’t just that Shauna couldn’t say no to Jackie. It was that she didn’t want to. Not unless Jackie asked for something dangerous—like freedom, or distance, or anything that would take her too far from Shauna’s orbit.

Henry had learned that one the hard way, too. When he brought it up once, around sixteen, after Jackie mentioned maybe taking a teaching job part-time. He’d said it innocently: “That’d be good for her, right?”

Shauna’s look could’ve turned steel to dust.

He’d learned then: the Mama Rule had limits. Love didn’t always mean freedom. In their house, it meant closeness. Constant. Unyielding.

Now, Callie was telling him they’d bought rabbits.

---

The cameras focus shifted, and in the background Jackie appeared with a fresh mug of tea, kneeling to scratch behind the brown rabbit’s ears. She looked so happy, so at peace—like two rabbits were a puzzle piece she’d been missing.

“So now we’ve got a dog and rabbits?” Henry asked, watching Callie grab a chunk of celery and toss it to the white one.

“Yup,” she said. “Jackie wanted them. You know how it goes.”

Henry shook his head. “She can’t have any more kids, so she’s starting a farm instead.”

Callie actually paused. “...you might be onto something.”

“God help us,” he muttered. “What’s next? Chickens?”

“Don’t give her ideas,” Callie hissed.

Henry was quiet for a beat, eyes drifting away from the screen as he thought about it. “Y’know, sometimes I wonder if Mom ever even knows she’s doing it. That she’s wrapped around Mama’s finger like that.”

Callie made a face. “Oh, she knows. She just doesn’t care. Most of the time.”

“Yeah,” Henry said with a resigned sigh. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

 

Chapter 33: Bubbe Deb

Callie Shipman had her fair share of opinions—loud, unfiltered, often hilarious opinions—and one of her most passionate hills to die on was this: No one cooked like Bubbe.

To the rest of the world, she was Deb Shipman—their grandmother, Jackie’s mother-in-law, Shauna’s depending on the day estranged mom, and a woman who looked like she could run a PTA meeting with an iron fist. But to the kids, she was Bubbe, and to Callie especially, she was the reigning queen of Jewish comfort food.

Callie didn’t just love Bubbe’s food. She worshipped it. The second Deb walked through the front door—usually with a tote bag full of ingredients from some specialty market only she seemed to know about—Callie would practically sprint to the kitchen.

“You brought brisket, right?” Callie would ask, not even greeting her with a hello first.

“Callie,” Jackie would scold gently.

“What? That’s how I show love.”

Deb would just chuckle, already putting on her apron. “Yes, I brought brisket, you gremlin.”

And not just brisket. There was always matzo ball soup , latkes , kugel , and Callie’s personal favorite: sweet noodle kugel with raisins and cinnamon. Jackie had learned how to make a lot of these dishes over the years (Deb called her “a surprisingly decent student for a shiksa”), and Jackie was a solid cook in her own right. But no one made them like Bubbe.

Jackie herself admitted it.

“I follow the same recipes,” she said once, throwing her hands up, “I use the same brands! It just never tastes like hers.”

“It’s the hands,” Deb said smugly, rolling out dough for challah. “Generations of muscle memory and just the right amount of disdain for your husband.”

Shauna, lurking by the fridge with a protein shake for lunch, mumbled, “Sounds about right.”

Deb and Shauna had a complicated relationship—Callie had picked up on that pretty early—but when it came to food, everyone could agree that Deb was a magician. Even Shauna, who had about as much kitchen enthusiasm as a brick, would hover when Deb cooked.

“Don’t hover,” Deb would say.

“I’m not hovering, I’m observing.”

“You’re hovering and it’s annoying. Go fold some laundry.”

---

Deb adored her grandkids. Even Shauna could see it. Especially Callie, who she called her “firecracker”—half with pride, half with amusement. When she visited, she made a point to bring the girls into the kitchen with her. Rylie would get to help with rolling dough, Evie would stir the soup with a plastic spoon like she was brewing a potion, and Callie? Callie was learning how to make brisket from the best.

“Slow and low,” Deb reminded her one Friday afternoon as they worked side by side. “Don’t rush it. Let the onions caramelize all the way before adding the meat.”

Callie nodded, focused like it was a science experiment. “If I learn to make this, will you finally let me have your cast iron pan?”

Deb narrowed her eyes. “When I’m dead.”

Callie didn’t even blink. “Fine. But put it in writing.”

Shauna, walking past with Poppy on her hip, muttered, “My God, you’re actually related.”

Food became this thread that stitched them all together. No matter how many chaotic arguments happened between Callie and her mom, how many tantrums Evie threw, how many times Shauna lost her mind trying to get everyone ready in the morning—when Bubbe came over, the kitchen turned into neutral ground. A sacred space. One filled with laughter, teasing, and the warm smell of garlic and roasted meat.

---

Even Henry, off living his adult life, would FaceTime in when Deb visited.

“You made kugel without me?” he’d say, offended.

“You’ll live,” Callie would say, shoveling another bite into her mouth. “I’m eating enough for both of us.”

Sometimes, Jackie would just lean against the doorway, arms crossed, watching all of them with that soft, exhausted smile she wore when her heart was too full. Shauna would be somewhere nearby, pretending not to be enjoying it, but always close to Jackie.

And for Callie? Those visits were golden. A little slice of peace in the middle of a stormy, beautiful, chaotic life. She may have hated Shauna’s cooking with a passion, but Bubbe’s cooking? That was love in every bite.

 

Chapter 34: 2 Jews go to a Catholic mass

Summary:

Set Autumn 2014

Henry-17
Callie-7
Rylie-3

It was, without a doubt, one of the most chaotic, awkward, and unintentionally hilarious mornings in Shipman family history—the day Jackie had to wrangle her wife and her Jewish mother-in-law through a Catholic Mass.

They were usually a well-oiled machine when it came to keeping up appearances for the sake of the kids' school. Jackie, ever the dutiful mom, went to the once-a-month school Sunday mass like clockwork. Shauna never went—she had long ago said, "If I wanted to be judged by a person in robes, I’d go back to the wilderness." The kids went to the local Catholic school—not because of any strong belief, but because the school had good academics, small class sizes, and great sports facilities. Shauna thought it was hilarious that they were paying thousands for their children to learn about religion at 9am every morning" But once a month, Jackie and the kids filed into the pews, smiled politely, and sat through it. Some months they could skip it but with callies year making their first communion attendance was mandatory. 

Normally, Shauna dropped the family off at mass and immediately peeled off toward Costco for her monthly try, thrilled at the prospect of being able to shop in peace. Jackie handled the hour-long charade for the sake of the kids' tuition, sitting through the service with polite detachment and whispering reminders to Callie not to roll her eyes at the priest.

But this time? Deb was visiting. And Deb, ever the enthusiastic (if skeptical) grandparent, had declared she wanted to come see the “production.” Her words, not Jackie’s.

And Deb, bless her heart, decided she wanted to be supportive .

“I’d love to come to mass with you and the kids,” she said over breakfast one Friday morning.

Shauna looked up from her coffee and snorted, nearly choking. “You want to do what ?”

“Come to mass. With my grandchildren. I think it’s sweet that they go to a school with traditions. Besides, it can’t be that different from a synagogue.”

Jackie blinked. “It’s... very different.”

Shauna, now grinning into her mug, added, “Oh no, let her go with you. This’ll be great .”

And Jackie, somehow, in a moment of either weakness or temporary insanity, invited Shauna too. And well shauna cannot say no to her wife. 

So Sunday morning, they rolled up to St. Agnes Catholic Church with Shauna behind the wheel, three semi well-behaved kids in the back, and two Jewish women in varying degrees of disbelief in the passenger seats.

“Is it going to be fire and brimstone or cookies and wine?” Deb asked casually, adjusting her coat.

“Neither,” Jackie said. “Just a lot of standing and kneeling and trying not to zone out.”

Shauna leaned over to Deb. “You’re gonna love it. They eat a cracker and call it God.”

The moment they stepped inside, Deb gasped audibly. “Jesus Christ.”

“Literally,” Shauna deadpanned.

The kids tried to stifle their laughter as they slipped into their usual pew. Jackie took a deep breath, already regretting her life choices. Shauna kept looking up at the giant crucifix like it might fall on her. Deb leaned over to Callie and Henry and whispered, “Why is he always so... sad?”

“Because he’s Jesus,” Callie whispered back, in a tone that suggested duh .

Mass began. The organ played. People stood. People kneeled. Jackie followed along, the girls did their best, and Shauna and Deb... well.

They tried.

 

---

 

First, Deb tried to sit down too early.

The entire congregation stood as the priest entered and walked down the aisle. Jackie and the girls stood automatically, but Deb, confused and slightly unimpressed, began to sit back down—until Shauna casually yanked her up by the elbow.

“Too early,” Shauna hissed.

“Why are we standing? Did he do something already?” Deb whispered.

“No, he’s just walking.”

“For a full minute?”

Jackie’s smile was so tight it could crack porcelain.

Then came the kneeling.

As the congregation dropped into the wooden kneelers with choreographed grace, Deb’s eyes widened. “What is this? Yoga?”

Jackie was about to shush her when Shauna groaned as she attempted to comply.

“I think I pulled my hip flexor,” Shauna muttered.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,,” Deb said, lowering herself. “What’s next? Burpees?”

Callie turned around from the row ahead of them where she sat with her best friend Rosie, her mouth twitching with suppressed laughter.

“You okay back there, mom?” she asked, far too innocently.

“Focus Callie,” Jackie snapped, not looking up from her hymnal.

---

Next came the prayers, half of which were sung, the other half muttered like a memorized chant. Deb tried to follow, mouthing the words she didn’t know. Then the priest said “Let us offer each other a sign of peace,” and chaos descended.

The girls and Henry expertly turned to shake hands. Jackie leaned toward the person beside her. Deb, on the other hand, full-on hugged a stranger.

“Peace be upon you!” she said with a cheery smile.

Shauna cringed and Henry went bright red recognising the man as one of his teachers. 

The man looked stunned. “Uh, and also with you?”

Then came the communion.

Deb, suddenly wide-eyed, turned to Jackie and whispered, “Wait. Are we eating something?”

Jackie whispered back, “No. You and Shauna just stay here. You’re not supposed to take communion if you’re not—”

But Deb was already watching the line of congregants and whispering, “So what is it? Bread?”

“It’s the body of Christ,” Shauna deadpanned.

Deb froze. “Wait, I thought that was metaphorical?”

Jackie hissed, “It is! Just...stay here, both of you with the girls, don’t make it a thing.”

Deb leaned back in the pew, muttering, “This is weirder than I thought. Where’s the wine?”

Meanwhile, Shauna whispered to Jackie as she passed her, “You owe me a Costco date for this.”

But Jackie barely heard her. She was too focused on holding in her laughter as she pushed henry down the pew, watching the way her wife and mother-in-law—two of the strongest women she knew—were completely unraveling at a suburban Catholic mass.

---

By the end, as the priest gave the final blessing and the congregation filed out, Deb turned to Shauna with a look that could only be described as bewildered reverence.

“Well,” she said, adjusting her shawl, “I didn’t understand half of that, my knees hurt, and I think someone behind us was speaking in Latin... but I’ll say this: those Catholics? They sure know how to stand and sit on cue.”

Shauna just muttered, “Let’s never speak of this again.”

Callie, smug and delighted, asked, “So Bubbe, are you coming next month?”

Deb gave her a look . “Not unless I’m promised kugel afterward and an ibuprofen in advance.”

Jackie, exhausted but deeply amused, looped her arm around Shauna’s neck and whispered, “well that was entertaining.”

Shauna sighed. “Next time, I’m taking Deb to Costco and you’re doing this alone.”

 

---

 

Afterward, in the church parking lot, the kids piled into the minivan, giggling. Callie declared it “the best mass ever,” mostly because Shauna and Deb broke every unspoken rule of Catholic etiquette.

“Can we bring Bubbe every time?” Rylie asked as Jackie buckled her into her seat.

Shauna laughed. “I think we’re banned now sunshine.”

Jackie shook her head, muttering, “Next time we’re just writing a check to the parish and skipping mass.”

Deb was still ranting about the wine not even being kosher.

“You know, I liked the singing,” she said as she settled into the passenger seat. “But everything else? Way too serious. Where’s the joy?”

Shauna, starting the engine, muttered, “Pretty sure that died with the reformation.”

Jackie groaned from the backseat. “God give me strength.”

Callie, from the third row, grinned. “I think that’s literally the point of mass, Mom.”

And that was how Jackie learned never again to bring her Jewish wife and her even more Jewish mother-in-law to Catholic mass. 

But she didn’t mind. In fact, she was kind of glad.

Because if you had to pretend your family was devout just to keep your kids in one of the best schools in Boston, you might as well get a hilarious story out of it.

 

Chapter 35: Shaunas Birthday trip

Summary:

Set Autumn 2019

Henry-22
Callie-12
Rylie-8
Evie- 3

For her birthday, all Shauna wanted was time— uninterrupted , unshared , uncomplicated time—with her wife.

No kids climbing into their bed at 6 a.m., no homework folders, no school runs, no “Mom, she hit me!” or “Mama, I spilled juice on the dog!” Just the two of them. Like it used to be.

Deb, forever the unsung hero of the Shipman family, offered—somewhat hesitantly—to take Callie, Rylie, and Evie for a whole week. “You two deserve it,” she said, not missing the way Shauna's shoulders dropped in visible relief.

Jackie had needed more convincing. “Are you sure it’s okay? A whole week is a lot with three kids…”

But Shauna had already started packing her bag.

---

They booked a quiet rental on the Cape, a small cottage with a private deck and a view of the ocean and, most importantly, no bunk beds or glitter slime . It wasn’t fancy. It wasn’t exotic. But it was quiet , and it was just them .

The first night, Jackie cooked Shauna's favourite dinner in a tiny kitchen while Shauna opened a bottle of wine. They didn’t talk about the kids. Not once. Instead, they ate slowly, barefoot on the porch, and watched the stars. Shauna couldn’t stop watching Jackie, couldn’t believe how good she looked in soft moonlight and a cozy sweater.

“You know,” she said, tipping her glass toward her wife, “if I’d known my 40s would feel this good, I’d have gotten here sooner.”

Jackie laughed—soft and real and only for her. “You just like not having to share me.”

Shauna didn’t deny it. “Damn right I do.”

But here, now, for this one week?

Jackie was hers again.

For seven days, Shauna didn’t have to share Jackie with anyone.

She watched Jackie walk barefoot across the sand in the mornings, hair messy, cardigan wrapped tight against the breeze. She got to drink her coffee in silence with Jackie curled up next to her on the deck, both of them still in pajamas. She made love to her wife in the mornings without needing to muffle anything with a pillow. She listened to music Jackie liked and even danced with her in the kitchen once when a certain 80s ballad came on.

They cooked together. Ate slow meals their kids would turn their noses up at. Fell asleep early. Slept in late. Talked for hours about nothing. Or everything. Or whatever fell in between. They walked along the shore holding hands like teenagers. They made love without someone crying or knocking on the door. They watched bad TV and played board games and Jackie wore nothing but Shauna’s old college hoodie for most of the week, and Shauna thought she might actually die from happiness.

One morning, Shauna woke up first—rare, since Jackie was usually the early riser—and just watched her. Her hand still curled under her cheek, hair messy, lips parted slightly. And for a moment, Shauna felt it again: that terrified, fragile love she had back in the woods, when she thought she might lose Jackie before they even got the chance to live like this.

“I’m glad we survived,” she whispered, brushing a strand of hair from Jackie’s face. “I’m glad we made it here.”

Jackie didn’t wake, but she stirred, leaning into the touch like she always did.

---

 

And with each passing day, Shauna felt that same familiar craving claw its way up from her chest—the one she always got when life felt just a little too perfect.

“You’re thinking about it again,” Jackie said one night, stretched out in bed, legs tangled in the sheets, hair fanned across the pillow.

Shauna raised an eyebrow. “Thinking about what?”

Jackie smirked without opening her eyes. “The baby thing.”

Shauna rolled onto her side, propping herself up on one elbow. “I’m just saying… Rylie’s eight. Evie’s three. We’ve always had a five-year gap.”

Jackie groaned. “We’re on vacation.”

“Exactly. It’s the perfect time to talk about it. You're relaxed, the kids aren't here, and look at you—you’re glowing.”

“I’m glowing because I had a nap and didn’t get drooled on for once.”

Shauna leaned in, kissing her shoulder. “You’re so good at it, Jacks. Being pregnant. Being a mom. You’re amazing.”

“You mean I’m a walking target for your manipulative flattery.”

“Call it what you want,” Shauna murmured, brushing her lips against her neck. “But you know it’s true.”

Jackie sighed and stared at the ceiling. “Five is a lot of kids.”

“I know.”

“I swore we were done after Evie.”

“I remember. You also said that after Callie and Rylie.”

“…You’re really not going to let this go, are you?”

Shauna just grinned. “I’ll drop it if you want me to.”

Jackie didn’t say anything right away. She just stared up at the ceiling for a long moment. Then, quietly, she said, “I do miss the newborn snuggles…”

Shauna lit up like a sunrise.

“No promises!” Jackie warned quickly, pointing a finger. “But we can talk about it.”

That was all Shauna needed.

By the time they drove back to Boston, sand still in their shoes and that soft glow of reconnection wrapped around them like a blanket, Shauna had made her peace with getting older. She had her wife. She had her home. And maybe—just maybe—she was going to have one more baby, too.

Because no matter how chaotic their life was, no matter how much had been taken from them all those years ago in the woods, Jackie had given her something back. Something soft. Something worth coming home to.

And for Shauna Shipman, that would always be the best birthday gift she could ever ask for.

 

Chapter 36: Evies field trip

Summary:

Set Spring 2038

Henry-40
Callie-31
Rylie-26
Evie-21
Poppy-16

One thing all five Shipman kids knew as gospel from the time they were old enough to unlock the front door: if a woman named Lottie ever shows up, do not let her in.

No exceptions.

Jackie never explained much—just that Lottie was someone from the wilderness , someone “not well” who had a… difficult relationship with reality. Shauna was less subtle. “If she shows up here,” she’d warned Evie when she was twelve, “you call me, you lock the doors, and you don’t say a damn word to her.”

So naturally, by the time Evie hit college, the name Lottie was cloaked in family legend. Mysterious. Untouchable. Dangerous.

Henry took it seriously. Rylie, Poppy and Callie didn’t question it. But evie?

Evie filed it away the same way she did most of her parents' weirder rules: under “Mom and Mama’s Trauma Stuff,” next to “no flying” and “never leave meat out too long.” She didn’t get it , but she didn’t challenge it either—until she got older, anyway. And curiosity was Evie Shipman’s greatest vice.

So when she told her parents, mid-spring of her junior year of college, “I’m going on vacation for spring break with my roommates!” she was technically not lying.

She just didn’t mention the location.

A few days before the supposed flight, she packed a bag, hopped on a bus out of Boston, and headed for Camp Green Pine —a “healing community” in upstate new york  she’d found on some deep corner of the internet. The place had glowing reviews from people who spoke like they’d met God in a tree and never looked back. She wasn’t sure what she expected. Maybe to see what the fuss was about. Maybe to prove to herself her parents had just been overreacting.

She expected... weird vibes. She expected chanting or incense or whatever. She didn’t expect to be recognized.

The moment she walked into the lush, plant-filled welcome hall of the retreat, a woman in long, flowy white turned and froze . She had a serene face and pale, violet-touched eyes that made Evie instantly uncomfortable.

“Jackie?” the woman whispered, taking a slow step forward.

Evie blinked. “Uh. No? I mean— what? ”

The woman tilted her head. “You’re not Jackie. You look like her.”

“I get that a lot,” Evie muttered, starting to backpedal.

“What’s your name?”

“…evie.”

“Evie what ?”

The woman’s eyes were shining now in a way that really creeped her out.

Evie hesitated. “Shipman.”

And just like that, Lottie Matthews enveloped her in a hug that lasted too long and hummed something under her breath that made Evie want to throw up. She whispered things like “It’s fate you’re here” and “You’ve come home” and “You carry your mother’s legacy in your bones.” Staff members began treating her like royalty, smiling knowingly when she passed by, and offering her “blessed tea.”

Lottie looked older than she expected—weathered but elegant, like someone who hadn’t slept in ten years but still radiated something magnetic. Something wrong .

And the way she looked at Evie…

Like she was holy.

“Your mother,” Lottie said, her voice velvet-warm, “carried the divine within her. She doesn’t even realize it.”

“You mean Shauna ?”

“No,” Lottie smiled. “Your other mother .”

Evie’s skin prickled. “Right.”

Lottie’s cabin was filled with wildflowers and handmade icons. Jackie’s name came up at least six times in the first ten minutes. “She was chosen,” Lottie whispered once, lighting a candle. “A vessel of grace. Of rebirth. Of blood and survival. You look just like her, you know.”

That’s when Evie decided she needed fresh air . And a Joint.

 

---

She slipped out the back of the cabin just as the sun dipped behind the pines, heading for the edge of the woods near the retreat’s perimeter. She lit the one she had didden in her bra and tried not to think too hard about how much Lottie’s place smelled like lavender and delusion .

“Mind if I bum one?”

Evie startled and turned—then froze.

A woman, leaning against a tree like she’d been there the whole time, squinted at her through the smoke. Her face was lined, but sharp. Brown hair cropped short. She had a hunter’s energy. Watchful. Weary.

“You’re not supposed to smoke on the property,” the woman said, tone bone-dry.

Evie raised an eyebrow. “And yet here you are.”

The woman smirked. “Fair point.”

 

They smoked in silence for a moment before the woman muttered, “Jesus. You really do look just like Jackie.”

Evie’s stomach dipped. “You know my mom?”

“I knew her,” the woman corrected. “A long time ago.”

“Who are you?”

The woman took a drag, then extended a hand. “Natalie.”

Evie shook it, heartbeat quickening. That Natalie?

Natalie who was on the manifest? Natalie who’d supposedly OD’d and vanished according to what callie had heard

“You don’t look dead,” Evie said before she could stop herself.

Natalie laughed once—dry and bitter. “Been trying. Lottie’s idea of purgatory doesn’t make it easy.”

Evie blew out a long exhale. “What is this place?”

Natalie gave her a long look. “You’re too smart to still be asking that.”

Evie nodded slowly, taking another drag. “She talks about my Mama like she’s God.”

“Yeah. Lottie does that.” Natalie tossed her cigarette into the dirt. “She talked about me like I was a messiah once, too. You stick around long enough, she’ll tell you your blood is sacred or some shit.”

“Is it?” Evie asked sarcastically.

“Only if it’s spilled.”

That made Evie pause.

Natalie watched her for a long beat. Then: “Go home, kid.”

Evie flicked her ash. “You didn’t.”

Natalie shrugged. “Yeah, well. Some of us don’t have Jackie waiting for us.”

That hit harder than Evie expected.

“You here for answers,” Nat says, voice slurred just enough to confirm she’s a couple sips past sober from the bottle Evie can spot in her jacket. “Or you here for gossip?”

Evie sits on the log across from her and produces another joint from her hoodie pocket. “Bit of both.”

Natalie laughs—deep and rasping. “You really are your mama’s kid.”

 

“You’re part of this place?”

Natalie let out a long, bitter laugh. “Not really. I come and go. Like a rash.” She looked her up and down. “What the hell are you doing here? Don’t tell me Shauna sent you.”

Evie scoffed. “God, no . She’d have an aneurysm if she knew I was within a hundred miles of this place.”

Natalie smiled a little at that, something sad flickering in her eyes. “Sounds about right.”

“She said if I ever met a Lottie to run in the other direction.”

“Smart woman.” Natalie stubbed out her cigarette. “You should listen.”

Evie looked back toward the retreat building, where someone was softly ringing a bell for the evening circle.

“You gonna tell them I’m here?”

Natalie shrugged. “Not my circus.”

Evie took a long drag, then exhaled. “…Do you think she’s insane?”

“Lottie?” Natalie scoffed. “I think she means well .”

Evie gave her a look.

“Which,” Natalie added, “makes her the most dangerous kind of crazy.”

They smoked in silence for a few minutes before Evie asked, quietly, “Did my mom…Shauna… hurt people out there?”

Nat didn’t answer right away. She stared into the trees for a long beat.

“Not exactly,” she said finally. “your mom—Shauna—she always had this fire in her. But in the wilderness, it turned into something else.”

Evie took another hit, her heart racing. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” Nat said, eyes narrowing with memory, “that the wilderness changed people in different ways. Your mama , Jackie—she fought it. She clung to whatever softness she had left. But Shauna…”

“What about her?”

“She survived,” Nat said. “That’s what she did. Even when it meant cutting everyone else out.”

Evie’s throat tightened. “Did she hurt Mama?”

At that, Nat actually winced. “There was a fight,” she muttered. “Bad one. I don’t even remember what started it, but Shauna said some things. Pretty cruel things. I wasn’t there for all of it. But whatever she said Jackie stormed out. I found her almost frozen to death outside hours later.” 

Evie’s stomach dropped.

“It was so cold,” Nat continued. “No one thought she’d last the night. And Shauna—she was hysterical. She sat there for days with Jackie in her arms begging her to stay alive.”

“Jesus…”

“It was a miracle she survived, I mean. Almost frozen solid. Fingers blue. Could barely talk. You know what Shauna did?” Nat took another swig of the bottle she had pulled from her jacket. “She dragged Jackie into the attic. None of us saw her for months.’”

Evie blinked back a sharp, hot sting behind her eyes.

“Shauna wouldn’t let anyone near her for the rest of the time we were out there. Jackie was terrified of everyone but Shauna and Henry.”

“She never told me that.”

“Of course she didn’t,” Nat said. “Jackie protects her. Always has. Even when she shouldn’t.”

They sat in silence, the fire pit crackling between them.

“Henry,” Evie said after a minute. “He was born out there, wasn’t he?”

Nat nodded. “Yep and it was Jackie kept that baby alive.”

Evie let out a shaky breath. “I believe that.”

“I bet you do,” Nat muttered, eyeing her. “One hear them arguing over Shauna being jealous of Jackie's attention over him”

Evie took the joint back, inhaled hard, and exhaled slowly. “She’s still like that. Gets passive aggressive when Mama’s tired or busy with someone else. Clings like she’s afraid of Mama disappearing.”

“She is ,” Nat said softly. “Afraid of losing Jackie. I'm not surprised that nothing changed. That’s why she pushed everything onto Jackie with Henry I think. Feeding him was the only thing she did because she had to. Jackie changed him. Rocked him. Sang to him. That baby would’ve died if it weren’t for her.”

Evie didn’t flinch. Not really. That part tracked. Her mom had never been the soft one. That was always Jackie. Shauna was the storm that passed through when dinner was late or someone left their homework in their locker. Jackie was the lighthouse in the aftermath. . She'd always known there was a deep thread of resentment between Henry and Shauna that no one in the family liked to name. Jackie would smooth it over with a joke or a hand on Henry’s shoulder, but there was always tension—loud and sharp, especially when Shauna tried to parent too hard or act like she and Henry were closer than they were.

 

“Your mama saved us more than once,” Nat added. “She kept my secret too, when I snuck out one night to try and get help. Jackie could have called for the others but she kept silent and told me to go.”

Evie didn’t say anything.

“She was the kind of person who suffered quietly so the rest of us didn’t have to,” Nat said, finally. “Shauna loved her. I won’t pretend she didn’t. But she needed her. And she punished her when Jackie pulled away.”

There was silence then. Long, drawn-out.

Evie was still staring at the end of the joint, now a glowing ember between her fingers. “You know what’s funny?” she said eventually. “My mom’s so paranoid about my mama ever being cold. Like, obsessively. I once watched her drive back from work because Jackie texted her she was ‘chilly.’”

“That’s not paranoia,” Nat muttered. “That’s guilt.”

Evie nodded slowly, eyes glassy but sharp.

“You think Shauna’s cold?” Nat said. “She’s not. She’s terrified. She’s been terrified for thirty years. And she’s controlling because that’s how she convinces herself she won’t lose Jackie again.”

Evie let that settle over her.

“I get it now,” she said quietly. “Why she doesn't let mama do anything alone? Why she freaks out over blankets, or weather, or… too many stairs.”

Nat nodded. “She never really left the woods.”

Evie looked down at her hands. “I don’t think either of them did.”

They sat under the stars for a long while after that.

And Evie didn’t ask any more questions.

She just listened to the wind, thinking about the pieces of her mothers she’d never seen.

---

By the end of the night, Evie had made up her mind. She called a car to the nearest train station. Sent Rylie, the only person who knew what she was doing, a text that just said: “You were right.” (Rylie had thought she was crazy).

By the time she got home three days early, Poppy opened the door and gave her a knowing look. “Mexico, huh?”

Evie rolled her eyes. “I’ll tell you later.”

---

Jackie’s the first to greet her, arms wide and glowing with that familiar, radiant smile. “There’s my baby girl,” she says, pulling Evie into a long, tight hug. Her mama still smells like lavender shampoo and cinnamon tea, and for a moment, Evie melts into her. For a moment, everything feels normal.

Until Shauna steps into the hallway.

Shauna doesn’t say much at first. Just nods at her, gives her a short “Hey, kid,” and a brief side-hug. But Evie flinches at the contact—just slightly, just enough to feel her mother stiffen. The guilt slams into her instantly. Shauna notices everything.

Over the next few days, Evie keeps trying to act like everything’s fine, but she can’t stop watching them. The way Shauna hovers just a little too close when Jackie moves around the kitchen. The way she subtly reaches out to touch Jackie’s back, her waist, her hand, like she needs constant reassurance that Jackie is there . When Jackie stands up too quickly, Shauna is immediately watching her. When Jackie shivers, Shauna is tossing a blanket over her shoulders before she can say a word.

Evie had always seen it growing up—but now, after Camp Green Pine , after the stories Natalie spilled like ash into her lap, it feels different.

It feels obsessive.

It feels rooted in trauma .

Evie sits at the kitchen table the second night back, helping her mama cut strawberries for dessert while Shauna loads the dishwasher. Jackie hums softly to herself, something old and sweet, probably Fleetwood Mac, while the late afternoon sun filters through the curtains.

And then Jackie drops a spoon. She bends to pick it up, and immediately , Shauna is there.

“Careful,” she snaps, too quickly. “Don’t overdo it. Your back’s still not right.”

“It’s just a spoon, Shauna,” Jackie says gently, not even annoyed—just… used to it .

“I’ll get it,” Shauna insists anyway, crouching before Jackie can protest.

Evie stares at the scene, her fingers frozen around a half-cut berry.

Jackie leans down, brushes her fingers across Shauna’s shoulder with practiced affection. “I’m okay, honey.”

But Shauna’s face—tight, wary, eyes flicking over Jackie’s frame like she’s looking for signs of collapse—doesn’t soften.

And now Evie can’t unsee it. The way Shauna scans Jackie’s body for weakness. The way she takes over tasks before Jackie even thinks to ask. The way she looks at her wife not like a partner—but like something fragile she’s terrified of breaking again.

That night, Evie lies in bed, staring at the ceiling.

She thinks about what Natalie said. How Jackie nearly froze to death. How Shauna didn’t go after her. How she punished her afterward, kept her on the edges, made her suffer silently. And how all of that has twisted into this —this hyper-vigilant, all-consuming protectiveness that doesn’t always look like love.

It looks like fear. Like guilt. Like trying to make up for something that can never really be undone.

Jackie never told them.

Not about that night. Not about any of it.

Because Jackie’s never been one to dwell on pain. She tucks it away neatly, folds it under layers of kindness and sweetness, until no one sees the seams. But Shauna? Shauna remembers . And it has shaped every inch of her since.

Evie doesn’t talk to her mom much that week. Can’t. Not yet. Every time Shauna meets her eyes, she looks away. She knows Shauna senses it—can feel something’s changed—but Evie needed time to process.

---

Evie always saw her mom’s protectiveness as overbearing, annoying even. That grip on Jackie’s waist in public. The way she stood behind her at parties like a shadow ready to swallow anyone who got too close. How she’d always brush off the kids if Jackie was tired or distracted— “Go ask your Mama, she’s the only one who knows where your homework is.”

But now, it looked different. Haunted.

Every time Jackie stood too fast, Shauna flinched. When Jackie reached for a pan from the high shelf, Shauna was already there behind her, silently lifting it down. If Jackie coughed during dinner, Shauna’s head would snap up like she was waiting for blood to hit the floor.

Evie caught it all.

The subtle way her mother hovered just a little too long, always tracking Jackie’s movements like she was making sure she stayed here , stayed alive .

And Jackie—Jackie didn’t seem to notice it anymore. Or maybe she did, and she just accepted it, wore it like an old familiar coat that still kept her warm.

That night, after dinner, Evie stayed back to help clear the table. Shauna washed, Evie dried. They didn’t talk much.

Evie could feel Shauna looking at her, waiting. But she didn’t say anything. Just kept drying the same plate over and over.

Finally, Shauna muttered, “You’re quiet.”

Evie shrugged. “Just tired.”

Shauna didn’t press. She rarely did, not unless it was about Jackie or school.

But later, when they were all watching a movie, Evie watched her mom pull Jackie in close on the couch. Not just the casual arm around her waist—Shauna had tucked Jackie half into her lap, hand over her heart, as if she needed to feel it beat beneath her palm.

Evie looked away.

She understood now.

Her mom wasn’t just controlling. She wasn’t just jealous or intense or tightly wound. She was scared .

Still scared, after all these years.

Scared of losing Jackie again.

Of losing the only person who had kept her alive, and sane, and Shauna during a time when they all could have gone feral or worse.

Evie got up halfway through the movie, retreated to the porch, and lit a cigarette she wasn’t supposed to have.

Jackie followed her out a few minutes later, sliding the glass door open with a familiar squeak.

“You okay, baby?”

Evie exhaled and didn’t meet her eyes. “I get it now,” she said softly.

Jackie tilted her head. “Get what?”

“Why she acts like she does with you.”

Jackie leaned against the railing beside her, watching the stars. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “It’s a lot.”

“She’s terrified of something happening to you.”

“She always has been,” Jackie whispered. “Even when she’s the one who made it worse.”

Evie looked over at her mama. “Do you… ever resent her for that? For how she handled it back then?”

Jackie didn’t answer right away. Then, with a soft smile, she said, “No one gets out of what we lived through without damage. Shauna carried hers differently. I don’t excuse it, but… I understand it.”

Evie flicked ash into the wind. “You saved her.”

Jackie glanced sideways. “I tried.”

“She thinks you’re the only good thing that came out of that place.”

“She’s wrong,” Jackie said, nudging her gently. “She came out with Henry. And you. And Rylie. And Callie. And Poppy. That’s more than we ever thought we’d have.”

Evie swallowed the lump in her throat.

“She watches you like she’s afraid you’ll vanish.”

“I know,” Jackie said. “And I let her. Because sometimes… she needs to hold on to me to remember she’s still here too.”

Evie finally looked her mama in the eye. “She doesn’t deserve you.”

Jackie smiled, sad but sure. “Maybe not. But she’s mine.”

And Evie didn’t have an argument for that.

Chapter 37: The morning routine gone wrong

Summary:

Set November 2013

Henry-16
Callie-7
Rylie-2

Jackie never got sick. Not really. She was the kind of woman who could function with a migraine, who once made it through a PTA meeting with a sprained ankle and a baby strapped to her chest. But when she woke up one morning with a fever so high she could barely sit up without swaying, Shauna knew it wasn’t one of those “push through it” situations. It started off innocently—just a bit of sniffling and fatigue, which Jackie chalked up to “being a mom of three and never sleeping.” But by day three, her voice had vanished, her face looked like she’d gone twelve rounds in a boxing match with sinus pressure, and she could barely lift her head off the pillow. Shauna tried to insist she go to urgent care, but Jackie waved her off with a weak flick of her hand. “It’s fine,” she rasped. “Just need rest.”

 Shauna had rolled over in bed, surprised to find herself alone for once—only to hear a congested, pitiful groan from the bathroom.

She found Jackie sitting on the bathroom floor in her robe, eyes glassy and nose red, leaning against the vanity.

“I can’t breathe,” Jackie mumbled.

“You look like you got hit by a truck,” Shauna said softly, crouching beside her and pressing a hand to her forehead. Burning hot.

“Sinus infection,” Jackie croaked. “I’m dying. Tell the children I loved them.”

“You’re dramatic,” Shauna said, though her voice held nothing but affection. She kissed Jackie’s sweaty temple and helped her back to bed. “I’ll handle the kids.”

Jackie blinked up at her, clearly skeptical. “You sure?”

Shauna gave her a tight smile. “How hard can it be?”

Those words would come to haunt her by 7:45 a.m.

---

Because for the first time in years, the entire morning routine fell to Shauna.

She wasn’t unfamiliar with it—she used to manage mornings back when Henry was younger and Jackie had a temp job that started at 7 a.m. But since Callie’s birth, Jackie had been the primary manager of breakfast, sock-finding, hair-brushing, school forms, and getting the girls out the door in one piece.

Shauna, in contrast, was the enforcer—the backup. The one who picked up the pieces once the tornado had passed.

This was different. This time, she was the one standing in the eye of the storm, coffee half-made, Rylie still asleep in her footie pajamas, Callie half-naked and screaming from her bedroom that her uniform was “itchy and evil.”

Henry was 16 and thankfully self-sufficient, already dressed, eating toast, and double-checking the notes for a chemistry test. That alone saved Shauna a meltdown.

“Please tell me you can get to school by yourself,” she asked, hopeful.

Henry raised a brow. “I’ve been getting myself there for two years, Mom.” She sighed. On most days, Henry’s independence irritated her. Today, it felt like divine intervention.

“Right. Right,” Shauna muttered, already getting distracted by the noise chaos unfolding upstairs.

Henry was zipping up his hoodie, earbuds in. “Bus is here in two. I’ll be back by six. I’ve got practice tonight. Gonna have dinner with the Millers.”

Shauna blinked at her son. Independent, responsible, the calm in the madness. Just like his mama. “Ooh Ok. You good?” Shauna asked him, clutching her mug of lukewarm coffee like it might save her soul.

“Always,” he said. “Good luck with her .”

He jerked a thumb toward the hallway—and Shauna knew exactly who he meant.

Callie.

“Don’t look at me,” he muttered when Shauna gave him an annoyed glance. “You’re the one who decided to have more after me.”

“Remind me to get your mother to tell you about condoms when you get home.”

Henry just smirked and disappeared out the door with a wave.

---

Seven-year-old Callie was already in the throes of what Shauna privately referred to as “tiny hurricane mode.” Shauna walked into Callie’s room and froze. The child was sitting on the floor in her Jammies, arms folded, lips puckered into a firm pout, surrounded by five different pieces of her school uniform. None on her body yelling, “I’M NOT WEARING THAT! IT FEELS LIKE SANDPAPER!!”

“Callie,” Shauna said cautiously, like approaching a wild animal, “why aren’t you dressed?”

Callie glared at her. “I hate the uniform.”

“You wear it every day . It’s literally the rule .”

“I want to wear the tutu today.”

Shauna blinked. “It’s Catholic school, Callie, not a ballet recital.”

“Then I’m not going.”

“Oh, you are going,” Shauna snapped, picking up the nearest part of the uniform—a button-down shirt—and trying to wrestle it onto her daughter like it was a snake. Callie squirmed, yelled, flailed, somehow escaped, and ran down the hall half-naked screaming “YOU’RE NOT MY REAL MOM!”

Shauna stared after her, half-horrified and half-impressed.

From the master bedroom, Jackie croaked, “What’s happening?”

“NOTHING! REST!”

“You can’t stop me,” Callie said dramatically, brushing imaginary hair over her shoulder. “I have rights, you know.”

Shauna, eyes twitching, just stared at her. “I'm gonna go get your sister. If you’re not dressed in the next five minutes, I’m dropping you off in whatever you’re wearing.”

---

Meanwhile, Rylie—bless her gentle, drama-free soul—sat in her crib in the bedroom next door in her pajamas, holding her favorite bunny by the ear waiting for someone to get her.

“Hi Mommy,” she said to Shauna with a sleepy smile as shauna walked in.

“Hi sunshine,” Shauna sighed, scooping her up. The two-year-old didn’t even cry when Shauna picked her up. She just tucked her face into Shauna’s neck and said, “Where Mama?”

“Mama’s not feeling good,” Shauna whispered, kissing her daughter’s cheek. “She’s staying in bed today.”

“We bring her soup?”

“Later Sunshine. Let’s go lie with her while I bring sissy to school.”

Shauna dropped Rylie gently into bed beside Jackie, who murmured a sleepy thanks as the toddler curled into her side like a little heat pack. Shauna tucked the blankets in, brushed Jackie’s damp hair from her forehead, and kissed both her girls before heading back into the storm.

 

---

Back in the living room, Callie had now flopped dramatically onto the floor in her underwear, her arms and legs sprawled out like she’d just lost the will to live.

“I can’t do it without Mama.”

Shauna crouched next to her, trying— trying —to keep her voice even. “Listen, you are smart. You are strong. And you are going to get dressed, go to school, and come home like a functioning human being or so help me, I will enroll you in military school . ”

Callie blinked. “Mama would never let you.”

“Want to bet?”

---

Eventuall Callie was halfway dressed. The shirt was on backward and her skirt was unzipped, but progress was progress.

“I’m not brushing my hair,” Callie declared.

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not —”

“Yes, you are.”

They stared each other down for three full seconds. Callie broke first.

Shauna would’ve fist-pumped the air if she had the energy

---

It took thirty two minutes, two bribes (one being an after-school ice cream stop), one timeout, and a full-on standoff before Callie was finally wrangled into her uniform. Her hair didn’t look like a bird’s nest. Her socks didn’t match but that this point shauna couldn’t care less. Shauna shoved a granola bar into her lunchbox and flung her backpack over one shoulder.

“You look like you got hit by a car,” Callie told her on the way out.

“I feel like I’ve been hit by three.”

They made it. Barely.

The drive was a disaster. Callie refused to listen to Shauna’s playlist and insisted on playing her “weird girl” music, which turned out to be a mixture of show tunes and chaotic indie pop. They hit every red light between their house and the school, and when Shauna finally pulled up to the curb, Callie kissed her cheek and said sweetly, “You did okay. Mama’s still better though.”

Shauna rolled her eyes but smiled in spite of herself. “Go. Before I change my mind and send you to boarding school.”

Callie grinned, hopping out of the car like she hadn’t spent the last hour in a full-scale war with her mom.

Callie turned, peering at her mother with narrowed eyes. “Tell Mama I want waffles when she’s better.”

Shauna sighed. “You got it, kid.”

---

Back home, Shauna collapsed on the couch for two minutes before remembering Rylie was still upstairs with a feverish Jackie and probably poking her in the face with a stuffed rabbit.

She dragged herself back up the stairs, peeked into the bedroom—and paused.

Rylie was lying beside Jackie, one little hand on her mama’s cheek, both of them asleep. Jackie was pale and flushed, but her breathing was easy. And Rylie, the quiet little heartbeat of the house, had one thumb in her mouth and the other hand tangled in Jackie’s hair.

Shauna stood in the doorway for a long time, just watching. Exhausted. Frazzled. But also so full of love she could barely contain it.

“That was hell,” Shauna whispered, crawling into bed beside her.

“Told you,” Jackie mumbled.

Shauna kissed her forehead again and pulled the blanket up around them both.

Rylie looked up at her. “You did it, Mommt.”

Shauna chuckled tiredly. “Barely. Mamas never allowed to be sick on a school day again.”

Jackie didn’t answer—just squeezed her hand and fell back asleep, the two-year-old nestled between them like the calm center of a storm.

 

Chapter 38: Henry's Father

Summary:

Set Spring 2039

Henry-42
Callie-32
Rylie-27
Evie-22
Poppy-17

Henry was 42 when his world shifted on its axis.

He’d never thought much about not having a dad in his life. He had the love of his Mama and a home that was, in its own chaotic, codependent way, full of love and structure and meaning. Sure, other kids had dads growing up, but Henry never felt like he was missing anything. Jackie was warm and present and soft in all the ways a person needed. That had always been enough.

Until the day a woman — early 20s, blonde, nervous — showed up at his office.

She waited at the front desk, shifting from foot to foot, clutching a manila folder in her arms. When Henry came out to meet her, she introduced herself in a voice that cracked halfway through.

“You’re Henry Shipman, right?” she asked, voice tentative.

“I am,” he replied, setting his coffee cup down. “Do I… know you?”

“I don’t think so,” she said. “I think we might be siblings. Half, technically.”

Henry blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

“My name is Madison... I think I might be your half-sister.”

At first, he thought it was some scam. He bristled, suspicious, already planning to tell her politely to get out and maybe alert security. But she opened the folder and pulled out a printout from a DNA site — the kind of thing people used to find long-lost relatives.

“You did a test through DNA Links four years ago. I matched with you last week. 27% shared DNA. That makes us... half-siblings.”

He blinked at the paper. That test. His wife Kate had bought it for him as a novelty gift. He’d taken it after a few glasses of wine on New Year’s Eve and promptly forgotten it even existed. He never checked the site again. He had always accepted the ambiguity of not having a father. Jackie had raised him with Shauna. Deb helped. He never felt the lack of a father figure in his life. He had male role models in his coaches and his friends' dads.

“You’re sure?”

She nodded. “I’ve been building my family tree. My dad... Jeff Sadecki.”

The name landed in Henry’s stomach like a stone. He didn’t flinch outwardly, but it rang out in his head louder than thunder.

Jeff.

Jeff ?

Jackie’s high school boyfriend. A name that had come up one or twice over the years. He only really remembers it because of how Shauna’s jaw tightened at the mention of him.

He got through the rest of the conversation like he was in a fog. Polite, measured, curious — enough to keep Madison from suspecting how much her words had cracked him open.

That night, after putting his own kids to bed and after his wife gave him a knowing squeeze on the shoulder — “You’re going to need to talk to your mom”. Henry signed knowing she was right.

The next day he took a half day from work and drove over to his childhood home.

Jackie was asleep on the couch, wrapped in a quilt, seventeen year old Poppy was out in the garden working on an assignment in the spring sunshine beside Evie who was still living at home after graduating college last year. Shauna was in the kitchen, going through their mail. She looked up and the noise of Henry walking through the back door, surprised.

“You okay?” she asked. “You look... off.”

“Where's Mama?” 

“She’s in the den resting. Do you need her?

Henry didn’t waste time. He’d waited long enough.

“I met someone yesterday. Her name is Madison. She says we’re half-siblings. Her dad’s Jeff.”

He saw it happen — a barely-there pause in Shauna’s breath. A stiffness in her jaw. She set the envelope she was holding down very slowly.

He didn’t need her to say it.

 

---

“So it's true. You slept with Jeff?” he asked, voice low. “Before the crash?”

Her silence was confirmation. But eventually, she nodded.

“It was stupid. We were kids. I was angry at Jackie... angry at myself. I didn’t know how to handle anything I was feeling. It happened once, one stupid night after a party and too much booze. I didn’t even... I didn’t think I could have gotten pregnant. And then the crash happened and—everything else happened.”

“So you knew all this time?” Henry asked, his voice tighter now. “You knew and you never told me?”

Shauna’s eyes lifted to his. There wasn’t a trace of cruelty or detachment there. Just weariness. And guilt.

“By the time I could’ve said something, I didn’t want to destroy everything. Our parents made the decision that it was best to keep things quiet. Jackie loved you so much. She raised you like you were hers—because you were. You are . No one else mattered.”

Henry’s hands clenched into fists at his side. “But it does matter. To me.”

Shauna stepped forward. “I know. I know. And I’m sorry, Henry. I am. I never wanted to lie. But... after the wilderness, after everything we survived there were decisions we could not control.And Jackie—Jackie loved you so much she didn’t care where you came from.”

“You took that choice from me.”

“I did,” she said softly. “And I’ve carried that every day since then..”

They stood in silence for a while. Henry didn’t know what to feel — he was full of rage and sadness and confusion. But he wasn’t a boy anymore, and he knew that the people who raised him, who loved him, were flawed. Deeply. Complexly.

He looked toward the living room, where Jackie still slept peacefully, silver streaking her dark hair, the quiet rhythm of her breath the only sound.

“Does she know?” he asked.

Shauna nodded. “She’s always known. She just... never cared. Not when it came to you.”

That landed harder than anything else.

---

Henry sat back in his chair, arms crossed. “Mama knew?”

“Yes.”

“And you both just... decided to never tell me?”

Shauna looked away. “When we got back we were a mess. You mama was so fragile. You were all that mattered. Jackie raised you like you were hers—because you were . This got complicated, so we moved away and started a new life for ourselves.”

Henry laughed, bitter and humorless, similar to Shauna's which he hated so much. “You mean telling me would’ve made you look worse.”

Her eyes flared. “I made a mistake. One mistake. But we built a family. That’s what matters.”

Henry shook his head. “You slept with your best friend’s boyfriend. Lied about it for forty years. That’s not just a ‘mistake,’ Mom.”

Shauna winced. “Jackie didn’t want to talk about Jeff. I think part of her still hated him. And I felt like it would undo everything we’d built if we dragged it up. She was your parent. I just gave birth to you.”

Henry shook his head. “You had decades to tell me.”

“I know,” Shauna whispered. “And I’m sorry.”

Shauna’s face softened for a moment. “Jackie forgave me. Or at least—she chose me. She chose us . We’ve kept this together for decades, Henry.”

He looked down at the table. Thought of his kids. Of his wife. Of Madison, who probably had questions he still didn’t have answers to. Then he looked back at his mother. The woman who had trained him to bury feelings, to fight silently, to never rely on anyone but himself.

“I’m not mad that I didn’t know Jeff,” he said quietly. “I’m mad that you decided I didn’t need to know. That you played gatekeeper to the truth like it belonged to you .”

Shauna didn’t answer.

He stood.

“I’m not reaching out to him,” Henry said finally. “I’m not gonna introduce myself to the guy who cheated on my mama. But I don’t owe you anything for keeping this secret. Don’t think I do.”

Shauna nodded once. “I don’t.”

---

Henry didn’t say another word. He turned and walked into the living room, lowered himself onto the floor beside Jackie’s sleeping form, and rested his head lightly against the couch.

She stirred, smiled sleepily, and reached down to stroke his hair like she used to when he was small.

“Hey, buddy,” she murmured.

Henry’s throat closed up, it was like he was eight years old again.

Jackie closed her book. “I’m sorry you had to find out like that.”

“You knew?”

“I did.”

“You were going to take it to your grave, weren’t you?”

Jackie reached over and took his hand. “I might’ve. It was complicated, baby. It wasn’t your fault, and it wasn’t your burden to carry. I raised you. I changed your diapers. I kissed your boo-boos. I taught you how to ride a bike. That’s all that ever mattered to me.”

Henry was quiet for a long time before saying, “I’m not sure I want to meet him.”

Jackie squeezed his hand. “You don’t have to. You don’t owe him anything.”

“I just… I can’t stop thinking about how he cheated on you. How you still raised me, even after that. You shouldn’t have had to.”

Jackie gave him a sad smile. “I wanted to. You were mine from the moment I held you in the snow. That never changed.”

Henry finally leaned into her, burying his head in her shoulder like he had as a little boy.

“I’m so angry.”

“You’re allowed to be,” she said softly, stroking his hair. “But don’t let it eat you. You’ve got a wonderful life. A good one. Focus on what matters.”

And as Henry sat there, surrounded by the only version of parental love he’d ever truly trusted, he knew he wasn’t in any rush to open old wounds.

Jackie was his parent. His anchor. And whatever Jeff had or hadn’t been… he was a footnote. Nothing more. 

 

---

 

It took a year.

Twelve long months of ignoring the messages Madison gently sent every few weeks. Twelve months of conversations with Jackie, late-night pacing with his wife, his weekly therapy appointments where he said “maybe next month” every time the subject came up. Twelve months of weighing curiosity against resentment, of trying to reconcile the chaotic, codependent world he came from with the adult life he was trying to build—stable, loving, clear.

Eventually, it stopped being about Jeff.

It became about Henry. And for better or worse Henry was too curious for his own good. So he reached out to Madison and extended an olive branch. 

So he found himself one spring afternoon standing outside a coffee shop in Princeton, New Jersey. His hands were sweating. His stomach churned. He was 43 years old and he felt like a teenager about to do something stupid for the first time.

Jeff was already inside when he got there. A little older than Henry expected—greying around the temples, softer around the middle, still trying to dress like he was thirty with a leather jacket and pants a bit too tight. He stood when he saw Henry and offered a hesitant smile.

“Henry?”

Henry nodded. “Jeff.”

They sat down across from each other, and for the first two minutes, neither said a word.

Jeff broke the silence first. “Thanks for agreeing to meet. I didn’t think you would.”

“Honestly. I didn’t either,” Henry replied.

Jeff gave a small laugh. “You look a lot like your mom.”

Henry raised an eyebrow. “Which one?” mentally kicking himself for the most shauna answer he could have given.

Jeff faltered. “I, uh… I meant Shauna.”

Henry gave a humorless smile. “Unfortunate.”

Jeff winced but didn’t push back. “Fair.”

They made small talk—about weather, traffic, work. Henry mentioned his eight year old twin boys and Jeff talked about Madison, about how weird it was finding out about Henry. “I never knew,” he said quietly. “I was told you were her cousin. I didn’t really think much of it at the time and when Jackie and Shauna didn’t say anything, I figured it wasn’t my place and I was making things up in my head.”

Henry stirred his coffee, quiet. “You were Jackie's boyfriend.”

“I was. And I was an idiot,” Jeff admitted, no excuses in his tone. “I screwed up. Bad. And I lost her for it.”

“You didn’t just lose her,” Henry said, voice low. “You betrayed her . ”

Jeff swallowed. “I know. And I don’t expect anything from you. I’m not trying to be your father. That ship sailed decades ago. But I just… I’m glad you reached out. Even just to talk.”

Henry studied him. This man—his biological father—was perfect… underwhelming. Unremarkable. He had none of Jackie’s grace, none of Shauna’s intensity. Just a regular man who’d made a selfish decision as a teenager and now was facing the after effects.

“I have two parents,” Henry said finally. “Jackie raised me. Shauna, for better or worse, is my mom. You’re… you’re just DNA. That’s it.”

Jeff nodded slowly. “That’s fair.”

“I don’t hate you,” Henry added. “But I don’t owe you anything either.”

Jeff didn’t argue. “Can I… can I leave the door open? For more conversations? Even if they’re just about baseball or weather?”

Henry considered it. “Maybe. But don’t expect me to call you ‘dad.’”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Jeff said with a sad smile. “You already had the best person raising you in Jackie.”

That, Henry couldn’t disagree with. So they shook hands. No big emotional moments. No hugs. Just a quiet, mutual understanding that the past couldn’t be undone, and the future—whatever sliver might exist between them—wasn’t guaranteed.

When he got back to the car, he texted Jackie:

Met him. It was fine. Not impressed. Never thought I would say mom was an upgrade.

Her response came back in seconds:

Glad it went alright. He never stood a chance against your Mom. Drive Safe. 

He laughed to himself and started the drive back home, back to his kids, his wife, his chaotic, codependent, maddeningly lovable family.

Jeff wasn’t part of that.

And Henry was okay with it.

 

Chapter 39: the 25th wedding aniversary

Summary:

Set Summer of 2029

Henry-32
Callie-22
Rylie-18
Evie-13
Poppy-7

Jackie never needed a lot of jewelry. She wasn’t one for extravagance. Not that she didn’t appreciate the beauty of a piece well chosen—she did. But her fingers always felt most right with just the simple gold band Shauna slid onto her hand all those years ago. The one that meant home. Family. A promise that somehow survived everything from frozen nights in the wilderness to toddler meltdowns and teenage rebellion.

It had been a quarter-century since Jackie had said yes the first time.

Shauna could still remember that night with vivid clarity—how her hands had trembled so much she nearly dropped the ring, how Jackie had blinked at her like she couldn’t believe what was happening, how they’d both started crying halfway through before Shauna even got the words out. Back then, they'd been two kids in a drafty apartment in Providence with a single couch, and a tiny ring box containing Shauna’s grandmother’s antique engagement ring.

Jackie had said yes anyway. Without hesitation. Without needing anything more than the look on Shauna’s face.

The engagement ring—the one Shauna had nervously presented in their tiny apartment in Providence with hands shaking and barely a sentence stitched together—was tucked safely in a velvet box in Jackie’s top dresser drawer. It had belonged to Shauna’s grandmother, and Jackie cherished it. But it was delicate, old. Meant for special occasions, date nights, or anniversaries when Shauna would help clasp it around her finger and whisper, “Still the luckiest.”

But for their 25th wedding anniversary, Shauna had planned something more than dinner or takeout eaten in bed after the kids were finally down. She booked their favorite cottage in Martha’s Vineyard—a place they hadn’t been in nearly a decade, back when Rylie was still in diapers and Callie still liked holding Jackie’s hand in public. This time, though, it was just the two of them. No strollers, no diaper bags. No interruptions. Just them.

---

Their weekend away at the cottage in Martha’s Vineyard had started off perfectly. Deb was watching the younger girls (Evie had rolled her eyes dramatically when Jackie kissed her goodbye, but she still waved them off from the porch).) and Henry took their pets off their hands. The ferry had been peaceful, the weather crisp, the cottage just as they remembered it from The last time they stayed there. Jackie had immediately kicked off her shoes and curled up on the sun-warmed porch swing with a book in hand, her hair braided loosely and sunglasses perched on her nose.

She looked at peace.

Shauna had waited until the second night—until after they’d had dinner at the same little restaurant they always visited on the island. Jackie had dressed up, wearing a soft cream sweater and her hair up in a bun that made her look like she was still 22. She’d worn the original engagement ring, too—the delicate vintage one with the tiny diamonds and filigree setting. The one Shauna had always loved, even though she constantly worried about it breaking.

After dinner, they took a walk down by the water, hand-in-hand. The sun had just slipped beneath the horizon, turning the sky cotton candy pink and lavender. Shauna could feel the small velvet box in her coat pocket, and for once, her hands weren’t shaking.

When they reached their favorite old dock—worn with sea salt and memories—Shauna stopped walking.

Jackie glanced over. “What?”

Jackie noticed the signs that Shauna was up to something—she always did. The way Shauna got a little too quiet in the car. The way she kept checking her pocket nervously as they walked along the beach that evening. But Jackie didn’t say anything. She just held her wife’s hand and leaned into her side as the sun started setting behind them in a wash of deep pink and honey-gold.

---

Shauna stopped just before the edge, the wind pulling a few strands of Jackie’s hair across her cheek. Jackie smiled, brushing them back.

“What’s up with you?” she asked, teasing. “You’ve been twitchy all day.”

Shauna let out a breath. “I’m not twitchy.”

“You’re absolutely twitchy.”

Jackie expected a sarcastic comeback, but instead Shauna just smiled nervously, reached into her jacket, and pulled out a small black box. She dropped to one knee.

Jackie froze.

The sound of the waves went distant. The wind, the gulls, the rustling sea grass—suddenly all of it felt like a lullaby in the background as Shauna looked up at her with eyes more serious than she’d ever seen them.

Jackie stood frozen. Her breath hitched in that familiar, soft way Shauna had known for years. “Shauna…” she whispered.

Shauna took her hand. “I know we’ve already done this before, but I’ve had over 25 years to think about what I really wanted to say.”

---

“The first time I proposed to you,” Shauna continued, voice softer than usual, “I was terrified. Not because I didn’t know what I wanted—I did. I wanted you. I always wanted you. I was just so scared I’d mess it up, that I’d say the wrong thing or that you’d realize you deserved someone who hadn’t already broken you a dozen ways before we even figured ourselves out.”

Jackie’s eyes were already full of tears.

Shauna smiled gently and kept going.

“But you said yes. You said yes in our crappy apartment with its squeaky floorboards and takeout boxes stacked in the sink. And I swore that day I would spend the rest of my life making sure you never regretted it.”

She opened the box.

Inside sat a new ring—modern but timeless. White gold and delicate, with a stone that caught the last light of the sunset like it had been made just for her.

Jackie’s eyes filled with tears.

“I didn’t know what a real life with you would look like when I asked you the first time. We were just kids who had been to hell and back. All I knew was that I needed you. That I loved you in a way that I could never love anyone or anything else.”

“But now I know exactly what life with you means. It means date nights and late night snacks in between feeding babies. It means soccer games and Disney road trips and crying in hospital waiting rooms. It means watching you fall asleep with a baby on your chest while you hold my hand. It means knowing I’ll never be the calm one—but you’ll always be the center I orbit around keeping my feet on the ground.”

Shauna’s voice caught. Jackie knelt down too, until they were both sitting on the dock, their foreheads pressed together.

“You gave me a home. You gave me us. I’ve never wanted anything more than to keep choosing you, every day, for the rest of my life.”

“I wanted to ask again. Not because I think you’ll say no—” she smirked, teasing just a little now, “—but because 25 years later, I finally have the words I wish I had been able to say back then.”

Jackie smiled cupping her face with one hand and wiping her tears with the other.

“You’re doing great so far,” she whispered, voice thick with emotion.

Shauna exhaled and took her hand.

“Jacqueline Blair Shipman, I would go through the wilderness all over again if it meant coming out of it with you again. I’d face every storm, every long night with a crying baby, every teenage argument, every sleepless worry—because loving you is still the easiest thing I’ve ever done. I am the luckiest human because you Keep choosing me.”

Jackie nodded before she could even speak, tears slipping down her cheeks.

“Always,” she breathed. “I’ll always choose you.”

Shauna slipped the new ring onto Jackie’s finger, right next to the original band. The old and the new. The life they had built, and the one they were still living.

---

They didn’t go out to dinner that night like they had planned. Instead, they stayed in, opened a second bottle of wine, and danced barefoot in the living room to a playlist of all their old songs. The new ring glinted on Jackie’s hand in the firelight as she twirled, laughing.

It wasn’t a new love. It was an old one—seasoned, weathered, deeply rooted. But at that moment, it felt like they were back in the honeymoon stage.

 

Chapter 40: Deb's Daughter in Law

Every time Deb Shipman made the trip from Jersey to visit Shauna, Jackie, and baby Henry in Providence, Rhode Island, she came armed with two things: Tupperware containers stacked with rugelach and mandel bread, and a mission to continue her personal culinary mentorship of Jackie—the shiksa daughter-in-law she adored .

---

There was something sacred in those visits—not just the maternal presence Deb brought with her, not just the bag of groceries she always arrived with (“Just a few things for the freezer, sweetheart,” she'd insist, even though it was enough to feed them for a week), but the bond that slowly formed between Jackie and her mother-in-law over flour-dusted countertops and rolling pins.

Jackie had grown up in a polished, reserved, upper-middle-class household in New Jersey where dinner was often catered, appearances were everything, and emotional honesty was served cold. Deb, in contrast, was warmth incarnate, all bustle and hugs and the unapologetic kind of honesty that made Jackie blush and feel oddly safe all at once.

---

Every time she came to visit—carrying too many bags and already mid-sentence—she would kiss her daughter and grandson hello and then say something like, “Jackie, sweetie, go tie your hair up, I brought a whole chicken and we’re making soup. Real soup. Not that boxed broth thing you use.”

It became tradition.

While Shauna spent long afternoons writing papers in their bedroom or boxing out her emotions at the college gym, Jackie would find herself shoulder-to-shoulder with Deb in their tiny kitchen. Deb would teach her to make matzo ball soup, the kind where the matzo balls were floaters, not sinkers, and she’d quiz Jackie on the proper texture of brisket ( “If it’s not falling apart in your hands, it’s not done, darling” ). They’d bake rugelach from scratch, fold hamantaschen at Purim, and Jackie would take notes diligently in the back of a spiral notebook that eventually became “Jackie’s Jewish Cookbook.” She even wrote the title on the cover in big loopy cursive letters with a heart over the "i."

The first time Jackie made babka by herself—cinnamon, not chocolate, because that’s how Shauna liked it—Deb had cried. “You’re not even Jewish,” she said through tears, hugging Jackie tightly. “But you make it like my bubbe did.”

In their tiny Providence apartment, the kitchen was more of a corner than a full room, but every visit turned it into a second home. Deb would roll up her sleeves, pull Jackie in close, and say, “We’re doing babka today. Shauna loves chocolate but she’ll pretend she doesn’t. Don’t let her fool you.”

Shauna would come home from class and find them already in the tiny galley kitchen of their off-campus apartment—Jackie with her hair tied up, flour on her cheek, Deb standing over her like a general in an apron, talking her through dough techniques like they were ancient scrolls.

They’d stand side by side at the tiny counter in the galley kitchen, sleeves rolled up, Jackie’s hair always pulled back in a clip. Deb would walk her through each step, her tone patient but firm, her hands guiding Jackie’s when needed. Shauna would sit nearby when she could, flipping through textbooks but glancing up every few minutes, her heart doing something funny every time she heard her mother and her girlfriend laughing.

Deb’s specialties were the things Shauna had grown up with: pillowy-soft challah, perfectly crisp latkes, dense but delicate rugelach, sweet honey cake, and matzo ball soup that somehow made even the worst winter colds feel like a memory. Jackie learned them all.

They started with challah. That was the first one. Braiding the dough had been a challenge for Jackie, who hadn’t grown up baking or cooking much at all, but she’d taken to it like it was muscle memory she’d never known she had. The first time she nailed the braid, Deb had clapped her hands and kissed her on the cheek, and Jackie had blushed bright red. 

“Shauna, look at your wife!” Deb beamed, presenting the loaf like a trophy. “This is bakery quality.”

Shauna, who’d been perched on the rickety kitchen stool with a textbook in her lap, grinned. “That’s ‘fiancée,’ actually.”

“Well, then I suggest you marry her faster,” Deb replied, “before someone else gets a taste of this.”

They moved on to kugel—sweet and savory. Rugelach filled with apricot jam and walnuts. Brisket for the holidays, matzo ball soup when Shauna was sick. Every recipe came with a story—Deb talking about her own grandmother in Brooklyn, about her wedding, about the time Shauna’s dad accidentally used salt instead of sugar in the hamantaschen and they’d eaten them anyway out of stubborn pride.

Jackie soaked it all in.

She kept a little notebook tucked in the drawer beside the stove—Deb’s Recipes, handwritten in her looping cursive. Jackie would take meticulous notes, her face smudged with flour, her braids tucked into a scarf. Deb would tease her gently—“No, no, knead it like you mean it, you’re not giving the dough a hug, Jackie!”—but there was real warmth in her words, and pride in her smile when Jackie got it right. By the time Shauna graduated, the notebook had pages stuck together with schmaltz, corners curled from steam, and little floury fingerprints that made Jackie grin every time she opened it.

---

By the time Henry was old enough to join them in the kitchen, Deb had taught Jackie how to make latkes so crisp you could hear the crunch across the apartment, and a brisket that even Shauna admitted rivaled her mom’s. (Though she’d never say that out loud.)

Back in Providence, those weekends became the backdrop of Jackie and Deb’s bond. They talked about everything over rising dough—about motherhood, about Shauna’s moods, about the lingering shadows from the wilderness that none of them ever quite talked about directly. Jackie never flinched, never complained. She just listened, and loved, and learned.

By Shauna’s senior year, it had become a monthly tradition: Deb would arrive, Jackie would pull out the ingredients they’d stocked up on in advance, and Shauna would secretly feel like the luckiest person in the world. She got her mother and her partner, side by side, in harmony. She got her childhood favorites, made from scratch, in a kitchen where love lingered in every corner, even when the smoke alarm went off.

Years later, when they’d moved into their Boston home and life had become a whirlwind of kids and chaos, Jackie still made Deb’s honey cake every Rosh Hashanah. Even when she was eight months pregnant and couldn’t see over the bump. Even when Shauna would try and sneak the leftovers before they cooled.

Jackie would still make those recipes, now in their Boston kitchen, with a little more ease and a lot more flour (because now there were kids running underfoot trying to sneak bites). Shauna would tease her for always over-kneading the dough, but she’d still tear into a piece of challah and say, every single time, “Still better than my mom’s.”

Jackie would roll her eyes. “You say that every time.”

“Because it’s true,” Shauna would reply with a grin, mouth full, “Just don’t tell my mom that.”

And every time Deb visited, she’d lean over the counter, watch Jackie work with fond eyes, and say, “My Shauna married way, way up.”

Jackie would blush, as she always did, and mutter something about still burning toast half the time. But Deb never cared about burnt toast.

To her, Jackie was family. Not just in name, not just by marriage. She was the daughter-in-law who had filled the quiet gaps left in the Shipmans’ lives. The woman who had learned her recipes not just for Shauna, but to be part of something.

And every rugelach baked in that Boston kitchen—flaky, messy, a little imperfect—was its own kind of love letter between them.

---

Deb would brag to her friends constantly:
“My shiksa daughter-in-law makes kugel now! From scratch! I didn’t even teach Shauna how to boil pasta when she was her age.”
“She folds hamantaschen like a pro—better than me , and I’ve been doing it since the ‘70s.”
“She’s raising my grandson with Jewish traditions. Can you believe that? I hit the jackpot.”

And she bragged about her constantly.

“She teaches the girls Hebrew better than I do,” Deb would beam to her friends during synagogue potlucks or community brunches. “Can you believe that? Didn’t grow up Jewish, but she’s got more respect for our traditions than half the people in the congregation. Lights the candles every Friday without fail. She even reminds me sometimes!”

“Oh, and the kids? You should see how she is with them. I swear she could have run a daycare, or a preschool, or one of those Montessori things if she wanted. That’s what she studied, you know—childhood education. And she never needed to work a day, but she still spends half her time volunteering at the girls’ school. The teachers love her.”

Deb loved talking about Jackie’s patience, her kindness, her capacity to forgive. How Jackie could de-escalate even the most dramatic of Callie’s teenage meltdowns with nothing more than a gentle tone and a look. How Jackie always made sure Henry got a birthday card in the mail from the dog when he moved out. How she made sure Shauna remembered to eat on the days she got lost in her own intensity.

“She’s the calm to Shauna’s storm,” Deb would say with a knowing chuckle. “They balance each other. Jackie’s the anchor.”

And then there were the times Deb would tell the story of Jackie’s first pregnancy, voice going quiet with awe. “She carried four of those babies, you know. Even after everything she went through in the wilderness—malnourishment, trauma, frostbite—and still… four healthy little girls. Never complained. Not once.  That’s a mother.”

At weddings or baby showers, Deb would pull out her phone, showing off pictures like a proud grandmother but also like a proud mother-in-law. There were snapshots of Jackie in the kitchen, flour dusting her nose, Evie strapped to her back as her and Deb cooked. Jackie and Shauna slow dancing barefoot in the backyard at their 20th anniversary. Jackie curled up with Rylie and a picture book, her wedding band glinting in the light.

“She’s the glue in our family,” Deb would say, voice full of pride. “My Shauna—she’s brilliant, fierce, the kind of woman who’ll take on the world. But Jackie? Jackie makes coming home feel like a blessing.”

Sometimes her friends would say how lucky Jackie was to have been welcomed so warmly by Deb—after all, not every mother-in-law was so accepting of someone so different.

But Deb always shook her head. “No,” she’d say simply, “we’re the lucky ones. Jackie’s the best thing that ever happened to Shauna. And to all of us.”

She meant it, too.

---

Jackie didn’t learn to cook Jewish food just to impress Deb or to fit in. She learned because Shauna’s eyes lit up when she came home from classes and the apartment smelled like challah or brisket or apples and honey in the fall. Because Jackie could see how food grounded Shauna—how it brought something warm and old and safe into their new life. Shauna, who rarely let herself relax, would take a bite of something Jackie made and sigh like she could finally breathe.

When Jackie became pregnant with callie, Deb’s visits became even more frequent. She taught Jackie how to make her grandmother’s chicken soup for postpartum healing, brought over kreplach for freezing, and filled the apartment with laughter and unsolicited parenting advice. She’d scoop up baby Callie and say, “This child is going to grow up spoiled rotten on her mama’s cooking, and that’s exactly how it should be.”

Shauna would roll her eyes but never argue. And later, when it was just the two of them cleaning up after Deb left, she’d slip her arms around Jackie’s waist, press a kiss to her temple, and murmur, “You know she loves you more than me now, right?”

Jackie would grin and say, “I did win her over with kugel.”

 

---

 

More than once, Shauna had caught Jackie making a dish entirely on her own—not for a holiday, not for a visit, just because she knew it was something Shauna loved. She’d walk in to the smell of cinnamon and sugar, and Jackie would be in her socks at the stove, swaying a little to whatever music was playing, completely in her element.

“Babe,” Shauna would say, walking over and wrapping her arms around Jackie from behind, “marrying you was the smartest thing I ever did.”

Jackie would just smile and say, “Well, that and taking your mom’s advice about the kugel.”

Even decades later, when they had five kids and a kitchen three times the size of that old galley one in Providence, Jackie still pulled out Deb’s recipe notebook. It lived in the same drawer, now a little more worn, a little more sacred. Every Friday night, challah sat on the table—even if dinner was chaotic, even if someone spilled juice or cried over homework.

She taught Callie and Rylie how to knead the dough, and Poppy loved to press her chubby fingers into the rugelach before it went into the oven. Even now, Deb would occasionally call with a “Hey, Jack, I just found this old recipe card of my mother’s. Want me to send it over?”

Jackie always said yes.

 

Chapter 41: Shaunas dad

Summary:

set in the spring of 2019

Henry-22
Callie-12
Rylie-7
Evie-2

 

Shauna Shipman had always been good at keeping her past in a box. Tightly sealed, taped at every edge, shoved into the darkest, dustiest corner of her mind where even Jackie rarely dared to tread. And the biggest box—the one buried deepest—was labeled Dad.

He hadn’t been in her life since she was seven years old. One day he was there, promising a Saturday trip to the zoo, and the next he was gone—vanished like he’d never existed. No phone call, no letters. Just an empty spot at the dinner table and a mother who aged ten years overnight. Shauna didn’t talk about it. Didn’t cry about it. She survived. She always did.

So when there was a knock on the door that Saturday morning, she wasn’t expecting anything more than a package or maybe someone canvassing for a campaign.

Shauna never talked about her father.

The most her children had ever gathered was that Mordecai Shipman had walked out when Shauna was seven and had never once looked back—not at her, not at her mother, not at the life he abandoned like it was nothing more than a coat he could toss off at the door.

Even Jackie had only managed to get bits and pieces of the story from when they were kids. Shauna had made up stories about why her dad disappeared until one day she couldn’t hold it in anymore. 

So when Mordecai showed up on their Boston doorstep thirty-two years later—uninvited, unannounced, and holding a bouquet of sunflowers—Shauna went deathly still, the way someone might when they find a bomb wired under their floorboards.

Callie was the one who answered the door. At twelve, she was tall enough now to be mistaken for a teenager, but still carried that open curiosity that made her the self-appointed household detective.

“You’re looking for someone?” she asked bluntly, seeing the strange man on their stoop.

“I’m—uh, I’m looking for Shauna Shipman. I think she lives here.”

Callie blinked. “My mom?”

That was when Shauna appeared at the door behind her daughter. The moment their eyes met, the color drained from her face.

“you,” she said, her voice cold enough to freeze glass. The man standing opposite her looked older than Shauna expected. Greyer. Smaller than the shadow of a father she’d imagined all her life. He had a pathetic sort of smile that made Shauna’s stomach twist.

“Oh, sweetheart—Shauna—I know I’m the last person you expected to see but—”

“What the hell are you doing here?” she spat.

Callie flinched.   Rylie, who had come to investigate the noise, stood beside her sister with wide eyes as she caught the look on her mother’s face—something between fury and disbelief, like she couldn’t quite believe what was standing in front of her.

“Mom?” Rylie asked hesitantly.

Callie stood off to the side, for once keeping her mouth shut,  sensing something serious was happening. Shauna never raised her voice, not unless it was about something bad. And now, standing frozen in the entryway, her entire body was coiled tight, her hands shaking at her sides. They had never heard their mom yell like that. Not like this .

“I came to make amends,” Mordecai said, wringing his hands. “I know I made mistakes. I’ve changed, Shauna. I—I want to know my grandchildren. I want to know you.”

“I—I didn’t come here to hurt you,” he said. “I’ve been trying to find you for years, but—”

“Bullshit,” Shauna hissed. “My name hasn’t changed. I’ve been in the news. We were national fucking headlines after the crash. Don’t pretend I’ve been hard to find. You didn’t want to find me. Until now.”

He looked down, ashamed. She hated that it still hit her somewhere tender.

“Are those your daughters?”

“Don’t,” she said, low and warning. “You don’t get to talk about them. You don’t get to ask about my kids. You forfeited that right the moment you left.”

Shauna took one step forward and practically shoved him back down the porch stairs with her fury.

“You don’t get to want anything. You left. You left me and my mother and never once looked back. I was seven! ” Her voice cracked. “You’ve been gone for thirty-two years, and you think you can just walk back in and we’re supposed to have a tidy reunion?”

“Shauna,” he said gently, like he thought saying her name would anchor him in something. “I made mistakes. I was young. Your mother—”

“Don’t you dare bring her into this,” Shauna growled. “She worked three jobs to keep us going after you left. I didn’t even have a properal home for six months.”

Callie blinked. She had never heard this part of her mom’s life in such raw detail. Never seen her this… exposed.

“Maybe I just wanted to apologize,” he offered weakly.

“You don’t get to be sorry now,” Shauna hissed. “You had decades .”

Callie had never seen her mom like that—so fierce, but also so… broken. Her fists were clenched so tightly her knuckles had gone white.

“Mom?” Callie whispered, unsure what to do.

---

Just then, Henry stepped into the hallway. He had taken the train home for the weekend from Brown, hoping for a quiet visit. Instead, he was hit with the storm cloud of a man he recognized only from an old, half-burnt photo Shauna kept buried in the back of a drawer.

“What’s going on?” he asked, voice steady but laced with concern. Then he saw the man. And his mom. And something clicked in Henry’s brain instantly.

Shauna opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Her chest rose and fell fast. She was overwhelmed, furious, unraveling in real-time.

Henry stepped between his mother and the door. “You need to leave,” he said firmly.

“I’m her father,” the man said.

“No,” Henry said, voice sharp. “You were a father. For seven years. Then you vanished. And now you’re nothing. My mom built this whole life without you. You don’t get to just… walk back in like we’re a goddamn Hallmark movie.”

Callie had never seen Henry look so protective before. And Rylie, who still clung to the edge of the wall, had never seen their mom cry—until now.

Shauna’s hands were trembling. Her eyes glistened, but no tears fell. She looked at Henry like she was trying to figure out how her once-small boy had suddenly grown into a man who could stand up for her like that.

“I said go ,” Henry repeated, and this time he stepped forward and began to close the door.

“I’m her father,” Mordecai began, eyes narrowing.

“No,” Henry said, crossing his arms. “You were. She doesn’t owe you a thing.”

Shauna’s breathing was ragged now. She was shaking—Callie could see it. The tears welling in her eyes weren’t falling yet, but they were there, threatening to spill.

“Please,” Mordecai tried one more time, his voice quieter. “I just want a chance.”

Henry stepped forward. “She needed you for years. Through all of it—college, trauma, raising kids—and you were nowhere. So no. You don’t get a chance.”

That’s when Jackie appeared in the doorway, Evie curled up asleep against her chest. Her eyes darted around the scene—Mordecai’s face, the bouquet, Shauna trembling by the banister.

“Shauna,” she said softly. “Come inside the den. Let Henry handle this.”

“I can’t—” Shauna whispered, her voice cracking.

Jackie stepped forward, careful not to wake the baby. “Yes, you can. Come on.”

With shaking hands, Shauna let Jackie guide her inside the house, past the stunned kids and back into the the den. As soon as Jackie closed the door behind them, Shauna collapsed into her arms.

The tears came then—hot, messy, years-overdue tears—and Jackie held her tightly, one hand cradling Evie and the other curled protectively around her wife.

“It’s okay,” Jackie whispered, brushing a hand down her back. “You’re okay. He’s gone. You’ve got us. You always have us.”

Outside, Mordecai stood frozen on the porch until Henry finally shut the door on him, hard and final.

Inside, Jackie just held Shauna tighter, whispering against her temple, “It’s over. He’s gone. You’re safe.”

And for the first time in a very long time, Shauna let herself break, the boxes in her mind rattling open just enough to let the pain spill out into someone else’s hands.

---

No one could comfort Shauna like Jackie. No one ever had. No one ever would.

It wasn’t just the years they’d spent together — though that helped. It wasn’t just the children or the shared trauma or the decade of laughter, fury, forgiveness, and everything in between. It was something more elemental. Something deeper. Something forged in blood and frostbite and whispered promises made under a canopy of pine trees and a sky that held no stars.

Jackie didn’t need to ask what Shauna needed. She knew.

When Shauna was angry, Jackie didn’t try to fix it. She let her rage exist, let it burn out without feeding it. When Shauna was scared, Jackie didn’t tell her to be brave — she just stood at her side, fingers laced tightly with hers. When Shauna was shattered, like she was now, all Jackie did was hold her, and that was everything.

Curled on their couch with the baby monitor humming softly in the background, Jackie ran her fingers slowly through Shauna’s hair. Shauna’s face was buried in her shoulder, her tears still soaking into Jackie’s shirt. She hadn’t said a word since Mordecai left, hadn’t needed to. Jackie didn’t push her to speak. She just stayed.

“You’re safe,” Jackie whispered, barely above a breath. “You’re okay. You’re not that little girl anymore. You’re not alone.”

And the words worked like stitches across a torn seam, not healing it, not yet, but holding Shauna together until she could breathe again.

The kids had gone quiet — even Callie, whose usual running commentary on everything had ceased. Jackie had asked Henry quietly to take his sisters upstairs for now, and he had nodded, the understanding between him and Jackie unspoken but solid. That had always been their way: Henry got Jackie, maybe more than he got Shauna. Maybe that’s why Shauna sometimes struggled with him. Maybe it’s also why Jackie had always worked so hard to keep them from fracturing too much.

Shauna eventually sat up, wiping her face with the sleeve of Jackie’s cardigan.

“I don’t know why it hit me so hard,” she said hoarsely. “I haven’t thought about him in years. He was gone. Dead to me. And then he was just there on our porch.”

Jackie reached for her hand. “Because people don’t just vanish. Even when we think they should. They leave holes.”

Shauna gave a tired laugh. “You sound like a therapist.”

Jackie smiled. “Twelve years of raising Callie will do that to a person.”

Shauna squeezed her hand. “Thank you. For earlier. For everything.”

Jackie leaned in, pressing her forehead gently to Shauna’s. “Always. You don’t have to thank me. You’re my wife. its my job to protect you.”

And Shauna knew it, deep in her bones. Jackie wasn’t a fair-weather partner. She had stayed when it was brutal, when Shauna was wild with grief or rage or numbness. Jackie had chosen her every day, over and over, for decades. There was no question. No hesitation.

Shauna could fight the world. Could bare her teeth at everything and everyone. But with Jackie?

She softened. She unraveled.

Because Jackie was the only person who had seen her at her most monstrous and never turned away. The only one who had loved her not just in spite of her chaos, but because of it. Because Jackie knew the fire inside her wasn’t just destruction — it was survival.

And maybe, just maybe, that was why Shauna had survived at all.

Because in Jackie’s arms, she could fall apart — and be held together, all at once.

 

---

Later that night, after the girls were asleep and Jackie was making tea in the kitchen, Henry found his mom on the porch, staring out at the rain.

“Thanks,” she said quietly, not looking at him.

Henry didn’t say anything right away. He just sat beside her, their shoulders barely touching the silence between them more comfortable than it had been in years.

The porch light cast a soft glow on the wet yard. Rain tapped a steady rhythm on the roof above them, and for a while, that was the only sound. Shauna’s fingers curled around the cup of tea Jackie had handed her earlier, long gone cold, but still held tightly like it was anchoring her to something.

“You didn’t have to,” she said eventually, her voice low, thick. “Step in like that.”

Henry shrugged. “Yeah, I did.”

Shauna turned to him finally, searching his face — her son’s face, sharp at the cheekbones like hers, soft at the eyes like Jackie’s. There was a quiet defiance in him that she’d fought for years, the part of him she resented because it challenged her, because it pulled Jackie’s attention away. But in this moment, all she saw was strength. And compassion.

“I know I’m not always…” She trailed off. Sighed. “I haven’t been easy to be around. Especially not for you.”

Henry didn’t jump to reassure her. He didn’t say it’s fine or you’re not so bad. He just let the truth settle between them. That was one of the things Jackie had taught him — that silence was sometimes the kindest reply.

“I know you love us,” he said finally. “Even if it doesn’t always come out in the best way.”

Shauna’s jaw clenched slightly. “You remind me of me,” she murmured. “When I was younger. Before all of… this. The crash. The kids. Everything.”

Henry nodded. “Yeah. I figured.”

“I hated myself a lot, back then,” she added, quieter. “Still do, some days. I see you standing up to me, protecting Jackie, challenging me — and I want to be proud of you. But sometimes it just… hits a nerve. Like I’m staring at the version of me that never got twisted up by everything I went through.”

Henry looked out at the rain again, thinking. “You’re not twisted,” he said eventually. “You’re just… built different. Stronger. Sharper. Sometimes that hurts people. But it also protects them.”

Shauna turned her head toward him. “That sounds like something your mama would say.”

He smirked. “She’s smarter than both of us, let’s be real.”

Shauna laughed softly — really laughed, the first time since the door opened that morning and her father’s ghost walked back into her life. She reached out and brushed Henry’s hand with hers.

“I really am proud of you,” she said. “Even if I don’t say it enough. Even if I act like I’m not.”

“I know,” he replied. “And I’m proud of you too. Even if I don’t understand you most of the time.”

That made her smile — a tired, crooked thing — but genuine.

Jackie appeared in the doorway behind them, two fresh mugs of tea in her hands. “Am I interrupting?”

“Never love,” Shauna said softly, already reaching for her hand.

Jackie passed Henry his tea and sat down on Shauna’s lap. They sat like that, the three of them, watching the rain turn the porch steps into glistening silver.

And though there were still things unspoken, hurts not yet healed, and miles of road still to walk — in that moment, they were still a family.

Fractured. Flawed.

But whole.

Chapter 42: Mrs Shipman

Summary:

Set Summer of 2005

Henry-8

 

They’d always joked about it, even when they were girls—teenagers with scraped knees and trauma-stitched hearts hiding beneath puffy sleeves and oversized flannels. The first time Jackie declared herself Mrs. Shipman was on a spring afternoon in the backyard of the Taylor house. The grass was damp, and a daisy chain ring sat crooked on Jackie’s head as she looked Shauna dead in the eye and said with giggly pride, “I now pronounce us married.”

Shauna laughed so hard she forgot how much she’d been crying that morning.

They were six. It was stupid and innocent and everything they didn’t know how to ask for out loud. That was the first time Shauna thought, I could love her forever.

It became a thing. A running joke. “Mrs. Shipman” carved in the corner of their shared school notebook. Jackie introducing herself that way whenever they played pretend or imagined a world beyond the crash, beyond the wilderness, beyond everything.

But when forever finally came, when it was real —no jokes, no daisy chain rings, no teenage fantasies—Shauna was still a little afraid to ask.

---

Shauna had never been the type to cry happy tears. She wasn’t soft like Jackie, who could well up over a cheesy commercial or a particularly emotional episode of Grey’s Anatomy . Shauna was hardened, sharp around the edges, molded by trauma and survival. She didn't let herself dream of soft things for too long—especially not things like weddings and taking each other's names.

But when she and Jackie got married—quietly, tenderly, under a chuppah in a small garden in Boston with just a few friends, Henry toddling between them as their makeshift ring bearer—Shauna had dreamed. Just a little. She dreamed of Jackie taking her name, their name. She knew it was old-fashioned, and she told herself she didn’t care, not really. Jackie was still Jackie. That wouldn’t change whether she went by Taylor, Shipman, or anything else.

But quietly… Shauna dropped hints.

Little things, nothing major—asking how Jackie would sign her name when they opened a joint account, teasing about getting “Mrs. and Mrs. Shipman” towels, offering to change the voicemail to “the Shipmans” once they moved into their first proper home together.

She thought about it, of course. Every time they signed a document together or introduced themselves. She’d pause slightly before saying “my wife Jackie,” wondering—hoping, maybe—that someday Jackie would want to be a Shipman on paper, not just in spirit.

She tried to be subtle about it. Leaving little hints. The way she’d say “Mrs. Shipman” with a wink and a kiss. Joking about their “Shipman family adventures.” Referring to herself as “your devoted wife, S. Shipman,” in handwritten notes she’d tuck into Jackie’s lunch.

Jackie always smiled at those moments—fond, a little amused, but she never said much. And Shauna, not wanting to push, let it go. Kind of.

Until the ID came.

It was a few months after the wedding. A Tuesday, nothing remarkable. Jackie had picked up the mail and tossed a small envelope on the kitchen counter before heading upstairs to change. Shauna didn’t even notice it at first—not until she saw the envelope with the seal from the DMV and opened it out of sheer curiosity.

The name stopped her cold.

Jacqueline Blair Shipman.

For a moment, Shauna just stared at it. Then again, blinking as if the words would change.

They didn’t.

She ran her thumb slowly over the printed name, and something cracked open in her chest. That was her wife . Jackie had taken her name. She hadn’t said anything. No dramatic gesture, no sit-down conversation. She just… did it.

Shauna was still holding the ID in stunned silence when Jackie came back down the stairs, barefoot and towel-drying her hair.

“You okay?” Jackie asked, pausing on the last step.

Shauna held up the card wordlessly, her eyes wide.

Jackie bit her lip, a little bashful. “Surprise?”

Shauna’s voice was thin, choked even. “You did it.”

Jackie shrugged, that same soft smile she always gave when she did something loving and didn’t want a fuss. “ “You wanted it so badly, even if you kept pretending you didn’t .”

“You didn’t have to.”

“I know ,” Jackie said, pressing a kiss on Shauna's temple. “But I wanted to. I’m a Shipman now. One of you.”

Shauna didn’t say anything. She couldn’t. She just pulled Jackie into her arms and held her tighter than she had in days, heart full and breaking open all at once.

Jackie laughed against her shoulder. “Okay, now you’re making a thing out of it.”

“It is a thing,” Shauna murmured into her neck. “You're my wife. Mrs. Shipman. ”

Jackie grinned, pulling back to look her in the eye. “I always was.”

Shauna didn’t cry. Not really. But her eyes were wet when she kissed her. Wet and warm and filled with a kind of wonder she didn’t let herself feel often.

Because after everything—after the crash, the wilderness, the fire, the betrayal, the years of rebuilding and parenting and pain—Shauna got to have something simple. Something quiet.

She got to have Jackie.

And now, legally, on paper, in the world—Jackie was hers. Officially.

Jacqueline Blair Shipman.

It never stopped making her smile.

And every time someone called Jackie Mrs. Shipman , Shauna would glance over with a spark in her eye and a little smirk.

She’d gotten her wish.

 

Chapter 43: Little girls big eyes

Shauna liked to think she was the strict one.

She wasn’t the “fun parent.” That was Jackie’s job—gentle, warm, patient Jackie who had been staying at home with the kids for so long that their children viewed her as something sacred. Jackie was the one they ran to with scraped knees and heartbreaks, and she was the one who instinctively knew when to back off and when to lean in. But Shauna? Shauna was the enforcer. She liked order. Rules. Structure.

Or at least, she liked to pretend she did.

Because somewhere along the way—maybe when she was signing Callie up for preschool or sitting through one of Henry’s parent teacher conferences—Shauna forgot that having daughters who looked like Jackie meant raising a trio of tiny, brown-eyed heartbreakers with those eyes.

Jackie’s eyes.

Soft and impossibly expressive, big and warm and shimmering with emotion—Jackie had always known how to use them, too. She never weaponized them intentionally (besides once or twice), but Shauna could count a hundred times when Jackie looked up at her with those eyes—on the soccer field when they were teenagers, in the kitchen of their first apartment, in the hospital room with every one of their babies—and Shauna folded like wet paper.

And then, God help her, their daughters inherited them.

First it was Rylie.

Rylie Grace Shipman had barely learned to walk before she figured out how to tip her chin just so and widen those enormous brown eyes to full effect. She was quieter than Callie, less volatile, and Jackie’s mini in both features and temperament. One time at age four, she’d drawn all over the wall with marker, and when Shauna had marched into the living room, ready to scold, Rylie looked up at her with a trembling lip and her mama’s soft brown gaze and said, “I didn’t mean to, Mommy.”

Shauna had sighed, cleaned it up herself, and bought washable markers the next day.

Then came Evie.

Evelyn Blair Shipman was trouble wrapped in a smile. Mischievous and clever, she had Jackie’s whole face but with a wicked sparkle behind her eyes. She was bolder than Rylie, always pushing the line, always testing Shauna’s patience—but with every time-out or scolding, Evie would blink those lashes slowly and say, “You’re still my best girl, Mommy,” and Shauna would melt, her frustration evaporating like steam off a kettle.

And then, as if the universe hadn’t punished her enough, came Poppy .

Poppy, their miracle baby. The one who arrived on the edge of catastrophe. The one Shauna had nearly lost Jackie over. She was calm and attached to Jackie’s hip from birth, but she had a fierce streak buried beneath her sweet exterior. And when Poppy started toddling around, trailing after her mama with the exact same wide eyes and a little voice that chirped, “Mommy, up?”—Shauna would drop whatever she was doing.

Every. Single. Time.

Shauna would mutter about it sometimes. To herself. To Jackie. To the dog.

“I’m raising an army of little manipulators.”

Jackie, smug and smugger every year of parenthood, would just smirk over her coffee and say, “That’s genetics, baby.”

“Your genetics.”

Jackie would lean in and kiss her cheek. “You always were weak for these eyes.”

Shauna would grumble, but never disagree.

Because she was . Hopelessly, shamelessly weak for those eyes—Jackie’s and now her daughters’.

Rylie could get out of doing dishes if she looked tired enough. Evie could sneak a third cookie after dinner with a well-timed smile. And Poppy—God help her—Poppy had somehow learned to pout when she was two and Shauna found herself apologizing to her .

She still told herself she was the strict one. The parent who laid down the law.

But when three mini-Jackies stared up at her, blinking innocently, Shauna knew the truth.

She was absolutely, undeniably, thoroughly doomed.

And honestly? She didn’t mind.

---

It was uncanny, really.

Shauna had spent her almost entire life wrapped around Jackie's little finger. She knew it. Jackie knew it. The world probably knew it. And over the years, Jackie had almost never once used that power maliciously—just expertly. Gently. With precision. Like a soft touch to the wrist steering Shauna through the chaos of life.

And now, somehow, some cosmic injustice had passed that trait down to their younger daughters.

In particular Poppy and Evie had inherited more than Jackie’s deep brown eyes and soft features—they’d inherited her instincts . Her ability to read Shauna. Her ability to ask for something in just the right tone, at just the right time, with just the right look.

It was terrifying .

Shauna first noticed it in Evie. That girl had always been mischievous, but she didn’t beg . She reasoned . She made her case like a tiny lawyer, planting herself in front of Shauna with hands clasped behind her back, explaining, in great detail, why she absolutely had to have ice cream before dinner or why she couldn’t possibly go to bed before finishing her fairy book.

“Just one more page,” she’d say with a pout. “Mama said the fairies are sad if you don’t read the end.”

And the kicker? She’d drag Poppy into her little schemes too.

It was like watching Jackie in stereo.

One night, Shauna walked into the living room to find both girls sitting side by side on the couch, dressed in matching pajamas, eyes wide as saucers. Poppy, barely speaking full sentences yet, looked up at her and chirped, “Movie night?”

It was a school night. It was already 8:30. But then Evie chimed in softly with, “We’ll even pick something you like, Mommy,” and before Shauna knew it, they were three songs into a Disney sing-along and she had popcorn in her lap.

Jackie came in from her shower, smirking at the scene. “Oh no,” she said, hands on her hips. “Not Frozen again.”

Shauna just looked at her helplessly and muttered, “They tricked me.”

Jackie strolled over and kissed her cheek. “Welcome to the club.”

Because Jackie knew. She’d trained them. Maybe not on purpose—but maybe, just maybe , a little bit on purpose.

“I swear,” Shauna said once as she watched Poppy toddle behind Jackie down the hall like a little duckling, “they’re learning from the master.”

Jackie didn’t even turn around. “That’s not fair.”

“It’s absolutely fair.”

“She’s just cute.”

“She knows she’s cute.”

Jackie chuckled. “So did I. And it worked on you, didn’t it?”

Shauna had no retort for that. Because it was true .

She’d fallen for Jackie Taylor when they were barely more than kids—back when Jackie’s smiles were rare but devastating, when those brown eyes could burn holes through her walls, and when just one soft touch to her arm was enough to make her forget whatever she was angry about. That spell had never really worn off. And now, decades later, it was like the universe had split Jackie’s magic across multiple little girls just to torment Shauna in new and ever-evolving ways.

She tried to hold her ground. She really did.

But when Poppy curled up in her lap with her head tucked into her chest, or when Evie slipped her hand into Shauna’s at the grocery store and whispered, “Please, Mommy, can we get cereal with the marshmallows?”, Shauna caved every single time.

And Jackie—her infuriating, smug, perfect wife—never let her live it down.

“You’ve got three little yous now,” Jackie teased one night as they lay in bed, the soft sound of the baby monitor buzzing between them.

“No,” Shauna groaned. “I’ve got three little yous . That’s the problem.”

Jackie grinned, leaned over, and kissed her. “You like it.”

Shauna sighed. “I do .”

Because deep down, despite all the chaos and manipulation and carefully orchestrated attacks of adorableness… Shauna wouldn’t have it any other way.

Chapter 44: Shauna loves to hold her wifes hands

Jackie had a long list of things she loved about Shauna—far too long to ever really put into words. But if someone asked her to name her favorite habit, the kind of detail only someone who loved her would notice, Jackie would smile softly and say:

“It’s the way she fiddles with her wedding ring when she’s nervous.”

It wasn’t a loud habit. It wasn’t the kind that stood out to the average person, even someone who knew Shauna well. But Jackie had watched it for decades—through five pregnancies, arguments, holidays, doctor visits, college tours, and late-night confessions.

It always started the same way: a shift in the atmosphere. A moment where Jackie could feel Shauna’s spine stiffen just slightly, or see her brows tighten. And then, without fail, Shauna’s thumb would drift to the gold band on her left hand.

Sometimes she twisted it around and around, slow and thoughtful, like she was thinking her way through a problem. Other times she’d tug at it slightly, almost like she was testing the edge of her reality, grounding herself in something solid. Jackie always knew when Shauna was trying to keep it together for someone else's sake—one glance at her hand and it was obvious.

She remembered the first time she noticed it— really noticed it. They were sitting in the cramped office of a fertility specialist, mid-20s and hopeful, with a binder full of treatment plans and a million questions. Shauna had been quiet the whole appointment, too quiet, her jaw tight. Jackie had reached across and gently placed her hand on Shauna’s, and that’s when she saw it. The slow, rhythmic turning of the ring.

“You’re nervous,” Jackie whispered.

Shauna had stilled, looked up, and blinked. “How’d you know?”

Jackie just smiled and nudged the ring back into place on her finger. “You always do that.”

From then on, Jackie paid attention. Every courtroom meeting after the crash settlement. Every time they got a call from school. When Callie broke her arm. When Henry didn’t come home on time. When Jackie was wheeled into surgery after giving birth to Evie and again with Poppy, bleeding out and fading fast.

Even when she couldn’t see Shauna—when Jackie was groggy and in pain, or half-conscious—she knew . She could feel the gentle tension in the hand holding hers, and she could picture it: Shauna turning that band in circles like a lifeline.

And the truth was… Jackie loved it.

Because it was proof, in the simplest way, that Shauna cared . That she wasn’t as cold or detached as she sometimes pretended to be. That she was feeling all of it—the fear, the hope, the uncertainty—and doing her best to stay strong through it anyway.

Jackie even caught herself watching for it when things were good . On date nights, when Shauna was trying to find the right words over dinner. At Henry’s graduation, when she stood in the audience clutching Jackie’s hand with her thumb nervously brushing the ring. Or just sitting on the back deck, quietly watching their kids play while her mind wandered to thoughts Jackie could only guess at.

She’d never told Shauna, not really. Never explained why her gaze always lingered on that subtle little motion. But every time she saw it, Jackie would just reach out—resting her hand on Shauna’s, stilling her thumb—and kiss her softly.

"I'm here," she'd say without words. "You're not alone."

And sometimes, that was all Shauna needed.

 

---

 

The world might think Shauna was the tough one, the cold one, the quiet storm you didn’t want to cross—but Jackie knew better. She had known since they were teenagers, really. And one of her favorite things in the world—one of the most precious things—was how much Shauna loved to hold her hand.

It wasn’t just about affection, though that was part of it. Shauna had a hunger for closeness that she never really admitted out loud, but Jackie felt it in every touch. The way her fingers would find Jackie’s across the center console of the car without even thinking. How, when they walked side by side down the street, Shauna would always, always reach for her hand even if she didn’t say a word. It didn’t matter if they were fighting or laughing, or if one of the kids had just thrown up in the back seat—Shauna’s instinct was to reach out. To hold on .

It didn’t matter where they were—on the couch watching TV, walking through the aisles of the grocery store, sitting side by side at a school play—Shauna would reach for her hand. Always. And not just hold it. No, that would be too simple. Shauna would intertwine their fingers, thumb rubbing little circles into Jackie’s palm or the back of her hand, and inevitably, her fingers would find Jackie’s wedding band.

That simple little band of gold, worn down smooth by years of wear and the quiet rhythm of Shauna’s touch.

Jackie had teased her for it once—early in their marriage, when she realized Shauna had the same exact habit every time they were curled up on the couch.

“You playing with it 'cause you like the ring, or 'cause you like who gave it to you?” she asked, her tone light, but her heart already melting.

Shauna had just given her a sideways look, the smallest hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “Both.”

It never stopped.

 

---

 

Jackie’s favorite moments were the quiet ones—at home, in bed, or curled up on the couch late at night when the kids were asleep. Shauna’s hand would find hers under the blanket, and she wouldn’t just hold it. She’d fidget . Always with the same rhythm—fingers brushing softly over Jackie’s knuckles, sometimes lacing through hers, sometimes just resting there. But more than anything, Shauna would play with her wedding band.

Jackie wore two rings. The first—the delicate, heirloom engagement ring from Shauna’s grandmother—only came out for special occasions. But her wedding band never left her finger.

And Shauna adored it.

She’d spin it gently, back and forth, sometimes when they were watching a movie. Other times when Jackie was lying on her stomach while Shauna read, one hand tangled in her hair and the other slowly toying with the ring like she didn’t even notice she was doing it.

Jackie noticed, though. She noticed everything . How Shauna would reach for her left hand during every hospital visit, every new school meeting, every big moment. How she’d hold her fingers tightly before each of their children’s births. How her thumb would rest on the band like it anchored her—like it reminded her of what was real, of what they had built.

It wasn’t always easy being with someone like Shauna. There were days where the scars from the wilderness showed in quiet, rigid ways. Where her control streak went from protective to suffocating. But then Jackie would feel her hand being squeezed gently, or see Shauna’s fingers playing with the ring absentmindedly while watching her across the room, and it would all settle again.

That ring—their love— meant something . And Shauna never forgot it.

One night, after putting the kids to bed, Jackie caught Shauna doing it again. Twisting the band slowly while they lay in bed, the soft hum of the baby monitor the only sound in the room. Jackie smiled, shifting just slightly so she could face her wife.

“You know you do that all the time, right?”

Shauna blinked, pulling her hand back like she’d been caught stealing something.

“Do what?”

Jackie took her hand again, brought it to her lips, kissed it gently. “Play with my ring. You’ve done it since the day you put it on my finger.”

Shauna looked down, a little sheepish, a little embarrassed.

“I like knowing it’s there,” she said quietly. “I like knowing you’re here.”

Jackie swallowed the lump in her throat and leaned in, resting her forehead against Shauna’s.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered. “And neither is the ring.”

Shauna didn’t answer—not with words. She just held her tighter, her hand still wrapped around Jackie’s. And in that moment, as always, Jackie understood: this was what it meant to love Shauna Shipman. To know the quiet language of her hands. To feel her fear and her devotion and her hope all in the way she touched a simple band of gold.

Jackie loved a lot of things about her wife, but she had a particular soft spot for this habit.

Chapter 45: Attic Adventures

Summary:

Set in the summer of 2015

Henry-18
Callie-8
Rylie-4

It started out as a simple enough Saturday.

Shauna had planned to spend the morning helping Henry chip away at some of his college prep work before his first year officially began, while Jackie took the girls upstairs to clear out the attic. They’d lived in the house long enough by now that the attic had slowly turned into a maze of cardboard boxes, outgrown toys, bins of maternity clothes, and baby things neither of them had the heart to get rid of (especially as Shauna was pushing for baby number four).

Callie had groaned about the idea at first — “It’s dusty and it’s boring!” — but Jackie, in her ever-gentle, Mama-knows-best voice, offered a bribe of hot cocoa with extra marshmallows afterward, and the next thing she knew, Callie was dragging a reluctant Rylie up the attic steps behind her.

They didn’t expect to find that.

“Is that your wedding dress?” Callie asked, voice climbing high with excitement.

Jackie had been sorting through a bin of baby clothes when she heard the excited squeal.

“Mama! Look!” Rylie cried, holding up a white garment that had slipped off a hanger and into their chaos.

“Oh wow,” she muttered, laughing a little at the sight of her daughters holding the gown with such reverence. “I haven’t seen that in years.”

It had been boxed up since their wedding day. She hadn’t even looked at it in a decade. The satin had yellowed just slightly with age, but it was still beautiful. Long, elegant, simple — chosen not for glitz but for how it had made Jackie feel the moment she slipped it on. Shauna’s eyes had welled up with tears the first time she saw her in it.

Callie, now eight, held it up like a treasure. “Is this your wedding dress?!”

Jackie smiled. “It is.”

“Can you try it on?” Rylie begged, bouncing on her toes. “Please, Mama, please! You’ll look like a princess!”

Jackie laughed, hands going to her hips. “It probably doesn’t fit anymore, sweetie.”

Callie grinned. “You had two kids and still wear skinny jeans. Try it.”

Jackie sighed, gave them a theatrical eye-roll, but couldn’t hide the soft fondness on her face. “Alright, alright. But don’t laugh if I get stuck.”

The girls cheered, and Jackie carefully took the dress, stepping into the dusty old bathroom at the top of the attic stairs. It took a little wiggling, a little breath-holding — but it still fit. A little tighter in the ribs, maybe, and the zipper was a challenge she barely won — but it fit.

When she stepped out, Callie gasped.

“You do look like a princess,” Rylie whispered, wide-eyed.

Jackie gave them a twirl, then pressed a finger to her lips. “How about we surprise Mom?”

 

---

 

Downstairs, Shauna was in the kitchen, hunched over Henry’s laptop as he typed. “Okay,” she said, peering at the screen, “change that sentence — ‘elucidates’ is going to make the admissions board want to punch you.”

Henry groaned. “You’re ruthless.”

“I’m your mother. That’s my job.”

Before he could respond with a snarky comeback, they heard footsteps on the stairs—light ones, followed by the unmistakable voices of Callie and Rylie trying (and failing) to whisper.

And then Jackie walked in.

Shauna turned just in time to see her wife appear in the kitchen doorway, flanked by two mischievous girls in dusty leggings and crooked ponytails, each holding one end of her train like flower girls.

Shauna’s pen fell out of her hand.

Jackie was beaming — the kind of radiant, from-the-heart smile that still made Shauna feel seventeen again.

The dress shimmered in the light. Jackie’s hair was pinned up in a messy twist by Callie’s quick handiwork, and her eyes sparkled.

Shauna’s jaw fell open. For a long second, she couldn’t speak. Her breath caught in her throat like it had on their wedding day.

“Oh my god,” she whispered. “You’re—”

Henry looked up from his laptop and blinked. “Oh, wow.”

“I told you she still had it,” Jackie said, grinning.

Shauna slowly stood up from the stool. “You’re going to break me,” she said, walking over, hand reaching for Jackie’s waist as if she couldn’t believe she was real.

Jackie leaned in and kissed her cheek softly. “Don’t fall apart on the kitchen tile. It’s slippery.”

Rylie tugged Jackie’s hand. “Mama, you look sooo pretty.”

Callie smirked at Shauna. “I think Mom’s broken.”

“I’m not broken,” Shauna muttered, eyes still fixed on her wife. “I’m just—processing.”

Jackie tilted her head. “Processing what?”

Shauna shook her head. “That I still get to be married to you. That after all these years, you still walk into a room and I forget how to breathe.”

Henry groaned loudly. “Okay, wow, I’m going back to my laptop before this becomes an emotional disaster.”

Callie shoved him. “It already is.”

The kitchen filled with laughter. Jackie leaned her head on Shauna’s shoulder, and for a few beautiful minutes, the only thing that mattered was the way they looked at each other — like nothing in the world had changed since the day they said I do.

Jackie gave a little half-curtsy, grinning. “I think the girls wanted to remind you what a catch you got.”

“I don’t need reminding,” Shauna whispered, stepping closer, her hand automatically reaching for Jackie’s waist. “But damn. That dress…”

“You didn’t blink once during the ceremony,” Jackie said, voice warm with amusement.

“That’s because I was too busy trying not to cry.”

Shauna leaned in and pressed her forehead to Jackie’s, wrapping one arm around her back, the other gently touching the veil.

“You’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” she murmured.

From the hallway, Callie could be heard groaning. “Ugh, you’re so sappy, Mom.”

But even she was smiling.

And Rylie, wide-eyed and tugging gently at the hem of the dress, said softly, “Mama, you do look like a princess.”

Jackie crouched, veil trailing, and kissed both girls on their cheeks. “That’s because I married a queen.”

Chapter 46: Mamas Boy

Summary:

Set Winter of 2031

Henry-34
Callie-25
Rylie-20
Evie-15
Poppy-10

Henry didn’t take offense easily—he was the oldest of five Shipman kids, after all. Growing up in that chaos had given him a pretty thick skin. But something about what Kate said over dinner that night just hit him sideways.

"You’re such a mama’s boy," she said with a teasing grin, rolling her eyes as he finished a call with Jackie for the third time that day.

Henry, fork halfway to his mouth, froze. “Excuse me?”

Kate laughed. “Relax, Hen. I meant it affectionately.”

“I am not a mama’s boy,” he said, but even as the words left his mouth, he knew how stupid they sounded.

Kate raised a perfectly shaped brow and looked around their kitchen like she was making a courtroom case.

“Really? You’re not a mama’s boy? Okay—let’s go through the evidence. You talk to her every day, you call her first when one of the babies sneezes, and—oh yeah—one of our twins is literally named Jack . As in, after your mama. That was your suggestion, by the way.”

Henry leaned back in his chair, arms crossed  wondering what processed him to marry a fellow lawyer. “That was different. Naming him Jack was about honoring what she meant to our family. She kept me alive out there when I was a baby. She raised me when my mom—” He paused. “When my mom wasn’t ready to be a mom yet.”

Kate's expression softened a little, but she didn’t let him off the hook. “Henry, I love your mom too. Jackie is the most warm, lovely, elegant human being I’ve ever met. But that doesn’t mean you’re not wrapped around her finger.”

Henry groaned. “I just respect her, that’s all.”

“You idolize her,” Kate said with a chuckle. “Which is fair, I guess. If my mother-in-law had literally survived a plane crash and raised her best friend’s baby while being emotionally blackmailed by said best friend—”

“Kate.”

“— and still managed to bake snickerdoodles like it’s nothing—”

“ Catherine. ”

“—then yeah. I’d probably name all our kids after her, not just Jack.”

Henry sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, but he couldn’t help smiling now. “It’s just… she’s always been there . Through every broken bone, bad grade, college meltdown. I mean, yeah, Mom was there too, but it was Mama who sat with me when I had the flu in fifth grade and watched all three Lord of the Rings movies back-to-back without complaining once. Mama who hugged me every time Shauna and I fought. Mama who told me not to hold onto anger just because I was scared.”

Kate stood up, came around the table, and slid into his lap, arms wrapping gently around his shoulders. “You’re allowed to love her that much, Hen. I just think it’s funny when you try to pretend you don’t adore her.”

He buried his face in her shoulder, laughing quietly. “Oh please I'll always be second on that when Shauna’s the competition."

She leaned back and kissed his forehead. “Mama’s boy.”

Henry looked over to the bassinet where the twins were sleeping—Jack curled on his side, one hand resting on his brother's blanket.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “But I turned out okay.”

Kate smiled, stroking his hair. “You turned out perfect.”

 

 

---

When Callie stopped by the following afternoon, it was supposed to be a quick visit—just dropping off some old books for Kate, and to squeeze in a cuddle with her baby nephews (Callie was obsessed with the twins, especially Jack, which Kate often joked was more proof the kid took after his namesake).

Henry was rocking one of the twins in the living room when Callie wandered in, kicking off her boots and helping herself to a drink from the fridge like it was her own house. Kate was folding laundry at the kitchen table, the easy chaos of siblinghood humming in the air.

“So,” Kate said casually, shooting Callie a grin, “I told Henry the other night he’s a total mama’s boy.”

Callie didn’t even pause to process it. She burst out laughing so hard she nearly choked on the sip of LaCroix she’d just taken.

“Oh my God ,” she wheezed, doubling over, “you just figured that out?!”

Henry groaned from the other room. “Seriously? This again?”

Callie snorted, flopping into a kitchen chair. “Dude, everyone knows you’re Mama’s favorite.”

“I’m not her favorite,” Henry grumbled.

“You’re her first ,” Callie shot back. “And the only one she didn’t give birth to, which makes her all weirdly bonded to you like you're some kind of survival miracle baby—which, to be fair, you kind of are.”

Kate was loving this. “He got so offended when I said it. Acted like I accused him of a felony or something.”

“Because he’s in denial!” Callie said dramatically. “Like, do you know how many years Mama kept that hideous clay handprint thing he made in second grade on the mantel? Not even in the kitchen —on the mantel . Meanwhile, I won a regional science fair and the certificate was on the fridge for like two days before it disappeared.”

“I didn’t ask her to do that,” Henry muttered.

“You didn’t have to,” Callie said, grinning. “All you had to do was exist. She literally used to say, ‘Don’t touch Henry’s things, Callie,’ like your toys were made of glass.”

“She did not say that.”

“She so did. Ask Rylie.”

Kate laughed as she set down a neatly folded stack of onesies. “Honestly, it’s sweet. I hope our kids like me as much as Henry loves his mom.”

Callie leaned back in her chair with a smirk. “Oh, he doesn’t just love Mama. He worships the ground she walks on. He calls her when he’s sick before he calls you , Kate.”

“Okay—wow, betrayal,” Henry snapped, holding up a burp cloth in surrender.

“It’s not betrayal if it’s true ,” Callie said, then stood and wandered over to the twins. “Also, I’m 98% sure Mama has a photo album labeled ‘Henry’s Baby Years: My Miracle Boy.’ ”

“She does not—”

“She does. ”

Henry buried his face in his hands. Kate patted his shoulder in mock sympathy.

“You brought this on yourself, babe.”

Callie picked up baby Jack and smiled as he blinked up at her. “Honestly, I don’t blame you, though. If Mama loved me like she loved you, I’d probably name my kid after her too.”

Kate looked at Henry and wiggled her eyebrows. “Told you.”

And in that moment, Henry just sighed. Because maybe, just maybe … they weren’t entirely wrong.

Chapter 47: Shauna hates sharing her wife

Henry was only nine the first time he really understood what jealousy looked like.

It was subtle at first—the tight line of his mom’s jaw when someone reached out to touch Jackie’s stomach, or how she always found a reason to interrupt when friends or neighbors fawned over Jackie’s growing bump. Back then, he didn’t think much of it. Adults were weird sometimes. But as Jackie’s pregnancy with Callie progressed, it became unmistakable.

Everyone was excited—Jackie especially. It was her first pregnancy, a world away from the terrifying chaos of Henry’s birth out in the wilderness. She had ultrasounds, birthing classes, prenatal vitamins, a whole binder of baby names organized by syllable and meaning. Shauna had seemed just as thrilled—at first. She’d practically glowed when Jackie got the positive test after their third IUI attempt, her hand resting proudly over Jackie’s as they looked at the pink lines together.

But once Jackie began to show, something shifted.

Henry had seen it clearest that afternoon in late spring when Jackie was seven months pregnant. They were at a neighborhood barbecue in their new Boston suburb, and everyone kept coming up to Jackie like she was the guest of honor. Women would lean in to rub her belly without asking, smiling and laughing. Some of them even made comments about how “radiant” Jackie looked or how lucky the baby was to have her as a mom.

Shauna stood just behind Jackie most of the time, arms crossed, her eyes following every hand that reached out. She barely spoke, except to correct people when they slipped and said “Jackie’s baby.”

“It’s our baby,” she said more than once, her voice light but her eyes sharp.

But the moment Henry would never forget came when Jackie’s old college friend showed up—one of the few who had known them before the plane crash. She was warm and bubbly, and Jackie lit up when she saw her.

“Oh my God, look at you!” the woman gasped, placing both hands gently on Jackie’s bump. “You’re huge!”

Jackie laughed. “Don’t I know it.”

Henry was standing beside Shauna when it happened. He felt her body tense next to his before she stepped forward with a forced smile.

“We try not to comment on size,” Shauna said flatly, maneuvering herself between Jackie and the friend. “Jackie’s doing great. We’re focusing on health, not size.”

The woman blinked, a little taken aback, but laughed awkwardly and moved on.

Shauna didn’t move away.

Instead, she stayed pressed against Jackie’s side for the rest of the afternoon, one hand always resting protectively on her lower back or her belly, and anytime someone tried to reach for the bump, Shauna would shift to block it or redirect the conversation. She didn’t even let Deb —Jackie’s mother-in-law, who Jackie adored—get a proper touch in.

Henry had watched it all quietly, confusion stirring in his chest. He loved his mom, and she loved Jackie more than anyone in the world, but even at nine, he could tell something wasn’t right about the way she hovered.

It was more than protectiveness. It was… possessiveness. Like Jackie wasn’t just her partner—she was her territory . Henry saw the way Shauna’s eyes narrowed when someone made Jackie laugh too hard or hugged her a second longer than necessary. Even Henry felt the chill of it sometimes, especially when he sat curled into Jackie’s side on the couch or asked to sleep in her bed after a bad dream.

He didn’t understand all of it back then. Not until he was older. Not until he saw the patterns repeat themselves with every pregnancy, with every stranger who wanted a piece of Jackie’s warmth. Not until he realized just how long Shauna had been afraid that someone—anyone—might take Jackie away from her.

But that barbecue was the first time Henry truly realized his mom didn’t share well. Especially not when it came to his mama.

 

 

---

 

 

As Henry got older, Shauna’s possessiveness stopped being subtle. It wasn’t just the way she hovered around Jackie during pregnancies or bristled when strangers complimented her—by the time Henry had kids of his own, it became downright absurd.

He hadn’t really expected it to go away, not completely. He’d grown up watching it, understanding more of it with every passing year—the way Shauna’s need to be Jackie’s everything had seeped into the corners of their marriage like ivy, clinging and winding through the decades. But he thought that maybe, with time, it would soften. Maybe having grandkids would give her something new to focus on.

And for a while, it seemed like it might. Jackie was in her glory as a grandma. She visited every week after the twins were born, cuddling them, singing to them, slipping into Henry and Kate’s house like she belonged there. Shauna came too—at first. But she never held the babies for long. She always sat stiffly on the couch while Jackie cooed and kissed tiny foreheads, and Henry swore he could see the tension radiating off her in waves.

 

Henry first properly  noticed the tension one Saturday when he and Kate dropped the twins off at his parents house before heading to a wedding. Jackie was glowing with excitement, already on the floor with a playmat while Shauna lingered at the kitchen island, arms folded, watching with narrowed eyes.

“Are you going to be around today Babe?” Jackie asked over her shoulder. “I could use the extra hands with two of them.”

Shauna shrugged. “You’ve got it covered. Besides, you only seem to need me when there’s laundry.”

The bite in her tone wasn’t subtle.

Jackie blinked, clearly caught off guard. “I didn’t mean it like—”

“It’s fine,” Shauna cut in, already grabbing her water bottle and heading to her office. “Enjoy your grandbaby time.”

Henry exchanged a glance with Kate, both of them silently mouthing what was that? But neither said anything. Not yet

 

---

It all came to a head one Saturday afternoon when the twins were about six months old. They were having a quiet little family gathering—just Henry, Kate, the babies, and his parents. Jackie had one of the twins curled into her chest in the rocking chair, humming softly while the other napped in the bassinet.

Shauna would make comments like, "You know you’ve been holding them for almost an hour, right?" Or "Babe, you didn’t even hear me just now, did you?" whenever Jackie was too deep in baby mode to respond. She was helpful in her own way—Shauna always was when she wanted to be—but Henry started noticing how her "help" often included pulling Jackie away: suggesting she go fold laundry, or join her in the kitchen, or take a walk, even though Jackie clearly didn’t want to be anywhere but next to the twins.

It all came to a head one Saturday afternoon when the twins were about six months old. They were having a quiet little family gathering—just Henry, Kate, the babies, and his parents.  Henry walked into the living room from the nursery to find Shauna in the middle of what could only be described as a jealousy-fueled meltdown.

"You’ve barely looked at me since we got here," she said, voice low but sharp like a knife being honed on stone. "You’re here every morning before they even wake up. You’re here more than their actual grandmother."

Jackie blinked, caught in mid-bottle prep. "Shauna, they’re newborns. Henry and Kate haven’t slept properly in months. It's on my way from dropping Pop to school."

"I know that," Shauna snapped, but the look on her face said otherwise. “But I miss you . I feel like I don’t exist when they’re around.”

It would’ve been funny if it hadn’t been so painfully sad.

Henry stood frozen in the hallway, unseen, hearing his mother—his grown ass mother—angry because her wife was spending too much time with her grandsons . Jackie, to her credit, didn’t lose her temper. She just let out a quiet breath, set the bottle down, and walked over to Shauna.

“You do exist. You’re my wife. You’re the love of my life,” she said gently, cupping Shauna’s cheek. “But you have to let me be more than that too. I’m their grandma. I love them, just like you love me . That’s not something to be threatened by.”

Shauna,” Jackie said gently but firmly, “they’re babies Babies need attention. It’s not about favorites.”

Shauna didn’t reply. She just looked at Jackie with that same wounded expression she used to get when Jackie would rock a crying Rylie at 2 a.m. or when Henry clung to Jackie’s side after a scraped knee. It wasn’t just about the twins. It never was.

Henry backed away before they saw him. He didn’t want to intrude. And he didn’t want them to see the look on his face—the bitter twist of his mouth, the tightness in his chest.

Because once again, it came down to the same thing it always had: Jackie giving, and Shauna needing. Jackie pouring love into everyone, and Shauna clutching at her like it might disappear. He didn’t resent his mom exactly—not anymore—but moments like that made it achingly clear how hard Jackie had to work to love someone who had never truly learned to share her.

---

Later that night, when Jackie had gone upstairs with Kate to help settle the boys, Henry and Shauna found themselves alone in the kitchen.

“Mom,” Henry said quietly, “you know you don’t have to compete with your own grandkids for attention, right?”

Shauna didn’t look at him.

“She loves you,” he added. “You know that. But you can’t keep acting like the world stops turning when she gives anyone else attention.”

Shauna sighed, leaning against the counter. “You don’t understand. You never saw what it was like. Out there. After you were born—after everything—we only had each other. For so long.”

Henry softened, despite everything. “I get that. I really do. But that was over thirty years ago. You’ve got a whole family now, Mom. She doesn’t belong to just you. She’s her own person."

Shauna didn’t answer right away. Her eyes flicked toward the living room where the bassinet sat.

“I know,” she said eventually. But she didn’t sound convinced.

And Henry knew it would take more than words for her to ever be okay with sharing Jackie. Because Shauna had never really stopped living in survival mode. Even now, with five kids, two grandkids, a house full of noise and love—Shauna still clung to Jackie like she was the only thing keeping her grounded.

And maybe, for Shauna, she was.

 

Chapter 48: Shauna the name doctor

Names mattered more to Shauna than she liked to admit. For someone who didn’t believe in signs or fate, she approached the naming of her children with the careful precision of someone drawing battle lines—controlled, deliberate, and rooted in meaning she rarely explained out loud.

Except Henry..

Henry Taylor Shipman was the first and, in many ways, the strangest to name. There were no hospital forms. No late-night brainstorming sessions with baby name books and mugs of tea. No quiet debates over what “felt right.”

Henry was born in the woods, wrapped in torn flannel, and kept alive by sheer willpower and the fierce, relentless love of a girl who wasn’t even technically his mother.

Out in the wilderness, when everything felt like it was disintegrating, Shauna—newly postpartum, emotionally frayed, and physically battered—had no space left to give to a baby. She didn’t even want to hold him at first. So she gave him to Jackie and Jackie took him into her arms, fed him, rocked him, kept him warm, and named him. The name “Henry” had come out of nowhere. She’d always liked it. Solid, old-fashioned, warm. Reminded her of her fathers name Harold.

When they were rescued almost a year later, and the government stepped in with paperwork and questions, Shauna had been the one to take the clipboard and pen. She’d paused over the middle name line, looked at Jackie, and without asking, written Taylor.

It was one of the few times Shauna had honored Jackie’s role publicly, without conditions. She’d never told Jackie before that moment how much it had meant to her that she kept their baby alive, kept them alive. But she’d written “Taylor” and handed the form in without another word.

 

---

Caroline Marie Shipman—Callie—was another story entirely.

She was their second child, but the first born in a hospital. She was very planned. She was hoped for though for different reasons. She was the first baby conceived after they were safe, with IUI, and three rounds in, she was the charm.

Jackie carried her, but Shauna controlled the naming process from day one. She didn’t outright dismiss Jackie’s suggestions, but she guided the naming conversation with so much conviction that Jackie knew it wasn’t really a conversation at all. It wasn’t cruel—it was habit. After years of chaos and loss, naming the baby was one thing she could hold onto, something she could build. She chose “Caroline” for its strength. She gave her Marie , her own middle name, as if bestowing it would pass down something solid.

Jackie had smiled at the name, but she’d never called her Caroline. She’d started calling her Callie while she was still in the womb, like she needed to soften the edges, make the child feel more like hers.

 

---

 

With Rylie Grace, Jackie thought maybe she’d get a little more sway. This time, the baby was biologically hers—her egg, her body, her bloodline. Still, Shauna took the naming reins quickly.

Jackie, remembering how hard Callie’s newborn days were, hadn’t wanted another baby for a long time. But when Rylie came, everything about her—her temperament, her sleep habits, her easy joy—made her feel like a miracle.

One night in bed, belly round between them, she said, “I was thinking... maybe Rylie? After my grandmother. Her maiden name was O’Riley.”

Shauna, half-asleep, had grunted, “Fine. But I’m picking the middle.”

And truthfully? Rylie was such an easy baby, Shauna had no regrets giving up a little bit of control.  The “Grace” was also Jackie’s idea, and surprisingly, Shauna didn’t fight her on it. Maybe it was because Jackie had carried her, or maybe because Shauna could see how different this experience was. Rylie was the first baby biologically Jackie’s, and for that reason alone, Shauna gave a little more than she took.

Rylie adored Jackie, but she wasn’t clingy for Jackie's attention. Which was always a positive in shaunas books.

 

---

 

Evelyn Blair Shipman, or Evie, was a balancing act.

Jackie had been round as a pumpkin with her at just 30 weeks, and Shauna had taken over everything—school drop-offs, sports schedules, groceries, making sure Jackie never had to stand longer than ten minutes.

But when it came time to name her, Shauna once again took the wheel. Evelyn was regal. Old-world. She liked the way it looked in cursive. Jackie had wanted something else, softer, but she compromised. Evelyn was her Legal name but like callie Evie was never referred to as Evelyn unless she was in trouble. 

Shauna did let Jackie pick the middle name: Blair , Jackie’s own. A quiet acknowledgment that even if Jackie didn’t get to name the baby, she still got to have a contribution.

 

---

 

Penelope Rose Shipman also known as Poppy, was the last.

And for once, it was almost all Jackie.

Jackie had been begging to use the name Poppy since she was pregnant with Callie. Shauna had always shut it down—too cutesy, too whimsical, not serious enough for the world. Shauna would groan and say, “We’re not naming our daughter after a seed.”

But when Jackie almost died giving birth—after 55 hours of labor, emergency surgery, and enough blood loss to terrify even the seasoned OBs—Shauna would have agreed to anything. She would’ve named the baby Marshmallow if it meant Jackie would wake up.

When the doctors came out and said Jackie would be okay, and that the baby—healthy, squirmy, loud—was fine, Shauna had staggered into the nursery like a ghost. She didn’t look at the baby. She didn’t care about the baby, not yet. All she wanted was Jackie.

So when Jackie whispered Poppy, weak but alive in her hospital bed, Shauna nodded immediately. “Poppy,” she whispered back. “It’s perfect.”

She added Penelope for the birth certificate and Rose because it sounded soft and pretty and because Jackie loved roses.  Penelope to make it “respectable” in Shauna’s eyes, and Rose after Shauna’s mother’s maiden name, so she could feel like she hadn’t completely relinquished her power. But it was Poppy who stuck.

Poppy was a gift. A miracle. The baby who reminded them that life kept going, even when everything almost ended.

And when Shauna looked at her now—the way she trailed Jackie through the house like a duckling, with those same wide Taylor eyes—she couldn’t imagine calling her anything else.

Chapter 49: Like father like daughter

Summary:

Set in Spring 2007/2022

Henry-10/25

Henry was ten the first time he saw a photo of Mordecai Shipman.

He’d been spending a few days in New Jersey with his beloved Grandma Deb while his moms took Callie, still a baby at the time to a specialist for severe colic. Henry remembered that because even at ten, he was always watching them—his moms, the way they moved around each other like magnets, drawn close and then repelled if they bumped wrong.

He was helping Deb clear out a few old boxes in the basement. He liked helping her. She never rushed him, always let him ask questions, and never got impatient when he took forever flipping through old stuff.

That’s when he found the photo album. It was wedged between a stack of Shauna’s old school binders and a tangle of Christmas lights. He blew dust off the cover and opened it to find photo after photo of people he didn’t recognize—until he did.

There she was. His mom, maybe five or six years old, hair chopped unevenly, smiling a little crooked for the camera. Her eyes were familiar—they were his eyes. And beside her, resting a hand on her shoulder, was a man who looked so much like her… and so much like him.

The resemblance was unmistakable. It knocked the breath from his chest.

“Grandma,” he said, holding up the photo. “Who’s this?”

Deb hesitated at the foot of the stairs. For a moment, she didn’t answer, just looked at the photo, then at Henry.

“That’s… that’s Mordecai,” she said gently. “Your mother’s father.”

Henry looked down again, tracing the sharp lines of the man’s face. “He looks like me.”

Deb let out a slow sigh. “Yes. Yes, he does.”

At ten, Henry didn’t know what to do with that information. But it stuck with him. The way his mom always seemed a little more brittle when someone brought up their childhoods. The way she would go completely still if anyone asked about her parents.

---

It wasn’t until over fifteen years later—after Mordecai showed up at their door like a ghost with a second act in mind—that Henry heard the full truth.

He decided to come home for a long weekend instead of staying in his apartment downtown, mostly to get Jackie to do some of his laundry, but also to keep an eye on his mom, who had not been herself since word of Mordecai’s sudden death reached them a few weeks before.

Henry hadn't known but Mordecai had been reaching out for Shauna for months as his health deteriorated. His mom had refused contact, even when Shipman family members Shauna and Deb have not seen in over thirty years turned up at their door. She refused to go to the funeral and when Mordecai left Shauna money in his will she donated it to a local women's shelter instead. 

---

 

Late one night, Henry walked past the kitchen and heard voices—Deb and Jackie, deep in quiet conversation over mugs of tea. He knew better than to interrupt, but something in his mama's voice made him linger just outside the doorway.

“I think it rattled her more than she wants to admit,” Jackie said softly.

Deb nodded. “It did. She’s never forgiven him for leaving and now she’ll never have proper closure. But I think it’s more than that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Remember what I said to you before you guys left for brown.” Deb's voice was measured, careful.

Jackie was quiet for a beat. “Yes. How shauna reminded you of him”

“Yes,” Deb said. “Not in the way she loves —Shauna’s love for you is pure, Jackie, I want you to understand that. But...Kai…Mordecai had this need. A need to control everything. To steer the ship, even when it wasn’t his to steer. And when things didn’t go his way…”

“He’d shut down,” Jackie filled in, barely above a whisper.

“Or worse,” Deb added. “He could manipulate, twist things to his favor without ever raising his voice. He was charming—oh, you’d never know it if you didn’t live with him. He could convince anyone, even himself, that he was right. That he was good. And Shauna... I think she fights that in herself every single day.”

Henry stood frozen in the hallway, hand braced on the wall.

 

---

It hit him all at once—like a slow-burning truth that had been growing under his skin for years. His mother was her father's daughter .

He saw it in the way she organized their lives like a general preparing for war. The way she always had to have the final say, the way she couldn’t stand to be ignored or out of control. The way she treated Jackie like the sun, but couldn’t stop herself from trying to orbit around her with gravity that sometimes became too heavy.

He thought of how his mom lit up when Jackie gave her undivided attention. How she simmered when it was shared. How Henry had spent so much of his life dancing around her moods, trying not to set something off.

How, sometimes, he felt more like her reflection than her son—and how much that scared him.

He saw it in himself —in the way he took charge on group projects, the way he tried to lead even when he didn’t have to, the way he’d gotten into fights with Jackie during high school over how she “enabled” Shauna’s worst tendencies. And the way he resented it so much because it felt too close to home.

And yet—he also saw something Mordecai probably never had: awareness .

Shauna tried. Every day, she tried. She didn’t always succeed, but she knew . She loved fiercely. She apologized more now than she ever did when he was a kid. She worked on herself, through therapy, through her workouts in the basement gym, through hours of quiet conversations with Jackie long after everyone else had gone to bed.

Mordecai had shown up at their door a few years before with sunflowers and a second chance that he thought he was owed.

Shauna had built a home, a family, a life , brick by fragile brick, without anyone but Jackie to steady her hand.

So yes—she was her father’s daughter.

But she wasn’t him .

And Henry? He was her son.

He backed away from the hallway quietly, letting Deb and Jackie finish their conversation without him. Later that night, after he had smoked half a joint outside and passed by the living room, he saw Shauna curled up on the couch, flipping through a photo album.

She looked up at him, eyes soft but tired.

“Hey, kid.”

He hesitated for a second before he walked over and sat beside her. She tensed slightly, like she was bracing for something.

But Henry didn’t say anything. He just leaned his head against her shoulder. And for the first time in a long while, she leaned back.

 

Chapter 50: Harold and Lillian

Summary:

TW for ED talk

The Shipman kids always knew there was a distinct difference between visiting Grandma Deb and visiting the taylors .

Where Deb would greet them with open arms, warm cookies, and stories that somehow ended with laughing so hard someone snorted juice through their nose, Jackie’s parents were... different.

 

---

 

Henry noticed it first, when he was still pretty young. Maybe seven or eight. The way Lillian’s eyes never quite softened when she looked at him, how Harold would ask him stiff questions like he was a guest being interviewed rather than a grandson. They never missed a birthday for Jackie , but his? A card in the mail with a neat signature. No calls, no warmth.

He didn’t mind all that much at first. But as he got older, it started to get under his skin. Especially because he could see how hard Jackie tried—how she brushed off their disinterest in the kids, how she deflected every passive-aggressive comment they made about Shauna’s parenting or the chaos of their “nontraditional” household.

---

The air in Harold and Lillian’s house always felt a little too cold, the cushions too stiff, the smiles too tight. Formal, restrained, and always ever so slightly disapproving—especially when Shauna was in the room.

Henry, the oldest, picked up on it first. He noticed how Lillian's face would harden the second Shauna spoke, how Harold always looked just past her instead of at her, as if she were a smudge on the edge of a painting they didn’t want to acknowledge.

"I actually enjoy seeing them," Henry once muttered under his breath to Jackie after a particularly strained birthday brunch. "Watching Mom try not to flip the table is peak entertainment."

Jackie winced, but she couldn’t help the tiny smirk. Because Henry wasn’t wrong.

The Taylors had never liked Shauna. From day one, they’d seen her as a phase—a rebellion, a fallout from the trauma Jackie had endured in the wilderness, a detour from the life they’d envisioned for their only child. The fact that Jackie had not only stayed with Shauna but built a life and a family with her? That was, to Harold and Lillian, not just incomprehensible—it was offensive.

They never said anything directly —they were too polished for that. But their disapproval came in a thousand paper cuts: the way they refused to refer to Shauna as Jackie’s wife , opting instead for “your...partner”.

 

---

 

 

For her part, Shauna didn’t bother pretending to like Jackie’s parents. Not even a little. She had tried in the earliest years—back when Jackie still looked at her with a hope that said please, just this once, try. But Shauna was never one for falseness, and whatever shallow well of patience she once had for Harold and Lillian Taylor had dried up within the first five minutes of their first dinner together.

She could fake charm, of course. She did it for years—effortlessly and convincingly—at parent-teacher conferences, school board meetings, soccer fundraisers, and awkward kindergarten birthday parties with cliquey Boston moms. Her smile could be weaponized, her tone polished like marble. But Shauna reserved that act for when it mattered. For people she needed to impress or manipulate. For the sake of her kids’ place in the world.

With Harold and Lillian? She didn’t waste the calories.

She was polite, if you stretched the definition of the word. She answered questions with short, clipped replies. She rarely asked them anything in return. She never played host when they visited—Jackie did all the emotional lifting there. And while Jackie would beg her to just try, Shauna drew the line at humiliating herself for people who had never once looked at her as anything more than a stain on their daughter's otherwise “brilliant potential.”

Henry used to find it unbearable.

He’d sit at the table, an awkward tween, watching his mom pointedly ignore Harold’s passive-aggressive comments about discipline, or Lillian’s insistence that real schools didn’t give out participation trophies. He’d shift in his seat when Shauna would just raise a single brow, say nothing, and return to cutting her chicken like she was picturing each slice as a personal act of restraint. Jackie would smile too wide to overcompensate, laugh too loudly, and Henry—poor, young Henry—would pray for the meal to end.

But as he got older, he started to see the cracks in the whole thing—the way Lillian would purse her lips and Harold would bristle whenever Shauna spoke plainly. And instead of dreading it, Henry started to… enjoy it.

He'd smirk behind his glass of water watching his mom sit through one of Harold's condescending lectures about “how things used to be,” arms crossed, jaw tight, offering no more than a clipped “mm-hmm” in response.

When he was fourteen, Henry once muttered, “I think he thinks if he stares hard enough, you’ll vanish.”
Shauna didn’t even look up from her phone. “I’ve tried. No luck.”

 

---

When Harold made an offhand comment after they told Jackie's parents they were pregnant again with Evie“You really think five children is responsible, Jacqueline?”—Shauna put down her glass of wine, leaned back, and said, I’m always amazed at how you manage to speak so confidently about parenting, considering Jackie practically raised herself.”

Jackie’s hand gripped her thigh under the table. Tight. “Shauna.”

“Just saying,” she murmured without breaking eye contact.

She sipped her wine. Jackie kicked her under the table.

And Henry had to excuse himself from the room because he was laughing too hard to breathe.

---

By the time he was in college, he could barely wait for his grandparents to visit. Not because he wanted to see them, but because he’d sit next to Shauna at the table, both of them in on the same private joke—let’s see how long it takes to make Harold twitch. Shauna never said much. She didn’t have to. A well-timed smirk, a comment that barely skirted sarcasm, the way she reached for Jackie’s hand across the table and ran her thumb along her wedding band like a silent declaration: You lost. I won. She’s mine.

It was petty. And a little cruel.

But it was also Shauna’s version of self-preservation. These people had looked at her, at everything she and Jackie had built, at the life they made together—and decided it wasn’t enough. Not good enough. Not worthy. So no, she wasn’t going to pretend. She wasn’t going to grovel. Jackie might have needed that once, in her youth, but Shauna would be damned if her wife needed to beg for love in her own kitchen.

Henry understood that now. He saw the fire in his mom, the way she held her ground not just for herself—but for Jackie, too. And even if they still butted heads from time to time, especially over how she could steamroll when she wanted her way, Henry couldn’t help but admire her for it.

Because there was one thing no one could deny: Shauna Shipman never backed down when it came to the people she loved.

 

---

 

Henry, biologically Shauna’s, was barely tolerated. Callie—outspoken, chaotic, defiantly herself—was practically invisible to them. Lillian once told Jackie she “hoped Callie would outgrow her behavior,” which translated to stop being so much like Shauna.

Jackie, of course, noticed. But she had always been so desperate—at least for a time—to maintain some semblance of peace with her parents, especially after choosing a life they didn’t approve of. And Harold and Lillian never stopped making that disapproval clear. Jackie’s “lifestyle choices,” as they coldly phrased it, were beneath her .

They tolerated the girls who were biologically Jackie’s—Rylie, Evie, and eventually Poppy—a fraction more, but even that was tepid. There were no soft hugs or spontaneous babysitting offers. No warm invitations to spend the weekend. Just brittle smiles and forced, awkward small talk.

 

---

 

The only one of the kids who really ever tried to bridge the gap was Rylie. Sweet, eager-to-please Rylie, who’d sit next to Lillian and ask questions about her china collection or compliment her sweater. It never got her more than a tight-lipped “Thank you, dear,” and a vague nod. Rylie eventually stopped trying.

Evie just stuck with Jackie, curling into her lap during visits and glaring openly at her grandparents like they were teachers who had taken her recess away. And Poppy, thankfully, was still too little to notice the tension, still blissfully unaware that the nice old people in the corner didn’t really see her at all.

Shauna always stayed civil. Not out of respect, but for Jackie.

And Henry—who had inherited his mom’s protectiveness and his other mom’s fire—would always go, not for Harold and Lillian, but for Jackie . Because if there was one thing they all agreed on, even the stone-faced grandparents with their passive-aggressive sighs and white wine, it was that Jackie Shipman was something special.

---

And yet, despite everything, Jackie’s heart still ached when it came to her parents. No matter how loved she was at home, no matter how deeply Shauna and the kids adored her, some part of her—the quiet, hurting part shaped by years of striving for approval—still longed to hear her father say he was proud of her, still wished her mother would look at her without a flicker of disappointment in her eyes.

Shauna had always known this. From the very beginning, she’d recognized how deep those wounds ran. And over the years, she had manipulated those feelings gently but deliberately—not to isolate Jackie from her parents, but to buffer her from them. She did it through constant reinforcement, through the way she made Jackie feel adored, chosen, safe . She made sure Jackie didn’t need her parents' approval to feel whole, because she had a home—she had Shauna . And while the ache remained, it didn’t define Jackie anymore. Not the way it once had when she was a teenager, crumpling under the weight of her parents' expectations.

“You don’t need them,” Shauna had said once, quietly, after another stilted dinner where Lillian spent the entire time talking about the neighbors’ daughter who was now a surgeon.

“I know,” Jackie had whispered back. “But sometimes I still want them to be proud of me.”

Shauna didn’t argue. She just reached for Jackie’s hand and held it under the table, her thumb brushing the familiar curve of Jackie’s wedding band.

In the Shipman house, family was not defined by biology or approval. It was loud, messy, deeply loyal, and sometimes chaotic—but it was chosen. And while Harold and Lillian might never understand that, never see the life their daughter had built as worthy of pride, Shauna and the kids saw it every single day.

 

---

 

Jackie had long since stopped flinching when her mother commented on her appearance—but that didn’t mean the words ever stopped echoing.

It was subtle, insidious. Lillian Taylor had never yelled.  Lillian hadn’t been outwardly cruel, not in a way that left visible bruises. But the constant reminders to "stand up straight," the quiet judgments disguised as compliments ("You look so much better when your cheekbones show, sweetheart"), and the disapproving glances at dinner plates had carved deep grooves into Jackie’s self-image.  Her obsession with Jackie’s weight began long before Jackie ever cared about either—little jabs dressed as concern, compliments with razor edges.

“You’d be so pretty if you just… watched what you ate.”

“That dress clings in the wrong places, sweetheart.”

And, most infamously “Those big eyes of yours—your father calls them endearing, but I think they’re too much for your face.”

They were Jackie’s first shame.

By the time Jackie was sixteen, she’d internalized every one of those rules like gospel. She knew to hide food wrappers deep in the trash, how to pick at lettuce in front of her mother like it was a feast, how to cinch her belt just right so it looked like she’d lost a pound or two. She didn’t call it disordered then—it was just what you did when your mother’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly at the curve of your hips.

Worse than anything was the way Lillian would speak to others about Jackie in the third person, right in front of her. “Jackie’s always had such a sweet tooth,” she’d say with a faux fondness. “It’s her little weakness.”

The crash, in a twisted way, broke her of it. Surviving on scraps, on whatever meager rations the wilderness gave her, shifted Jackie’s relationship to her body in a way Lillian never could have predicted. Her body became something she didn’t just exist in—it was something she had to trust . Her body kept her alive. It endured.

And Shauna—complex, coiled Shauna—she had never once cared what Jackie looked like. Not like Lillian did. If anything, Shauna got angry when Jackie diminished herself.

“She called your eyes bug eyes ?!” Shauna had snapped once, when Jackie let the memory slip after too many glasses of wine. “They’re the most beautiful part of your face. They’re huge because they see everything. That woman wouldn’t recognize beauty if it stared at her in the damn mirror.”

 

---

 

Shauna would never admit it—not out loud—but it killed her, watching Jackie shrink herself around her own parents. Watching Jackie accept crumbs of affection while giving them so much grace in return. Shauna, who had clawed her way through life for even a sliver of love, wanted to throttle them every time they acted like Jackie wasn’t the backbone of an entire family.

She never forced the issue—not directly. She insisted on sit-down dinners, on full plates, on snacks in the car when Jackie got too busy with the kids. When Jackie deflected, Shauna simply... didn't let her. She made it a shared ritual. Made it about love. About them .

And when Jackie protested that she was fine, that it wasn’t a big deal, that it was “just how she’d always been,” Shauna would look at her with this quiet fire in her eyes and say, “That’s not how you have to be.”

It was Shauna who gently encouraged Jackie to go to therapy after one particularly bad Christmas, who offered to watch the kids during sessions, who would sit outside in the car with a coffee so Jackie didn’t feel alone when she came out, puffy-eyed but lighter. It was Shauna who, over time, replaced judgment with security, rules with kindness, shame with understanding.

Jackie still struggled sometimes. She always would. A lifetime of conditioning doesn’t just evaporate. But now, when she caught herself counting calories or skipping lunch, she had Shauna’s voice in her head—firm, unyielding, loving: Eat. You deserve to take up space. You survived. You’re allowed to be full.

The Taylor family might never recognize the quiet war Jackie fought every day to stay kind to her own body, to nourish herself without guilt. But the Shipman house did. It was why Shauna kept a kitchen stocked with Jackie's favorite granola bars, why Rylie would sneak extra chocolate chip cookies into Jackie’s tea tray, why Poppy climbed into her lap with a PB&J and insisted she take a bite. And why Callie, with her perfect teenage defiance, once turned to Jackie and said, “Mom’s crazy, but she’s right about one thing. You’re the prettiest when you eat french fries.”

That made Jackie laugh. And that —those tiny, healing moments—were what made it hurt less. What made it possible to see her mother without being undone. What made the ache manageable instead of paralyzing.

 

---

 

Still, it made her stomach twist every time Lillian would glance at the girls and say something like, “Rylies eyes are just like yours—though maybe they’ll grow into them more than you did.”

It always stung. Always. And every time, Shauna would squeeze Jackie’s hand under the table, her jaw tight, and say something deliberately defiant, like: “Yeah, they’ve all got Jackie’s eyes. Lucky little bastards.”

Lillian never responded. She rarely did. But Jackie noticed how her mother always seemed critical about Evie, Rylie, and Poppy. Never outright cruel, but distant. Dismissive.

And perhaps that’s what hurt most of all. That the cycle was trying, in some quiet way, to start again.

But Shauna wouldn’t let it. Jackie wouldn’t either—not anymore.

Her daughters would grow up with big, expressive eyes and no shame attached to them. They would love food without guilt. They’d never think their value hinged on a number or a dress size. Shauna made sure of it, fiercely. And Jackie—though it took time—learned to believe it, too.

The ache for her parents' approval remained, especially on long, quiet nights when the girls were asleep and the house was still. But it no longer ruled her. She had something stronger now.

And she looked out to her living room at Shauna, who was rolling her eyes while trying not to laugh as Evie poured glitter glue onto Callies old science project; at Henry, who was half-asleep on the couch after a long week at work; at Poppy gumming on her teething ring while Rylie played peek-a-boo with her on the floor.

The ache for her parents' approval remained, especially on long, quiet nights when the girls were asleep and the house was still. But it no longer ruled her. She had something stronger now. She had her family. 

Notes:

Ya'll are reading my mind

Chapter 51: Sickness call

Shauna was absolutely miserable .

It had started with a scratchy throat a few nights before, but by the time Jackie was zipping up Callie’s duffel and reminding Rylie to pack socks that actually matched , Shauna was a sneezing, sniffling, half-human blob of grump curled on the couch. She was miserable. Her head throbbed. Her nose wouldn’t stop running. And worst of all, Jackie wasn’t here. Jackie had left that morning with Callie and Rylie for a mini college tour—a few campuses around Boston that Callie was considering. Shauna had tried to rally, tried to insist she could come despite the cold, but Jackie kissed her forehead and said, “You’re not walking around in the rain sneezing on admissions officers. You’re staying home. With backup.”

Backup had turned out to be a smug Evie, who proudly told her mama as they left, “I’ll keep Mom alive.”

“She means hostage,” Shauna muttered into her tissue.

Jackie had crouched beside her that morning, warm hand on her knee, voice overly cheerful. “I know you’re not feeling great, but I really need to take the big kids to the tour. Callie’s finally excited about college. Rylie’s just in it for the merch and snacks. You ”—she smiled too sweetly—“get to stay home and rest with Evie and Poppy. They’ll take great care of you.”

Shauna groaned. “You’re ditching me with the gremlins.”

Jackie kissed her temple. “It’s not ditching , it’s called Divide and conquer.  we need to be strategic.”

It was not strategic. It was sabotage.

 

---

 

Evie was currently in the kitchen talking to her cereal and giving it a dramatic backstory involving a unicorn cult, while Poppy was climbing the back of the couch and trying to braid Shauna’s hair with a plastic fork. Shauna didn’t even have the energy to redirect them. She pulled a throw blanket over her head and let Poppy nest in her lap while Evie narrated a soap opera about milk.

All Shauna wanted was her bed. And Jackie. And soup. And Jackie making soup. Maybe spoon-feeding it to her while whispering sweet nothings. Was that too much to ask?

Apparently, yes.

Because the knock at the door almost made her scream.

Evie popped her head around the hallway corner like a meerkat. “Mom! Someone’s at the door!”

Shauna didn’t move. “Just ignore it Eves.”

“Can I open it?”

“No.”

But Evie had already scampered off. Shauna groaned and hoisted herself up, Poppy attached to her like a barnacle. She shuffled after her daughter, coughing into her elbow, and pulled the door open with the resigned dread of someone being handed jury duty while actively on fire.

And there they were.

Misty. And Nat.

 

---

 

Shauna blinked. “Oh, hell no.”

Misty gave her that unnerving, eager grin, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Hi, Shauna! You look... sick. And also annoyed! But we really need to talk.”

Shauna stepped halfway into the doorway, blocking the view into the house, her eyes narrowing. “Unless you're here with my wife or to bring me penicillin and a shovel to bury you with, now is not the time.”

Nat looked... tired. Older than Shauna remembered. “It’s about the postcard. The one we all got a few weeks ago.”

Shauna’s expression didn’t flicker.

Misty didn’t miss a beat. “You did get one, didn’t you? I mean, we all did. It’s probably nothing! Or maybe it’s something. We should talk about what it might mean.”

Shauna's jaw tightened.

She’d gotten the postcard two weeks ago. She knew exactly what they were talking about. The same anonymous scribble they’d all received—no return address, just a drawing of the old symbol, the wilderness calling back like a ghost that wouldn’t stay buried. She hadn’t even let herself read it twice. She tossed it straight into the fireplace and watched it curl into ash.

Because she knew . She knew Jackie couldn’t see it. Jackie, whose trauma was quieter, more internalized. Shauna would burn down the world to keep her safe from going back there—mentally, emotionally, physically.

She crossed her arms, leaning into the doorframe. “What postcard?”

Misty blinked, genuinely stunned. “You didn’t get one?”

“Maybe you hallucinated it,” Shauna said. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Nat gave her a look. “Cut the shit. We know you got it.”

“I thought maybe Jackie—” Misty began.

Shauna cut her off with one sharp look. “She didn’t see it. Because we didn’t get one. And if you say a single word to her or my kids or even breathe in their direction, I will make sure the only postcard you get next is from hell.”

Nat looked vaguely impressed. Misty’s smile faltered just a fraction, but she wasn’t good at reading the room. 

“You don’t get to be done , Shauna,” Misty said, too brightly. “None of us do.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Shauna said, and her tone dropped cold. “I do . And I’m choosing to be done. Whatever weird delusional scavenger hunt you’re on? Leave me and my family out of it.”

Misty opened her mouth again, but Shauna had had enough.

“Look, I’m sick. My toddler’s climbing furniture. Jackie’s not here to stop me from being rude. So I’m gonna say this one more time: fuck. off.”

And with that, she slammed the door shut, locking it.

She stood there a moment, heart pounding a little harder than she’d admit—more from the familiar twinge of fear than from anger. That symbol. That goddamn symbol. Even in ash, it had haunted her for days.

She walked back into the living room, pulled Poppy into her lap, and sat down with a heavy sigh. She missed Jackie. She needed her anchor. She needed her quiet calm. Her hands. Her warmth.

---

 

By the time Jackie returned later that night, flush from a long day of walking campuses and corralling Callie’s big opinions (Jackie had to redirect her daughter more than once away from the Sorority buildings), Shauna was curled on the couch again with Poppy asleep on her chest and Evie building some sort tower out of  magnetic tiles on the floor.

“How are you feeling?” Jackie asked gently, brushing her fingers over Shauna’s hair.

“Alive. Barely,” Shauna murmured. “But so much better now your here.”

Then Evie piped up, “Mom we had visitors while you were gone,” Jackie looked up curiously.

“Salespeople,” Shauna said, too fast. “Tried to get me to change internet providers.”

Jackie raised an eyebrow. “In person? On a Saturday?”

Shauna shrugged. “Desperate times babe.”

She felt Jackie’s eyes on her for a long moment. But then Jackie just leaned down and kissed her forehead. “You still feel like a furnace,” she murmured. “Come to bed. I’ll get the girls to brush their teeth.”

From across the room, Evie perked up. “They weren’t! It was a weird lady who looks like she eats glue!”

Jackie blinked. “What?”

Shauna didn’t miss a beat. “Evie, that was what we saw on the tv. You know what shes like wen she’s tired.”

Jackie narrowed her eyes but let it go.

Shauna didn’t sleep much that night. Not because of her cold. Not even because Poppy who had snuck into their bed again kicked in her sleep. But because the postcard still echoed in her brain.

And because for the first time in a long while...
She was scared again.

Chapter 52: Mama's boy

The night little Henry was born, the sky outside the cabin was an ink-stained shroud, heavy with snow and silence. The forest held its breath, but inside the attic, the air was thick with heat, sweat, and blood.

Shauna had screamed through the pain with teeth bared and eyes blank, her fingers digging into the wooden floor like she was trying to claw her way out of her own body. When the baby finally came, his first cries cutting through the quiet like a blade, Shauna just stared.

There was no rush of joy. No warmth. Just exhaustion.

The others had hovered, silent and wide-eyed. Misty cooed over him. Lottie murmured something about blessings and strength. But Jackie was the only one Shauna looked at.

And when she did, her eyes were wild.

“Take him,” she rasped. “Please. Just take him.”

Jackie blinked, stunned. “Shauna—”

“I can’t… I don’t want to. I can’t do this. Please.” Her voice cracked, her arms limp at her sides. She wouldn’t even look at the baby. “He’s yours now.”

And Jackie, still unsure if the last few weeks had been a fever dream or a quiet, impossible love finally revealed, couldn’t say no.

Because when Shauna gave someone her vulnerability, she did it like a dare. Like it was dangerous.

And Jackie had always been the only one who knew how to catch what Shauna couldn't carry.

So she took the baby.

Wrapped him tight. Held him to her chest. Stared at his squished, red face and felt her heart twist with something she didn’t expect. He was warm and real and entirely dependent on them.

Shauna barely glanced at him again. She lay back, eyes closed, trembling. “Name him.”

“What?”

“I don’t want to. You do it,” Shauna mumbled. “Please, Jackie. Just do it.”

So Jackie, blinking back exhaustion and something sharp and new in her chest, whispered, “Henry. His name is Henry.”

And that was it.

Shauna didn’t even react.

That night, Jackie was alone with him.

The fire flickered low. Shauna slept, turned away from them both, curled in on herself like she was vanishing.

And Henry—tiny, angry, confused Henry—wailed into the night, his cries high and desperate and wet.

Jackie rocked him, bouncing slightly on the edge of the attic’s mattress, tears stinging her eyes from exhaustion. “Shh, hey—it’s okay, Henry, I’m here, I’ve got you,” she whispered, voice cracking. “I don’t know what I’m doing. God, I don’t even know who I am anymore, but you’re okay. You’re okay.”

He didn’t calm right away. It took hours.

But eventually, he quieted. Fell asleep against her chest, a tiny bundle of heat and heartbeat.

Jackie looked down at him, felt the ache in her arms, the emptiness in her stomach, the weight of everything Shauna had just laid on her. Take him. Name him. He’s yours now.

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t right.

But it was Shauna. Always a little cruel. Always a little desperate. And always so tangled up in Jackie she couldn’t tell love from survival.

Jackie stroked Henry’s dark hair and looked at Shauna, sleeping just feet away but already worlds apart.

“I’ll do this,” she whispered. “I’ll do it for you.”

 

---

All the Shipman kids knew one unshakable truth: their Mama had a soft spot for Henry.

Jackie would never say she had a favorite—she was too fair, too careful with her words, too much the peacekeeper to admit it. But actions spoke louder than words, and in the chaos of the Shipman household, Henry always had a quieter lane carved out just for him.

He was her first, and while she hadn’t given birth to him, Henry had been hers in a way none of the others could touch. She was the one who kept him alive in the wilderness, the one who cradled him against her chest through freezing nights, who fed him when Shauna was too shaken, too broken, too traumatized to function. She bathed him in river water and shielded his ears from the sound of people dying. She was barely more than a teenager herself, and yet, for nearly two years, Henry had been her entire world. 

Shauna was his biological mother, but everyone knew—especially Shauna—that Jackie was the one who raised him first.

Maybe that’s why Henry could always get away with more than the others. Jackie was harder on Callie, firmer with Rylie, and Evie had her hands full being the baby before Poppy came. But with Henry? Jackie’s voice always softened, even when he pushed boundaries. Her disappointment in him hurt more than any punishment she could dole out, and he knew it. It was How she always remembered the tiniest details of his schedule, how she never missed a soccer game, a presentation, a single award ceremony growing up—even when she was nine months pregnant with Rylie. It was how she always had his favorite snacks waiting in the pantry when he came home from Brown, how she folded his laundry herself even when he was fully capable of doing it on his own, how her arms always stayed open to him longer than the others.

When he left for college, Jackie cried for a week. Not dramatically—Jackie never did anything dramatically—but her sadness hung in the air. She kept his room exactly as he’d left it, even though Callie tried to move in twice. She mailed him care packages that weighed more than most carry-ons and sent him photos of the girls with captions like Your sisters are feral, save me.

And when Henry called home? No matter how tired she was, no matter what was going on with the other kids, Jackie answered on the first ring.

The other kids would joke about it sometimes. Callie was the most vocal, of course.

“Tell me again how you don’t have favorites, Mama,” she once said, arms crossed, watching Jackie cut Henry the biggest slice of pie at Thanksgiving.

Jackie didn’t even flinch. “I don’t have favorites,” she said calmly. “I just know who appreciates dessert the most.”

Henry winked across the table. Callie groaned.

But even Rylie, the easy middle child who usually let things slide, once muttered, “Mama glows when Henry walks through the door.”

And it was true.

When Henry came home—whether from college or eventually from his job in New York—Jackie lit up in a way that was hard to ignore. Not because she didn’t love her daughters with the same fierce devotion, but because Henry had been hers first. He had been the baby that proved she could be a mother, long before she’d ever carried a child of her own.

Jackie adored all her children. She could comfort a sobbing toddler with a song, wrangle three different school schedules without blinking, and juggle a toddler on her hip while helping with math homework. But Henry? Henry was her proof. Of survival. Of love. Of resilience.

He was her first heartbeat in the wilderness.

And the others knew. They might grumble about it now and then, but deep down, they understood. Because in the Shipman household, no love was ever diminished just because it was shared. It was layered, tangled, fierce—and a little uneven at times.

But it was always real.

 

---

 

It became a running joke in the Shipman house how Jackie didn’t like any of Henry's girlfriends. Not the sweet cheerleader from High school, not the pre-law student from Providence, not the girl with the overly curated Instagram feed who Jackie swore only dated Henry for his good hairline.

“She’s not right for him,” Jackie would mutter to Shauna everytime henry brought a girl home.

“No one is right for him in your eyes Jacks,” Shauna would sigh, massaging her temples. “If you had your way he would be single forever.”

Even the younger kids caught on.

“Another one bites the dust,” Callie would whisper dramatically each time a girlfriend’s visit ended in icy silence and awkward goodbyes.

But then came Kate.

The first time Henry mentioned her, Jackie didn’t say much—just a polite nod, a quiet hum. She didn’t ask for a photo. She didn’t make her usual list of skeptical questions. She played it cool.

Too cool.

So when Henry announced he was bringing Kate home for dinner, Jackie spent three hours cooking. She even wore lipstick. Shauna clocked it immediately.

“You’re nervous,” she teased, watching Jackie try on her third blouse.

“I just want to make a good impression,” Jackie muttered.

Shauna smirked. “You’re acting like you’re the one dating her.”

When Kate finally arrived, Henry looked happy. Really happy. And, to be fair, Kate was sweet. Kind. Polite. Not fake polite—real polite. She asked Jackie about her volunteer work with the local school district, helped Evie set the table, and laughed at Rylie’s weird jokes without even glancing at her phone.

But Jackie? Jackie was a statue through the entire meal, her smile a little too tight, her questions a little too pointed. She watched Kate like a hawk, trying to decode every word that left her mouth.

Later that night, as they cleaned the kitchen, Shauna nudged her and whispered, “Well?”

“She’s… okay,” Jackie said coolly. “I mean, she’s fine.”

Shauna raised a brow. “You’re terrified.”

Jackie glared. “I am not.”

But she was. Terrified in the way only a mother could be—terrified of letting go of the child she’d spent over two decades protecting, terrified that someone else might take up that mantle and not carry it right. She was scared of Henry growing up. Of him being truly gone in a way he never had been before.

But Kate didn’t disappear. She stayed. She came back again. And again. And little by little, Jackie began to soften.

It was subtle at first, sweet potatoes at dinner because “Kate mentioned she liked them,” then letting Kate borrow one of her cardigans when it got chilly on the porch. Eventually, Jackie started talking to Kate one-on-one, slowly, cautiously. And one day, when Henry and Kate had been dating for over a year, Jackie caught herself saying, “Tell Kate to come early. I need help with the veg.”

That’s when Shauna knew: Jackie liked her. Really liked her.

 

---

 

There were only a few times in Henry Shipman’s life when he willingly and openly asked his mom, Shauna, for advice. Most of the time, they circled each other like oil and water—same temperament, same stubborn streak, both needing to be right, both convinced they knew best. It had made for a rocky adolescence and a somewhat distant early adulthood, though the love between them had never truly frayed.

But there was something different about that day.

Henry was 29, living in a condo downtown, working as a attorney while Kate finished up her master’s in family law. They’d been dating for almost four years by then. Everyone in the Shipman family knew a proposal was coming. Jackie was already researching venues. Callie was mocking up color palettes for a wedding that didn’t technically exist yet. Rylie and Evie were quietly fighting over who would be a bridesmaid, and little Poppy kept asking if she could wear a “sparkle dress” when Henry and Kate got married.

But Henry hadn’t proposed yet.

And for the first time in a long time, he turned to Shauna for advice.

He called her on a Wednesday and asked if they could grab lunch. Not with his mama just her. That alone was enough to make Shauna pause. He never called her first and now he wanted to have lunch with her. She drove into the city without asking questions, nervous the entire ride in.

They met at a little deli near his office. Shauna was already suspicious—it wasn’t his usual place, and he was sitting there nervously tapping his fingers on the table when she arrived.

He didn’t say much at first, just small talk and half-hearted jokes. But eventually after a sandwich, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small, velvet box, setting it on the table between them.

Shauna raised an eyebrow. “You finally going to ask her?”

Henry nodded slowly, but didn’t open the box. “I bought the ring two months ago. I’ve just been… sitting with it for the last week.”

Shauna didn’t push. She waited. 

After a beat, Henry finally said, “I want to do it right. I don’t want to screw it up. I know I will—I’ll forget the words or I’ll pick the wrong spot or she’ll know it’s coming a mile away. But I don’t want it to be wrong.”

Shauna softened in a way few people ever saw. “It won’t be wrong, kid. If it’s from you and she loves you—that’s the only part that matters.”

He looked down at the box again. “When did you know? With Mama?”

Shauna blinked. “I always knew. I just took too long to admit it to myself and that almost cost me everything.”

Henry didn’t say anything, but his eyes flicked up to meet hers. It was one of those rare, unspoken moments between them—when all the tension and years of friction melted into something simple and real.

“I was terrified,” Shauna continued. “When I proposed to your mama? My hands were shaking so bad I almost dropped the ring twice. I was sweating in places I didn't even know I could. But none of that mattered in the Because she said yes.”

Henry cracked a small smile. “You two made it look easy.”

Shauna let out a quiet laugh. “It wasn’t. It isn’t. Loving someone—being with them for the long haul—it’s not easy. But it’s worth it. Your mama? She’s my world. Even when I make a mess of things, she’s still there even when i don't deserve her forgiveness. You have that with Kate, don’t let it go.”

Henry looked down at the box again, then back up. “Thanks, Mom.”

Shauna blinked at the word. Mom, not Shauna—not said with teenage venom or detached distance. Just soft, quiet, and sincere.

It caught her off guard.

“You’re welcome, kiddo.”

That night, when she got home, she told Jackie what happened. And Jackie, without even trying to hide it, got misty-eyed and murmured, “He asked you for advice?”

Shauna grinned. “Don’t get jealous now.”

“I’m not,” Jackie lied.

But she was—just a little. Because as much as she adored Henry and he adored her, there was something meaningful in the fact that, for one of the biggest decisions of his life, he went to Shauna. The woman who created him, clashed with him, and still stood by him, even when the two of them seemed worlds apart.

Two weeks later, Henry proposed to Kate in the Boston Public Garden—Jackie’s favorite spot in the city to take Henry as a kid.

Shauna never told anyone, but the ring Henry picked?

It looked just enough like Jackie’s second one to make her heart ache.

Chapter 53: Goose the cat

Summary:

Set in early 2025

Henry-28
Callie-18
Rylie-13
Evie-8
Poppy-3

If Shauna Shipman had to give just one piece of parenting advice, it would be this:

Never have a funeral for a cat unless you're absolutely sure it's dead.

She would know. She'd lived through it. Barely.

It all started when their cranky, 13-year-old cat, Goose —who Callie had brought home from a volunteer shelter project with school as a “joke” four years ago (a joke that turned into a long-term adoption thanks to Jackie’s soft heart and Shauna’s inability to say no to her wife)—suddenly went missing.

At first, no one thought anything of it. Goose was notoriously independent, a cat who could disappear for hours and return smelling like the neighbor’s gardenias or the inside of a pizza box. She was also sneaky, a slipper-silent little shadow with a knack for hiding in the most absurd places. (Once, they found her asleep inside a closed dresser drawer. Another time, curled up in the dryer. The family now checked the appliances before use out of sheer survival.)

But after three days of no sightings, no food missing from her bowl, and zero signs of her usual mischief, the house was in panic mode.

“Three, Mom,” Evie had declared, eyes big and serious. “It’s been three days . I counted.”

Shauna had been forced by her eight and three year old to spend two of those three days turning the entire house upside down looking for the damn cat. Closets, cupboards, under beds, behind the dryer—nothing. Not even a stray whisker. 

She was forced to climb halfway into the attic vent with a flashlight, cursing under her breath while muttering things like, “If I die looking for a cat that doesn’t even like me, I want that written on my headstone.”

Evie, eight years old and a bundle of dramatic flair, declared solemnly, “Goose is dead. I can feel it.” Poppy, three years old and determined to be taken seriously, crossed her arms and echoed, “Dead.”

Jackie, trying to stay rational but holding back tears, said gently, “Honey, she might just be hiding.”

“She’s dead , Mama,” Poppy insisted, with the finality of a toddler who’d recently learned what that meant. “We need to do a funeral. With snacks.” Jackie had tried to remain calm, but even she looked worried by day three.

And that was when Evie and Poppy the next morning entered the kitchen dressed in black sweaters and paper hats they’d made with Sharpie-drawn crosses on them, announced Goose was dead.

“Gone to heaven,” Poppy whispered solemnly, petting Jackie’s arm. “With the battery she swallowed that one time.”

“I saw a feather yesterday,” Evie added helpfully. “She probably turned into a bird.”

Shauna just rubbed her temples.

Of course, the next logical step—according to Poppy and Evie—was a funeral. A proper funeral . Which meant, apparently, heart-shaped waffles , because “Goose liked hearts.”

“She liked expensive tuna,” Shauna argued.

“She liked love ,” Evie shot back.

So, against Shauna’s better judgment and largely because she was emotionally exhausted and slightly terrified of how far Evie was willing to go with her grief planning (there was already talk of a slideshow), the Shipman family set about organizing a cat funeral.

So there they were, mid-morning on a Saturday, standing in their backyard garden with a framed photo of Goose (printed off Shauna’s work printer), a stack of Jackie’s first attempt at heart waffles, and a homemade shoebox coffin filled with Goose’s favorite toys. Callie who had come home from college for the weekend just for this had dramatically read a eulogy she wrote on her phone (“She was a feminist. She hated men. A true icon.”), and Rylie had played “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” on her ukulele, because of course she did.

Henry, who had walked into this last minute after her had just come to drop off his mama's favourite bagels, stood off to the side, holding a mug of coffee and muttering, “This family is unhinged.” Bodie the dog sat at Shauna's feet very confused at what was happening.

Halfway through the ceremony—Evie reciting a poem she definitely copied from a picture book, Poppy sobbing about how Goose was her “bestest friend since birth”—Shauna, sitting on the outdoor couch trying not to lose it, heard it.

A small, unmistakable meow.

At first, she froze. Maybe it was a ghost. Maybe she was hallucinating. She’d been so tired lately.

But then she heard it again.

“Okay,” she said, freezing in place, “either I’m being haunted, or that cat’s alive.”

And sure enough, waddling casually out from under the back deck like she’d just returned from a luxurious spa retreat, came Goose. Completely unbothered. Tail high. Looking at them like they were the ones being dramatic.

The kids screamed. Callie shrieked like she was watching a horror movie. Poppy burst into tears, wailing, “ She’s a ghost! ” while Evie declared, “She came back because she smelled the waffles.”

Shauna couldn’t take it. She looked at Jackie, who was just standing there frozen, the corner of her mouth twitching.

“I can’t,” Shauna said. “I’m going to lose it.”

“Go,” Jackie whispered. “I’ll handle this.”

They both turned and bolted into the house, barely making it up to their bedroom before collapsing in laughter. Shauna had to hold onto the dresser to keep from falling over. Jackie was doubled over, wiping tears from her face.

“I made heart waffles for a cat funeral, ” Jackie gasped. “I googled how to make them, Shauna!”

“Our kids—planned a memorial service for a cat who was probably under the neighbors deck the whole time.”

Shauna wheezed harder. “And they wrote poems ! I had to listen to our kids deliver an elegy about a cat who couldn’t care less if we lived or died!”

“I wrote a eulogy! ” they heard Callie shout from the backyard. “I felt feelings!”

Shauna finally sat down, catching her breath. “New rule,” she said. “No funerals without a body .”

Jackie nodded, eyes sparkling. “Agreed.”

From that day on, any time chaos broke loose in their house—and it did often—Shauna would just mutter, “At least it’s not another Goose funeral.”

And Goose?

She spent the rest of her life exactly how she wanted—being hand-fed tuna, napping in Jackie’s lap, and pretending not to remember the time she nearly gave the entire Shipman family a collective breakdown.

Chapter 54: Chaos Fashion

Having kids five years apart, Shauna once thought—naively, optimistically—would make things easier . More manageable. Logical, even.

“We’ll save money on clothes,” she’d told Jackie during Jackie’s second pregnancy. “We’ll have everything we need. We’ll just rotate it down.”

Oh, how wrong she was.

Five kids and fifteen years into parenthood, Shauna has learned— painfully —that the five-year gap between each child is not a blessing, it’s a logistical nightmare. Especially when it comes to clothes.

First, there’s the issue of style. Apparently, a hoodie with glitter unicorns that was the coolest thing ever when Callie was eight is “ugly and embarrassing” according to Evie, who at twelve insisted that “black is a color of power” and thinks unicorns are for babies overnight.

And don’t even get her started on Rylie, who at eight was all about minimalism and earth tones. She’s horrified when Evie walks out wearing neon pink leggings with hearts down the sides at eight. “I had better taste,” she tells Shauna with a confidence only a younger sibling can possess.

And Callie , who at 13 dressed like a mini punk-rock librarian half the time, hoarding her favorite hoodies like prized trophies and rolling her eyes if anyone even thought about touching them. Not with Rylie , who at the same age preferred rainbow sparkles, mismatched socks, and anything that looked vaguely like it belonged to a unicorn. And definitely not with Evie , who was at three was  3 going on 30 and had a closet full of entirely “Evie-approved” outfits—which meant if it didn’t twirl or sparkle, it was a no-go.

And don’t even talk about seasons. Rylie and Evie were Summer babies. Callie was was born in October. Poppy came in November. Nothing lines up. Absolutely nothing . Jackie once tried to convince Shauna to dress Poppy in Evie’s old summer dresses during a freak February warm spell. “She’ll freeze,” Shauna snapped, stuffing Poppy into a too-small sweater and leggings that had mysteriously shrunk or maybe, more accurately, Poppy was just a giant baby.

Meanwhile, the kids themselves don’t make things any easier. Callie, at 11, has declared that none of her old clothes should be “passed down” because “fashion is evolving, Mom.” Rylie, the diplomat of the family, tries to hide her distaste when something from the “Callie archives” appears in her drawer, but it’s obvious. Jackie can’t help but smirk when she sees the very polite “thank you” paired with a look of mild horror.

And Poppy? Poppy only wants to wear Jackie’s sweaters. Big. Cozy. Absolutely inappropriate for toddlers, but that doesn’t stop her from walking around the house drowning in expensive cashmere, tripping over the sleeves, and beaming like she’s just stepped off a runway.

Somehow, despite the age gaps, all three of them had a mystical, maddening ability to make their clothes disappear, reappear in the wrong drawers, and borrow each other’s stuff in ways that defied logic and physics.

Shauna once found one of Rylie’s glittery sweaters in the dog bed .

Another time, Evie walked out of her room in what Shauna swore was Henry’s old soccer jersey . Where she found it, no one knows.

Enter: Jackie. The calm in the storm. The planner. The anticipator of chaos.

Jackie, who had seen this coming.

---

Years ago, before Rylie was even out of diapers, Jackie had quietly purchased a label maker. She hadn’t said a word about it at the time. Just calmly unpacked it, loaded the tape, and began labeling everything .

Drawers. Bins. Closet shelves. Sock boxes. Each kid had a designated color. Each season had its own tub. Jackie had an entire closet in the hallway labeled down to “mittens too big for current hands (save)” and “pajamas: hand-me-down purgatory.”

Shauna had once laughed at her. “You’re labeling underwear now?”

“Yes,” Jackie had said simply. “Because otherwise, you’ll be screaming when Evie shows up wearing Rylie’s Elsa undies from 2017.”

Years later, Shauna had to admit—Jackie was absolutely right. The label maker was now sacred in the Shipman household. Jackie kept it on the highest shelf of the laundry room, next to the emergency chocolate and spare batteries.

It was the only thing standing between Shauna and a full meltdown every time laundry day came around.

Because if there’s one thing parenting five children has taught her, it’s that organizing their clothes is not about logic, or age gaps, or gender, or even seasons.

It’s about survival.

And, occasionally, a well-placed label that says “DO NOT TOUCH—THIS BELONGS TO CALLIE AND SHE WILL KNOW.”

---

One day, as Shauna was digging through a tote of what she thought was baby clothes but turned out to be ancient Halloween costumes, she sighed and muttered, “I went through a plane crash. A literal wilderness. And this? This is my hell.”

Jackie laughed and handed her a tiny jacket that somehow still smelled faintly of Callie as a baby. “I told you we should’ve just kept them two years apart.”

Shauna gave her a look. “And miss all this?”

They both burst out laughing—because, really, what else can you do when your life is a never-ending rotation of lost mittens, rejected hand-me-downs, and children with suspiciously strong fashion opinions?

At least Shauna had the gym. And a label maker. And a promise to herself: No more kids. No matter how cute Poppy looked in that sweater.

Chapter 55: You’re being mean Shauna

It became a bit of a family tradition—one that Jackie found way too funny and Shauna absolutely loathed.

Whenever one of their kids was mad at Shauna, they wouldn’t call her Mom .

They’d call her Shauna .

And not sweetly, not casually. No, it was always said with purpose. With bite. With the kind of cold, measured tone that meant you are currently in the doghouse . It didn’t matter how old they were—it was like some unspoken rule passed down through the Shipman household.

“Can you tell Shauna I’m not speaking to her?”
“I don’t want to sit next to Shauna at dinner.”
“Well, Shauna said I couldn’t, but Mama said I could.”

---

It started when Callie was just three.

Tiny, opinionated, and already with more attitude than anyone knew what to do with, she stood in the middle of the living room one sunny Tuesday morning, arms crossed, eyebrows drawn together in dramatic fury after being told she couldn't eat her third popsicle before lunch.

Jackie had just walked into the room with a basket of folded laundry when it happened.

“I don’t like you right now,” Callie huffed, her little voice sharp. “You’re being mean Shauna .”

Jackie stopped in her tracks.

Shauna blinked. “Excuse me?”

Callie stuck her chin out. “ Shauna. ”

Jackie dropped the laundry basket because she was laughing so hard she couldn’t hold it.

From that day forward, the Shipman kids had an unspoken rule: when they were mad— really mad—Shauna didn’t get the title of “Mom.” No, she was “Shauna.” Formal. Detached. Spitefully intentional.

Henry, especially in his teenage years, used it like a weapon.

“Shauna, can you stop checking my location every hour?”
“Shauna, I’m seventeen. You can’t ground me for looking at colleges out of state.”
“Shauna, you’re being impossible. Let Mama talk.”

Callie used it even more liberally.

It didn’t matter if she was 6 or 16—when Shauna said or did something that pissed her off (which was often), the eye roll would come, followed by the icy cold “Shauna,” like she was a disgruntled business associate instead of her daughter.

It drove Shauna nuts . Every single time. “It’s disrespectful. They’re being little brats.”

ackie, for her part, tried to hide her amusement, but she often had to turn away to muffle a laugh.

“Are you really laughing right now?” Shauna would hiss when Henry stormed out of the room muttering “Shauna this” or “Shauna that.”

“You’re the one raising a household of tiny versions of yourself,” Jackie would shrug, smiling into her coffee. “You should’ve seen this coming.”

But not all of the kids joined the rebellion.

Rylie never did it. Not once. Even when she was mad—furious, even—she always called her Mom . Same with Poppy, who was still little enough that her solution to conflict was usually clinging to Shauna’s leg and crying until everything was okay again.

Evie, for her part, occasionally dipped a toe in the “Shauna” waters, but she never quite committed. One time she tried to say it with a bite—“ Shauna, you said you’d make brownies, but you forgot”—but then promptly burst into tears because she felt too guilty.

“You’re my Mom, I’m sorry,” she wailed, clinging to Shauna’s middle while Shauna blinked, stunned by the emotional whiplash.

The truth was, as much as it drove her up a wall, Shauna understood where it came from. The older kids—especially Henry and Callie—were emotionally smart. And they could see right through her. When Shauna was overbearing, or too controlling, or made decisions that boxed Jackie in, the kids noticed. And they weren’t afraid to call her on it.

“Maybe if you let Mama talk,” Callie would often say with a sharpness that felt so much like Jackie’s old teenage snark it made Shauna wince.

And sometimes… they were right.

Shauna could be a lot. Too much, even. She knew that. But she also loved her kids more than life itself, and the “Shauna”s? Well, they stung. But they also grounded her. Reminded her to breathe. To let go of the grip a little.

Still, Jackie never let her live it down.

---

Even years later, when Callie was twelve and storming upstairs shouting “ SHAUNA ” because she couldn’t go to a sleepover, Jackie would lean against the banister and smirk.

“Remember when you thought kids would bring us closer?”

“Shut up,” Shauna muttered.

Jackie just laughed, walking over to kiss her cheek. “You’re a good mom. Even when they call you by your first name.”

Shauna sighed she could tell how much trouble she was in based solely on whether she was “Mom,” “Mommy,” or Shauna . The full name— Shauna Miriam Shipman —was reserved for truly legendary moments of maternal betrayal (like when she threw away Callie’s “emotionally significant” collection of dried leaves or grounded Henry for sneaking out after curfew).

Still, deep down—though she’d never admit it—Shauna kind of loved it.

It meant they were paying attention. It meant they felt safe enough to push her buttons. It meant they saw her not just as the Mom figure, but as her —the full, complicated, maddening, protective force of nature that was Shauna Shipman.

And even though Jackie always giggled about it behind her hand, even she knew what it really meant.

Shauna was the wall . The boundary. The one they butted up against when they were trying to figure out where their own edges were. And as annoying as that could be, it meant she was doing something right.

Even if she had to grit her teeth through every single, sarcastic, “ Shauna. ”

Chapter 56

It started like all the worst dreams do—so quietly Shauna didn’t even realize she was dreaming.

She was standing in the middle of a living room, dull and beige and too still. The TV was playing something she wasn’t watching. There was a wine glass in her hand—cheap red, half-drunk and warm. Her clothes didn’t fit right. She was older, tired, worn down in a way she could feel deep in her bones. There was a weight on her chest, one she couldn’t name, only carry.

Then came the sounds: the slam of a front door, the stomp of teenage feet up a staircase. A voice that cut through the silence like a blade.

“You don’t get me! You don’t care about anyone but yourself!”

She turned toward the hallway but didn’t follow. Instead, she drained the rest of the wine, walked into the kitchen, and stood in the glow of the refrigerator like she’d done it a thousand times.

On the fridge: a picture. Her wedding day. She was in white. But the man beside her wasn’t the one she loved—it was Jeff. His smile was wide. Hers was hollow. Jackie was nowhere. She was gone.

And suddenly it all made sense.

She wasn’t Shauna Shipman.

She was that Shauna. The one who never made it out of the woods with Jackie. The one who buried her best friend in the snow after a night of pain and silence and things left unsaid. The one who limped through life with half her soul missing and tried to patch it up with domesticity and normalcy and a child she didn’t understand. The one who tried to play house with Jeff because it was what Jackie was supposed to do.

She felt it, viscerally—what it meant to live without Jackie. Not just to miss her. Not just to mourn her. But to walk through every single day knowing that the one person who ever made her feel real, made her feel whole, was never coming back. A lifetime of numbing herself to survive. Of lying to her kid. Of clinging to a marriage with a man she didn’t even like. Of having no one to anchor her to goodness, or softness, or love.

In the dream, she screamed. Or maybe she didn’t. Maybe it was just a soundless ache echoing through a house that never felt like home.

Then, the world shifted again, and she was back there—in the wilderness. Jackie, blue-lipped, sleeping in the cold. No fire. No words. Just silence.

“Jackie?” Shauna whispered, falling to her knees. “Jackie, wake up.”

But she didn’t. The silence thickened. The horror returned. She was too late.

Until—

A hand on her shoulder. A voice, low and raspy. “Shauna, get up.”

Nat.

Even in the dream, she remembered. It was Nat who had woken up that night. Nat who had seen Jackie curled in the freezing dark and whos scream shot Shauna awake. Nat who had snapped her out of her numb spiral just in time. If it hadn’t been for Nat, Shauna never would’ve lit the fire. Never would’ve pulled Jackie close again.

And Jackie would’ve died out there. Alone. Cold. Angry.

---

Shauna woke up with a gasp so violent she nearly fell off the bed.

The room was dark and quiet. The soft hum of the baby monitor, the faint rustle of sheets.

She was disoriented for half a second—until she felt the familiar weight of Jackie curled up beside her, limbs tangled in the sheets, her breath soft and even against Shauna’s neck.

Jackie was there. Alive.

Her Jackie. Warm. Breathing. Safe. The curve of her lashes, the soft parting of her lips. Her hair was longer now than it had been back then, with streaks of silver that she refused to dye and Shauna adored.

Shauna choked on the sob she didn’t even know was coming, wrapping her arms around her wife like she might vanish if she let go. Jackie stirred, blinking up at her with a sleepy, confused smile.

Jackie stirred. “Mm?” she mumbled sleepily, one eye cracking open. “You okay babe?”

Shauna nodded quickly, too fast. Her voice wobbled. “Yeah. Yeah Honey, I just… bad dream.”

Jackie reached up and stroked her cheek, thumb brushing away a tear Shauna hadn’t realized was there. “You’re safe. I’m safe. It’s okay.”

Shauna pulled her close, burying her face in the crook of Jackie’s neck, breathing her in.

She’d been through a lot in life. The plane crash. The wilderness. The horrors. The near-losses, the actual ones. But this dream—this false life where Jackie had died and she had become some haunted version of herself—that shook her more than she wanted to admit.

But even with all of that… in that moment, lying there in bed beside the love of her life, Shauna felt something she’d never admitted before.

Gratitude.

Because no matter how much she loathed Natalie, she had saved Jackie’s life that night.

And without that? There’d be no Henry, no Callie, no Rylie, no Evie, no Poppy. No tangled bedsheets. No waking up to Jackie using her as a human pillow. No sleepy kisses or Saturday mornings with waffles and cartoons. No dancing in the kitchen after the kids had gone to bed. No chaos. No love.

Just Shauna. Alone in a beige kitchen. Haunted by a girl she never got to grow old with.

She pulled Jackie closer again, whispered a quiet “I love you” against her hair, and closed her eyes.

She would never take this life for granted. Not ever.

Because Shauna knew now with horrifying clarity—

She wouldn’t have made it back half the person she was otherwise.

Chapter 57

Henry was pretty sure—no, absolutely certain —that he had never been alone with his mother for this long in his life. Not as a kid, not as a teenager, not even in adulthood. The two of them were not the “spend the afternoon talking” type. Their relationship, if you could call it that, had always been a mix of friction and unspoken truce, the occasional shared meal during holidays when Jackie was busy in the kitchen, and a few carefully rationed phone calls about the kids or logistics.

But here they were.

Jackie had fallen a few days ago—just one of those freak moments. A slipper caught on the rug, and down she went. The result was a broken hip and surgery, and now she lay in the hospital bed, pale but breathing evenly, her face relaxed in sleep. Shauna sat in the chair at her bedside, posture unnervingly still, her sharp eyes softened only by the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of Jackie’s chest.

Henry had been the first to get to the hospital after Shauna called. The other kids were scattered—Callie in New York, Rylie with her own kids, Evie and Poppy both tied up with work and school—and so, for now, it was just him and Shauna.

They didn’t speak much at first. Shauna wasn’t good at small talk on a good day, and Henry wasn’t sure how to bridge thirty-odd years of complicated feelings. Instead, they sat in the sterile, humming quiet of the hospital room. The only sounds were the beep of the heart monitor, the whoosh of the IV pump, and the soft rasp of Jackie’s breathing.

Henry glanced at his mother out of the corner of his eye. Even at sixty-six, she looked much the same as she had when he was a kid—strong lines to her jaw, hair streaked silver but still thick, that perpetual air of being entirely in control. Except right now. Right now, she wasn’t in control of anything. She couldn’t control Jackie’s injury, couldn’t control the clock ticking down the recovery time, couldn’t even control her own restless hands, which she kept curling and uncurling in her lap.

“You should try to get some sleep,” Henry said finally, voice low so as not to wake Jackie.

Shauna’s eyes cut toward him, sharp even in their exhaustion. “I’m fine.”

“You’ve been here all night.”

Her gaze softened slightly. “So?”

Henry leaned back in his chair, trying not to sigh. “So… you’ll be no good to her if you run yourself into the ground.”

It was the first time he’d heard himself sound like her—practical, clipped, hiding concern under bluntness. She must’ve noticed too, because her mouth quirked, just barely.

They lapsed into silence again.

After a while, Shauna shifted, leaning forward to rest her forearms on her knees. “She hates hospitals,” she murmured, almost to herself. “Always has. After Poppy was born, she wouldn’t even—” She stopped, jaw tightening. “Doesn’t matter. Just… she hates them.”

Henry studied her for a moment. “You’ve been through this before, haven’t you? Sitting by her bed like this.”

Shauna’s eyes flicked to him, then back to Jackie. “More times than I ever wanted.”

There was a weight to the words Henry couldn’t ignore. For once, he didn’t push.

Instead, they both sat there, two people who had never quite figured each other out, bound together for the first time in decades by the same thing—the same person . The woman in the bed between them, the one who had loved them both fiercely in her own way, the one who could bridge the gap neither of them seemed able to close.

Henry realized, not for the first time, that Jackie was the glue in the family. But maybe, just maybe, they could hold this moment without her awake to smooth the edges.

When Jackie stirred slightly in her sleep, Shauna was on her feet instantly, adjusting the blanket, brushing a strand of hair off her wife’s forehead with a tenderness Henry had rarely seen from her.

And Henry couldn’t lie—it was actually kind of sweet, watching his mom with his mama when Jackie finally woke up.

Usually, the way Shauna hovered drove him insane. He’d spent most of his life watching her treat Jackie like she was made of glass, always fussing, always double-checking, always stepping in before Jackie could so much as lift a grocery bag. It had always rubbed Henry the wrong way. Jackie was capable. Jackie was strong. Jackie didn’t need someone constantly anticipating her every move.

But now… now he could see it was different.

Jackie’s eyes had fluttered open slowly, blinking against the hospital light, her expression dazed as she tried to figure out where she was. Shauna was at her side in an instant, her voice dropping into a low, almost musical murmur Henry didn’t think he’d ever heard before.

“Hey, sweetheart. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

She fussed with the blankets, made sure Jackie’s water cup was within reach, then tucked a stray bit of hair behind her ear with a touch so careful Henry thought it might break him just watching it. Jackie gave her a tired smile, eyes heavy-lidded but warm, and Shauna just melted. There was no other word for it—his mother melted.

She brushed her thumb across the back of Jackie’s hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Do you need anything? Are you warm enough? Pain okay?”

Jackie chuckled softly, voice rough. “I’m fine, Shauna. You can breathe.”

But Shauna didn’t let go of her hand, didn’t step back. “Not yet.”

Henry sat there in the visitor’s chair, trying to act like he wasn’t watching, but he couldn’t help it. Usually, the dynamic grated on him—like Shauna was overstepping, smothering even. But now, seeing Jackie pale and groggy, recovering from surgery, he understood it. This wasn’t about control. This was about love in its most stripped-down form.

He could see why his mom spoiled her rotten.

And for once, he didn’t feel the need to roll his eyes.

Chapter 58

Only Caroline Shipman could have a drunken Vegas wedding and have her parents react like it was just… Tuesday.

It happened when she was twenty-three, on what was supposed to be a quick girls’ trip to Las Vegas with a couple of friends. “A few shows, some pool time, nothing crazy,” Jackie had said when Callie left, because Jackie—bless her—still believed in the possibility of Callie having a normal vacation.

Shauna, on the other hand, knew better. Before they had even dropped her off at Logan, Shauna had muttered to Jackie, “We should probably just put bail money aside now.”

Two and a half days later, the phone rang at 4:17 a.m. Jackie answered, half-asleep, her hair sticking up, Shauna grumbling next to her. “Hello?” she mumbled.

“Hi, Mama,” came Callie’s voice, too chipper for that hour. “Sooo, I did a thing.”

Shauna, now fully awake, sat up in bed. “Define ‘thing,’ Caroline.”

There was muffled giggling in the background, followed by her friend Willa's voice yelling, "Tell them about the Elvis!”

“Oh my God,” Jackie said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You didn’t.”

“I did!” Callie chirped. “Well, technically we did. His name’s Adam, he’s from Minnesota, and we got married at the Little White Chapel. An Elvis married us. He wore blue suede shoes. It was magical.”

There was a beat of silence on the line. Anyone else’s parents might have screamed, demanded an annulment, or booked the next flight to Nevada.

Shauna just sighed. “Was it at least open bar?”

Callie cackled. “Of course it was! And we had matching plastic champagne flutes. Mama, I’ll send you a picture—”

“Don’t,” Jackie cut in, even though she was already resigned to it.

By the time the photos did arrive—a blurry shot of Callie in a glittery dress and a veil that looked like it came from the dollar store, grinning beside a sunburned man in a Hawaiian shirt—Jackie and Shauna were sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee. Jackie scrolled through the pictures, her lips twitching despite herself.

“You know,” Jackie said, “this is insane.”

“Of course it’s insane,” Shauna replied, taking a sip. “It’s Callie.”

What made it even more absurd was that neither of them reacted like it was some life-shattering event. They’d seen Callie through worse—tattoos she regretted, relationships that exploded in less than a week, the time she dyed her hair green and it turned her pillowcases the color of moss. A drunken Vegas wedding barely cracked the top ten.

In fact, Shauna texted back: Congratulations. Don’t get pregnant.

Two days later, Callie was back in Boston with no husband, no ring, and a story she told like it was a badge of honor. Apparently, she and Adam had agreed over late-night pancakes that maybe they weren’t meant for eternal love—especially since they couldn’t remember each other’s middle names—and parted ways amicably before she even got on her flight.

When friends heard about it, they asked in disbelief, “What did your parents say?”

And Callie, with that Shipman shrug, always answered the same way: “Oh, nothing. They weren’t surprised. Honestly, I think they expected worse.”

Because if there was one thing Shauna and Jackie knew, it was that Callie’s chaos always came with a twist. A Vegas wedding? That was just part of the ride.

Chapter 59

Every time Callie brought a partner home, Shauna had a ritual.

It didn’t matter if it was a serious relationship, a short-lived fling, or someone Callie swore up and down was “just a friend” (Shauna wasn’t born yesterday and her daughter was not subtle in the slightest). The moment that poor soul crossed the Shipman threshold, Shauna would give them a long, steady look. It wasn’t aggressive exactly—she didn’t glare or scowl. No, Shauna’s expression was worse than that: it was calm. Controlled. Like she was already two steps ahead of them in whatever game they thought they were playing.

Jackie, from the kitchen or the couch, would try not to roll her eyes. She knew what was coming. 

Callie, of course, hated it. “Mom,” she’d warn, drawing out the word like it was a threat.

Shauna would smile at the partner—sweet, but not too sweet—and say in a tone that somehow balanced both sincerity and a little bit of menace:

“Good luck.”

Not welcome , not hello , not nice to meet you. Just good luck.

It was maddening.

Once, when Callie was about 16 and brought home a boy named Ryan who wore way too much cologne, the poor kid actually asked, “Uh… good luck with what?”

Shauna didn’t blink. “Oh. Everything.”

Ryan didn’t last two weeks.

By the time Callie was in her early twenties, her friends knew about the “good luck” thing. In fact, it had become a kind of Shipman family legend. Her siblings—especially Rylie—would lurk in the hallway whenever a new partner came over, just to see Shauna do it. They’d rate her delivery afterwards.

Sometimes, the “good luck” came with context. Like when Callie was dating a girl named Jordan who had an eyebrow ring and a motorcycle. Shauna shook her hand, glanced at the helmet under her arm, and said, “Good luck. She’s worse than she looks.”

Or the time Callie introduced them to a law student named David. Shauna’s eyes flicked over the leather briefcase he’d brought in. “Good luck. She hates being wrong.”

Jackie always stepped in eventually, usually with a plate of something or an offer of tea, trying to smooth the edges of the moment. “Don’t take it personally,” she’d tell them with a smile. “That’s just her way of saying ‘welcome to the family.’”

But Shauna never denied it. “It’s also my way of saying good luck ,” she’d reply, totally deadpan.

And honestly, she meant it. Not because Callie was awful—though Shauna was the first to admit her eldest had inherited every bit of her stubbornness, bad planning and knack for trouble—but because loving a Shipman, in Shauna’s eyes, was an adventure. And you’d better be prepared.

Some partners lasted. Most didn’t. But every single one of them, no matter how the relationship ended, remembered that first meeting. Years later, Callie even ran into one of her old college girlfriends at a coffee shop, who grinned and said, “Hey… tell your mom I still think about that good luck .”

Callie had just groaned. “Yeah. Me too.”

---

Shauna wasn’t much different with the other girls, but her approach carried a slightly different edge. With Callie, the “good luck” had always been more of a playful warning—half teasing, half honest truth—because Shauna knew her eldest could handle herself in just about any situation. Callie had been independent since she could walk, fiercely opinionated since she could talk, and just stubborn enough to make anyone who crossed her regret it.

But when it came to Rylie, Evie, and Poppy—her “mini Jackies”—it was a whole different game.

First off, she never called them that out loud. Callie did, with this fond, almost smug pride in her voice, but Shauna kept it in her head. She knew exactly why she felt more protective over them. It wasn’t just that they were the younger kids—it was because each of them, in different ways, looked so much like Jackie that Shauna couldn’t help but see her wife’s face staring back at her. And if there was one thing Shauna had learned about herself over the years, it was that she had a built-in instinct to guard Jackie from absolutely everything. That extended, without question, to these three.

It didn’t matter that by the time they hit their teens, all of them were taller than Jackie. In Shauna’s mind, they were still the wide-eyed little girls who had once clung to her leg when meeting strangers. And in Shauna’s book, if you looked like Jackie—even vaguely—you deserved an extra layer of protection.

When Rylie first brought a boy home, Shauna didn’t even bother with “good luck.” She stood there in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes locked on him like she was memorizing his every feature for later use. “What’s your last name?” she asked. No hello, no small talk—just that. And when he answered, she repeated it slowly, like she was filing it away in a mental Rolodex. Rylie groaned the whole way to the kitchen, muttering about how this was “ so unfair,” but Shauna didn’t budge.

With Evie, it was even worse. Evie had inherited Jackie’s exact eyes, the ones Shauna had never been able to say no to, which meant she was both adored and—paradoxically—guarded like the crown jewels. When a girl named Mariah came over in high school, Evie nervously introduced her, and Shauna’s gaze immediately went from Mariah’s shoes all the way up to her hairline, scanning every detail in between. “Do you have a curfew?” Shauna asked, without a hint of a smile. Mariah stammered that she did. Shauna nodded approvingly, as if that alone might keep her daughter safe.

And then there was Poppy, the baby. Shauna didn’t even pretend to play nice when Poppy’s turn came. By then, all the kids knew the drill—if you were dating a Shipman girl who wasn’t Callie, you were stepping into an obstacle course with Shauna as the sole judge. The first time Poppy brought someone home, Shauna met them at the door, looked them up and down, and simply said, “Do you understand what you’re getting into?” When they hesitated, she added, “Wrong answer.”

Jackie would always try to soften things, the same way she had with Callie’s partners years earlier. “She’s just being protective,” she’d explain to the poor, wide-eyed teenagers sitting stiffly on the couch. “It’s not personal.”

But it was personal. Shauna knew it. Jackie knew it. And every one of the kids knew it, too.

The truth was, Callie had been raised with Shauna’s trust—and the understanding that if she messed up, she’d have to deal with the fallout herself. she trusted Callie to handle herself in a fight—literal or otherwise. But with the younger girls, some part of her still saw them as small and breakable, even when they towered over her. Her protectiveness wasn’t just about vetting partners; it was about making sure no one—absolutely no one—ever got the chance to hurt them. They were different. They were the closest thing Shauna had to copies of the woman she’d loved since she was 17, and there was no universe where she was going to let someone waltz in and risk breaking their hearts.

Whether they were twelve or twenty-two, whether the partner seemed harmless or not, Shauna’s approach never changed. She didn’t care if people thought she was intimidating. In fact, she wanted them to be just a little scared. Because if they were scared, they were careful.

And careful was the only way you survived dating one of her mini Jackies.

And while Rylie, Evie, and Poppy all rolled their eyes and complained about their “overbearing mom” in the moment, years later, they’d admit—quietly, and only to each other—that there was a certain comfort in knowing anyone who wanted to date them had to get past Shauna Shipman first.

 

Chapter 60

When Jackie and Shauna were nine years old, Jackie had been the one to come up with the idea for their Halloween costumes. She’d just seen The Wizard of Oz on TV for the first time and had fallen in love with Dorothy’s ruby slippers, the songs, the magic. Of course, Jackie had immediately called dibs on being Dorothy. She always wanted to be the pretty one, the center of attention, the heroine in the story. Shauna hadn’t cared much about dressing up—she wasn’t big on costumes, even as a kid—but if she was going to do it, she was going to do it her way. Jackie had suggested Glinda for her, all soft pinks and sparkles. Shauna wrinkled her nose.

“No. I want to be the Wicked Witch,” she’d declared, arms crossed with nine-year-old certainty.

Jackie had groaned, insisting, “But Glinda and Dorothy are friends! The Wicked Witch tries to kill Dorothy!”

Shauna just shrugged. “Yeah, but she’s cooler.”

So that year, Jackie paraded around as Dorothy, carefully carrying her little wicker basket with a stuffed dog inside, while Shauna stomped around in a too-big black dress with a pointed hat and green face paint that stained her skin for three days. Jackie complained endlessly about how Shauna “ruined the theme,” but secretly, Shauna thought it fit them better than Jackie realized. Jackie was always light, always smiling, always the one people wanted to root for. Shauna, on the other hand, had no problem leaning into the darker side of things. Even then, she’d known it: Jackie was the good, the soft, the hopeful. And Shauna was the one lurking in the shadows, sharp-edged, protective, and willing to play the villain if that’s what it took to keep Jackie safe.

 

---

 

Fast forward more than thirty years later, and Shauna should’ve known the past had a way of coming back around—especially with Callie in the house.

At twelve, Callie had decided this Halloween was going to be a family costume year. No excuses. No half-hearted attempts. She had the whole lineup planned out: Jackie was going to be Glinda, because of course she was, all glitter and pink satin. Shauna was, naturally, the Wicked Witch—because Callie found it hilarious. Callie herself claimed Dorothy (just like Jackie did all those years ago), her best friend Rosie was the Tin Man, Rylie was assigned the Scarecrow, Henry got to be the Cowardly Lion, and baby Evie, who was still small enough to be toted around, got dressed as Toto in a fuzzy little dog onesie that made even Shauna crack a smile.

The look on Shauna’s face when Callie unveiled the costumes was priceless. She stood there, holding the pointy black hat with an expression that said she’d rather face a firing squad. “Really, Callie?” she deadpanned. “After everything I’ve done for you in this life, this is what I get?”

“Yup,” Callie grinned. “You’re perfect for it. Don’t even try to deny it.”

Henry, who was home for the weekend from Brown, nearly doubled over laughing when he walked into the living room and saw his mom in full green face paint again. “Oh my God ,” he wheezed, clutching his side. “This is the best thing I’ve ever seen. Mom as Glinda, Mama as the Wicked Witch—it’s like… it’s like the universe finally aligned.”

Jackie, shimmering in a floor-length pink gown with a plastic wand, just gave Shauna a smug little smile. “I think it’s fitting,” she teased, her voice sing-song. “Don’t you?”

Shauna glared at her but adjusted her hat anyway, muttering, “You only get away with that because you look ridiculous too.”

The night itself was pure chaos—Callie running ahead with her basket of candy, Rylie tripping over her scarecrow pants, and Evie falling asleep in her stroller halfway through. Neighbors cooed over Jackie in her glittery crown, complimenting how “perfect” she looked as Glinda. And then they’d glance at Shauna, with her sharp hat and green-painted face, and nod slowly like yes, this makes sense.

By the end of the night, Shauna had to admit—even if it killed her—it was fun. She’d caught Henry sneaking pictures of her and Jackie together, one glittering pink and the other dark green, and though she scowled, Jackie could tell she was secretly amused. Later, when they were alone, Jackie teased her again, whispering, “You make a very sexy witch, you know.”

Shauna groaned, tugging off the hat. “If you ever make me do this again, I swear, Jackie—”

But Jackie only kissed her cheek, leaving a smear of pink lipstick against the green paint. “You’ll do it. You always do. For us.”

And Shauna couldn’t argue with that. Not when she knew Jackie was right.

 

---

 

And that ridiculous Wizard of Oz year kicked off what became one of the Shipman family’s strangest—and most enduring—traditions: letting Callie pick the family Halloween costumes.

At first, Shauna thought it was a one-time thing. She figured Callie would get her laugh at making her parents look absurd, and then move on. But the next October rolled around, and Callie had already been planning for weeks. At breakfast one morning in September, she proudly announced, “This year, we’re all going to be the cast of Scooby-Doo .”

Jackie had laughed, thinking she was joking, until Callie pulled out a crumpled piece of notebook paper with drawings of who would be who. She was gonna be a ghost. Jackie was, of course, Daphne. Shauna, much to her eternal suffering, was Velma. Henry got Fred, Rylie was Shaggy, and poor three year old Evie was forced into a tiny Scrappy-Doo onesie.

By the third year, Shauna realized there was no escape. Callie treated it like her personal holiday right as the eldest daughter, a responsibility she carried with pride. And the costumes only got stranger. One year they were a deck of playing cards, Jackie the Queen of Hearts, Shauna the Ace of Spades, the kids scattered across suits. Another year Callie decided they were all condiments: Jackie had to wear a ketchup bottle suit, Shauna mustard (the yellow haunted her dreams), Rylie was relish, Evie mayonnaise, and Poppy—who was not even a year old—got stuck as a tiny salt shaker.

Neighbors loved it. The Shipmans became that house—the family that always went all in on Halloween. Kids from school would stop by just to see what they’d cooked up that year. Jackie leaned into it, loving any excuse to dress up and watch the kids squeal with delight. Shauna… tolerated it. Mostly. Though every October she’d put up a fight, swearing, “This is the last year I’m doing this, Callie. I mean it.”

But Callie always knew she’d win. She’d just grin and say, “Good luck saying no to Mama,” and hand Shauna her costume.

By the time the younger kids were old enough to remember, they assumed this was simply how Halloween worked—that every family dressed up in coordinated, slightly humiliating themes chosen by the eldest sibling. Evie once asked another girl in her kindergarten class, “So what does your big sister pick for Halloween?” only to be met with a very confused look.

Henry, for his part, only played along as long as college breaks lined up with Halloween weekend. By the time he was firmly out of the house, he refused—but that didn’t save him. Callie would guilt him into sending pictures of himself dressed up anyway, often roping his poor girlfriend into it too.

The tradition became so ingrained that Jackie couldn’t imagine Halloween without it. And as much as Shauna grumbled—rolling her eyes, groaning about the embarrassment, cursing her eldest’s persuasive powers—she secretly loved it too. There was something about Callie’s sheer determination to wrangle her chaotic family into a themed group that warmed even Shauna’s sharp edges.

Every October 31st, no matter what madness Callie dreamed up, they all ended up laughing until their sides hurt. And though Shauna would never admit it out loud, she kind of looked forward to it.

Because if there was one thing scarier than Shauna Shipman in a pointy witch’s hat, it was the idea of saying no to Callie’s Halloween plans.

 

---

The year Henry brought Kate home for the first time—the girl he was completely smitten with, the one he hoped might actually survive the gauntlet of being introduced to his family—just happened to coincide with what went down in history as one of  Callie’s more bizarre picks .

Meeting the Shipmans was always going to be an overwhelming experience—the noise, the chaos, the kids climbing all over each other, Shauna’s sharp-edged teasing, Jackie’s warm hospitality. But what Kate wasn’t expecting was to walk into their house for the first time in late October, greeted not by a normal family, but by… a circus. Literally.

Callie had outdone herself that year. She’d declared with glee, “We’re doing a circus theme! ” and, as usual, no one had a choice. Jackie was the glamorous ringmaster in a glittery red jacket and top hat. Shauna had been forced into a full-on strongman leotard—complete with a fake curly mustache taped to her upper lip. Rylie was a trapeze artist, Evie a lion (complete with a tail she wouldn’t stop swishing at everyone), and little Poppy toddled around in an elephant onesie, her trunk smacking into the furniture.

Henry had begged to be excused. “I’m in college now, Callie. I’m too old for this,” he’d groaned. But Callie just crossed her arms and said, “Fine. But if Kate’s coming to meet the family, she’s in it too.”

So when Kate showed up that evening, nervously holding a pumpkin pie she’d baked to impress, she was promptly handed a clown costume. Oversized shoes, rainbow wig, the whole deal.

“Welcome to the family,” Callie announced, beaming like she’d just solved world peace.

Henry was mortified. His face was redder than Jackie’s jacket, and he muttered under his breath the whole time while Shauna tried not to laugh at his misery. Jackie, on the other hand, was delighted. She fussed over Kate like she’d been part of the family for years, adjusting the clown wig, telling her how “adorable” she looked.

Kate, bless her heart, was a good sport. She slipped into the costume, cheeks pink but smiling. “If this is the initiation ritual,” she whispered to Henry, “I guess I’ll survive.”

By the end of the night, she wasn’t just surviving—she was laughing along with the rest of them. Evie kept pretending to “tame” her with a little toy whip, Callie wouldn’t stop making her honk the fake clown nose, and Jackie kept snapping pictures of the whole circus lineup.

Shauna, from her spot leaning against the wall with her arms crossed (and her ridiculous mustache still half-hanging off her lip), caught Henry’s eye. She smirked. “If she can survive this , she’s a keeper.”

And Henry, despite his embarrassment, had to admit: yeah. She really was.

 

---

 

Callie going off to college didn’t mean she gave up control of the family Halloween costumes. Oh no. If anything, it only made her more determined to hold onto the tradition she’d built out of pure stubbornness and creativity.

By September every year, the group texts would start with Callie throwing in an idea and the rest arguing about it. 

Callie wasn’t even home most of the time, but she still held the reins, bossing everyone around through FaceTime calls and relentless lists of costume assignments. By mid-October, boxes would start arriving at the house in Boston: Amazon orders, thrift store finds shipped from campus, packages stuffed with weird costume accessories.

And when Halloween week finally rolled around, Callie would swoop in from school like a general arriving at the front lines, immediately barking orders and making last-minute adjustments.

One year, she assigned Henry and Kate as Frankenstein and the Bride of Frankenstein (“You’re married now, it’s thematic,” she’d said, ignoring Henry’s groans). Rylie got stuck as a banana once (“Don’t question my vision”), and Shauna was eternally typecast as something slightly menacing—witch, vampire, Medusa—because Callie always insisted it fit her vibe . Jackie, of course, was always given the sparkly, angelic roles: Glinda, Aphrodite, a literal star one.

Even when she was living hours away in New York after college, it was still Callie’s show . She’d spend Halloween night half at whatever college party she was dragged to, but always making time for a long family FaceTime call, demanding to see everyone in full costume. If anyone had slacked off, she’d rant for twenty minutes until they promised to make up for it the next year.

Jackie thought it was adorable. “She just wants to keep us together,” she’d say with a fond smile, even as she glued glitter onto her latest ridiculous costume.

Shauna, meanwhile, would roll her eyes and mutter, “She’s twenty-one years old and still telling me what to wear. Unbelievable.” But even she had to admit—when they all stood together for their annual family photo, matching in whatever bizarre theme Callie had dreamed up—it felt like something only they had. A tradition, weird and wonderful, that bound them through every stage of their lives.

And Callie? She loved knowing that even from college, she could still orchestrate a little bit of chaos back home.

Chapter 61

Summary:

Set a few weeks after chapter 51

The diner Shauna picked was a hole-in-the-wall joint in Cambridge, the kind of place with sticky tables, waitresses who called you “hon,” and coffee that tasted like it had been burning in the pot since the Clinton administration. Tai showed up ten minutes early, as always, her blazer still buttoned even though it was sweltering outside, hair pulled back in that no-nonsense bun she’d worn since she was eighteen.

Shauna walked in five minutes late, sliding into the booth with a smirk. “I thought you’d loosen up after twenty-five years, Tai. Guess not.”

Tai just raised a brow. “And I thought you’d learn to respect other people’s time.” She closed the menu, like she’d already memorized it. Shauna sighed “Ok then Let’s just get this over with before I have to get back home.”

Tai chuckled, leaning back in her seat. “I suggested we meet tonight. You shot that down real fast.”

“Because I’m not leaving Jackie alone with the kids at night,” Shauna said flatly with no room for argument. “She is busy right now with the girls after school classes. Days are fine, nights aren’t.”

Tai rolled her eyes, flagging down the waitress for coffee. “Jesus. She’s forty-three years old, Shauna. She can handle bedtime.”

Shauna’s jaw twitched, but she didn’t rise to the bait. “I like to be home with her at night.”

Tai’s smirk faded. She hadn’t expected that level of bluntness right out of the gate. She cleared her throat. “Fine.”

For a while, they just drank their coffee in silence. Eventually, Tai pulled the folded postcard from her jacket pocket and slid it across the table.

Shauna didn’t even flinch. Just sipped her coffee, eyes on the black liquid. “Yeah. I got it.”

“That’s it?” Tai pressed. “That’s all you’re gonna say?”

“I wasn’t about to tell Nat or Misty when you knocked at my door,” Shauna said, finally setting her cup down. “And I’m sure as hell not dragging my wife into whatever this is. She’s been through enough. My family’s been through enough.”

Tai studied her for a long moment. “You’re really not curious? About who sent it? About what it means?”

“Oh I’m curious,” Shauna admitted. “But curiosity doesn’t outweigh keeping my wife safe. If this turns out to be nothing, then it’s nothing. And if it turns out to be something …” Her voice dropped, low and sharp. “Then I’ll deal with it. But Jackie won’t.”

Tai shook her head, a dry laugh escaping. “Still the same. Still ready to burn the whole damn world down just to keep her safe.”

“Not much has changed,” Shauna said simply.

Tai tilted her head, letting the conversation pivot. “Alright then. Let’s talk about something less deadly. Like the fact you’ve got five kids.”

Shauna actually chuckled, the edge softening just a fraction. “Four girls and Henry. Jackie says we’re done. I promised her we’re done. Which is good because…” she smirked, “five is a lot.”

“I’ll say,” Tai muttered. “I mean, I knew. Misty showed us Jackie’s Facebook. But seeing you now, hearing how you’re still…” She gestured vaguely toward Shauna. “Like this. Possessive. Protective. Whatever word you want to use. It’s kind of insane, Shauna. Twenty-five years later and you’re still glued to her like you were in high school.”

Shauna’s expression softened at that, just slightly. “That’s because she’s mine, Tai. She always has been. And I learned a long time ago, you don’t take that for granted. Not after the crash. Not after everything.”

Tai sipped her coffee, studying her like she was a puzzle she hadn’t quite solved. “You ever think maybe it’s too much? Holding on that tight?”

“Every day,” Shauna admitted. “And every day I decide I’d rather hold on too tight than risk losing her again. So no, I don’t apologize for it.”

Tai let out a long breath, shaking her head. “Five kids. You, domestic. I’d have lost money on that bet.”

Shauna smirked. “Trust me, if you’d asked me back then, I would’ve bet against it too. But Jackie wanted it. And I’d give her anything she asked for.”

For the first time that afternoon, Tai believed her. And it scared her a little—because if Shauna had been intense as a teenager, she was terrifying as a grown woman who had the only person she’d ever wanted and refused to let it go.

 

---

Tai stirred her coffee absently, watching Shauna’s jaw work as she finished off her second cup. They’d danced around heavier things for the last half hour—talk of kids, work, life—but the postcard lay between them like a ticking bomb.

Tai tapped her finger against it. “So Jackie doesn’t know about this.”

“No.” Shauna’s voice was cool, steady.

Tai leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Don’t you think she should? She was there too, Shauna. She has a right to know.”

Something in Shauna’s expression shifted—so slightly that most people wouldn’t have caught it. But Tai knew her. Her shoulders stiffened, her lips pressed together like steel.

“She doesn’t need to know,” Shauna said flatly. “Not now. Not ever, if I can help it.”

Tai narrowed her eyes. “You can’t just erase the past because it’s inconvenient. Jackie remembers . You can’t protect her from that.”

Shauna finally looked up, and the glare in her eyes was sharp enough to slice through bone. “Don’t tell me what I can or can’t do, Tai. Jackie doesn’t dwell on what happened out there. She doesn’t talk about it. She’s built a life, a family, a world that has nothing to do with that hellhole—and I’m not going to let you drag her back into it because you think we need to hold hands and talk about our trauma.”

Tai exhaled slowly, leaning back against the booth. “You make it sound like she just chose to forget.”

“She did,” Shauna snapped. Then, softer, but no less firm: “And I helped her. We don’t talk about it. Ever. That’s how we survived.”

Tai studied her, suspicion narrowing her gaze. “You know… sometimes I wonder if Jackie even remembers the truth. Or if you’ve just… I don’t know. Brainwashed her. Kept her in this little bubble where you control what she thinks, what she knows.”

Shauna’s hand twitched on the table, but her voice didn’t waver. “That woman is the strongest person I know. She made her choice about how to live after the wilderness. I didn’t make it for her. Don’t insult her by acting like she’s weak enough to be manipulated so easily.”

“Not weak,” Tai countered, “just… maybe too trusting. Of you.”

Shauna leaned in then, her voice dropping into something darker, lower—something that reminded Tai of those brutal months in the snow, when Shauna had been someone you didn’t cross. “Trust me, Tai. If you ever try to bring this to Jackie—if you ever so much as hint about the postcard, or the crash, or anything—we will have a problem. And I promise you, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

The silence between them stretched, the clatter of dishes and hum of conversation around them suddenly too loud. Tai studied her old teammate, and for the first time in a long time, she wasn’t sure if she was staring at a mother of five… or the same Shauna who had once gutted a deer without blinking.

Finally, Tai raised her hands, backing off. “Alright. Fine. Your secret’s safe. For now.”

Shauna sat back, finishing the last of her coffee like the conversation was over. “Good. Then we understand each other.”

And Tai couldn’t shake the feeling that Jackie would never really know the whole truth—because Shauna would die before letting her.

 

---

Tai stepped out of the diner into the sharp Boston air, the cold cutting her cheeks, but it wasn’t nearly enough to clear her head. Shauna had left ten minutes earlier, all business, sliding into her SUV like a woman clocking out of a meeting, not a mother of five who had just all but threatened to bury a secret six feet under if Tai dared cross her.

Tai shoved her hands in her coat pockets, staring down the street. She’d known Shauna for decades. She’d seen her bloodied, desperate, feral even. She’d seen her calculate her way through situations most people would collapse under. But she’d never seen her like this —so tightly wound around Jackie that the very mention of letting in light, letting in air, was treated like a mortal threat.

Tai kept turning it over in her head: Did Jackie choose not to remember, or did Shauna build her a world where remembering wasn’t allowed?

When she’d sat across from Shauna, she’d noticed the little things—the way Shauna’s thumb unconsciously worried at her wedding band whenever Jackie’s name came up, the jangling of her keys attached to her wallet when she pulled them out of her pocket to pay and there it was, a photo of Jackie smiling taped into the plastic frame. And her phone—when it lit up on the table, Jackie’s face, younger but still radiant, looked out from the lock screen. Shauna surrounded herself with Jackie the way some people surround themselves with air. Like she needed constant proof that Jackie was hers, alive, safe, tethered.

Is that love? Tai wondered. Or is that a cage—built out of devotion instead of bars?

She found herself thinking back to the wilderness, how Shauna had hovered near Jackie, how her eyes had always tracked her best friend like she couldn’t help it. Protective? Possessive? Maybe both. Maybe it was never possible to untangle one from the other.

By the time she reached the coffee shop where Nat and Misty were waiting, Tai had decided to keep the encounter short in her retelling. But of course, Nat never let anything slide.

“So?” Nat asked as soon as Tai slid into the booth. She looked rough, cigarette hanging off her lip, but her eyes were sharp. “Did she get one too?”

Tai nodded. “Yeah. She got it. She admitted it.”

“And?” Misty leaned forward, eyes glittering with nosy anticipation. “What did she say? Did Jackie get one too?”

Tai hesitated, drumming her fingers against the table. “No. Jackie doesn’t know. Shauna made it real clear she’s not going to tell her. Said she doesn’t want her dragged into… all this.”

Misty frowned like a child denied candy. “Well, that’s ridiculous. Jackie’s a survivor too. She was there. She should be in the loop.”

Nat let out a dry laugh. “Of course Shauna doesn’t want her in the loop. Shauna’s been running Jackie’s life since that night. You think she’s gonna let her wife—sorry, her precious Jackie —make her own decisions about something like this? Not a chance.”

Tai bristled. “It’s not that simple. Look, I saw her. She’s… she’s not lying when she says she’s protecting Jackie. The way she talks about it, the way she holds on to her? She really believes she’s doing what’s best for her.”

Nat leaned back, crossing her arms. “Protecting, controlling—same shit, different name. Jackie’s been living in Shauna’s little bubble for over twenty-five years. You think that’s Jackie’s choice?”

Misty’s eyes darted between them, fascinated. “But maybe that bubble isn’t bad. I mean, Jackie seems happy, doesn’t she? Family, kids, stability. Do you think she’d have any of that if she remembered the worst of what we went through? Maybe Shauna’s not wrong. Maybe forgetting’s the only reason Jackie survived.”

Nat shook her head. “No. That’s not survival. That’s denial. And Shauna loves it, because denial means Jackie doesn’t question her. Doesn’t see how much she’s wrapped around her little finger.”

Tai rubbed her temples. She didn’t want to say it, but she couldn’t stop thinking it. “When I watched her fidget with that ring, or when I saw her keys… she carries Jackie with her like a talisman. Like if she doesn’t surround herself with reminders, she’ll lose her. And I kept asking myself—is that devotion or obsession? Is she protecting Jackie from the world, or protecting Jackie from us ? From remembering us?”

The table went quiet for a moment, each of them chewing on that.

Finally, Nat muttered, “Either way, it means we’re on our own.”

Tai stared at the steam rising off her untouched coffee. For the first time since the postcard, she wondered if Shauna’s bubble wasn’t just Jackie’s prison. Maybe it was Shauna’s too.

---

Jackie was brushing her teeth later that night when she noticed it again—that little crease in Shauna’s forehead. The one she only got when something was gnawing at her. Shauna was sitting on the edge of the bed, head bent over unlacing her shoes like she’d forgotten how to.

Jackie spit out the toothpaste, wiped her mouth, and padded over in her socks. “You okay honey?” she asked softly.

Shauna looked up quickly, a half-smile flashing across her face, too fast, too practiced. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Jackie sat down beside her, hip to hip. She leaned her head against Shauna’s shoulder, inhaling that faint trace of Shauna’s perfume she always over-sprayed. “You’ve been tired a lot lately.”

Shauna snorted, loosening the other shoe. “Yea well our kids will do that to you.”

Jackie smiled, but something tugged at her. There were times—like this—when she could almost feel Shauna pulling threads in the background, tying knots in places Jackie didn’t always see. The world they’d built together hummed with Shauna’s fingerprints: the basement gym, the calendars arranged with military precision, the way Shauna always insisted on driving long trips even though Jackie actually enjoyed it. Sometimes Jackie wondered if she’d gotten so used to letting Shauna steer that she’d stopped noticing.

But then she’d look at her—really look at her. The same girl who’d held her hand when she thought she was dying of frostbite. The one who’d whispered “please stay” in the woods when no one else would. The woman who got down on one knee again after twenty-five years just to make her feel chosen, all over again.

If this was a bubble, Jackie thought, maybe it was one she chose to stay in.

She reached for Shauna’s hand. “Hey.”

Shauna turned, and Jackie saw the shadows still clinging to her eyes. She squeezed her fingers. “You don’t have to carry everything by yourself, you know.”

For a second Shauna’s face cracked—just a flicker, like the weight of whatever she’d done that day was pressing down hard. Then it was gone, replaced by that small, stubborn smile. “I know,” she murmured. “But I like being the one who makes sure you’re safe.”

Jackie laughed lightly, pressing a kiss to her temple. “You’ve been doing that since we were sixteen.”

They crawled into bed, Shauna immediately curling around her like she always did, hand tight at Jackie’s waist like she was anchoring her to the mattress. Jackie let herself sink into it, into her wife’s warmth, her certainty, her endless devotion.

Oblivious? Maybe. Willfully? Probably. But as she drifted off, wrapped in Shauna’s arms, Jackie decided she didn’t care. If there was a bubble, it was filled with love—and she wasn’t ready to let it pop.

 

---

Shauna lay there with Jackie’s breath warm against her collarbone, the familiar weight of her curled into her arms. From the outside it probably looked idyllic—two women, over twenty-five years in, holding onto each other like the world was made of just them. And in moments like this, Shauna almost convinced herself it really was.

But her mind kept circling back to the diner. To Tai’s steady gaze across the table, the probing questions she’d cut off like snapping a wire before it sparked. Did Jackie know? Did she remember? Shauna had forced her face neutral, had toyed with her wedding band to keep her hands from clenching, but she’d felt the judgment rolling off Tai like heat.

Now, with Jackie safe in her arms again she told herself she didn’t regret shutting it down. What good would come of digging into the past? Jackie had built a life— they had built a life—one where the wilderness existed only in nightmares and whispered memories that never crossed the threshold of their home. Why rip that open?

Still, Shauna felt the guilt prickle. The way Jackie had looked at her earlier—“You don’t have to carry everything by yourself.” That small, earnest plea had cut through her armor for a second, and she’d almost admitted it. Almost said, Tai asked. Tai knows. I shut her out because I don’t want you hurt.

But Shauna hadn’t. Because Jackie didn’t need to know, not about the postcard, not about Tai’s suspicions, not about how easily the old ghosts could be stirred back to life. Jackie deserved peace. And if that meant Shauna had to play warden, had to keep the walls high and the doors locked tight, then so be it.

She pressed her lips to Jackie’s hair, breathing her in. Relief swelled in her chest—Jackie hadn’t asked, hadn’t pushed, hadn’t tried to peel back the layers Shauna wrapped around her. She just trusted. Loved. Chose to stay.

And that was enough for Shauna. More than enough.

She closed her eyes, tightening her hold like she was promising something silently to both of them: This bubble doesn’t burst. Not if I can help it. Not ever.

 

Chapter 62

The trip had started out like most Shipman family trips—too much luggage, a cooler full of snacks Jackie insisted they didn’t need, and the usual bickering between Callie and Rylie in the backseat. By then, their family of six moved like a small traveling circus; every pit stop was chaotic, every meal out ended in spilled drinks, and Shauna had quietly accepted that “vacation” really meant “work in a different zip code.” But this trip was special. Jackie was only a few months along, and Shauna had been plotting how to tell the kids. 

So when they found themselves at a little overlook—something with a wide view of water and trees and the kind of light that made even their squirmy kids look picturesque—Shauna saw her moment.

“Alright, everybody, get together with Mama for a Photo,” she ordered, wrangling Evie onto Jackie’s hip and nudging Rylie to stand still. Henry, who was home from grad school, humored her with a practiced smile, while Callie rolled her eyes but leaned into Jackie all the same.

Shauna lifted her phone, pretending like this was just a normal family picture. “Okay, say cheese…” she paused, her grin breaking wide. “And Mama’s pregnant!”

The reactions were instant, and Shauna would replay them for years.

Henry blinked, his twenty-four-year-old brain catching up in slow motion. “Wait. What the actual—”

Rylie squealed before he could finish, throwing her arms around Jackie’s waist. “Yes! Another baby!”

Evie, only four and still all dimples and curls, clapped her hands. “Baby! Baby!” She pressed a palm against Jackie’s stomach like she could feel Poppy already kicking.

And then Callie, deadpan, mortified, fourteen and in peak teenage rebellion, groaned loudly. “Oh my God . Ew. You two had sex.”

Jackie choked on a laugh while trying to hush her, cheeks turning bright pink. Henry covered his face with his hand. Rylie looked horrified at the mention, and Evie was too busy chanting “Baby!” to care.

Shauna, from behind the camera, tried to keep her voice steady but couldn’t resist. “Um, honey, that’s not exactly how it works—”

But Callie was already stomping off toward the car, muttering about being scarred for life.

Shauna got it all on video: Henry looking like his world just tilted sideways, Rylie beaming with joy, Evie bouncing like a puppy, and Callie’s horrified retreat. When she replayed it later that night with Jackie curled against her on the hotel bed, both of them laughed until tears rolled down their cheeks.

It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t staged. It was chaotic, awkward, and loud—exactly like their family. And years later, when Poppy was old enough to watch the video herself, she’d proudly declare, “See? Everybody was happy I came!”

Everyone except Callie, of course, who still groaned every time Shauna brought it up.

---

 Any time a new boyfriend showed up at the house, anytime someone teased Callie about being dramatic, anytime there was a family gathering and someone asked about favorite memories—Shauna would pull up the video. That video.

“Remember this?” she’d say with a wicked grin, hitting play so everyone could hear Callie’s teenage voice screeching “Oh my God, ew, you two had sex!”

Even at thirty-four, Callie would groan, “Mom. Stop,” while her younger sisters cackled. But Shauna never tired of it. It was her favorite kind of story: one that embarrassed her kid, yes, but also one that captured everything about them—the humor, the bluntness, the refusal to filter a single thought.

Jackie usually tried to rescue Callie with a gentle, “Shauna, let her breathe,” but even she would end up laughing when it played.

So really, no one was more stunned than Shauna when the tables turned.

It was a Sunday afternoon, and Jackie had insisted on corralling all five kids—and some of the grandkids—into the backyard for a family photo. The chaos was immediate: Rylie trying to wrangle Henry's twins into the frame, Poppy arguing with Evie about where to stand, and Callie, calm in a way that tipped Jackie off something was up , quietly stepping forward.

“Alright,” Callie said, lifting her phone like she was just setting up the self-timer. “Everybody smile. Say cheese…” She paused, her eyes sparkling with a familiar mischief. “…and I’m pregnant.”

For a heartbeat, there was silence.

Then pandemonium.

Henry’s jaw actually dropped open. “No. No way. You’re—what?!”

Evie screamed, then immediately burst into happy tears.

Rylie yelled, “I knew it! ” and shoved her partner so hard they almost fell over.

Poppy just clapped her hands and said, “New baby cousin!”

Jackie froze, her mouth dropping open in the exact same stunned expression Henry had worn all those years ago. Shauna blinked, her brain clearly short-circuiting.

“What?” Jackie finally squeaked, hands flying to her mouth.

Shauna, meanwhile, shot to her feet. “No. No. Don’t you dare use my line against me!”

Callie just smirked. “Oh, I dare.”

Her partner, sitting smugly in the corner, nodded in confirmation. “She’s serious. We’re due in March.”

Jackie immediately burst into tears, hugging Callie so tightly she nearly knocked the phone out of her hand. Shauna stood there, arms crossed, muttering, “Twenty years of mocking me, and now this. I should’ve known.” Then she barked out a laugh so sharp she startled the dog.

“You little shit,” she wheezed, doubled over. “You—oh my God—you pulled my own trick on me!”

Jackie had tears in her eyes, hand over her mouth, half from laughter and half from sheer joy. “Oh, Cal,” she whispered, pulling her into another hug before any more chaos could erupt.

---

Later that night, when everyone else had gone home, Shauna replayed the moment on Callie’s phone about six times in a row, laughing so hard her chest hurt.

“You got me good,” she admitted, still wiping tears from her eyes. “Twenty years, and you finally got your revenge.”

Callie just smirked, that same mischievous fire she’d had since she was two flickering across her face. “Told you I’d get the last laugh, Mom.”

Shauna sighed, tugging Jackie close on the couch. “God help this kid,” she muttered. “They’re gonna be doomed from day one.”

Jackie, resting her head on Shauna’s shoulder, smiled softly. “Maybe. Or maybe they’ll be just like Callie.”

Shauna groaned at the thought, but she couldn’t stop grinning.

 

Chapter 63

When they were finally rescued and the chaos of hospitals and questioning and family reunions settled, Shauna found herself staring at her reflection in a mirror for what felt like the first time in years. Her hair was long, ragged, uneven—wild from months without scissors or a proper brush. The clothes she’d been given after rescue were borrowed, ill-fitting, frilly hand-me-downs from some cousin of Jackie’s. Shauna hated them. Hated the way the skirt brushed against her legs, the way the pastel fabric clung like it was meant to make her look delicate. She had spent too long in the wilderness fighting to stay alive to pretend she was anything close to delicate.

Jackie, of course, had always loved dressing her up. Before the crash, Shauna had gone along with it most of the time—Jackie pleading, wheedling, holding up another floral dress with a grin that said please, for me? Shauna always caved, because it was Jackie. And she wanted to make Jackie happy. But the truth was, she never liked it. Not really.

 

So, the first morning back in Jersey, when Jackie was finally sleeping peacefully upstairs with henry in a makeshift crib Shauna crept down into the kitchen where her mom was fussing over a pot of coffee.

“Ma,” Shauna said quietly, fingering the long, tangled strands of her hair. “I need you to cut it off.”

Her mom blinked, startled. “What? Sweetheart, are you sure right now? We can take you to a salon lat—”

“No.” Shauna’s voice was sharp in a way it had never been before in front of her mother. She was Certain. “I want it gone. Now. Just… just grab the scissors and do it please.”

It wasn’t a whim. Shauna had hated the long, girlish hair for years. Jackie always begged her to keep it—told her it was pretty, that it suited her, that it looked good with the dresses she convinced Shauna to wear to parties or school dances. Shauna would go along with it, because Jackie asked, because Jackie’s approval had always mattered more than her own comfort. But after the wilderness, Shauna couldn’t stand it anymore. The tangles, the weight, the way it felt like a remnant of a life she didn’t belong to anymore. She wanted it gone. She wanted to see herself in the mirror again, not the girl who was always half-playing a part to keep up with her best friend.

Her mom didn’t argue. She led Shauna into the bathroom, draped a towel over her shoulders, and began snipping away. With each cut, with each lock that fell to the floor, Shauna felt a little lighter, like she was shedding not just hair but expectations. When it was over, Shauna looked into the mirror above the sink. Short. Choppy. It wasn’t stylish, not yet, but it was hers. She touched the ends with her fingers and, for the first time since stepping back into civilization, she felt a flicker of herself. 

The purge didn’t stop there. A few days later, Shauna went through her closet, yanking out every pastel dress, every skirt, every cardigan Jackie had once cooed over. All the “girly” things that had always made her feel like she was wearing someone else’s skin. She stuffed them into garbage bags and left them for donation.

Her mom asked, carefully, “What do you want to keep?”

Shauna shrugged, pulling on her old pair of jeans and a flannel she hadn’t worn since middle school. “This. This is fine.”

It wasn’t about fashion. It was about survival. In the wilderness, she’d worn layers of flannel and denim, torn and dirt-streaked but practical, and she had never once missed the dresses. There was freedom in not pretending anymore. Tomboy, butch, whatever word fit—Shauna didn’t care. She just knew she felt most like herself in jeans and boots, not in some floral dress Jackie had begged her to wear to homecoming. She’d always gone along with Jackie’s tastes before the crash—flowy skirts, sundresses, blouses Jackie swore made her look “so pretty.” Shauna wore them because it made Jackie smile, because she never knew how to say no to her. But after everything? She couldn’t stomach the thought of dresses. Couldn’t stand fabric that felt delicate or dainty. She kept the jeans. The flannels. The boots. She dug through her mother’s old storage bins until she found oversized sweatshirts and plain button-downs. She didn’t want pretty. She didn’t want girly. She wanted to feel like herself—grounded, strong, unpretentious.

She wanted her outside to match the girl who’d walked out of the wilderness: sharper, tougher, stripped-down.

When Jackie finally woke, Shauna was in the living room with a mug of coffee, wearing jeans and an oversized plaid shirt that Jackie had said once brought out her eyes. Jackie blinked at her from the doorway, her hair still tangled from sleep, her eyes sunken with exhaustion.

 

Jackie didn’t notice right away. How could she? For months after the rescue, Jackie lived half inside her own nightmares. Some days, she barely spoke. Other days, she clung to Shauna so tightly that Shauna didn’t dare move. Her world had narrowed to survival once, and now it narrowed to healing, and Shauna wasn’t about to rip the one bit of comfort from her wife’s hands.

It wasn’t until weeks later—maybe months—that Jackie really looked at her. They were in the kitchen, Shauna leaning against the counter in ripped jeans and a red flannel, hair tucked messily behind one ear. Jackie’s eyes lingered, her brow knitting as if she was seeing her for the first time since they got home.

“You look…” Jackie hesitated, her voice soft, uncertain. “Different.”

Shauna shrugged, uncomfortable under the weight of Jackie’s gaze. “I needed a change.”

Jackie didn’t push. She just nodded, lips pressing together like she wanted to say something but couldn’t quite get the words out. Trauma had made them both quieter in some ways, louder in others. Shauna knew Jackie still missed the girl she used to be, the one who wore dresses Jackie picked out and let herself be fussed over. But that girl was gone, buried in the wilderness with all the rest of what they lost.

Jackie had blinked when she first saw Shauna, hair shorter, wearing jeans and a plaid shirt she’d picked up secondhand. It was a shock, but only for a second. Because then Jackie smiled, that soft smile that Shauna still didn’t think she deserved, and said, “You look… like you.”

And that was all Shauna needed.

Jackie didn’t fight it. She adjusted. She still teased Shauna sometimes, tugging at her flannel collar with a smirk and murmuring, “You look like you’re about to chop wood,” but her eyes were warm when she said it. And she never asked her to wear a dress again. 

One night They were sitting on the porch together, Jackie bundled in a blanket, Shauna fiddling with a chipped mug of coffee. Jackie’s eyes drifted over her, squinting slightly like she was trying to place something. Then, suddenly, she smiled—small, tired, but real.

“You look…” Jackie tilted her head. “Like you.”

Shauna blinked, caught off guard. “What does that mean?”

Jackie reached out, tugging gently at the edge of Shauna’s flannel. “It means I like this. The jeans. The flannel. The hair. It feels like… you’ve always been this person, and I just didn’t see it.”

For a second, Shauna couldn’t breathe. She had been expecting resistance, maybe even disappointment. Jackie loved dressing her up, loved making her look “pretty.” But instead, there was just quiet acceptance. A kind of soft approval Shauna hadn’t realized she needed.

Jackie leaned against her shoulder, sighing. “I love you like this. I think… I love you more like this. More like the person you were meant to be.”

Shauna pressed her lips to the crown of Jackie’s hair, her hand curling over Jackie’s blanket-wrapped shoulders. She didn’t say anything—words always failed her in moments like this—but something settled in her chest.

She didn’t have to be the girl Jackie dressed up anymore. She didn’t have to wear skirts or curls to keep Jackie’s love.

Jackie loved her.

Messy. Short-haired. Tomboy. Flannel-wearing. Fiercely, stubbornly herself.

And Shauna decided then and there: she was never going back.

 

---

 

 Even years later, Jackie teased her about it.

“Really?” she’d say, eyeing Shauna as she shrugged into one of her three trusty flannels. “Are you sure you don’t want to try the blue one instead of the green? Just to mix it up?”

“Why,” Shauna would deadpan, “when the green one makes me look irresistible?”

Jackie would laugh, roll her eyes, and kiss her anyway. She could tease all she wanted, but she never denied that there was something grounding—something steady —in knowing that when she reached for Shauna, she’d be met with familiar soft cotton and the faint smell of laundry soap, not silk or perfume.

Of course, the Shipman kids joined in on the jokes as they got older. Callie, especially, loved to poke fun, pointing out every tiny hole that appeared in Shauna’s sleeves, declaring that “Mom has a rotation for flannels like the school lunch menu!” Shauna always huffed and grumbled, but there was a smile tugging at her mouth every time.

blazers were the one indulgence she allowed herself—well, indulgence might not be the right word. To Shauna, they were armor. When the Shipmans went to formal events—Henry’s graduation, Jackie’s cousin’s wedding, synagogue gatherings—Shauna refused to let anyone put her back in a dress. She chose tailored blazers, sharp trousers, leather shoes. She didn’t care if Jackie’s parents whispered, or if strangers gave her looks. What she did care about, however, was the way Jackie’s gaze softened every single time.

Because Jackie never called her “pretty” in a blazer. Never “cute.” Always “handsome.”

And Shauna thrived on it. She’d play it off with a smirk, a “Damn right I am,” but inside she lit up like she was seventeen again, desperate for Jackie’s approval. Only now, Jackie gave it freely, with a look that said she saw all of Shauna, even the pieces Shauna still struggled to see herself.

Over the years, the flannels rotated, the sleeves wore thin, and Shauna upgraded to a few new ones (courtesy of Jackie, who pretended not to notice her wife’s reluctance to shop). But the ritual never changed: Jackie teased, Shauna smirked, the kids groaned, and Jackie would always—always—slip her hand into Shauna’s arm and murmur low enough for only her to hear, “God, you’re handsome.”

And that was all Shauna ever needed.

---

 

Shauna never grew out of the comfort clothes she’d clung to after the wilderness. Her everyday uniform remained the same: jeans, flannels, soft cotton shirts, the occasional chunky sweater when Boston winters hit hard. She wasn’t the type to reinvent herself with every decade the way Jackie did. Where Jackie’s closet evolved—floral sundresses in her twenties, sleek business-casual looks in her thirties, and an effortless blend of chic but practical in her forties—Shauna’s wardrobe was steady, practical, reliable. It fit her. It made her feel like herself.

But she did have one exception: date nights.

From the moment Jackie insisted they make that pact—two nights a month that were theirs and theirs alone—Shauna committed to treating them like sacred events. For those nights, she pushed aside the flannel and jeans. She’d pull out a tailored blazer, maybe a silk blouse, or a sharp black jumpsuit that Jackie had once said made her look “devastatingly handsome.” Shauna never forgot that look in Jackie’s eyes when she’d said it, the flush in her cheeks like she was still eighteen.

Jackie loved dressing up too. She always had—ever since they were teenagers and Jackie insisted that a little effort could change the way the world saw you. But Shauna never did it for the world. She did it for Jackie. Because every time Shauna came out of the bedroom with her hair styled neatly, her collar crisp, her jawline sharper than usual under the dim lamplight, Jackie would give her that look. Like she was the only person in the room. Like Shauna Shipman had just stolen her breath.

And Shauna lived for that.

It became a ritual—Jackie slipping into a dress she’d been saving for weeks, something with soft fabric and a neckline that always caught Shauna’s eyes, while Shauna buttoned up her blazer and pretended she wasn’t watching Jackie in the mirror. They’d tease each other lightly: Jackie calling her “my very own movie star” and Shauna tugging at her cufflinks, muttering, “Stop calling me handsome unless you want me to lose my focus all night.”

It was funny, though—out in public, no one looked twice at them. Maybe they just looked like any married couple going out for dinner. But Jackie knew better. And Shauna—despite her gruffness, despite the way she hated being the center of attention—secretly loved that someone as stunning as Jackie, someone who could’ve had anyone, still lit up just because Shauna wore a suit for her.

Their kids noticed, too, once they were old enough. Henry used to groan when Shauna would come downstairs all put-together, saying, “Oh God, you’re both gonna make us late again.” Callie would whistle exaggeratedly, teasing, “Looking sharp, Mom.” And Jackie—always quick to roll her eyes—would lean in and say under her breath, “Ignore them. You do look sharp. And you’re all mine tonight.”

By the time they were older, with five kids and years of chaos behind them, the tradition stayed the same. Date nights were still sacred. And every time Jackie whispered the word “handsome,” whether Shauna was 25, 35, or pushing 50, it still made her heart pound like she was eighteen again in the woods, realizing Jackie Taylor loved her back.

 

Chapter 64

Henry hated how much he resembled his mother.

Not just in the mirror—though the same sharp jawline and dark, unflinching eyes stared back at him every morning—but in ways that were harder to ignore. The cadence of his voice when he got defensive. The way he chewed at the inside of his cheek when he thought too long. Even their paths had lined up without meaning to: both English majors at Brown, both insatiable readers, both unable to resist dissecting every book until it was nothing but bone and gristle.

He’d taken a detour afterward, law school instead of publishing, but still—the roots were the same. Shauna’s son, through and through.

And Henry despised it.

Because when people said you’re just like your mom, he knew they didn’t mean Jackie. Jackie was the sun, the warmth everyone wanted to bask in. Shauna was the storm—the one you braced for. He loved his mother, but he didn’t want to become her: protective until it curdled into control, so afraid of losing that she gripped too tight.

He understood why, of course. He’d pieced together enough over the years, from whispered stories and half-caught confessions, to know what haunted her. Shauna had survived a plane crash. She had carried a pregnancy in the wilderness, only to hand him off the second he was born. She had watched Jackie—the love of her life, the person she tethered herself to like a lifeline—cheat death more times than Henry could count.

And every single time Shauna loosened her grip, Jackie got hurt.

So she learned not to let go. Not ever.

That was the difference between them, Henry thought. Shauna’s patterns were born from blood and snow and starvation. His were just… echoes. Shadows. He hadn’t been there in the woods. He hadn’t seen what she’d seen. He had no excuse for the way his protectiveness flared into possessiveness, for the way he felt his sisters belonged under his watch the same way Mama belonged under Shauna’s.

Henry spent his twenties convinced he was becoming his mother.

The way people said it—you look just like Shauna, or you have your mother’s brain—wasn’t meant to sting. But Henry carried the knowledge like a stone in his pocket: heavy, cold, impossible to forget. He had her eyes, her sharp smile, her instinct to tear things apart before they could tear you first. He’d even gone to the same college, studied the same major. The only fork in their paths was what came after—Shauna had stumbled into publishing before life dragged her in another direction, while Henry had gone to law school, chasing order instead of stories.

But he knew who he was echoing.

And so did Shauna.

Every time she looked at her son, something in her chest caught. He wasn’t just her boy; he was her, the girl she might have stayed if the world hadn’t burned down around her in the wilderness. The one who thought she was clever, invincible, untouchable—until the crash carved all of that away.

She would never tell him that, not outright. But when Henry’s gaze darkened with the same restless anger she used to carry, Shauna felt it like a mirror shoved up in her face. This is who you were. This is what you could have been, if not for blood and fire and bone-deep hunger.

The only thing that softened that anger—for both of them—was Jackie.

Jackie, who had grown into a rhythm of care so absolute it was almost invisible. Who rose before dawn and slept after everyone else, who smoothed out the jagged edges of her wife and son with the same patience she’d shown as a teenager in the woods, cradling a newborn Henry when Shauna couldn’t bear to. Jackie was love made practical, love that cooked and folded and remembered every little thing.

For Shauna, Jackie wasn’t just her partner—she was her salvation, the single force that had tethered her to life when rage and grief could have swallowed her whole. Every time Shauna’s anger flared at the world, it was Jackie’s hand on her wrist, Jackie’s steady gaze, that pulled her back.

For Henry, Jackie was the measure against which he judged himself. She was proof that survival didn’t always have to harden you, that care didn’t mean weakness. Even when he caught himself repeating Shauna’s mistakes—too sharp, too protective, too unwilling to let go—he remembered Mama’s warmth. 

 

 

---

 

By the time Henry was in his thirties he thought he’d finally outpaced his mother’s shadow. He had a law degree, a wife who made him laugh so hard his chest hurt, and twin boys—Jack and Eli—who tumbled through their house like a pair of storm systems, loud and chaotic and alive.

And still, the fear lingered.

Sometimes it came out of nowhere—when Eli scraped his knee on the playground and Henry’s chest clenched so tight he wanted to forbid the boys from ever running again. Or when Jack threw a tantrum and Henry felt his voice sharpen into something cold and cutting, the same edge he’d grown up hearing from Shauna when her nerves snapped.

In those moments, he could see it so clearly: his mother’s face in the mirror, her intensity, her need to control everything she loved before the world could steal it away.

Kate was the one who always pulled him back.

“You’re not your mom,” she reminded him, sometimes firm, sometimes soft, always unwavering. “You’re Henry. Our boys need you, not some ghost you’re fighting.”

He wanted to believe her. And most days, he almost did.

But the paranoia was hard to shake. He’d watched Shauna’s love curdle into possession, her fear of losing Jackie twist into a grip that could suffocate. He knew the roots of it—trauma, survival, the wilderness that had stolen so much from her—but he hadn’t lived through that himself. He didn’t have an excuse. If he became her, it wouldn’t be because of a plane crash or starvation or death. It would be because it was inside him already.

And yet… he also knew what else he had inherited. Jackie’s steadiness. Her endless, quiet work. The way she had been the heart of their family, the one who carried him and his sisters safely into adulthood even when the weight should have crushed her.

Henry wanted that to be his legacy to Jack and Eli. Not fear. Not control. But love made visible, love that kept them safe without clipping their wings.

Some nights, after the twins were finally asleep and the house was still, he’d sit with Kate on the couch and admit the fears out loud. She always listened, patient and sure, and sometimes she’d laugh gently when he spiraled too far.

“You’re not doomed to repeat anything,” she said once, hand resting on his knee. “You get to choose. That’s the difference between you and your mom. She didn’t get a choice. You do.”

It was in his bones. People said it so casually—you’re Shauna’s spitting image, you’ve got her eyes, you’re so sharp, just like her—but Henry carried those words like weights. Because he knew what they meant. They weren’t just talking about features or intelligence. They were talking about that stormy intensity, that relentless control, the fear that turned into possession.

By the time he married Kate, the paranoia had dug so deep it felt like second nature. He adored his wife, but some nights he lay awake, staring at the ceiling, convinced he’d ruin her. Convinced he’d suffocate her the way Shauna sometimes smothered Jackie with love so fierce it bordered on violence.

When the twins came Henry’s fear only sharpened.

He remembered the first time he held them, impossibly small, squirming in his arms. It should have been joy, but all he felt was terror. What if he was too much? What if he broke them without meaning to?

He saw echoes of Shauna everywhere. When Jack climbed too high at the park, Henry’s voice snapped sharp, dragging him down before he could fall. When Eli refused to listen, Henry’s temper burned hotter than he wanted, words tumbling out harsher than he meant. He hated himself in those moments, hated the way Kate’s gentle “Henry…” pulled him back like Jackie’s voice always had for Shauna.

Kate was patient. She reminded him over and over: You’re not your mom. You’re Henry. You get to choose. And Henry wanted to believe her, but fear had its claws in him.

Shauna saw it, too. The way Henry’s jaw clenched when the twins tested his patience. The way his eyes—her eyes—hardened just like hers used to when she felt cornered. She never said anything, but sometimes, in the quiet, she wondered if this was her fault. Had she passed it down, like some curse? That restless, angry mirror of who she used to be before the crash broke her into pieces?

Jackie saw something else. She saw Henry catch himself. She saw him kneel down after snapping at Jack or Eli, voice softening into apology, arms open. She saw the way he checked himself, again and again, even when it tore him apart inside.

“Stop punishing yourself,” she told him once, when the twins were seven and Henry was sitting at her kitchen table looking wrecked after a rough day. “You’re not your mom.”

“I feel like her,” Henry confessed.

“You’re not,” Jackie said, firm. “Your mom didn’t have the chance to learn better. She didn’t have anyone to show her. You do. You’re already different, Henry.”

He wanted to believe her, but it would take years before the truth finally sank in.

It wasn’t until the twins were teenagers that Henry realized.

They were taller than him by then, voices dropping, moods swinging like wild pendulums. They slammed doors. They argued. They tested boundaries the way teenagers always did. And every instinct in Henry told him to lock everything down, to control it, to smother it before something terrible happened.

But then—he let go.

Not all at once, not perfectly. But little by little. He let Jack walk home from practice without trailing behind in the car. He let Eli take risks without cutting him off mid-step. And instead of the disasters he feared, something else happened.

The boys thrived.

They weren’t afraid of him. They didn’t shrink back when he got sharp; they pushed back, argued, laughed, teased him. And more than once, Henry caught himself watching them with awe. They trusted him. They loved him, not because he gripped tight, but because he showed up.

One night, after a particularly rough fight with Eli that ended in a tearful hug on the back porch, Henry finally understood. He wasn’t his mother.

Because Shauna had never learned to let go. But he had.

It hit him again when he saw Shauna at the boys’ high school graduation. She stood beside Jackie, tears in her eyes, proud but restless, like she couldn’t believe they had made it this far without disaster. Jackie’s hand anchored hers, as it always had, and for the first time, Henry felt… compassion. Not just fear, not just anger at what she had passed down to him, but understanding.

Shauna hadn’t chosen to become who she was. The wilderness had carved her into that person, protective and possessive and always on edge. He had inherited the shape of her, but not the scars.

That was the difference.

Kate was right. Jackie was right. He was his own person. And when Jack and Eli looked at him, they didn’t see Shauna. They saw their dad.

For the first time in his life, Henry was at peace with the mirror.

 

Chapter 65: Kitchen Discos

Henry’s earliest memories were of music.
Not the kind played on the radio, but the kind that spilled from the kitchen stereo—loud, messy, infectious. Jackie’s kind. She was the fun parent, the one who could turn a burnt casserole into a comedy routine, who turned cleaning days into full-blown dance parties, who knew every word to songs older than her kids and sang them anyway.

Shauna, by contrast, was sharper-edged. She didn’t dislike her children—tolerated was the word Henry landed on as he grew older—but she hadn’t wanted them in the same way Jackie had. Shauna loved Jackie too much to risk letting her step out of the house, loved her enough to keep her anchored. Kids were the surest way to do that. And so their family grew, one child at a time, until the house was filled with voices and arguments and laughter.

But Shauna’s joy wasn’t in the raising of them. Her joy came when she walked in after a long day—hair mussed, blazer slung over her arm, still vibrating with the frenetic energy of publishing meetings—and found Jackie and the kids in the middle of some ridiculous kitchen disco. Callie belting into a whisk like it was a microphone. Rylie spinning circles in socks on the tile. Evie dragging baby Poppy across the floor in a wagon that doubled as a dance prop. Jackie at the center of it all, twirling, laughing, radiant.

Shauna never joined in. But she would stand in the doorway, watching, her mouth tugging into a smile that was equal parts pride and longing. This—this—was why she’d fought to keep Jackie close. Not the kids themselves, but the way Jackie shone with them.

Henry, as the oldest, noticed more than his sisters. He noticed how Jackie’s love for them came easy, endless, like sunlight pouring in through a window. He noticed how Shauna’s affection was more complicated, sharper around the edges, her patience stretched thin. He noticed how she softened only when her gaze landed on Jackie, how even their children seemed secondary to the woman who had kept them alive in the wilderness all those years ago.

Still, he never doubted Shauna’s love for Jackie. It was fierce, sometimes ugly, sometimes suffocating, but it was real. And Henry, for all his fears of becoming his mother, couldn’t deny the strange beauty of that loyalty. Even if it was flawed.

---

When Henry became a father himself, he carried all of this like a blueprint in his head. Kate teased him that he was doomed to be the serious parent, and she was right—he couldn’t dance in the kitchen without tripping over his own feet. But Kate? Kate could. And sometimes, when he came home after a long day in court and found Kate and the boys sliding across the hardwood floors, socks on, music blaring, Henry felt the strangest ache of recognition.

It was the same scene he had grown up with. Jackie at the center. Shauna watching from the edge.

Except this time, Henry was the one in the doorway.

And here was the difference: instead of staying on the sidelines, he forced himself to step in. Clumsy, awkward, stiff at first—but his boys screamed with delight, Kate grabbed his hand, and suddenly Henry was spinning, laughing, moving.

It wasn’t about being the fun parent. It was about not being afraid.

---

Shauna, older now, sometimes watched her son with his family and felt a mix of pride and something close to envy. Henry had inherited her face, her eyes, her intensity—but he had found a way to bend instead of break, to love without possession.

Jackie would tease her whenever she caught her watching too long. “You know, you could dance with them too.”

Shauna would roll her eyes, mutter something about paperwork. But deep down, she loved the sound of the music, loved that their family—messy, imperfect, stitched together by survival—was still alive, still laughing, still dancing.

And that, she thought, was enough.

Chapter 66: Shauna being the best wife

Jackie had a favorite ritual.

Every time a new baby came home, she’d gather the older siblings close, kneel down so they could see the bundle in her arms, and let them meet their sister for the first time. Those moments were etched into her heart like holy days.

When Callie was born, Henry was nine, serious and solemn, hovering over the bassinet like a little guard dog while Jackie held the swaddled, colicky baby. He’d leaned close, whispered something she couldn’t hear, and Jackie had felt the enormity of their family stretching, making room for another heartbeat.

She remembered Callie, wild-haired and wide-eyed, pressing her face too close to baby Rylie and whispering, She smells funny. She remembered Rylie, shy but curious, tickling baby Evie’s tiny toes and giggling when they curled. Those were the moments Jackie lived for, the little flashes of wonder where family expanded before their eyes.Jackie could still remember Evie’s tiny face pressed into Callie’s hair, Rylie’s shy smile, Shauna standing back with that quiet, steady pride.

Evie, mischievous and curious, poking Jackie’s belly just days before Poppy’s birth and asking, Is she kicking cause she wants out?

Those moments were treasures, tucked away in Jackie’s mind.

But with Poppy, she missed it.

She remembered the lights, the rush of voices, the way Shauna’s face had gone white as the world tilted away. And then nothing. By the time she was stable enough to see Poppy, two weeks had passed. The introductions had already happened. Two weeks in the ICU, drifting in and out of a fog, too weak to hold her baby, too far from her kids. It was the one gap in the chain of her motherhood, a blank she couldn’t fill no matter how she tried. 

Shauna, in her own way, had filled it for her.

Through her grief and anger, through the raw terror of almost losing the woman she’d built her life around, Shauna had thought ahead. She had remembered how much Jackie loved those introductions, how she replayed them in stories, laughter, photographs. So when Deb and Henry arrived at the hospital with the younger kids Callie restless at fifteen, Rylie calm at ten, Evie bright-eyed at five—Shauna pulled out her phone.

She recorded as the girls crowded into the hospital room, their voices bubbling over with excitement. Callie elbowed her way to the front, eyes sparkling as she declared herself the first to hold the baby. Rylie hovered close, hands careful, her calm voice soothing the fussing newborn. Evie’s laughter rang out as she stroked the baby’s cheek, whispering hi, Poppy, I’m your big sister. Henry stood a little apart, guiding each of them, his hand steady on Riley's shoulder, his other arm helping Evie climb onto the chair. Deb leaned in, tears streaking her face, whispering blessings in Hebrew under her breath.

Shauna kept the camera steady even though her hands shook. She knew Jackie would want this. She knew Jackie would need it. And after everything she would do anything fo make her smile for even a moment. 

Later that day, after Jackie was stable enough for a visit with her baby, Shauna brought the video. Jackie was pale, tired, her body still weak, but when Shauna held the phone up and pressed play, her wife’s whole face changed.

Jackie lit up.

She reached out, her fingers trembling, clutching Shauna’s hand as the video played. Tears spilled down her cheeks, but her smile was radiant. She watched her children crowd around their new sister, watched the joy, the chaos, the love.

Callie rolling her eyes but unable to hide her smile as she leaned over the plastic crib.
Rylie, calm and awed, cradling Poppy like a pro.
Evie cheeky grin wide as she announced, I’m the best sister, right?
Henry, tall and quiet, guiding them all closer with a protective hand in the background.
And Deb, her voice warm behind the camera, cooing, Oh, she’s perfect.

“You remembered,” Jackie whispered, voice breaking.

Shauna said nothing. She only squeezed Jackie’s hand tighter, her own throat too thick for words.

It was a moment she carried with her forever. Not the fear, not the blood, not the rage at how close she’d come to losing everything—but the way Jackie’s face shone in that sterile hospital room, joy burning through the exhaustion.

For Shauna, it became proof of why she did everything—every fight, every compromise, every desperate choice. To keep Jackie here. To give her these moments.

It became one of Jackie’s favorite videos. She played it often in the years that followed, laughing as Evie hammed it up, smiling at Rylie’s gentleness, marveling at how big Callie had been already. She mourned, sometimes, what she had missed. But mostly she cherished that Shauna had thought to capture it. The memory she hadn’t been able to live, but had been given anyway, by the woman who loved her more fiercely than anyone else ever could. For Shauna, it was different. She never watched the video again. To her it was a memory of nearly losing everything. The sight of Jackie pale and fragile in that hospital bed haunted her far more than the sound of their girls’ laughter soothed her. But she had done it for Jackie, because she knew what it would mean.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 2 of Made it out alive but at what cost