Chapter Text
Marjorie didn't know how long it had been since those words from Geraldine had hit her square in the chest. Could have been a second, a minute, or an hour. Not that she was paying attention to her surroundings anymore.
"Reece and I have been having an affair."
She knew that. Of course she had — she'd felt it deep in her bones for weeks now. Reece had been distant lately, his eyes no longer sparkling the way they used to when they landed on her.
But maybe it was her own fault.
As her mum always said: 'Who would ever want to be with someone who doesn't want children?'
Reece had been so thrilled spending time with Autumn's twins, she had noticed that.
"I'm getting good with kids," he had said one evening — casual words that had left Marjorie awake until 3 a.m., overthinking.
Did he want to be a dad? Then why would he agree to marry her, knowing perfectly well how she felt about getting pregnant? Did he even—
"Marjorie..? Marjorie?"
Charlotte's voice snapped her out of her daze, and she blinked a couple of times, realising Geraldine wasn't even in the office anymore.
Marjorie took a shaky breath, trying to calm the racing pulse hammering in her ears. She could feel the veins in her forehead throbbing, the headache already blooming behind her eyes.
Her head turned slowly toward the girl standing in the middle of the room, wide and concerned blue eyes staring back at her.
"Yes, my love?"
Her tone was tight and a bit hoarse, far from her usual cheerfulness, and her hands clenched at her sides at how vulnerable she sounded.
Charlotte raised one of her eyebrows, tilting her head in confusion. She glanced quickly toward the window, catching a glimpse of Geraldine hurrying to her car, and then back at Marjorie.
"Are you okay? I.. I noticed Geraldine walking out of the office, and... well, you were standing there in a world of your own when I came in. Is everything alright? Did she say something?"
Marjorie swallowed down the burning taste of betrayal, and tried her best to straighten her posture before answering.
"Yes, in fact, she did say something." She blinked a few times, then looked down at her desk with a thin, bitter smile. "I think I win gossip of the week this time."
Charlotte frowned, confusion deepening as she tried to read between the lines. After a few moments, her eyes widened, and she stepped closer to the desk.
"Oh my god, she told you who she's been having an affair with?!?" she whispered with too much excitement, looking around to avoid prying ears, even though they were completely alone in the office. "So who is it? Bob? Becky? Roger? Please tell me it's Becky, I'd love to see Sorscha's face when I tell her she owes me twenty pounds!"
Marjorie looked up slowly, her broken heart aching even more at how joyful Charlotte seemed right now.
Almost everyone at the nursery — but Char and Sorscha specifically — had spent the past week trying to prove to her that it wasn't Reece.
"Come on, Marjorie, it can't be him. He would never do that!" She had heard that phrase too many times, and when she was actually starting to believe it...
"Reece."
The name left her mouth with a bitter taste, slicing the air between them and setting a torturous silence in the room.
Charlotte was stunned. She had leaned back, her eyes wide, her mouth slightly open, but no sounds were coming out of it. She was frozen on the spot, as if someone had slapped her.
"W-What...?"
"Geraldine came in and said she wanted to tell me before Friday. Oh, and that she feels awful every time she sees me." Marjorie's lips curled into something too sharp to be a smile. "How considerate of her, ain't it?"
Her words were quiet, mocking, but there was rage trembling just underneath. Charlotte blinked a few times, unsure of how to react, considering how... composed Marjorie seemed about all of this.
"Oh my God, Marjorie, I'm so sorry..." She whispered then, reaching out a hand to her friend's arm. "Are you okay?"
Marjorie gave a short, humourless laugh. "Am I okay?" she echoed, finally meeting Charlotte's gaze. "I just found out my husband's been screwing one of the parents behind my back, so... yeah, I'm absolutely fantastic."
Her voice cracked on the last words, and she bit the inside of her cheek so hard she tasted blood. She refused to let the tears fall.
Charlotte's hand lingered on her arm, trying to offer a bit of comfort, her voice softening. "Do you... Do you want me to call Autumn?"
Marjorie shook her head, but the movement was jerky, unconvincing. "No. She... she's busy with the twins, and she's been struggling with her own anxiety. She doesn't need to worry about this as well."
Charlotte hesitated, glancing toward the window where Geraldine's car had just pulled out of the lot. "Do you want to go home then? I can let Mia know."
Marjorie's eyes flicked to her desk, at the papers she'd been working on before Geraldine walked in. It all felt absurd now — the idea of carrying on like nothing had happened. But going home meant going there, facing him. She didn't have the strength for that.
"I don't think that's a good idea," she admitted finally, her voice barely above a murmur. "I... I can't face him right now."
Charlotte's heart ached at the sight of her manager — still acting composed, but she could see the way her hands were clenched so tight her knuckles had gone white. "Alright..." she said gently. "I... I have to go back to the baby room; Sorscha's waiting for me to cover to go to lunch. But if you need anything, please let me know."
She had started walking towards the door, but then stopped and looked back at Marjorie over her shoulder, offering a small smile.
"We're all here for you. I mean it."
When Charlotte left the room, Marjorie let out a heavy breath she didn't know she'd been holding. Her shoulders dropped, and she steadied herself against the desk. Her eyes went down to the ring wrapped around her finger, and her heart twisted painfully. Her face contorted as she fought to keep the tears at bay.
When the office door swung open a few moments later, Marjorie jolted upright, straightening her back, her eyes wide. Her whole body relaxed when she saw Mia entering the room.
"I will kill him!"
Mia's tone was sharp and uncharacteristically protective, and Marjorie raised an eyebrow, surprised.
"Morning to you as well, Mia," she muttered, sighing as she sank into her chair and took a sip of her Appletiser. She smiled weakly, her tone getting a bit mocking.
"I really should stop telling things to Char."
Mia rolled her eyes, but for once since they've met she didn't reply with a witty comeback.
Instead, she put her coffee down on her own desk and turned to Marjorie with an unusual soft look.
"Marjorie, I'm really sorry for what that stupid, pathetic excuse of a man you married did."
She sounded genuinely pissed off at Reece, and she was.
"I completely understand if you don't want to see him right now. If you'd like, Char and I have a spare room; you can stay with us tonight. Or for as long as you need, really."
Marjorie blinked a few times, tilting her head as if she had just heard someone speaking another language. Her eyes narrowed slightly, meeting Mia's in confusion.
"You... you're being serious?"
Mia scoffed, rolling her eyes before nodding, thumbs already flying across her phone screen.
"Of course I'm being serious. As I've said before, it'll be a cold day in hell when I take the side of a man. Especially a cheating one."
The redhead put her phone down after sending whatever she'd typed, her eyes locking with Marjorie.
"Even over you."
To say that Marjorie was surprised was an euphemism. She had to blink a few times again, while her thoughts tried not to overwhelm her more than they already were.
She looked down towards Mia's phone as it buzzed repeatedly on the desk, and the manager sighed once again, leaning back on her chair.
"You texted Autumn, didn't you?"
"Of course I did!" Mia shot back immediately. "She deserves to know what a scumbag her brother really is!"
And Marjorie couldn't even argue with that, but she wasn't sure she could handle anything right now — not Autumn's worry, not anyone's pity.
She stayed silent, staring blankly at the papers on her desk, sipping her Appletiser, while Mia started texting on her phone again furiously.
After ten minutes, the silence in the room felt unbearable. Mia hated to admit it, but she had started to like Marjorie's constant chatter. This quiet felt wrong — like the air itself had turned heavy.
She sighed and set her phone down again, her eyes now really looking at the woman beside her. Marjorie's head was hung low, her fingers trembling but not tapping on anything — as she usually would — almost as if she was afraid to make a sound.
"Do you want to talk about it...?"
Marjorie froze for just a second, but then her eyes lifted to meet Mia's gaze, and she shook her head. There weren't any words left inside her. Only the echo of Geraldine's voice and Reece's lies.
She didn't know how long she'd been sitting like that. The world had gone quiet around her, blurred at the edges, like everything was happening underwater. The faint shuffling of Mia's papers, the chatter from the corridor outside — it all melted into a dull buzz.
She was staring at her wedding ring, twisting it around her finger as if it might suddenly give her answers. Every movement felt mechanical, automatic.
Her thoughts kept replaying the last few weeks, looping and twisting in on themselves. Reece staying out late. Reece smiling at his phone. Reece avoiding her gaze during dinner — even during the ones at his sister's house — brushing off her attempts at conversation with that tired, distracted tone he'd perfected.
And all the while, she'd believed him. She'd told herself he was stressed because of the twins, or maybe just bored to be at home all day after losing his job. She kept blaming herself for it — for everything, actually.
Maybe if I were different. Maybe if I were there for him more. Maybe if I wanted kids and wasn't so—
Her breath caught in her throat. The betrayal sat heavy in her stomach like lead.
Everyone at the nursery had been so curious about Geraldine's affair — herself included — and yet, the truth had been right there all along, sharing her bed at night, smiling at her across the table in the morning.
Those thirty minutes felt like being in another dimension for Mia.
Her colleague had just stayed quiet, and even though it wasn't news that she wasn't working, what worried Mia the most was the fact that she had left her can of Appletiser there untouched.
"Marjorie..." Mia's voice broke through the silence, gentle but cautious. But Marjorie didn't answer. She just kept staring at her desk, hands trembling slightly, her face pale and unreadable.
Mia sighed and stood, taking a hesitant step closer, but before she could even mutter another word, the door to the office opened. She immediately turned, ready to send away whoever was interrupting, but then froze.
"Thank god you're here, Aut."
Autumn looked exhausted, though still put together in that calm, careful way she always was. Since Winter was working there, and Reece wasn't one of the people she wanted to see right now, Autumn had been forced to take little Dorian and Emery with her — not that she minded — and she pushed the strollers inside the room.
"I started getting ready after your texts. I couldn't stay home."
Autumn's voice was low and composed as always, but it was obvious that she was fuming inside.
Mia opened her mouth to respond, but Marjorie beat her to it, her tone sharp, brittle.
"You shouldn't have come."
Autumn raised an eyebrow in confusion, eyes flickering to Marjorie. "Why? I was worried about you."
"Did you know..?"
Marjorie's voice was so quiet that Autumn wasn't even sure words had come out of her mouth.
"What?"
"Did you know?"
Marjorie asked once again, voice tight, fists clenching on the desk.
Her tone wasn't accusatory, but not friendly either — it threw Mia off guard, as much as Autumn.
"No. Of course I didn't." Autumn's reply was immediate after the initial shock — how could Marjorie even think she would keep something like this from her?
"Oh, don't lie to me, Autumn, please. You're his sister, how could you not know?"
Autumn felt something churn in her stomach.
"Marjorie, I-"
"You're his sister, for goodness sake!"
The scratching sound of Marjorie's chair on the floor made everyone flinch in the room, as the manager stood up abruptly, pointing a finger towards her best friend — her shoulders trembling as if the betrayal was physically unbearable, and maybe it was.
"You kept it from me!"
Autumn's eyes widened, as she swallowed down and straightened her back.
Mia, on the other hand, was staring a bit in shock, not knowing how to help — or even if she could help make it better.
"What was it? Some kind of sick game to get rid of poor, stupid Marjorie?!" Marjorie's voice rose with each sentence, cracking on some of the words.
"Am I really not enough for any of you in that family!?!"
The tension in the room was thick enough to choke on.
And then, suddenly, Emery started crying. A shrill, confused wail that filled the space instantly. Dorian followed a second later, startled by the noise, his little face scrunching up as he began to sob too.
The sound cut straight through Marjorie's anger like a blade, and she looked up, breathing fast — the reality of what she'd just said, how she'd sounded, sinking in like ice water.
"Oh my Christ.." she whispered, voice trembling. "I-I'm sorry- I didn't mean- I shouldn't have-"
Autumn, who was gently rocking Emery in her arms, while Mia carefully calmed down Dorian, stepped closer, eyes softening. "It's alright," she said quietly. "They just got scared."
Marjorie shook her head quickly, backing away from her desk, pressing her palm against her chest. "No, it's not alright. I shouldn't have yelled, or- or said those things at all."
She felt weak on her knees, so she backed up to the filing cabinet and slid down until she was sitting on the floor. Her breaths came shallow and uneven, and she stared at her hands like they belonged to someone else.
Autumn and Mia exchanged a concerned look, and then Autumn nodded to her sister with a small smile.
Mia slowly circled the desk, looking down at the other woman with a care that didn't really belong to their relationship, Dorian still in her arms.
"Hey, hey, breathe..." she said softly, crouching down to sit in front of Marjorie. "You've had a hell of a morning. You're allowed to not be okay. Here." She gently held out Dorian towards Marjorie with a gentle smile. "Hold him."
Marjorie blinked, startled. "What? No, I-"
"It's okay," Autumn said, walking closer towards them. Emery was now curled up in her mother's lap, her tiny head leaning on her shoulder. "He's calm now. Just... hold him for a second. I'm sure he won't refuse a hug from auntie Marjorie."
Without giving her much choice, Mia gently placed Dorian into Marjorie's arms. The baby squirmed a little, then nestled against her chest, small fingers clutching the fabric of her top.
For a moment, everything else disappeared.
Marjorie looked down at him, watching his eyelids flutter, the quiet, shaky breaths he took as he started to calm. Her own heartbeat slowed, matching his rhythm without meaning to.
The silence that followed wasn't heavy anymore — it was fragile, almost peaceful.
"i'm sorry," Marjorie said finally, voice small. "I shouldn't have shouted."
Autumn shook her head, now sat on the floor with them as well, Emery sleeping in her arms. "You're allowed to be angry."
"Not at you."
Autumn smiled faintly, reaching out to adjust Dorian's onesie. "I understand why you did that, though. But I can assure you, Marjorie, I didn't know."
"We both didn't," Mia added quietly, leaning her head back on the wall, looking up at the ceiling of the office.
"Or we would've ended this pretty fast. I've been begging to kick some asses lately."
Marjorie rolled her eyes, but a small faint smile tugged at her lips anyway.
The only sound in the office was now Dorian and Emery's soft breathing, and the distant hum of the hallway behind the door.
And though she didn't cry, Marjorie felt something deep inside her shift — like the first crack in a wall that had stood too long.