Madeline hummed a tune as she flipped a pancake on the stove, trying to multitask figuring out the melody of her newest song while also making breakfast for her family. Rosie sat at the table, paperwork for her apprenticeship spread out around her. Now that Marco was getting a little older, he was getting a better hold on his powers, meaning they didn't need to be nearby twenty-four seven to stop him from flying out the window. So, Rosie was finally taking some steps towards that old dream. Madeline couldn't have been prouder. Marco, for his part, just continued playing with Lego on the living room floor, mostly typical three and a half year-old that he was.
Every time she thought about it, it spun her out even more. Marco was three and a half. It had already been four whole years since the Godling War; since Rosie came back to her, since she lost her leg, since everything. In just one more year, Rosie would be back with her for longer than they'd been apart. It still felt like a dream.
There were still days where she'd wake up and forget, grief tightening its noose around her throat before she rolled over in bed and found her wife safe and sound right next to her, like an inverse of the days before Rosie's return, where she'd wake up having forgotten about her death. At least now her delirious waking moments had a happy ending.
And... that's what this was, wasn't it? A happy ending. After all the trauma, all the fighting, Madeline got to live her happily ever after with her wife and son. Despite the PTSD that still flared up now and again from the horror of the war and everything preceding it, despite the cravings for weed and alcohol that still nagged her all the time, despite the developing chronic pain in her lower back and the annoyance of needing to rely on a prosthetic leg to get around. She was happy. Something she'd once never even hoped for, trapped in her parents stifling household and later crushed under the weight of thousands of broken dreams.
Madeline transferred the finished pancake to the plate, and was about to start on the next one when a knock at the door caught her attention.
Rosie looked up at her, tilting her head. Neither of them were expecting visitors. Vivienne would just teleport right in, along with any companion, and anyone else they knew would probably call ahead, aside from Maggie, but that was a moot point since she would never use the door anyway. Through a conversation held entirely in minute facial gestures, they agreed that Maddie would check. Another knock sealed the deal. Madeline sighed, putting her pot of mix and spatula down, and turning off the burner. Whatever it was, best get it over with quickly.
Madeline opened the door, and the world dropped out from under her.
Sixteen years had passed since the last time the two of them saw each other. Even still, Madeline recognised the interloper immediately.
Jessica Holmes, the woman who gave birth to her, stood in the doorway, meekly staring up at Madeline.
All Madeline could think was, she'd aged...
"Hello, Ri- M-Madeline," she choked out, clearly not used to the name. Really, that told Madeline all she needed to know, but her shock kept her from slamming the door in Jessica's face. Even the first half-syllable of that name she hadn't heard in so long felt like a knife between the ribs. She'd lost her desensitisation to it, she supposed.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Madeline hissed through her teeth, keeping her voice down so Rosie wouldn't hear. How did she even find her?
Jessica looked away. "I... I wanted to see you. It's been so long, and... I just... wanted to know how you were. If you were... well."
Was she lying? Madeline didn't know what she could possibly have to gain, but she also barely knew this woman anymore. Anything was possible.
Maddie folded her arms. "I'm doing wonderfully. No thanks to you."
Jessica winced. "I... suppose I deserve that."
They stood there in silence for a good thirty seconds, Madeline glaring down her nose at the woman who used to be her mother. A horrible mixture of rage, fear, and hatred all waged war inside of her as feelings old and new arose in her gut. The old cigarette burns on her arm flared like they were fresh. This was not how she wanted her Sunday to go.
"Could we... talk?" Jessica eventually asked.
"You're not coming in," Madeline responded definitively.
Jessica wilted. "Well... Could we maybe go somewhere, then?"
Before Madeline could respond with another rejection, movement behind her caught her attention. She'd taken too long, and now Rosie was coming to investigate, with Marco in her arms. Shit.
"What's going...?" Rosie started, trailing off as she came around the door and saw who was standing there. Immediately, her face twisted, nose crinkling in the same way it did whenever she changed Marco's nappy, only with even more disgust. "You aren't welcome here. Go away."
Jessica didn't seem to hear her, too busy staring at Marco with wide eyes. FUCK.
"You... have a son..." she muttered.
"Yes, I do, and you aren't allowed near him." Madeline snarled.
Jessica flinched, but recovered quickly, sighing. "I understand if you hate me, but... I really would like to talk. I understand if you don't, but... Here. Just in case you change your mind."
She held out a piece of paper. Madeline grabbed it, against her better judgement, and saw it contained a phone number.
"I'll get out of your hair now," Jessica said. "Have a nice day."
With that, she turned and left, leaving Madeline adrift. Blankly, she closed and locked the door, before turning and leaning back against it. Rosie stared at her, concern painting her features. Even Marco was frowning at her, sensing something was wrong.
"Maddie?" Rosie started. "Are you alright?"
For reasons she couldn't fully understand, Madeline burst into tears, slumping to the floor.
It was all too much. She hadn't seen that woman in sixteen fucking years. More than half of her entire life. She'd graduated high school, became a superhero, gotten married, been widowed, regained her wife, survived a war, saved the world, had a kid, and renewed her wedding vows between the last time the two of them spoke. What the fuck did she want from her? Madeline had put that part of her life behind her, doing her best to forget every little indignity her parents had inflicted upon her. No, she didn't want to fucking talk. She was quite happy pretending her birth parents never existed. That fantasy was shattered now, though. She couldn't get the image of Jessica's stupid pouting face out of her head.
Wordlessly, Rosie set Marco down and pulled Madeline into an embrace. She sunk into it, letting the familiar comfort chase away the residual fear. Even Marco joined in, toddling over to hug her around the midsection.
"Iss awright, mummy. Don' cry. Don' cry," he said, repeating it like a mantra, obviously copying what the two of them always said to him when he was upset. The sheer cuteness of it managed to brighten Madeline's mood immediately. She smiled weakly.
"Such a sweet boy, aren't you?"
"Yeah!" he exclaimed, smiling like the sun.
She ruffled his hair, sniffling. "Mummy's alright. Why don't you go and build something with your Lego, and you can show it to me after?"
"Okay!" he replied, turning and briefly glowing white as he began hovering back towards his toys.
"No flying in the house, Marc," Rosie automatically declared. Marco obediently dropped back to the floor, working his legs instead of his powers. That could come when he was older.
Madeline sighed, flopping her head forward against Rosie's shoulder.
"What the fuck?" she muttered quietly.
"Just forget about her, alright?" Rosie said, rubbing her back. "She doesn't matter, and she doesn't deserve the space in your head."
"I know," Madeline mumbled. "Just... what the fuck."
Rosie snorted. "Yeah."
—
As much as she tried not to think about it, the question of why continued to eat at Madeline throughout the next week. Why had Jessica come to her? Why now? Why was she trying so hard to be nice when she never bothered before?
The little slip of paper with her phone number burned a hole in her pocket. It occupied her thoughts during all waking hours, and haunted her dreams with old nightmares she'd long-since replaced. Writing up reports for her office job was the last thing on her mind at work, and all she could think about at home was Jessica's pleading, pathetic face.
It couldn't go on like this. She had to know.
Against Rosie's advice and her own better judgement, Madeline messaged the number.
Friday, 2pm. The cafe on the corner of Johansen and Freedom. You get one chance.
—
Despite having been the one to make the plan, Madeline heavily considered standing Jessica up. It would've been no less than she deserved, and Madeline still couldn't really decide whether or not she actually wanted to do this. Life was much better for her when she pretended her birth parents never existed.
Alas, in spite of everything, she ended up going anyway. God knew why.
Jessica was already there when she arrived, sitting at a table in the corner. She held a mug of coffee in her hands, still full but no longer steaming. Madeline elected not to order anything, not confident she could keep anything down right now.
Jessica looked up as she approached, eyes widening as she scanned Madeline up and down, before she locked onto her prosthetic leg. It hadn't been visible in their last encounter, due to Madeline wearing sweatpants. Today, she unwittingly wore shorts. Dammit.
"What happened to your leg?" she asked, because the woman never had tact at the best of times.
"Lost it in the war," Madeline grunted, sitting down across from her.
Jessica frowned. "The war? I didn't know you enlisted."
"The Godling War," Madeline hissed. "Obviously. All of Tombguard's heroes fought."
"Oh. Right. Sorry. It's been... difficult to keep up with the news lately. With all of the conflict going on, I just assumed..."
To be fair to her, the assumption wasn't completely foolish. Tensions had been steadily rising all across the world recently, as powers became more common and countries waged petty wars with the newfound strength of their populations. With the sudden boom in paramilitary groups and PMCs offering their services on top of that, armed with thousands of expertly trained anonymous soldiers that appeared as if out of the woodworks, it seemed things would only get worse before they got better.
"Why are you here, Jessica?" Madeline asked. "All this time, you've never tried to contact me. Why now?"
Jessica sighed, looking down at the table. "Last year... Your father passed away. Stomach cancer. In sorting out his affairs, I've had a lot of time to think. I... For a long time, I've regretted how things turned out between us. I... I didn't understand you. I still don't, really. But... I realise now that your happiness is more important than my understanding. You are my only... only child. I don't want to let that connection fade if there's a chance I can fix things."
Madeline stared at her, processing everything she just said. Her father... was dead?
...Good fucking riddance.
"You... You do realise that you stopping me from transitioning wasn't the only reason I ran away, right?" Madeline muttered, voice carefully even. "That was just the last straw. Y-y'know, I've... I've been tortured. Like, literally, properly tortured, strapped to a chair, broken fingers and everything. And looking back, I'd take another night of that over ever having to go through my childhood with you two again. Th-the beatings, the humiliation, the lack of privacy. I still have scars from dad putting his cigarettes out on my fucking arm. Neither of you even bothered looking for me when I ran away, and you know what? I'm glad. I lived on the streets for a whole year before Rosie's family took me in, and it was the best goddamn year of my life up to that point. And you come crawling back to me now? What about when I graduated high school? Or... or when Rosie died? Or... even during the war!"
She covered her face with her hands, laughing at the absurdity of it all. "And you know what the funny thing is? Even after everything, if you had come to me then, genuinely asking for help and shelter from the Godling... I would have given it to you. Even though you don't deserve it, even though you never did it for me, I would have kept you safe."
She looked back down at Jessica, who was silently crying across the table. The sight only made Madeline angrier.
"But... you didn't come then. You came now. Now, when I'm finally stable and happy, and I've built a life for myself. Now, when I'm at the height of my fame as a superhero and I have a kid of my own. Now, when I'm in the best possible position for you to leech off of. Because dad died and you're fucking lonely. No. You don't get to do that. You don't get to make my childhood a living hell, leave me alone for more than half my life, and then suddenly show up saying you want to reconnect. You had your chance to be my mother, but you fucked that up sixteen years ago. There aren't any do-overs for my childhood, and trying to make it up to me now that I'm an adult; now that you don't have to do any of the work... You don't get to do that."
Jessica hiccuped, fists clenched on the table as she tried and failed to hold herself together. Madeline herself just focused on breathing, not confident she could keep her tears back if she continued, either.
"I..." Jessica mumbled. "I don't know what to say... I don't want to leech off of you, Madeline. I- I just... miss you. I miss having a child. And I feel bad for how things turned out. The reason it took so long is because your father never wanted to reach out. Now that he's gone I finally felt like I could. A-and... I know I can never make up for your childhood. But I still... I still want to try and be better now. I want to be part of your life in any capacity that you'll allow."
"It's all about 'I' with you, isn't it?" Madeline spat. "All about what you want. You want to be part of my life. You want to make up for things. What if I don't want you in my life at all? What then?"
Jessica made a face like she'd been stabbed. "Madeline, please."
"You have a lot of fucking nerve to ask anything of me. I don't owe you shit."
"What do you want me to say, Madeline? That I'm sorry? Because I am! I've been sorry! I'm sorry for all the pain your father and I caused you, and I'm sorry that I can't take it back. I'm sorry that there's nothing I can do to make it better! All I... All I want is another chance... Another chance to be your family, Madeline... B-but all I can say is that I'm sorry."
She broke down, covering her mouth and letting out big, heaving sobs as tears ran down her face. They were causing a scene now. People around the cafe unsubtly listening in to their drama. Let them. Madeline didn't care.
She didn't.
She shouldn't.
This woman didn't deserve her sympathy. Didn't deserve her attention. Didn't deserve anything from her.
So why?
Why was part of her hesitating?
Why hadn't she gotten up and left yet?
Why did she feel bad for her?
Oh, for fuck's sake.
"Fine," she growled. "You want a chance? Fucking fine. Whatever. We can meet up every now and then and shoot the shit. But you will never come to my apartment again. You will not see my son. You will not see my wife. You will see me, when I feel like it, and that's it. And if I get even a hint of bigoted bullshit from you, it'll be over, just like that. So you better fucking mean it when you say you're working on yourself and trying to be better, because I'll be watching you like a fucking hawk."
Jessica stared, wide-eyed, as Madeline stood up and stormed out of the cafe, hundreds of conflicting emotions all roiling together in her gut. Had she made the right decision? Was there even a right decision to begin with? She had no idea. All she wanted was to just go home, see her son, and be a better mother to him from the start than Jessica ever was to her. Forgiveness — or, at least, some form of reconciliation — was a choice made by adults, but there were no second chances for childhood. Once it was broken, that was it. Marco would never have to suffer like her, no matter who he turned out to be. She would make sure of it.
That night, when Marco crawled into their bed after waking up from a nightmare, Madeline didn't admonish him like her own parents would have. She welcomed him with open arms, letting him wiggle in between her and Rosie, incorporating his small form into their cuddle easier than she breathed. So long as he felt safe and comfortable, nothing else truly mattered.
