Visiting the Unknown

The mid-morning light was already fierce, pouring down in gold from a sky so blue it hurt. On the terrace above the pool, Katherine sat on the hot flagstones, legs stretched out in front of her, feet just barely skimming the cool surface of the water. Her body was not yet reaccustomed to the brightness, but she faced the sun without flinching, eyes closed, letting the heat and glare saturate every cell. She moved her toes back and forth in the water, causing small, precise ripples that spread away in neat patterns before dissolving. Occasionally she would glance down at her own feet, as if checking to make sure they were still there, not about to vanish.

She had the air of someone new to embodiment, as she was: every few seconds, different expressions crossed her face—a smile, a wince, a look of pure startlement—as if she was being surprised by the sensations she could now receive. After fourteen years of seeing the world through a canvas, of feeling nothing but emptiness, everything was more than she’d bargained for. The warmth of the stone under her thighs, the sting of sun on her bare shoulders, the slow creep of water as it dried and cooled on her skin: she catalogued every detail, not as an artist but as a person collecting evidence of her own existence.

Marissa saw her from the far end of the pool deck, where she’d come looking for a place to think that wasn’t the Banquet Hall, the library, or the terrace. She considered saying something—there was an urge to ask permission before approaching—but Katherine’s head was tilted just enough to suggest that she’d already noticed Marissa’s presence.

So Marissa walked to the edge and sat beside her, carefully, as if joining a stranger at a bus stop. She wore a navy swimsuit and a loose, partially unbuttoned shirt showing the mandatory cleavage, her hair pulled back into a bun. She sat just close enough for it to be clear she was there to talk, not close enough to presume anything.

They didn’t speak at first. Marissa took off her shoes and dipped her own feet in, then leaned back on her arms and let the sun strike her cheekbones. A gull swooped overhead, its call sharp and insistent, before banking away toward the surf. The only other sounds were the light slap of water against the pool walls and the faint hiss of sprinklers from the garden below.

After a few minutes, Marissa said, “How does it feel?” Her voice was low, the question gentle, as if she was asking someone how they liked a new house.

Katherine didn’t answer right away. Instead, she kept her face turned to the sun, and let a slow smile creep over her lips. Then she glanced sideways, the motion oddly graceful, and lifted her hands in a loose, gestural language. She let her palms face up, then closed her fists, then opened them again. Her face, unguarded, did the rest of the work.

Marissa watched, reading the answer in the lines of the hands, the tilt of the head, the quick micro-motions that spoke of happiness too big for words and just shy of terror. The silence was more eloquent than speech.

“Yeah,” Marissa said, nodding. “That’s what I thought it might be like.”

Katherine flexed her feet in the water, then watched her own toes as if expecting them to dissolve into light at any moment.

Marissa tried again. “Do you remember what it was like… before? Or is this just all new?”

Katherine rolled her lips in, as if tasting for the right memory. Then she made a motion with her right hand—spinning her index finger in a small, quick spiral—then pressed that finger to the center of her chest. It was a strange gesture, but Marissa understood: there was an echo, a muscle memory, but the direct experience was new. Katherine’s face relaxed into something that looked like pure relief, then lit up again with another wave of sensation, this one a little more bashful.

Marissa let herself smile, then closed her eyes and let the warmth settle in. For a long while, neither of them spoke. It was enough to just be, to exist as bodies on the stone, to feel the contrast of water and heat and the tickle of air on damp skin.

Eventually, Marissa opened her eyes and turned to Katherine. “You’re not curious why I came to find you?”

Katherine shrugged, a quick up-and-down of her shoulders. She lifted her hands, then splayed them, palms out. Whatever it is, I’m here.

Marissa inhaled, then let it out in a slow, controlled exhale. “I needed to talk to someone who understands what it means to lose a life,” she said, her voice softer now. “Not just as a metaphor. The real thing.”

Katherine went still, every muscle in her face going quiet. She turned her full attention to Marissa, the way an audience goes silent just before a performance.

Marissa’s hands fidgeted at her sides. “I’ve been thinking about the wish,” she said, almost whispering. “And what it would mean to actually win. What I’d do with it.”

Katherine nodded, a slow, measured dip of her chin. She made a small beckoning gesture, urging Marissa to go on.

Marissa looked out at the pool, her eyes catching the shimmers of light on the surface. “I have a sister,” she said. “Sarah. She was born with cerebral palsy. She’s lived with it all her life. She can’t walk, not really, and she needs help with many things. She’s brilliant—smarter than me, if I’m being honest—but she can’t live alone. She never will.”

Katherine’s expression didn’t change, but her whole body leaned in, as if she could absorb the story by proximity.

Marissa went on, “When I was a kid, I always thought it was normal, taking care of her. It was just the thing you did. My parents expected it. I expected it. And when our parents died, I became her guardian.” She laughed, a dry, short sound. “Even now, everything I do is organized around her. My job, my apartment, every plan for the future. It's why I went into clinical psychology, why I never really dated, why I always thought that marriage and children would never be in my life.”

She twisted a loose thread at the hem of her shirt. “I don’t think of it as a sacrifice. It’s not noble. It’s just… life. If I ever won the wish, I’d use it for her. I’d give her the life she deserves. The one she should have had.”

Katherine looked at Marissa, her eyes clear, the sunlight making her pupils shrink to almost nothing. She lifted a hand and placed it, palm-down, over Marissa’s own hand on the stone.

The touch was light, but it was solid: more than a painting, more than a memory. Katherine let it sit there, then turned her other palm up, a question.

“What would you wish for?” Marissa said, reading the gesture.

Katherine let go of Marissa’s hand and pointed at her own chest. Then, in a motion that was both playful and deeply earnest, she made a little heart with her hands, then pressed it to her sternum, making a cradling gesture.

Marissa nodded, despite herself. “I heard. I'm sorry,” she said. “You'd wish to be reunited with your child.”

Katherine nodded, then made a circle with her hands—around the pool, the terrace, the sky.

Marissa let her gaze drift over the pool. “Do you ever worry about what happens after? Where you’ll end up?”

Katherine made a so-so gesture, then waved her hand in a loose, open pattern. Andy had promised she’d go back with everyone. And he’d done more for her than anyone ever had.

Marissa envied that. “I’ve been trying to picture it,” she said. “What the harem will look like, where we’ll live, how we’ll make it work. But Sarah… she can’t just move anywhere. There are doctors. Caregivers. She has routines and needs. I’d have to build it all again. The structure, the support.” She sighed. “Sometimes I think that’s the real reason I want the wish. Not to fix her, but to fix the world for her.”

Katherine made a gesture, both palms up, as if to say: so what if that’s true?

Marissa smiled, the first real one of the day. “You’re right,” she said. “It doesn’t matter.”

For a while, they sat with just the sound of the water and the far-off call of birds.

Then Marissa said, “I haven’t told anyone here. Not even Andy. I’ve told Claire, but that’s it.” She hesitated, then said, “There’s something else. In Andy, I’ve found someone I love, here. I thought it would be impossible, but it isn’t. It’s real. And I feel—” She swallowed. “I feel guilty, sometimes. Because Sarah will never get that. Not the way I do.”

Marissa sat very still, eyes fixed on the sunlit blue of the pool, feeling the other woman’s hand solid and warm on hers, as if some ancient animal part of her needed proof that this was real. She had never told anyone about the guilt—not Andy, not even Claire, whose quiet was so much like a safe. Only now, under the sun and with a woman who had spent fourteen years alone in her own body, did she feel the thing loosen enough to surface.

“It’s stupid,” Marissa said, but the words were soft, almost an exhale. “I know that. I know Sarah would be furious if she heard me say it. She’s had more relationships than I ever did. She dated a woman for three years, went to the prom with a boy who could only talk about chess, spent a semester emailing love poems to a girl in Seattle.” She closed her eyes. “But there’s a difference between being loved and having a future. The world just... doesn’t build futures for girls like her. Not the way it does for the rest of us.”

Katherine listened. Her hand remained, palm flat and still. She watched Marissa’s face as if learning a new subject, not trying to fix anything, not even nodding, just bearing witness.

Then Katherine did something small, but it landed in Marissa like a thunderclap. She let go of Marissa’s hand, then, with infinite gentleness, turned her palm up and pressed their wrists together, skin to skin. With her other hand, Katherine pointed—not at herself, not at Marissa, but at the whole world beyond the terrace. Then she drew a small circle with her finger, tapped it once, and looked back at Marissa.

Marissa did not speak for a moment. She tried to parse the motion, to break it into words, but found it was already clear: You don’t have to choose. The wish could be for everything. The wish could be for more than one.

She was so stunned she let out a single, involuntary laugh. Not a cruel sound, but a bark of disbelief.

“You think that’s how it works?” Marissa said, looking at the woman beside her as if she were something freshly invented.

Katherine’s answer was not a nod, not a shrug, but something in between. She lifted both hands, made a gesture like splitting an apple, then put them back together, fingers interlacing. Her face was open, guileless, the look of someone who had spent years watching people try to fix the wrong thing and had finally seen someone do it right.

Marissa breathed out, slow and shaking. “I hadn’t even considered it,” she said. “I just… I assumed, I guess.”

Katherine smiled. Not a painting’s smile—none of the distance, none of the knowingness. Just the real thing: full of hope, full of uncertainty, but with the stubborn delight of a person who wanted to be surprised.

For a while they sat together in silence. The sun crept higher, the pool water moved, and the shadows on the terrace shifted from gold to white to something so bright it left a stripe on Marissa’s vision even when she closed her eyes.

Marissa turned her head, watching Katherine’s profile: the way her hair moved in the wind, the slight sheen of sweat on her temple, the color in her cheeks from too much sunlight. In that moment, Marissa felt a kind of alliance that made words feel pointless.

She put her hand over Katherine’s, covering it. The gesture was awkward, but neither of them moved to undo it. The heat of their skin was more than enough.

For a while, Marissa didn’t try to think ahead. She let the world exist exactly as it was: blue, hot, loud with birds, the air full of salt and sun and the memory of things that could still be wished for. When she finally looked at Katherine, she found the other woman looking back, both faces unguarded, both hands open and waiting.

They sat that way until the stone was almost too hot to bear, and when they stood, neither let go first.

The Master’s Elevator was always silent, but the air that billowed out as its doors opened in the Main Lobby had a physical presence—cool, dry, tinged with faint perfume and a current of ozone that was unique to the vertical shaft running through the volcano. The doors split open. Laura stepped out first, both bodies in lockstep, and paused just beyond the threshold. Marie followed, stopping a pace behind and drawing herself up straight, shoulders squared in the way of someone who’d spent years expecting the world to look different than it did. For a moment, neither moved.

The Lobby’s light was bright even on a cloudy day, but this afternoon the clouds were gone and sunlight poured through the glass walls, hitting the marble floor and lighting up every fingerprint, every fleck of dust. To Myra, waiting by the Commissary, the space was aswirl with energy. She could see the outlines of both Laura and Marie from across the room—the twin prismatic shadows of Laura, each moving in perfect sync, limned by that strange silvery hue, and Marie’s more subdued, blue-edged glow. There was a bitterness at the edge of Marie’s, but underneath: relief, and something brighter, which Myra didn’t have a name for but recognized anyway.

Marie scanned the Main Lobby, the long corridor, the double stairs up to the second-floor landing, the doors to the pool and the terrace, the art on the walls. She did not look at the flatscreen above the Commissary, where the VP scores rotated, but Myra caught the way Marie’s hands curled and uncurled with each new environment. The last time she’d been here, the place had been less a resort and more a prison. Now it was… somewhere different, but the memories remained.

Marie’s eyes flicked to Myra. She did not break into a run or even smile, but she crossed the lobby briskly, shoes making a hard click on the stone. Myra stood and let herself be pulled into a hug, the kind of hug that tried to compress years of separation into ten seconds. Myra hugged her mother back, tightly, her own arms stronger than she remembered, her tails flicking in a slow, restless spiral behind her.

They held on for a long time. Myra’s mother was smaller than she remembered, but the hug was still strong, not tentative, not weakened by absence. When they finally separated, Marie kept both hands on Myra’s shoulders, steadying her, checking her—then gave her a look as if searching for evidence of a lie.

“I’m glad I decided to come up today,” Marie said, voice blunt as always. “Are you eating enough?”

Myra laughed. “I am, Mom.” She flicked one of her fox tails in a slow arc behind her. “I thought you liked the Garden.”

Marie’s face broke into the faintest hint of a smile. “The Garden is good. This is better. I wanted to see you in real air.” She let her hands drop, but only after another squeeze. “You’re happier than last time.”

Myra shrugged, then glanced back at Laura, both bodies standing in matching pose just behind. “I found my Mom,” she said, simply. “Believe it or not, I’m glad I got picked.”

Marie looked at her like she was trying to decide if this was a joke. “You sure?”

“Completely.” Myra looked around the lobby. “I want you to meet everyone. Not just the front row at a challenge, but—really meet them.” She paused, then grinned. “Some are exactly as bad as you’d expect, too, but that’s fun in a different way.”

Marie looked around, searching for movement. “It’s empty.”

Myra shrugged. “Everyone is enjoying the grounds. I’m sure we’ll meet a few people while we walk.”

Myra led the way across the lobby, her tails flicking behind, a little more self-conscious than usual but not hiding it. Marie walked beside her, not holding Myra’s arm but keeping close enough that the contact was always an option.

“Want to walk the gardens?” Myra said.

Marie nodded, and for a moment the blue of her outline in Myra’s emotion-sight was sharper, almost electric.

They made it as far as the doors when Emi emerged from the Banquet Hall with a tray with six teacups balanced on three hands, and a teapot in the other. She stopped at the sight of Myra and Marie, her face blooming in surprise.

“Myra!” Emi said, the tray wobbling, “Oh, hi! Is this—” She looked at Marie, the question clear in her eyes, then at Myra’s face, looking for the answer there. “Uh, who is this?”

Myra grinned. “Emi, this is my mom. Marie.”

Emi’s six hands juggled the tray and teapot for a moment, then she set them down on the nearest table, not caring that it wasn’t meant for food. “Oh! It’s so good to meet you!” She stuck out her top right hand for a shake, realized that would be awkward, and switched to the bottom right, which was somehow more formal.

Marie shook Emi’s hand, her own grip firm. “You have six arms,” Marie said, awkwardly.

Emi blushed. “I do! I got used to them pretty quick. Sometimes I forget I have them, especially when I’m nervous.”

Marie nodded, accepting this at face value. “They suit you.”

Emi seemed to take that as a compliment on her soul, not just her body, and beamed. “Would you like some tea? Or anything to eat? I can get whatever you want.”

Marie blinked. “We’re just walking.”

Emi nodded, already pouring tea into four cups and balancing them out on the tray. “That’s fine! I had extra teacups. You can take it with you. It’s a new blend, from the garden here. Supposed to be calming. I think you’ll like it.” She set the cups in a neat line.

Marie took the cup. “Thank you, Emi.”

Emi shrugged, as if it was nothing. “I just like taking care of people.” She poured her own cup, then glanced at Laura, who had followed Myra and Marie out and now stood, both bodies, a respectful step behind. Emi’s eyes flicked from one Laura to the other and back, then to Marie.

She hesitated. “You look… not exactly like Myra. But you have the same hair.” Emi’s voice was gentle, not analyzing, just noticing.

Marie didn’t answer, but she smiled. She sipped the tea. The smile didn’t leave her face.

Emi looked at the three of them and said, “Is this your first time seeing each other since… uh...?”

Myra nodded. “My Mom is in the Hollow Garden. I met her yesterday, but we wanted to walk.”

Emi’s six hands all fidgeted for a moment, then she smiled. “Oh, I’ll get out of your way! But—if you need anything, I’m around. Myra’s lucky to have you.” She gathered up the tray and teapot, and was about to head back into the Banquet Hall, but turned at the last second and said, “I’m meeting my Grandma for tea after lunch. Wish me luck!”

Marie blinked, caught off-guard. “Your grandma?”

Emi nodded. “Well, not exactly my grandma. My family descends from her and from a Middle Ages knight from Provence. Oh, but she’s not French, she’s Sumerian. She’s a goddess, apparently.”

For a second, nobody said anything. Emi just beamed, then vanished back into the Banquet Hall with her tray, leaving Marie, Myra, and both Lauras blinking at the air she’d just rearranged.

Myra waited until Emi was out of sight, then shook her head and muttered, “That is exactly how she is every day, by the way.”

Marie tried the tea. It was hot, floral, and slightly bitter, a taste she instantly preferred to the drinks they served down in the Hollow Garden. She sipped, and let the warmth settle. It did more for her than she was willing to admit, but Myra could see it anyway—a faint relaxation, the blue in her mother’s aura diffusing into a lighter shade, the edges softening.

They stepped outside into the Inner Gardens, the sunlight even brighter here, cut into bands and shards by the foliage overhead. The paths were clean, winding, each new turn offering a different arrangement of benches, flower beds, and archways that reminded Marie of the old world and yet not at all. She walked with Myra, neither woman needing to say anything for a minute or two.

Laura fell in at a respectful distance. One of her bodies paced just behind Myra, the other flanking Marie like a silent bodyguard. There was something about the symmetry of it that pleased Marie—she was not being watched, exactly, but the effect was similar, and she realized with a start that she was grateful for it. Her niece had changed so much, but she was here, alive. It still didn’t seem real.

Myra reached for her mother’s hand, and Marie let herself be led. The feel of her daughter’s grip—confident, alive—was a kind of proof. Myra had never been physically affectionate as a child, always on her own, more likely to flinch than to reach out. The reversal of roles was dizzying, but Marie let herself enjoy it.

“You really seem happy,” Marie said again after a time, quietly, so that the words did not have to travel far. Myra understood: after the season her mother had been part of, how could she not worry about her daughter?

“I really am,” Myra said, equally soft. “I haven’t felt… wanted, like this, since I was a kid.” She gestured ahead, toward a trellised walkway where the light dappled and moved, almost liquid. “I wanted you to see it,” she added.

Marie nodded. “You always did like showing off, once you were sure you’d win.”

Myra’s tails swished. “You’re not wrong.”

Ahead, two voices drifted through the air—one pitched high with laughter, the other more subdued but clear. Dawn and Chloe, in the middle of an animated conversation, materialized around the next curve in the path.

Dawn saw the trio and stopped mid-giggle, her black-furred ears standing bolt upright. She wore sandals, shorts, and a bizarre shirt printed with bunnies leaping over watermelons. Chloe, beside her, had opted for a sleeveless top and a skirt, her breasts only partly constrained by the fabric.

Dawn’s face did a complex origami of emotions in one second—surprise, delight, worry, then a careful composure. Chloe’s smile went from open to shy, her hands flying to her hair, which she tucked behind her ears even though they didn’t need tucking.

Myra led with, “Dawn, Chloe, this is my Mom. Marie.” She made no effort to soften the word or explain.

Dawn’s jaw dropped, then snapped shut again. For a moment her bunny ears, black-furred and precise as tuning forks, went perfectly flat against her hair. Chloe inhaled, the sound small, and her hands clamped over her chest with a protective, utterly instinctive motion.

“You’re… wow,” Dawn said, flustered, then tried again: “You’re here.”

Marie inclined her head. “Just visiting. Myra invited me.”

Chloe, always the more effusive of the pair, stepped forward and offered her hand. “It’s so nice to meet you, Marie. I’m Chloe. I’m sorry, Myra never mentioned…” She looked mortified the second she said it.

Dawn blinked, still off-balance, then rallied. “I’m Dawn,” she said. “We’re, um, really glad you’re here.” Then, after a second, “Your daughter’s kind of a hero to some of us.”

Myra made a face, rolling her eyes. “Not even close,” she said, but the words lacked ****.

Marie looked at them, and Myra could see the way her mother’s aura shifted: the blue receded, replaced by something yellow-orange and bright at the edges, an embarrassment so rare in her mother that Myra almost laughed. Marie said, “She was raised well. But you should know, she was always like this. Even as a toddler. Had to do everything herself.”

Chloe smiled, the motion so soft and kind it felt like a pillow to fall into. “That tracks,” she said. “You should be really proud.”

The comment hit Marie harder than she let on; Myra saw her hand twitch, saw the pulse at her jaw.

Dawn, by contrast, had completely lost the thread of whatever composure she’d summoned. “Sorry, it’s just—I’ve never met someone’s mom here before.” Her ears fluttered, then flattened again. “This is really special.”

Marie nodded, once. “Thank you,” she said, a simple truth.

Chloe, eyes shining, said, “If you want a tour, I’d love to show you around. The Inner Gardens are my favorite. Or the Sunroom, or the Bamboo Grove. But the Gardens are…” She trailed off, unable to find the word.

“They’re safe,” Myra supplied.

Chloe nodded, grateful.

Dawn, after a breath, said, “There’s a morning yoga class at the pond. Erin leads, every day. If you like that sort of thing.”

Marie considered, then looked at Myra. “I like walking best. Maybe later, we’ll see the pond.”

Dawn smiled, a little shy again. “Of course.”

They exchanged a few more pleasantries, then Dawn and Chloe moved on, their voices already rising again in excited whispers as soon as they were out of sight. Marie, left with Myra and Laura, watched them go.

“Your friends are kind,” Marie said.

“They are,” Myra agreed, and felt a strange, almost guilty pleasure in the pride that flared through her.

They walked for a while in silence, the crunch of gravel underfoot the only sound. The garden path wound through a series of small groves, each with its own flavor: shaded benches under a wisteria trellis, a patch of citrus trees with fruit already swelling, a pergola draped with morning glories. Occasionally a staff member—a Mildred, or one of the other silent staffers—passed by, but always at a distance, always with a polite nod.

Marie looked at every detail as they walked, not as a tourist but as an auditor, evaluating the bones of the place. At one point, she stopped and knelt by a flower bed, ran her fingers through the soil, and smelled the dirt. “It was all gravel when I was here,” she said, half to herself. “Decorative. Nothing you could grow anything in.”

“They let us garden now,” Myra said, with a flick of her tails. “Chloe has a plant nursery for spices, and Erin spends at least a couple of hours each day out here. If you want, you can help later.”

Marie looked up, her eyes clear for the first time in hours. “I’d like that.”

They kept walking. After a while, Marie asked, “What’s it like, living here?”

Myra considered. “It’s good, Mom. The first week, it was hard. I didn’t think I could do it. But… Andy was kind. And then I made friends.” She glanced sidelong at Laura, who was walking a few steps ahead, both bodies drifting in lazy sync.

Marie’s expression didn’t change, but Myra felt the question: And you like it? You’re sure?

“It’s strange,” Myra said, “but it’s real. And I don’t have to pretend. That’s the best part.”

Marie nodded, then let the silence fill in the rest.

They turned a corner and found themselves face to face with Norah, who was moving briskly down the path in four-inch heels, pencil skirt and all, carrying a latte like she was running to catch a train. She almost collided with them, then stopped short.

“Oh,” Norah said, glancing at Myra, then at Marie, then at Laura. “I didn’t see you there.”

Myra said, “Norah, this is my Mom. Marie.”

Norah’s eyes widened, her attention snapping to Marie’s face with an intensity that bordered on aggression. For a full second, she just stared, head cocked slightly, assessing every detail. Then she seemed to arrive at a decision and nodded once, sharp.

“Nice to meet you, Marie,” she said, offering her hand. “I’m Norah.”

Marie shook it, matching the grip and the energy.

Norah studied Marie for another second, then said, “You look like you’ve been through this before.”

Marie snorted. “Accurate.” Her smile was dry, not unkind. “You always this direct?”

Norah’s lips quirked. “You get used to it. May I ask—were you in a prior season?”

Marie nodded.

Norah looked at Myra, then at Marie again. “I hope you’re happy here,” Norah said. “It’s not perfect, but it’s safer than most places.”

Marie didn’t answer for a second, then said, “So far, so good.”

Laura, both bodies, watched the whole exchange with a faint smile.

Norah nodded again, then looked at Myra. “If you ever want to talk, you know where to find me.” The words were casual, but Myra felt a twinge of blue at the edge of Norah’s aura, the rarest hint of tenderness. Then Norah was gone, heels clacking on the flagstones, already dialing her attention elsewhere.

When she was out of earshot, Marie said, “You weren’t kidding. It’s a real family here.”

Myra shrugged, then grinned. “It is. Even the ones who pretend it isn’t.”

They walked some more, past a shaded colonnade and a fountain shaped like a sea turtle. Laura drifted along with them, not saying anything, her two bodies sometimes matching step, sometimes splitting off to explore a side path or pick a flower, but always orbiting back.

Marie waited until they were alone on the path, then asked, “Are you sure you're happy?”

Myra stopped. “Yeah. I am.” She looked at her mother, and in that instant, she felt how much she’d changed since the last time they’d met—how much less she was running, and how much more she wanted to stay. “I think I might actually have a life here. With Andy, and Laura, and all the others.”

Marie reached for Myra’s face and touched her cheek, her thumb tracing just under the eye. “I’m proud of you,” she said. “Always was. Even before.” Her voice was softer, the blue in her aura now shot through with gold.

Myra hugged her, the contact real and grounding.

They stood like that for a while, then Laura sidled up, both bodies, and wrapped her arms around both women, a family portrait drawn in sunlight and shade. For a moment, everything was simple.

Then footsteps approached. Myra felt the shift in the air before she heard the sound—a tight, fast energy that was unmistakably Riley. She turned and saw her half-sister coming down the path, her red-black hair pulled back in a loose braid, boots crunching the gravel with every stride. Riley’s eyes were their usual mis-matched pair, green and brown, and her expression was, as always, impossible to read until the last second.

Riley didn’t notice them right away. She was focused on the book in her hand, flicking through a page, but as soon as she rounded the bend and caught sight of Marie, she stopped dead.

For one beat, Riley’s face was blank. Then her eyes went wide, her chin lifted, and she looked at Marie the way a scientist might look at a rare bird she’d been hoping to spot all her life.

Marie went still. Myra felt her mother’s hands tighten on her own, then let go.

Riley walked forward, slow, deliberate. She looked at Myra, then at Laura, then at Marie again.

“Who is this?” Riley said, the question pointed but not unkind.

Myra cleared her throat. “Riley, this is my Mom. Marie. She’s visiting from the Hollow Garden.”

Riley’s lips parted, a thousand responses loading up at once, then only one making it out. “No shit.”

Marie’s face didn’t change, but the emotion radiating from her was almost overwhelming. Myra felt it in her bones.

Riley stared at Marie. Then she said, “You’re… her mother? Like, actually?”

Marie nodded. “I am.”

Riley looked at Myra again, softer this time. “When did this happen?”

“I found out two days ago, and I met her yesterday,” Myra said. “She came up for a visit.”

Riley nodded, accepting the fact without further question. “And you’re okay?” she said, direct to Myra.

Myra smiled. “Yeah. I’m more than okay.”

Riley’s eyes flicked back to Marie. She studied her for a moment, then said, “How long you been in the Hollow Garden?”

Marie answered, “A few years. It’s not bad. There’s work to do, and the people are good. Just—quiet.”

Riley’s voice softened by a hair. “I heard it’s beautiful down there.”

Marie nodded. “It is. But I like the sun better.”

Riley grinned, sharp and sudden. “Me too.”

They stood together for a moment, the awkwardness of the moment giving way to something more comfortable. Laura’s two bodies stood very still, both sets of eyes on Riley, watching for something Myra couldn’t see.

Then Riley said, “You probably want time together. I’m just—” She gestured vaguely at the path. “I’ll see you around?”

Myra nodded.

Riley started to move past, then stopped and looked at Laura. “You walking with me, L?”

Laura, both bodies, looked at Myra, then at Marie, then back at Riley. “I am,” she said, both voices at once.

Laura hugged Marie—awkwardly, but with real ****—and then hugged Myra. “I’ll see you later.”

The two Lauras fell in beside Riley, their steps matching as they disappeared around the next curve.

When they were gone, and the air had settled, Marie let out a breath. “She really looks like her mother.”

Myra nodded. “She does.”

Marie squeezed Myra’s hand. “You still haven’t told her?”

Myra shook her head. “Sandra wants to wait. It has to be her choice.”

Marie’s lips pressed together. “Sandra was always stubborn.” Then, softer, she added, “I’ll talk to her. It’s not fair to leave Riley out.”

“Thank you,” Myra said.

Marie looked at her daughter for a long time, then said, “Show me more. Tell me about your life here. About your new family.”

Myra smiled. She reached out and took her mother’s hand, and together, they walked on.