Betty stood near the front door, her expression tight with concern as she watched Frances getting ready to leave her house. “It’s an absolute frenzy out there,” she warned, her voice low.

Frances only smiled, slipping her arms through the sleeves of a white coat. “Good,” she said simply and reached for her handbag, checking her lipstick in the hallway mirror before stepping outside.

The morning air was cool, but the heat of anticipation was already thick beyond the gate. Frances walked to her car, moving with the same poise she carried on-screen. As she slid behind the wheel, she adjusted her sunglasses, tilted the mirror, and gave herself one last look. Then, without a second thought, she started the engine.

The moment the gates began to open, the storm hit.

A sea of reporters surged forward, cameras flashing in rapid succession, the bulbs popping like fireworks. Microphones and notepads jabbed toward her car, voices overlapping in a chaotic symphony.

“Miss Louise! Miss Louise! What's her name?”

“How long have you been taking care of her?”

“Is she your brother’s child or your own?”

“Why keep her a secret for so long?”

“How old is she?”

“Miss Louise, just one statement!”

The frenzy was relentless, bodies pressing in from all sides as Frances kept her grip steady on the wheel. She didn’t flinch, didn’t acknowledge them, only pressed her foot down lightly on the gas, forcing them to shuffle back as she pulled forward.

A reporter smacked the hood of her car in desperation. Another ran alongside her, shouting her name. More bulbs flashed, the glare bouncing off her windshield. But Frances remained unshaken, her expression unreadable behind the dark lenses of her sunglasses.

She maneuvered through the chaos with ease, never looking back. The gate shut behind her with a heavy clang, sealing the storm inside.

....


Yaz sat in the back of the cab, one leg crossed over the other, her fingers resting lightly on her bag. She knew what was coming. She’d seen the headlines spoke with Frances this morning. And sure enough, as the taxi turned onto the street leading to the studio, she spotted them.

A swarm of reporters stood clustered near the entrance, cameras slung over their shoulders, notebooks in hand. The moment they spotted her in the cab, a wave of movement surged toward it, flashbulbs sparking against the early morning light.

“Miss Khan! Did you know about the child!”

“What can you tell us about the little girl?”

“How long have you known?”

“Did Frances keep this a secret from you, too?”

The cab slowed, nearly coming to a stop, but Yaz remained still. She leaned forward, exhaling softly through her nose as she took in the chaos unfolding outside, an absolute frenzy, far beyond what she had expected, even with Frances’s warnings.

The driver hesitated, glancing at her through the rearview mirror. “Want me to go around, miss?”

“No.” Her voice was calm. Steady. “Just keep going. They’ll move.”

And sure enough, they did. The car inched forward, forcing the reporters to step aside, parting like water around a stone. Flashbulbs continued to pop, questions were still being shouted, but Yaz remained perfectly still, watching.

The moment the cab passed through the studio gates, the chaos was left behind.

....

Yaz stepped out of the car, adjusting her coat as she let out a slow breath. The chaos outside the studio gates was already fading behind her, but the weight of it still clung to her shoulders. She was acutely aware of what they’d just set in motion, the storm they had unleashed. And this? This was only the beginning.

And then she saw her.

Frances leaned casually against her car, one foot crossed over the other, the morning sun casting a golden glow over her crisp white blouse. Her sunglasses masked her eyes, a cigarette perched between her fingers, its smoke curling lazily into the air. She looked effortlessly composed, as if the world wasn’t currently tearing itself apart over her name.

Yaz shook her head, half-smiling as she walked toward her.

"You look like you’re enjoying yourself," she remarked.

Frances exhaled a slow stream of smoke, tilting her head slightly in Yaz’s direction. Her lips curled into a smirk. "Oh, darling," she murmured, voice rich and unbothered. "I live for the drama."

Yaz let out a burst of laughter at their ridiculous banter, something only the two of them found funny.

"You’ll change your tune soon enough," she teased. "Wait till you step into that meeting."

"Me? Never." Frances grinned, flicking her cigarette away before pushing off the car. She leaned in, kissing Yaz’s cheek in greeting.

Yaz’s expression turned more serious. "When’s the meeting?"

"In fifteen minutes," Frances said, crushing the cigarette under her heel. "Feels like I’m walking into a poker game. I’ll either leave a millionaire… or a pauper."

"Let’s hope it’s the first one, huh?" Yaz said as they started toward the main building. Then, after a beat, she added, "Do you think he’s seen it yet?"

"No." Frances shook her head. "With the time difference and publishing schedules, the news won’t hit New York until late afternoon. Maybe even evening. But he’ll see it today."

"Are you nervous?"

Frances sighed. "I didn’t sleep all night."

"Me neither," Yaz admitted. "I keep thinking I either helped you… or ruined you completely."

Frances hooked her arm through Yaz’s, resting her head affectionately against her shoulder for a brief moment. Her voice softened.

"You could never ruin me," she murmured. "No matter what comes of this… I feel strangely free already."

She glanced at Yaz then, offering the softest, most grateful smile. "I never would’ve had the guts to do this without you." She pressed a quick, affectionate kiss to her cheek before adding with a knowing smirk, "Or Susan."

With that, they stepped into the building, ready to face whatever came next.

"Well, if this all goes up in flames, we’ll be baking cakes for the rest of our lives," Yaz laughed.

"Yeah… but at least we’ll be doing it together," Frances said with a fond smile.

....

As they stepped inside the building, Yaz had to carry on with her usual day while Frances headed straight into her meeting. Her phone had been ringing nonstop all morning, but for the most part, she ignored it.

Just before they parted ways, Yaz gave her a quick reminder.

"Remember… Her mum died in childbirth, and your brother couldn’t raise her alone. You’ve been taking care of her since she was born, that’s why she calls you ‘Mum.’"

"Got it," Frances sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Jesus, we’re either absolute geniuses or completely fucking mad."

Yaz smirked. "Let’s hope for the first one."

"You do realize they'll see right through that?"

"Who the hell cares as long as you keep your job"

Frances flashed a grin as she turned to leave. "Wish me luck."

....

As Frances stepped into the hallway, the usual rhythm of the studio felt slightly off. People who normally wouldn’t have given her more than a passing glance now did double takes. Some whispered to each other the moment she walked past, their hushed voices and stolen glances obvious.

A pair of secretaries near the water cooler went silent the second they saw her, their eyes widening before one leaned in to murmur something to the other. A set builder, adjusting a lighting rig, gave her an appreciative nod, almost as if he respected the sheer audacity of it all.

One of the younger contract actresses, barely past nineteen, passed her in the hall and beamed. "Miss Louise, I just think it’s wonderful, what you’re doing for that little girl," she said earnestly.

Frances smiled, her expression poised. "Thank you, sweetheart," she replied smoothly before continuing down the corridor.

A few others gave her wary looks, clearly unsure how to react. A veteran actor, whom she had worked with on a past film, raised an eyebrow as he walked by. "You sure know how to make headlines, Frances," he muttered with a half-smirk.

She merely lifted her chin and smiled, unbothered. "I try."

As she approached the door to the meeting room, one of the assistant producers held it open for her. "Good luck in there," he murmured, his tone carrying an edge of both admiration and curiosity.

"Thanks...I'll need it" she smiled

....

As Yaz made her way through the studio, the shift in atmosphere around her too was undeniable. Normally, she could move through the halls with little notice, just another part of the well-oiled machine that kept productions running. But today? Today, people noticed her.

A few crew members gave her subtle nods, as if in quiet acknowledgment of the madness swirling around Frances, and by extension, her. A script supervisor she barely knew passed by and whispered, "Quite the morning, huh?" with an amused smirk.

In the wardrobe department, the reactions varied. Some of her colleagues acted like nothing was different, sticking to their routines, but Yaz wasn’t oblivious to the side glances and murmured conversations behind bolts of fabric and sewing machines.

One of the older seamstresses, Irene, folded her arms as Yaz walked in. "Well, love, I’d say you’ve had an eventful morning," she said with a knowing look.

Yaz just sighed, slipping off her coat. "You could say that."

A younger assistant, wide-eyed, blurted out, "So is it true? You knew the whole time?"

Yaz simply raised an eyebrow. "Did you read it in the papers?"

The girl hesitated, then nodded.

"Then it must be true," Yaz said dryly, earning a chuckle from Irene.

As she moved to take her usual seat, one of the costume designers, Ed, leaned on the back of a chair and grinned. "Well, one thing’s for sure. You sure know how to keep things interesting, Yaz."

She let out a breath, shaking her head with a half-smile. "Yeah, well… it’s only Tuesday."

....

The heavy oak doors slammed shut behind Frances as she strode into the boardroom, her chin lifted in defiance. The air inside was thick with tension, the scent of cigars and stale coffee clinging to the room. Around the long mahogany table, a dozen men in pressed suits sat watching her, some wary, others outright hostile.

Frances entered the room with practiced ease, her heels clicking against the polished floor as every pair of eyes in the room turned to her. There was tension in the air, thick enough to taste.

"Good morning, gentlemen," she said smoothly, pulling off her sunglasses and tucking them into her handbag. She met each gaze evenly, lingering for a beat on Henry Whitmore before settling into her seat at the far end of the long table.

A murmur of half-hearted greetings followed, but no one was smiling. The air was heavy, expectant.

She crossed one leg over the other and folded her hands in her lap, glancing around at the assembled executives, publicists, and legal advisors. She knew why they were all here. Knew what was coming.

"Shall we begin?" she prompted, as if this were any other routine meeting.

At the head of the table sat Henry Whitmore, one of the senior executives in the studio. In front of him, tossed carelessly on the polished wood, was a magazine. Her face was plastered across the cover, the headline screaming scandal.

Henry picked it up, his fingers curling around it tightly before he tossed it across the table, letting it skid to a stop in front of her.

"Can you make this go away?" he demanded, his voice low but tight, as if controlling a storm brewing just beneath the surface.

Frances didn’t even glance at the magazine. She’d already seen it. Instead, she folded her arms. "No," she said flatly. "And I don’t see why I should either. I haven’t done anything wrong."

Henry let out a short, bitter laugh. "Are you out of your goddamn mind?" he snapped. "This mess you've created is a disaster for the studio. The phone’s been ringing non-stop all morning. Investors, sponsors, even distributors...they’re all panicking because their precious starlet decided to parade around with her..."

"Careful," Frances warned, her eyes flashing.

"Shut up, Henry!" James Ratcliffe rolled his eyes. "It will blow off."

Henry's gaze narrowed as he leaned forward. "Oh, come off it. Don’t act like you don’t know how this works." He sneered, then turned back to Frances. "This isn’t just about you, sweetheart. It’s about every man in this room, every project we have lined up, every dime we’ve poured into making you a household name. You think you can just waltz around with her and there won’t be consequences?"

Frances took a step forward, her voice cool and deadly. "I'm not waltzing around with anyone. I'm simply taking care of a child that you lot didn't even know existed until yesterday. And if you think you can bully me into backing down, you’re in for a hell of a surprise."

"Who the hell do you think you are?"

"Money-making machine...And you made that pretty clear on numerous accounts," she said firmly. "But outside this door, I'm also a sister and aunt and a person."

A few of the men exchanged glances, clearly uncomfortable.

Charles Harmon, one of the more level-headed executives, cleared his throat. "Now, wait a minute, Henry," he said, his voice measured. "We don’t have to throw gasoline on the fire just yet. If we play this right, it could actually work in our favor."

Henry's eyes flicked to Charles, the sneer still fixed on his face. "Are you actually suggesting we use this?" he asked, his tone dripping with disbelief.

"I agree," James said.

Charles adjusted his glasses. "She’s been donating money to orphanages and hospitals. And there’s the angle with her brother’s sick child. We can lean into that. Make her look compassionate, not scandalous. The press will eat it up."

Henry groaned, his hand rubbing his temples in frustration. "Oh, come on, Charles! Don’t tell me you’re actually buying into this nonsense. Brother’s child? What brother? I don’t see why we should put everything on the line because she’s got some bastard idiot stashed somewhere!"

Her chair scraped back as she stood abruptly. “Say that again, and I’ll break your damn jaw. See if I care about what the consequences will be.”

Henry smirked, leaning closer. "Oh, that hit a nerve, huh? Face it, Frances. Everyone knows the truth. You had a kid, and now you’re scrambling to cover it up like some two-bit floozy caught with her dress over her head."

Charles shot to his feet so fast his chair nearly toppled. “Henry, that’s enough!”

He leaned in, his breath hot and reeking of bourbon. “Whore.”

Frances's fingers curled around the water glass in front of her, and before Henry could blink, she flung it straight into his face. “Go to hell, you miserable son of a bitch!”

The splash echoed in the stunned silence. Water dripped from his hair, trailing down his expensive suit.

"Fucking bitch!" Henry shot up from his chair, his face red with fury. He lunged, but two other men caught him before he could get close to her.

"You’ve gone too far," one of them hissed at him, struggling to hold him back. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Frances turned on her heel and stormed toward the door. "I don’t need this shit," she spat.

"You’ll never work in this town again!" Henry bellowed, his face still dripping. "You hear me?!"

Frances didn’t even slow down. She tossed a hand in the air dismissively. "Yeah, yeah...whatever."

"Frances, wait!" Charles called, hurrying after her.

"Let go of me!" she snapped, yanking her arm free. "If you bastards think you can buy every piece of my life, you're out of your goddamn minds. I am not your property, you can all go straight to hell!"

"Hey...Calm down...Ignore him, he's drunk since eight in the morning," Charles said, his voice lower, calmer. "We can fix this. You don’t have to walk out like this."

Behind them, Henry’s voice boomed, dripping with venom. "Let her go! There are plenty more where she came from!"

"That's enough!" Charles yelled. "If you think you're irreplaceable, you're in for a rude awakening."

For a long moment, no one spoke. The tension in the room was suffocating.

Then, one of the older executives, a man who had been silent throughout the argument, leaned forward. "Frances," he said evenly, "are you willing to work with us on this? Give a statement for press the way the studio wants?"

Her chest still heaved, her heart pounding, but she forced herself to take a deep breath.

"What would I have to say?"

"We’ll paint you as a devoted sister, helping your poor, sick niece," another man chimed in. "Focus on your charity work. Make it look like the real Frances Louise is a woman of compassion, not controversy."

Frances’s gaze flickered back to Henry. He was still staring at her, still seething, but the other men were watching her now, waiting.

Slowly, she exhaled.

"Fine," she said. "I’ll do it. Under one condition."

"Name it," Henry said, his tone still full of bitterness.

"I don’t want her name or her face anywhere near the press. She's off-limits. I want her to stay anonymous. Apart from that, I'll do what you want."

Henry scoffed and turned away in disgust, but the rest of the board nodded.

The older executive leaned forward, his fingers interlaced on the table. His tone was measured, but firm. “Frances, I understand your hesitation, but this won’t work without something tangible. A single photoshoot perhaps, something tasteful, controlled. One picture to put the speculation to rest.”

"No," she said firmly. Frances turned to Charles, her voice lower but no less firm. "I will not put a target on her back."

One of the executives reasoned. “If you cooperate, we can control the message, end the speculation.”

“Nooo. No photos. I will do the interview. I will say whatever you want. But Lily stays out of it. No pictures. No details about where she goes to school. Nothing."

“Frances, be reasonable.” Charles said.

“I am being reasonable,” she snapped. “My private life is no one’s business.”

Henry scoffed from his end of the table. “Private life? Private life?” He leaned forward, his voice dripping with disdain. “You lost the privilege of privacy the second this story hit the stands. Right now, the only thing we should be discussing is you out of this studio.”

Charles shot him a warning look but didn’t respond. Instead, he turned back to Frances, voice softer. “Honey...The press won’t stop until they find her. You know how it works. If they don’t get something, they’ll tear everything apart trying to get it themselves."

Frances’ jaw tightened. “They don’t even know where to look.”

“They don’t yet,” another executive interjected. “But they will. If you don’t give them something, they’ll dig. They’ll follow you and everyone around you. Do you really want to take that risk?”

Frances hated that she hesitated. She hated that she knew they were right.

“Damn it,” she muttered under her breath, rubbing her temple.

Charles pressed gently. “A single photo, on your terms. A carefully staged, approved image. We put out the story, we shut down the questions, and then this dies.”

“No press,” Frances said sharply.

“No press,” Charles confirmed.

“No journalists hovering around her school, no photographers lurking at her doorstep.” She stood tall, her face locked in an impenetrable expression. "A controlled shoot, approved by me, and after that, Lily is off-limits. No more questions. No more speculation.” she said firmly. “I’m not being unreasonable, Charles. She’s a sick child who suffers from seizures. I won’t have hundreds of photographers flashing their cameras in her face. I won’t put her through that, no matter the cost.”

“Fair enough...Then we have a deal?”

"Fine," she agreed, voice clipped.

A few murmurs of relief passed around the table. Charles gave a satisfied nod.

He placed a hand on her shoulder. "Good choice," he murmured.

Frances said nothing. But as she sat back down, she knew one thing for certain.

This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

....

The set was eerily quiet, save for the soft murmur of the actors as they delivered their lines. Yaz stood at the back of the studio, her eyes fixed on the action. The quiet hum of the set surrounded her, the occasional shuffle of feet on the floor, and the soft clicks of cameras snapping into place.

A few crew members nodded politely as Frances maneuvered past the cables and light rigs, making her way through the maze of equipment.

Yaz was so absorbed in it that she didn’t notice Frances until she felt the tap on her shoulder.

 

She jumped slightly, spinning around "Hey"

Frances lifted a finger to her lips in a gesture to remain quiet, then nodded towards the exit. Without a word, Yaz followed her, the subtle tension in her body rising as they moved away from the bustling set.

The moment they were out of sight of the others, Frances grabbed her hand, pulling along. Without a word she pushed open the door to a nearby restroom, guiding them both inside before quickly shutting it behind them.

Yaz’s heart raced as she turned to face Frances, her eyes wide with anticipation. She could feel the weight of the moment, the tension crackling between them.

"So?" Yaz asked, anxiety brewing inside her with each passing moment

Frances, however, wore an expression of doom and gloom, her lips drawn tight in a serious line, and her eyes lowered.

Yaz’s pulse quickened. “Franny… have you been fired?” she asked, her voice small, uncertain, the question escaping before she could stop it.

Frances kept up the act, shaking her head slowly. The silence stretched, the tension thick in the air.

Then, in a flash, she broke character, her lips curling into a wide grin that stretched from ear to ear. She grabbed Yaz’s hands, her eyes sparkling with triumph.

“We won!” she exclaimed, jumping up and down in excitement, her voice full of pure joy. “We won, darling! The studio is fully supporting me!”

For a moment, Yaz’s brain short-circuited. Her body remained frozen, unable to process the sudden shift from dread to exhilaration. She stood there, staring at Frances, her mind spinning as the words slowly registered.

Then, it clicked.

“What?” Yaz stammered, her laugh coming out in a burst of surprise. “Seriously?”

Frances beamed, her hands still holding Yaz’s, her joy infectious. She pulled her toward her, cupping her face with both palms, and pressed a quick, delighted kiss to her lips. The sheer happiness in her eyes reflected back at Yaz, and in that moment, the world seemed to fall away as the excitement of the news settled in.

Yaz laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. “I could slap you … I thought I'm gonna be sick”

"Your face..."Frances laughed, "I couldn’t do it anymore...C'mere you genius" her thumbs brushing over Yaz’s cheekbones as she kissed her again, this time slower, savoring the moment.

"We did it love." Frances whispered "God I never felt so light in my life" she exhaled resting her head against Yaz’s feeling as though the weight of the whole world fell off her shoulders.

....

The evening air in New York was turning crisp as the last light of day dimmed, casting long shadows on the bustling streets. A small corner store on the edge of a busy block, its weathered sign hanging slightly askew, stood in quiet contrast to the noise of the city. The smell of old newspapers and coffee lingered in the air, mingling with the street smells that drifted in through the open door as the delivery truck pulled up.

The driver, a weathered man with a crumpled cap, dumped a fresh load of newspapers and magazines in front of the shop. He barely said a word, just nodded at Stanley before  turning  around to continue his routine.

Stanley accepted the delivery with a gruff grunt, cutting the thick cord with a quick motion of his pocket knife, the blade slicing through the twine like butter. It was just another day, another batch of press to be sorted.

He started sorting it out on the shelfs buut then, his eyes landed on it. The magazine on top of the stack. His daughter’s face staring back at him.

The headline, bold and screaming across the page, practically leapt out at him.

A cold knot twisted in Stanley's stomach, his hand hovering for a moment over the magazine.

With a scowl, Stanley yanked the magazine from the stack and flung it open. His jaw tightened as he scanned the article, his fingers gripping the pages so tightly that they began to crumple. Words jumping out at him like daggers, each one cutting deeper than the last. He could feel the blood in his temples beginning to throb. He could taste the rage building up in his throat, choking him, making his stomach churn.

Stanley turned without thinking and darted to the back of the store, to the small door that led into the alley behind the shop, where the dumpsters and cardboard boxes waited to be taken away. The door squeaked as he pushed it open, his feet heavy against the creaky wood.

The cool evening air hit him like a slap to the face, but it did nothing to calm the storm inside him. His hands balled into fists as he stomped to the nearest garbage bin, his fury growing with every step. His heart pounded in his chest, the rage now bubbling over, uncontrollable.

Without thinking, Stanley kicked the side of the metal container with his leg, the sharp clang echoing in the alley. His breath came out in ragged bursts as he kicked again, harder this time, and the bin rattled as if it might tip over.

"Goddamn it!" he hissed through gritted teeth. He kicked again and again, his foot slamming into the side of the trash can, making it rock back and forth.

Frustration, helplessness, and fury bled through his veins like poison.

He crumpled the magazine pulling it apart with a vicious snap, tearing through the pages as if each one were a direct attack on him. The pieces of paper fell to the ground in scattered shreds.

With one last angry breath, he threw the torn remnants of the magazine into the alley, the wind beginning to scatter them across the pavement. His chest heaved with emotion, his eyes blazing of a man who felt powerless and defied.

Without a word, he turned and stormed back into the shop, slamming the door behind him with a force that rattled the windows. Inside, the silence pressed in, heavy and suffocating. But the rage still burned in Stanley’s chest.

....

 

Despite everything exploding around them, it was business as usual behind the gates of the studio. Frances and Yaz carried on, their desire to steal a quiet moment together overshadowed by a relentless day of filming, rehearsals, endless meetings, and fending off the quiet curiosity of colleagues at every turn. 

 

As the evening settled in, exhaustion weighed on them both. The day had been long, draining them physically and emotionally, but beneath it all, a quiet sense of triumph remained. 

 

Frances, having just finished her acting coaching session, reached for her bag. 

 

"You look tired," Tomas remarked as he gathered his own things. 

 

"It’s been a long day..." Frances sighed, looping the strap of her bag over her arm. 

 

"Get some rest... you look like you need it," he said, then nodded toward the studio gates. "I hope they’re gone." 

 

"I doubt that" she said with a knowing smile. 

 

Tomas hesitated for a moment, then offered, "For what it’s worth...I think what you did is amazing." 

 

Frances met his gaze, a flicker of gratitude in her weary expression. "Thanks... I appreciate that." 

 

With a small wave, Tomas headed for the door. "Night... see you tomorrow." 

 

"Night," she returned, smiling faintly. 

 

Left alone in the quiet of the room, Frances let out a slow breath. She was exhausted, completely drained, but deep down, she had never felt happier. Gathering her coat, she left the room. 

 

.....

 

 

Yaz was about finished for the night as well, tidying up her desk and scribbling down last-minute notes for the next day when a soft knock broke the silence. She barely had time to call out before the door cracked open, and Frances peeked through with a grin that could light up the room. 

 

"I was hoping you were still here," she said, her voice tinged with excitement. 

 

Yaz smirked, setting her pen down. "I was hoping you’d pop over." 

 

Frances stepped inside, locking the door behind her as she always did. But instead of the usual casual approach, she crossed the room in delighted, carefree leaps, like an excited child. Yaz couldn't help but laugh. 

 

"I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this happy," she teased as Frances wrapped her arms around her. 

 

Frances gasped in mock offense. "Are you trying to say I’m miserable?" 

 

"Mmm," Yaz hummed playfully, her arms draping over Frances’s shoulders. 

 

Frances pouted, exaggerating a sulk. "I’m gonna take that personally." 

 

Yaz giggled, brushing a finger over Frances’s lower lip. "You’re cute." 

 

"I was hoping for sexy," Frances murmured, her eyes dark with mischief as she pulled Yaz closer. 

 

"Fine. Cute and sexy," Yaz smirked, her fingers toying with the soft strands of hair at the nape of Frances’s neck. 

 

"I’ll take that," Frances whispered, and before Yaz could reply, their lips met. 

 

The kiss was slow at first, languid and deep, but quickly burned into something more. Frances sighed into Yaz’s mouth, pressing closer, hands roaming over her waist, her back, her hips, everywhere she could reach. Yaz’s fingers curled in Frances’s hair, gripping just enough to make the other woman moan softly against her lips. The sound sent heat through Yaz’s body, and before she knew it, she was backing Frances up against the desk. 

 

She lifted herself onto it, her legs closing around Yaz instinctively, pulling her closer. Their bodies pressed flush together, the space between them vanishing as their kisses turned heated, feverish. Their hands explored, mapping familiar territory with a renewed urgency, days of tension melting away into pure desire. 

 

"I need you," Frances whispered against her lips, her breath hot, her hands skimming down her sides before sliding lower. 

 

Yaz exhaled sharply, her own need just as overwhelming. Her fingers slipped beneath Frances’s skirt, gliding over soft skin. 

 

Then suddenly, reality crashed in. 

 

They froze. A sharp, unspoken understanding passed between them. This wasn’t the time. This wasn’t the place. 

 

Their breath mingled in the silence, bodies still pressed together, fingers tightening where they held onto each other as if reluctant to let go. Frances’s hands trembled slightly in Yaz’s hair, her lips brushing against hers once more, softer this time just a whisper of a kiss filled with longing. 

 

"I need you close," Frances murmured, her voice thick with emotion. "I want us to go home together." 

 

Yaz swallowed, pressing their foreheads together. "I knooow my love. I want the same.... our bed...our home" 

 

They stayed like that for a moment, letting the need settle into something quieter, something they could carry with them. Yaz let her hands smooth over Frances’s arms in a slow, soothing motion. "It’ll blow over soon," she murmured, her voice gentle, reassuring "And we’ll have our moments again...us two...Lily" 

 

Frances let out a small, breathy laugh, but Yaz could feel the tension still lingering in her body. They both knew the truth, this small victory didn’t change how complicated their life together still was. 

 

But for now, they held onto this moment, however fleeting it was. 

 

.....

 

 

A soft golden glow from the bedside lamp bathed the room in warmth, casting gentle shadows along the walls. Outside, the last traces of daylight were long gone, faded into the deepening blue of the night sky. Yaz sat on the edge of the bed, book in hand, her voice hushed and soothing. 

 

"And so, the prince and Snow White were married, and they lived happily ever after, filling their days with joy and laughter in the grand castle, surrounded by their friends and loved ones. And from that day forward, happiness and love reigned in their kingdom forevermore." 

 

She smiled as she closed the book, placing it quietly on the nightstand. Lily’s small form lay still beneath the blankets, her breath soft and even. Yaz pulled the duvet up over her shoulders and leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss on her forehead. 

 

Easing herself off the bed, she left the door ajar just enough for the hallway light to spill in, a soft reassurance against the dark. The house was quiet as she padded toward the kitchen, the scent of warm cocoa already curling through the air. 

 

Susan, dressed in her nightie and a thick dressing gown, stood by the stove, stirring two mugs of hot chocolate. Curlers peeked out from her hair, giving her a homely, familiar look. She turned as Yaz stepped in. 

 

"Is she asleep?" 

 

"Like a log," Yaz said with a small chuckle. 

 

Susan sighed, handing Yaz a mug. "I always get so nervous leaving her alone. What if she has a seizure?" 

 

Yaz wrapped her fingers around the warm cup. "Franny said she hasn’t had one at night since starting the new meds." She exhaled. "But I still feel on edge." 

 

"Poor child..." Susan murmured, shaking her head as they moved into the living room. She settled into her armchair, eyes bright with anticipation. "Right then, I’m dying to hear everything!" 

 

Yaz sank into the sofa, stretching her legs out. "Well, she had a massive argument, but she stood her ground. I’m so proud of her. She had to compromise, though." 

 

Susan scoffed. "Why does that not surprise me?" 

 

"They want an interview... and a picture of the two of them." 

 

Susan clicked her fingers, shaking her head. "Didn’t I say? They always have to squeeze a few extra dollars out of it." 

 

"Yeah… but it depends how you look at it. One of the higher-ups told her that if she doesn’t do it, the press will tear her apart trying to find out on their own. I just hope this ends and doesn’t turn into a circus." 

 

Susan huffed. "I really hope so. That child can’t be hunted down by reporters." 

 

"Nooo… Her film’s out in two weeks. Hopefully, that’ll shift their focus. They also want her to promote some charities she’s already involved with." Yaz lifted her brows, irritation flickering across her face. 

 

"They’re milking it for all it’s worth." 

 

"Oh yeah… I was going to ask you...And I knoooow I’m asking a lot... but... can Lily stay here until this all dies down?" 

 

Susan waved a dismissive hand. "Of course she can. That goes without saying." 

 

Yaz exhaled. "I’m so sorry for all of this. I know this all too much to deal with." 

 

"Don’t be ridiculous." 

 

Yaz stood up from the sofa and embraced Susan in a warm hug "Thank you so much...I don’t know what I'd do without you" 

 

"And I don’t know what I would do without you honey" Susan pulled back just enough to give her a soft kiss on a cheek 

 

Settling back into the sofa, Yaz took a sip of her cocoa, letting its warmth settle in before glancing over at Susan. "So, how was your day with Lily?" 

 

Susan’s face lit up. "Oh, we had a great time! We made a cake together...chocolate, of course. She got flour everywhere, and I mean everywhere. I’m still finding it in places I don’t understand." She shook her head with a chuckle. "And after that, we did a bit of gardening. She was very determined to help, though I think more dirt ended up on her than in the flower beds." 

 

Yaz grinned. "That sounds exactly like her. Bet she loved every second of it." 

 

"Oh, she did. She even gave all the plants names," Susan said fondly. "The little rosebush out back is now called ‘Princess Daisy’, because apparently, it looked like it wanted to wear a crown." 

 

Yaz let out a laugh. 

 

Susan sighed, shifting in her chair. "I’ll have to take her with me to work tomorrow, just for an hour or so to check some orders." 

 

Yaz’s expression turned more serious. "How will you explain her to your staff?" 

 

"Oh, I’ll just say I’m babysitting for some extra cash." 

 

Yaz smirked. "Clever. But you do realize I’ll have to explain things to Lily, so she doesn’t come out with something like, ‘My mummy is an actress!’" 

 

Susan groaned, pressing a hand to her forehead. "Oh lord, you’re right. That child is too honest for her own good." 

 

Yaz chuckled. "Remember me and the shop?" 

 

For a second, Susan looked puzzled, then it hit her, and she burst out laughing. "Oh, good grief! How could I forget? ‘She’s not my nanny...’ " 

 

Yaz dissolved into laughter. "I thought I was gonna die on the spot! And she just stood there, all innocent, like she didn’t just ruin my life." 

 

Susan wiped her eyes. "That girl is a menace. A very adorable menace, but still." 

 

"Yep. I have to make sure she doesn’t announce Frances to the entire shop floor tomorrow," Yaz said, shaking her head laughing. 

 

..... 

 

Yawning, Yaz padded across the hallway, making her way to the kitchen where the phone was ringing. She picked up the receiver and pressed it to her ear, the familiar voice on the other end making her heart lift just slightly. 

 

"Hey," Frances said softly, the tiredness in her voice unmistakable.

 

“Hey honey” Yaz said softly

 

 "I just thought I call to see how you’re all doing…How’s Lily?" 

 

Yaz smiled, leaning against the kitchen counter. "She's good. Well, she insisted on sleeping in my room tonight." She chuckled, the sound of it warm and comforting. "She told me she doesn’t want to be alone, and you know how it is." 

 

Frances laughed lightly. "I’m sorry," she said, her tone a little self-deprecating. 

 

Yaz waved her hand as if Frances could see it. "Oh, don't worry about it. I enjoy being kicked in the ribs in the middle of the night." She let out a playful sigh. "It’s just part of the fun, right?" 

 

Frances giggled and they both fell silent for a moment, the quiet between them comfortable but charged with an underlying sadness. Finally, Frances spoke again, her voice soft and sincere. 

 

"Thank you," she said, the words heavy with gratitude. "Thank you for taking care of her." 

 

Yaz paused, feeling the weight of the moment. She didn’t need to say anything, it was just what she did. But her heart broke a little, her voice steady yet filled with a tenderness that reached across the miles, "Isn’t that what parents do?" 

 

Frances’s breath caught, a sharp intake of air before she exhaled, as if the words had pierced something deep inside her. "God, Yaz," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "You’ve got no idea how much that means to me." 

 

The silence stretched again, but this time it was filled with so much unspoken emotion that it felt like their hearts were speaking a language only they could understand. Then, in a tone that broke Yaz's heart, Frances spoke again, quieter this time. 

 

"I miss you both so much," Frances said, the sadness thick in her voice. "I wish I was there with you. I really do." 

 

Yaz swallowed hard, her hand gripping the phone tighter. "I know, love," she murmured. "We miss you too." 

 

Frances sighed, her voice tinged with the weight of everything. "The reporters are still here at my gates. And now there’s more of them." Her words were filled with frustration, but it was the weariness that struck Yaz the most. 

 

Yaz bit her lip, trying to lighten the mood. "Well," she said, a mischievous glint in her voice, "maybe you should tell Betty to make some cakes... and put a little something extra in them. You know, like laxatives, and serve them with a smile." 

 

Frances’s laugh bubbled up unexpectedly, and for a brief moment, the tension in her voice faded. "God, Yaz, the more I know you, the more I wish I never get on your bad side." 

 

Yaz grinned, leaning her head against the cabinet. "It’s probably a good idea to stay on my good side, huh?" 

 

Frances chuckled, but then her laughter softened into a quiet sigh. "I should let you go. You’ve probably got a long day ahead tomorrow." 

 

Yaz nodded, even though Frances couldn’t see it. "Yeah. But..." she trailed off, wanting to say so much more, her voice just above a whisper. "I love you." 

 

The words felt like a promise, a reassurance they both needed at that moment. Frances’s response was immediate, full of love. "I love you too. So much."

 

Yaz smiled as her heart swelled, the distance between them feeling just a little less unbearable.

"Give Lily a kiss from me, okay? Tell her I love her." Frances’s voice cracked slightly as she whispered,

"I’ll tell her."

With one final sigh, Yaz said softly, "Nightie night."

"Nightie night darling," Frances replied, her voice heavy with the weight of everything unspoken.

Yaz set the receiver back in its place, her heart both heavy and full. Despite the distance, despite the madness and the challenges, their love still bound them together, even in moments like these.

 

....

 

The soft, early morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a gentle glow over the room. Yaz was still in that half-dreaming state when she felt the familiar, light tap of tiny feet padding across the floor. She let out a soft yawn, blinking her eyes open to find Lily standing at the edge of the bed, her little face still sleepy but wide awake.

"Hey pumpkin. Where have you been?" Yaz asked, her voice thick with sleep as she propped herself up on her elbow, trying to clear the fog of the early hour.

Lily stood there for a moment, a slight pout on her lips. "I had to pee," she said with a matter-of-fact tone that made Yaz chuckle.

"Of course you did," Yaz chuckled lifting the covers, shifting to make space. "C'mere, it’s cold, huh?"

Lily nodded, and without hesitation, she climbed into the bed, squishing herself against Yaz. Her little feet, still bare and cold from the chill of the house, nestled between Yaz’s legs as she wriggled under the warm duvet. The soft fabric of the sheets rustled as the two of them settled, Lily curling up closer, her head resting against Yaz’s side.

For a moment, the room was quiet, save for the soft rhythm of their breathing. Then, unexpectedly, Lily’s tiny hand reached up to stroke Yaz’s cheek with the gentlest touch.

Yaz blinked, her heart swelling at the unexpected sweetness of the gesture. "What is it, love?" she asked softly, her voice barely a whisper in the calm of the morning.

Lily didn’t answer right away. She just looked at Yaz with wide, earnest eyes. Then she whispered, "You're so pretty... I wish I was so pretty."

Yaz’s heart fluttered at the innocence in Lily’s voice. She smiled warmly, reaching down to kiss the little girl’s finger, making her giggle lightly. "See, I think you’re the prettiest little girl I’ve ever seen," Yaz said, her tone filled with love. "And I think, when you grow up, you’re gonna be a gorgeous young lady."

Lily’s eyes lit up with a hopeful sparkle. "I wanna be a princess," she declared, her voice filled with determination as she snuggled closer into Yaz’s embrace.

Yaz laughed softly, wrapping her arms around Lily and kissing the side of her head, feeling the soft warmth of the little girl’s hair against her lips. "You can be whatever you want pumpkin." she said, holding her a little tighter, her voice filled with so much love. "You’re already a princess to me."

Lily snuggled in even closer, letting out a small sigh of contentment as the warmth of the duvet and Yaz’s embrace wrapped around her like the safest place in the world. And in that moment, with the soft morning light spilling into the room they both fell asleep again.

....


The morning sun streamed through the kitchen window, casting a warm glow over the small breakfast table where Yaz and Lily sat. The scent of fresh toast and strawberry jam filled the air as Yaz carefully spread a layer onto Lily’s slice, listening with half an ear to the conversation happening across the room.

Susan was already deep into a phone call, pacing slightly with one hand on her hip, the other gripping the receiver tightly. Her voice was calm, but Yaz could hear the tension woven through it.

"Are you sure everything’s gone?" Susan asked, pausing to listen before sighing. "Alright, just don’t throw anything away yet, I’ll be there soon. We’ll sort it."

Yaz exchanged a glance with Lily, who was busy licking a dollop of jam from her finger, oblivious to the worry in Susan’s tone. When Susan finally hung up, she let out a sharp breath, rubbing her temple.

"What’s wrong?" Yaz asked, setting the butter knife down.

Susan gave her a tight smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. "The fridge at the shop broke down overnight. Everything inside melted."

Yaz’s eyes widened. "You lost all the food?"

Susan shook her head. "Not all of it. Some of the cakes, definitely. I won’t know the full damage until I get there. I need to call a repair service immediately."

Yaz felt a pang of worry settle in her stomach. She knew how much effort Susan put into the bakery, how every loss, especially one like this was a financial blow. "That’s awful," she murmured. "Is it going to cause a lot of trouble for you?"

Susan sighed. "It’s not great, but I’ll manage. I just have to get there and see how bad it really is."

Yaz frowned, glancing at Lily, who was happily munching on her toast, then back at Susan. "Will you be alright with Lily? I can call the studio and tell them I’m ill or something."

Susan cut her off with a wave of her hand. "Absolutely not. You have work, and Lily is no trouble at all. “We’ll be just fine."

Yaz hesitated, still uneasy about the situation. "Are you sure? I feel bad leaving you handling all this on your own."

Susan finally gave her a reassuring smile. "It’s not the first disaster I’ve had to deal with at that place. I’ll sort it. And besides," she ruffled Lily’s hair as she walked past, "I’ve got my best little helper here with me, haven’t I?"

Lily beamed, nodding enthusiastically, completely unaware of the weight of the conversation. Yaz let out a breath, still worried, but she trusted Susan to handle it. "Alright," she said, reaching for her own toast. "But if you need anything, just call me, okay?"

"Deal," Susan said, already reaching for the phone again.

....


The press had always been a part of Frances’s life, but now they were relentless. Ever since the latest scandal, or rather, the latest excuse for them to pick her life apart, reporters had been camping outside her house, lining the studio gates, and even trailing her car through the streets. There was no avoiding them. The interview scheduled at the end of the week might help settle things, but until then, she had to endure the madness for a few more days.

But this morning, she had something far more important than dodging the press, Lily’s school meeting. And she couldn't afford to be followed.

With that in mind, Frances took extra precautions. Instead of leaving from home, she drove herself to the studio, slipping through the gates before the reporters could react. Once there, she switched to the studio’s car, one with tinted windows, a luxury usually reserved for high-profile productions but useful for moments like these. The driver, an older man who had worked for the studio long enough to know discretion was part of the job, waited for her without question.

As she settled into the back seat, the car pulled away, exiting through a quieter side entrance. The reporters, still gathered at the main gate, had no idea she was already gone. Santa Barbara was a long drive, but at least she’d have these few hours of peace before facing the real battle, the decisions that would shape Lily’s future.

....


Frances sat in the office, the scent of old books and polished wood filling the quiet space. The afternoon sun filtered through the large window, casting long, golden beams across the room. Across from her, Dr. Alden, a man in his late fifties with thinning gray hair and kind but serious eyes, folded his hands together on his desk. Beside him, Miss. Calloway, the school’s headmistress, adjusted her glasses, her expression gentle but professional.

They had met to discuss Lily’s progress over the past year, her small victories, her challenges, the moments that gave her hope. It was a difficult conversation, filled with medical terms and educational strategies that Frances tried to absorb, though some of it blurred together under the weight of her emotions.

Dr. Alden offered a polite nod as he spoke. “Miss. Louise, thank you for coming in. I know your schedule is demanding, so I appreciate the time.”

“Of course,” Frances replied. “I want to know how Lily’s doing I would never cancel.”

Dr. Alden clasped his hands together on the desk. “Well, I'm happy to say Lily has made steady progress over the past year. She’s becoming more confident in her daily routines, and her ability to follow structured tasks has improved. She engages well with her teachers and responds positively to familiar faces.”

Frances nodded, relieved but wary. “That’s good to hear. What about her speech and comprehension?”

“Her vocabulary is expanding, though she still struggles with complex instructions,” he explained. “She understands cause and effect in simple terms but has difficulty with abstract reasoning. For example, if you tell her that an event is happening ‘next week,’ she may not fully grasp the concept of time in that way.”

Frances smoothed the fabric of her skirt, her voice quieter now. “So… she’s still about five years behind?”

Dr. Aldens voice was gentle. “Yes, developmentally, she functions closer to a six-year-old. But she has strengths. She’s very affectionate, eager to please, and retains information well when it’s presented in a repetitive and structured manner. She thrives on routine.”

Frances took a slow breath. “What about her independence? Can she be taught more self-care skills?”

“Yes, and I strongly encourage that,” he said. “She’s capable of learning step-by-step tasks like dressing herself fully, brushing her hair, and simple chores. The key is patience and consistency. She may never have full independence, but fostering self-sufficiency, even in small ways, will improve her confidence.”

The words settled heavily in Frances’s chest. She had tried to prepare herself for this reality, but hearing it stated so plainly still stung.

Dr. Alden continued, his tone measured. “We’ve also observed some challenges. She becomes anxious when her routine is disrupted, and she struggles with social interactions beyond familiar adults. When placed in group settings, she tends to withdraw or focus on one person rather than engaging with multiple peers.”

Frances frowned slightly. “Is there anything I should be doing differently when she's with me?”

“What you’re already doing, providing a stable, loving environment is the most important thing,” he assured her. “But I would recommend increasing structured social interactions. And continuing with bedtime stories, as those moments build her language comprehension, playing some board games is helpful as well.”

Dr. Alden leaned forward slightly. “One more thing, Miss Louise. As she gets older, she may become more aware that she is different from other children. This can lead to frustration or feelings of exclusion. She will need reassurance that she is valued just as she is.”

Frances’s voice was soft but firm. “She is. I say this to her all the time.”

A small, kind smile touched the doctor’s lips. “Then she’s in good hands.”

The weight of the conversation settled between them. The clock ticked steadily in the background.

Miss. Calloway who had been quiet until now, cleared her throat. “Dr. Alden's recommendations are solid. We’ll continue to work closely with Lily here at school, but parental support makes all the difference.”

Frances straightened her shoulders, her resolve firming. “Whatever she needs, I’ll do it.”

As the meeting continued, Frances shifted in her chair, her posture still poised, but her fingers tapped absently against the armrest. The conversation was necessary, but it weighed on her.

“I’d also like to talk about her medication,” Frances said after a pause. “She’s been on Phenobarbital for a while now. It’s controlling the seizures, but I can’t help wondering what is it doing to her otherwise?”

Dr. Alden nodded thoughtfully, folding his hands on the desk. “That’s a very valid concern. Phenobarbital is effective at preventing seizures, but as you’ve probably noticed, it does have side effects.”

Frances exhaled. “She’s drowsy a lot, especially in the mornings or before bedtime. Not all the time or every day but some days, it’s like pulling her through a fog.”

“That’s common,” Dr. Alden admitted. “It’s a sedative, after all. It slows down brain activity to prevent seizures, but it also affects alertness, concentration, and energy levels. It may be contributing to some of her developmental delays as well. Children on long-term Phenobarbital sometimes show slower cognitive and motor development.”

Frances tensed. “So, it’s holding her back?”

Dr. Alden’s voice was gentle but firm. “It’s complicated. The seizures themselves could do far more damage if they aren’t controlled. Every seizure carries a risk, not just physically but in terms of regression, which is exactly what happened in Lily’s case because she wasn't receiving proper treatment at the time. The medication is a necessary compromise, but it does mean we have to work harder in other areas to compensate.”

Frances sighed, trying to push back her frustration. “And her physical development? She’s still so small for her age.”

“That’s another effect of both the seizures and the medication,” Dr. Alden explained. “Some anti-seizure drugs suppress appetite. Lily’s growth may remain slow, and she’ll likely always be petite. I already suggested monitoring her diet closely, encouraging high-nutrient meals even when she’s not hungry. A diet rich in proteins, fats, and essential vitamins can help with her energy levels.”

Dr. Alden glanced at the clock, then at the headmistress. Folding his hands on the desk, he signaled that the meeting was coming to a close.

“Before we wrap up, let’s go over the final arrangements,” he said. “We’ll continue with her current schedule and therapy sessions here at the school. We’ll also introduce a bit more structured physical activity, as we discussed. And we’ll make sure her meals are monitored to encourage better nutrition. We’ll send you a detailed report each month so you can track any changes.”

Frances took a moment before leaning forward slightly. “I appreciate everything you’re doing for her. I truly do. But there’s something else I’d like to ask. It's to do with taking her out of school more often.”

A slight pause followed. The staff listened attentively.

“I know that here, she has consistency. Routine. Specialized care,” Frances continued carefully. “And I know my career doesn’t allow me to provide that same structure at home. But I also don’t want her life to be confined to this place.”

Dr. Alden regarded her thoughtfully. “You’re thinking about more outings? More time together?”

Frances nodded. “Yes. In the future, I’d like to have her with me more often. Not just holidays or weekends, but for stretches of time where she can experience everyday life with me. Simple things, going to the market, spending afternoons together, seeing more of the world outside of school.”

Miss. Calloway smiled gently. “That’s understandable. A mother wants to be with her child.”

"Unfortunately this wasn’t possible in the past " Frances exhaled, her expression softer but still firm. “But hopefully it will be in the future. In saying that, I don’t want to undo everything you’re doing here. I respect your work too much to disrupt it. But I also don’t want her childhood to pass by with me only seeing glimpses of it. What I need to know is...will taking her out more often help her, or would it interrupt the progress she’s making here?”

Dr. Alden exchanged a glance with the teacher before responding carefully. “I think it depends on how it’s structured. If we coordinate and ensure she isn’t missing key lessons or therapy sessions, then, yes, spending more time with you could be valuable.”

Frances nodded, absorbing it all. “That makes sense."

Miss. Calloway stood, signaling that the meeting was officially over. “Then we’ll make it work together, Miss Louise.”

Frances stood as well, smoothing her gloves as she extended her hand to shake theirs. There was no perfect answer, no instant solution, but at least she knew she was taking steps in the right direction.

She reached for the doorknob, ready to leave, but something held her back. A weight in her chest. A thought she had pushed aside too many times. She hesitated, her gloved fingers tightening slightly around the cool brass handle.

Then, slowly, she turned back to face them.

Her voice was steady, but only just. “Will my daughter ever be able to have a full life as an adult?”

The room fell into a heavy silence. The question settled between them, raw and inescapable. Frances felt her own heartbeat in her throat. She had spent years avoiding this moment, afraid of the answer, afraid of the certainty that would come with it. But she had to know. She had to be prepared.

Dr. Alden exhaled slowly, folding his hands on the desk. He wasn’t surprised. He had seen this moment before, with other parents, though it never got easier.

"Miss Louise … I wish I had a simple answer for you." His voice was kind, measured. "Lily is a bright, affectionate child. She has her own way of understanding the world, and with the right support, she can continue to learn and grow. But will she ever be completely independent? Hold a job? Live on her own? That, I can’t say with certainty.”

Frances’s stomach twisted, but she didn’t speak. She couldn’t.

"What I can tell you," he continued gently, "is that with the right care, structure, and patience, she can lead a meaningful life. A full life by her own measure, not the world’s. She may always need guidance, but that doesn’t mean she won’t find happiness, companionship, and purpose."

Frances swallowed hard, pressing her lips together. The answer wasn’t the clear-cut certainty she had wanted. But maybe, in some way, it was the most honest one she could have received.

Miss. Calloway stepped forward then, her voice softer. “We’ve seen young women like Lily grow into adults who can find their own way, even if it looks different from what society expects. But it takes planning, patience, and acceptance. The world isn’t always kind to those who don’t fit neatly into its expectations. But with the right people around her, she can have love, stability, and joy. And Miss Louise ...she has you.”

Frances let out a shaky breath. It wasn’t a promise, but it was something.

She gave them both a small, grateful nod. Then, without another word, she turned and stepped out into the hallway, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor.

She had her answer. And now, she had to find a way to live with it. 

 

…..

The bell above the door jingled as Susan stepped into her small cake shop, Lily trailing behind her. It was a charming little bakery tucked away in the heart of Los Angeles, with just enough room for a counter, a few tables, and the smell of fresh buttercream and vanilla wafting through the air. The sign outside was hand-painted, reading "Susan’s Sweet Treats" in delicate, cursive lettering, which was always the first thing people noticed when they strolled down the block. 

 

The shop had a warm, inviting feel, nothing too fancy, just full of heart. The walls were painted in soft pastel shades of pink and cream, dotted with vintage cake tins and dainty floral wallpaper. The wooden shelves behind the counter held rows of neatly stacked cookies wrapped up in cellophane tied with colorful bows or neatly packaged up in pink boxes with her logo. A large glass display case in front showcased Susan's signature items, each one more colorful than the last. There were cakes with rich, chocolatey ganaches, delicate lemon tarts topped with zest, and a rainbow of cupcakes that seemed almost too pretty to eat, with fluffy swirls of icing perched atop them like little works of art, layered sponge cakes, fruit-studded pastries. 

 

As Susan and Lily entered, Lily’s eyes widened, taking in the scene. The colorful cakes, the soft, inviting lighting, and the whimsical details of the shop made it seem like she had stepped into a fairytale. The delicate pink curtains at the windows shimmered in the morning light, and the smell of freshly baked goods filled the air like a warm hug. Her small fingers gripped Susan’s hand tightly, her wide eyes taking in everything with awe and wonder. 

 

Behind the counter stood Debra, or Debbie as everyone called her. She was a young woman in her mid-twenties with fiery red hair curled into soft waves that framed her face, much like Frances’s iconic hairstyle. She was wearing a simple, but sweet dress in light yellow with white polka dots and a white apron tied neatly around her waist. The moment she saw Susan and Lily, her face lit up in a bright smile, the kind of smile that made her eyes twinkle as though she were part of the bakery’s magic herself. 

 

Susan gently led Lily forward, giving her a soft smile as she said, “Lily, darling, this is Miss Debbie. She works here, just like me. And Debbie, this is Lily, my sweet little friend who I’m looking after today.” 

 

Lily, however, didn’t move forward as Susan had hoped. Instead, she stood frozen at Susan’s side, her little face pulling into a quiet frown, and she instinctively hid behind Susan’s leg, her tiny hands clutching the fabric of Susan's dress. 

 

Susan’s smile softened, her voice gentle as she crouched down to Lily’s level. “It’s okay, love. Debbie’s a nice lady. She won’t bite,” she said warmly, reassuring her. 

 

Debbie, noticing Lily’s hesitation, stepped forward with a soft smile of her own, crouching down to match Lily’s height. “Hey there, sweetheart, nice to meet you,” Debbie said in a soft, melodic voice. “I promise, I’m not so bad.” 

 

“She’s a little bit shy at first,” Susan smiled, stroking Lily’s hair, “but when she relaxes, she’s quite a storm.” 

 

Debbie grinned. “I tell you what,” she said, her voice bright with warmth, “I bet you like cupcakes. Wanna pick one to try?” 

 

Lily nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. 

 

“Go ahead, honey. I need to go at the back for a moment,” Susan said gently, her hand resting on Lily’s shoulder. “Do you think you’re gonna be fine with Debbie?” 

 

Lily looked up at Susan and asked shyly, “Can I see the cakes?” 

 

“You see them, you eat them...” Susan chuckled softly, “And you know what else?” 

 

Lily nodded, still unsure but curious. 

 

“Debbie can make you a killer milkshake.” Susan gave Debbie a playful look as she spoke, her voice light with affection. 

 

Lily’s lips quivered into a tiny smile, her curiosity winning over her fear. She took a small step forward. Her wide eyes drifted from the cupcakes on display to the other treats lined up on the shelves. Slowly, her small fingers loosened their grip on Susan’s dress. 

 

Debbie extended her hand with a friendly, inviting smile. “So, what kind of milkshake would you like, Miss. Lily?” 

 

Lily hesitated for a moment, then, with a burst of confidence, she took Debbie’s hand and shot out, “Chocolate!” Her voice was lighter now, a hint of excitement creeping into her words. 

 

Susan laughed softly, feeling a wave of relief. “I won’t be long, honey. I’ll be right there at the back,” she said, patting Lily’s head. “Have fun... God knows I won’t,” she rolled her eyes at Debbie before turning to leave. 

 

Debbie grinned and gave Susan a playful wink. “I’ll make sure she’s in good hands.” 

 

"Thank you...wish me luck" 

 

As Susan stepped into the back room, Lily looked up at Debbie, her smile growing a little wider now that she felt more at ease. The shop felt like a little world of its own, and Lily was lost in the magic of it all, the colors, the smells, and the possibility of a creamy chocolate milkshake. 

 

....

 

 

Yaz and Frances were sitting at their usual table across the street from the studio, enjoying a quiet lunch. The atmosphere around them buzzed with the sounds of clinking silverware and soft chatter, their corner of the café felt like their own little oasis of calm. Frances absentmindedly twirled her fork through her salad, but her focus was clearly on Yaz, who was animatedly telling her about the morning. 

 

“So, Susan took Lily to the cake shop today,” Yaz said with a playful grin. 

 

Frances let out a dramatic groan, her eyes widening. “Oh my god, no! Now I feel so guilty. Are you sure she wasn’t a handful?” 

 

Yaz chuckled, shaking her head. “I thought she might be, but no, she actually had a great time. The woman in the kitchen even showed her how the cakes are made.” 

 

Frances raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching into a smile. “Oh my god, I can’t believe it.” 

 

Yaz grinned. “Well, she wants to be a baker now. So, there’s that.” 

 

Frances laughed, her eyes softening with amusement. “Why am I not surprised?” Her smile faded a little as she took a sip of her drink, then glanced at Yaz. “Speaking of Susan... I thought she was supposed to have the week off.” 

 

Yaz nodded as she took a bite of her sandwich. “She was... but the fridge broke down. So, she had to go in today to sort it out.” 

 

Frances’ face softened with concern, her eyes turning sympathetic. “Oh no... That’s the last thing she needs. Is she really in a bind?” 

 

Yaz hesitated for a moment, her brow furrowed. “I don’t know. I hope not...” 

 

Frances leaned forward, her expression serious. “Well, let me know if she needs anything. God knows I owe her.” 

 

Yaz smiled gratefully. “I will... So, what about the shooting? How’s everything going with the interview?” 

 

Frances sighed, clearly feeling the weight of it all. “It’s all set for Friday... but I’m calling Lily today. I need to talk to her about it. I’m really worried about how she’ll handle it.” 

 

Yaz offered a comforting smile. “Don’t worry, she’ll be fine. If she’s dressed up really nice, she’ll feel like a princess.” 

 

“I really hope so,” Frances said, her voice thick with concern. “I just hate this. I wish I could talk to her face-to-face.” 

 

Yaz nodded understandingly. “Well, at least they haven’t figured out where she is yet.” 

 

“Or which school,” Frances added. “Let’s just hope it stays that way. I know they’re great, but to be honest, I don’t trust anyone to keep quiet for long if the right price is offered.” 

 

“I don’t think they’d risk it,” Yaz reassured her. 

 

“I hope you’re right,” Frances replied. “Lily’s not the only one they’re hiding away from the public eye. I can tell you that much. And there are bigger sharks than me sending their kids there.” 

 

Frances took a slow sip of her drink, her eyes studying Yaz for a moment before she shifted the conversation. “Enough about me...So, how’s your work going, love? Things picking up?” 

 

Yaz's face brightened immediately, a wide smile spreading across her face. “Actually, yes! I’ve got 10 orders now, so it’s definitely picking up. It’s been really exciting.” She leaned in a bit, her excitement evident. “And Kate called me yesterday. It was so sweet of her. She even sent a few people my way!” 

 

Frances raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. “That’s brilliant. I told you she'd be good for you.” Her voice was warm with admiration for Yaz’s determination. “You must be thrilled.” 

 

Yaz nodded eagerly, her smile not fading. “I really am. It’s been a lot of work, but it’s starting to feel real now. You know? Like... I’m finally making some progress.” 

 

“I’m so proud of you,” Frances said, her eyes softening with affection. “I know how hard you’ve been working. You deserve it darling” 

 

Yaz laughed softly, rubbing the back of her neck. “I know, I’ve been thinking about getting some more help. But it’s a bit scary to think about growing this fast, you know?” 

 

Frances smiled knowingly. “Just take it one step at a time darling, and remember, I’m here if you need anything.” 

 

Yaz’s eyes sparkled, and she leaned forward slightly, her fingers brushing over Frances’s slightly “I don’t think I could do it without you.” 

 

Frances looked up with a smile. 

 

.... 

 

 

The evening air was cool as the last rays of the sun filtered softly through the curtains in Susan's living room. The house was quiet, save for the soft clinking of dishes in the kitchen and the occasional rustle of movement. But the peaceful hum was interrupted by the sharp ring of the telephone. 

 

Susan, who had been tidying up after dinner, wiped her hands on a dish towel before reaching for the receiver, her fingers brushing against its familiar weight. 

 

"Hello?" she answered, her voice warm, carrying the quiet but loving tone she always used when answering the phone. 

 

"Hi, Susan," Frances's voice came through clearly on the other end. "It’s Frances." 

 

"Oh, hi, honey," Susan greeted, her lips curling into a smile. 

 

"I just wanted to thank you for looking after Lily. You have no idea how much I appreciate it." 

 

"No need to thank me, hun. Of course." 

 

"No, I really do…" Frances’s voice softened, as if she were trying to find the right words. "I honestly don’t think I could ever repay you for everything you've done for her. Not in a million years." 

 

Susan’s heart warmed at Frances’s sincerity. She shook her head, even though Frances couldn’t see her, and leaned against the counter. "You don’t need to repay me, honey. I’m happy to do it. Lily’s a joy to have around. She’s more than welcome here anytime." 

 

Frances sighed, the relief in her voice tinged with lingering guilt. "Still, I feel like I owe you. I can never thank you enough." 

 

Susan let out a quiet chuckle, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "You don’t owe me a thing, Frances. It’s what family does." 

 

There was a small pause before Frances spoke again, the words settling in her heart deep and strong, her tone shifting slightly. "By the way, how’s the fridge situation? Any luck with it?" 

 

Susan let out a sigh, her voice dropping slightly with frustration. "Well, unfortunately, it’s beyond repair. It’s just… shot. The repair guy took a look at it and said it would cost a fortune to fix. So, I’m going to have to replace it altogether." 

 

Frances’s concern was evident. "I’m really sorry, Susan. That’s the last thing you need right now." 

 

Susan chuckled, though it was a tired sound. "Yeah, but what can you do, right? Just another day in paradise." 

 

Frances’s voice grew warmer. "Well, I’ll do whatever I can to help. Let me know if you need anything at all." 

 

Susan smirked. "I'm afraid there's nothing you can do… Unless you know how to repair fridges." 

 

"I'm afraid I don't," Frances admitted with a soft laugh. 

 

Susan glanced down at Lily, who was practically bouncing on her toes, tugging eagerly at her skirt. "I better pass you on, or she’s gonna wear a hole in the floor with all her excitement." 

 

Frances chuckled. "Alright then… Have a nice evening." 

 

"You too, hun." Susan smiled and handed the receiver to Lily. "Here you go, darling." 

 

"Mummy!" 

 

"Hello, darling," Frances greeted, warmth filling her voice. "How’s my peanut doing? I heard you had an exciting day today?" 

 

"Yes!!" Lily nearly jumped off the floor, her excitement bubbling over. "Susan showed me how they make cakes, and I was helping to decorate the cookie!" 

 

"Really? Waaw…" Frances’s voice was full of delight. "And how did it go?" 

 

"They have this machine," Lily explained eagerly, "and you put the flour in, and then it swirls inside like a big washing machine!" 

 

Frances laughed. "Do they? Now you’ve got me interested… I’m so glad you’re having a nice time. Darling… how would you like it if you got dressed up real nice, and you and I go to the studio on Friday to take some nice pictures together?" 

 

"Where you work?" Lily’s voice was full of wonder. 

 

"Yes, darling. You always said you wanted to see where Yaz and I work, so I thought we’d go on Friday. How’s that?" 

 

"Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!" she squealed, spinning in circles and wrapping the phone cord around herself in excitement. 

 

Frances laughed. "Alright then." 

 

"Can I see the cameras? And where Yaz works? And will you show me where they do your makeup?" 

 

"Oh, they’ll do your makeup and hair as well," Frances teased. 

 

"Really?" Lily gasped, practically bouncing off the floor. 

 

"Yes, really… like a movie star." 

 

Lily let out an excited shriek, her laughter filling the room. "I’m going to look like you, Mummy?" 

 

Frances’s voice softened. "You already do, my darling.... Alright sweetheart...you need to get ready for bed now. It’s getting late.... I miss you so much sweetheart, I can’t wait to see you" 

 

"I miss you too. See you tomorrow!" 

 

"Not tomorrow, darling… Friday. In two days' time. I love you." 

 

"I love you too, Mummy… Good night." 

 

"Good night, Peanut." 

 

Frances's fingers lingered on the receiver, reluctant to let go, before she finally ended the call. 

 

As the line clicked off, Susan watched as Lily slowly set the receiver down. Her smile was bright, but in her eyes, there was a quiet longing, a yearning for the warmth of her mother’s embrace. 

 

..... 

 

Lily sat still for a moment after setting the receiver down, her fingers tracing the edge of the table as if holding onto the last bit of her mother’s voice. The excitement of their upcoming day together still shone in her eyes, but there was a small shadow of sadness, a quiet longing only a child could feel so deeply. 

 

Yaz, who had been leaning against the doorway, watching with a soft expression, suddenly sprang into action. She strode over and scooped Lily up from the floor in one swift motion, making the little girl squeal in surprise. 

 

"Alright, missy, time for a shower!" Yaz announced dramatically, lifting her high. 

 

Lily shrieked with laughter, wrapping her arms around Yaz’s neck. 

 

Yaz leaned in and sniffed loudly near Lily’s shoulder, wrinkling her nose in exaggerated disgust "Huh...Someone needs scrub-a-dub" 

 

Lily laughed harder, kicking her feet playfully. "I don’t smell!" 

 

"Mmm-hmm," Yaz teased, adjusting her hold on her as she carried her out of the kitchen "And what about the chocolate under your nails, missy? I bet there's enough under there to make another cookie!" 

 

Lily burst into giggles, squirming in her arms. "No there isn’t!"

 

"Are you sure?" Yaz sniffed again, pretending to gag. "Smells a bit like… old biscuits and mischief." 

 

Susan, watching the playful exchange, shook her head fondly as she turned back to the sink, a small smile lingering on her lips as the sound of Lily’s laughter faded into the hallway. 

 

.... 

 

The kitchen was quiet, save for the faint hum of the kettle on the stove. The warmth of the evening lingered, and the scent of cocoa still hung in the air from Lily’s bedtime routine. Yaz leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching Susan pour herself a cup of tea. 

 

"Please let me help you with a fridge," Yaz said gently, her voice careful but insistent. 

 

Susan shook her head with a small, knowing smile. "Nonsense. You're already paying money toward the bills. It's enough," she said, stirring her tea. "Don’t worry about it. I'll grab some papers tomorrow, see if I can find a second-hand one." 

 

Yaz exhaled, not entirely satisfied with that answer. "And if you don’t?" 

 

Susan gave a small shrug, taking a sip before replying, "Well… I’m gonna think about it then." She set her cup down, leaning in to press a light kiss on Yaz’s cheek, a silent reassurance. 

 

Yaz huffed but smiled, watching her with affection. "You’re stubborn, you know that?" 

 

Susan chuckled as she picked up her tea again. "Takes one to know one, darling." 

 

.... 

 

The bedroom was dimly lit, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting warm shadows across the room. Frances sat on the edge of the bed, slipping off her heels with a quiet sigh. It had been a long day, meetings, fittings, a luncheon she barely had time to taste, but now, at last, she had a moment to herself. 

 

Her eyes fell on the beautiful pink box sitting atop the bedspread, gold lettering embossed on the lid catching the light. She reached for it, running her fingers over the smooth paper before carefully untying the ribbon. The rustle of tissue paper filled the room as she peeled back the layers, revealing the most exquisite little dress in rich coral hue. 

 

The kind that Hollywood children would wear in the glossy pages of the magazines. 

 

Frances ran her fingers over the fabric as if she could somehow press all her love into the threads. 

 

Part of her was light, lifted by the thought of Lily beside her, dressed like a little doll, her laughter caught forever in the soft flash of the camera. It was a moment she had never allowed herself to dream of a chance to show her to the world. 

 

But beneath that joy, something heavier tugged at her ribs, a whisper of doubt that she couldn't shake. The world could be cruel. She had learned that too young, and she knew too well how quickly admiration could turn to scrutiny, how easily innocence could be picked apart by those who didn’t understand it. Would they see Lily as she truly was? Or would they only see what set her apart? 

 

Her fingers tightened slightly on the satin sash before she sighed, smoothing it out again with care. No matter what the world thought, Lily was hers. Her little girl, her brightest light. And when Friday came, Frances would sit beside her, hold her close, and make sure that, in that moment, nothing else mattered. 

 

..... 

 

The store was a small, well-worn corner shop, the kind found on nearly every block in New York, its faded awning barely shielding the entrance from the flickering streetlights. A Coca-Cola sign, dulled by time, hung in the window next to a stack of newspapers. Inside, wooden shelves lined with canned goods, boxes of cereal, and glass jars of penny candy gave the place a homely feel, though the scuffed linoleum floors and humming refrigerators told of years of wear. The air smelled faintly of coffee, tobacco, and old paper, a mixture of scents that clung to the walls like history itself. 

 

Behind the counter, Stanley Bennett was closing up for the night. He was a man of habit—count the till, jot down the numbers in his notepad, lock up. The bell above the door jingled, signaling a late customer, but he didn’t look up right away, too focused on the final figures of the day. 

 

Then, something strange. The shuffle of more than one pair of shoes. The quiet click of the door lock turning. The shift of blinds being pulled down over the windows. 

 

Stanley froze, his pen hovering over the notepad. Slowly, he lifted his head. 

 

Four men stood in the dim light of the store, all young, all unmistakably Italian, their suits well-tailored but just a little too flashy, the sort worn by men who wanted to look respectable but carried something dangerous underneath. Their hair was slicked back, shoes polished, and each of them held a baseball bat, fingers tapping lightly against the wood. 

 

One of them, a wiry guy with sharp eyes, reached into a fridge and pulled out a beer. Without a second thought, he popped the cap and took a long sip, grinning like he owned the place. 

 

Stanley’s eyes darted between them, his stomach sinking. Then he saw him. 

 

A face from the past, long forgotten, but never truly gone. 

 

“Jimmy?” 

 

The man in the middle, taller than the rest, lean but built like someone who had spent his life fighting, grinned at the sound of his name. His dark hair had more streaks of gray than Stanley remembered, but his hazel eyes, sharp and knowing, were just the same. 

 

“Hello, Pops.” 

 

Stanley swallowed hard, his hands gripping the edge of the counter. 

 

The wiry guy took another sip of his beer, then, crash...smashed the bottle to the floor, the amber liquid spreading across the tiles. 

 

Jimmy didn’t flinch. He just lifted his bat, rolling his shoulders like a man about to take a swing at something long overdue.

 

“What are you doing, boy?” Stanley asked 

 

“What I should’ve done years ago,” he said, his voice eerily calm. 

 

And then he swung, shattering a shelf of canned goods, sending metal tins clattering to the ground like falling dominoes. 

 

.....