Chapter 12 - Starting Over

The next morning Michelle was already dressed when Jennifer came downstairs, hair pulled back, coffee in hand, laptop open on the kitchen island beside a neat stack of folders.

Kathy sat beside her wearing reading glasses and an expression that suggested she had already had two cups of coffee and very little patience for hesitation.

Jennifer stopped halfway into the kitchen.

“What is this?”

Michelle looked up carefully.

“We have a few things to handle today.”

Jennifer stared at the folders.

“What kind of things?”

Kathy removed her glasses and smiled warmly.

“The practical kind, sweetheart.”

That did not make Jennifer feel better.

Jennifer walked closer slowly.

Across the island were forms.

Applications.

Printed emails.

A manila folder labeled HR.

A small envelope.

And on top of everything, typed in clean black letters, was the name Jennifer Russo.

Jennifer stared at it.

Russo.

The name appeared again on another form.

Then another.

Jennifer Russo.

Michelle noticed immediately.

“You can’t use Brennan,” she said quietly.

Jennifer looked up.

Michelle’s voice stayed calm.

“Eventually somebody would connect it.”

Jennifer swallowed hard.

“And Russo?”

Kathy smiled gently.

“My maiden name. Your story is that you’re family on my side.”

Jennifer looked back down at the forms.

Jennifer Russo.

Somehow seeing the name typed out made everything feel more real than makeup or clothes ever had.

Makeup washed off.

Clothes could be removed.

Hair could be restyled.

But paperwork had weight.

Paperwork lived in systems.

Paperwork became searchable.

Michelle slid a mug of coffee toward her.

“You should sit down.”

Jennifer did.

Mostly because her knees felt unreliable.

—

The first hour was explanation.

Too much explanation.

Michelle had been preparing quietly for days.

Maybe longer.

Jennifer wasn’t sure which possibility scared her more.

“There are too many loose ends,” Michelle said, tapping one folder with her fingernail. “If this is going to work, even temporarily, things need to match.”

Temporarily.

Jennifer noticed the word.

So did Kathy.

Neither of them said anything.

Michelle continued.

“Your resume had to change to Russo because your references can’t trace directly back to Michael. Your direct deposit can’t go into Michael’s account. Your ID can’t contradict your email, your payroll, your badge, your paperwork—”

Jennifer suddenly stood.

“I can’t do this.”

Michelle stopped.

Kathy looked up gently.

Jennifer backed away from the island.

“This is insane.”

Nobody argued.

That somehow made it worse.

Jennifer pointed toward the forms.

“You’re making a person.”

Michelle’s face softened.

“No.”

“Yes,” Jennifer said, voice rising. “That is exactly what this is.”

Kathy stood slowly.

“Sweetheart—”

“No. Makeup is one thing. Clothes are one thing. But this?”

Jennifer picked up one of the forms, then dropped it again like it burned.

“This is a legal identity.”

Michelle exhaled quietly.

“It’s a cover.”

Jennifer laughed once, sharp and frightened.

“That is not better.”

For a moment nobody spoke.

Then Kathy said softly:

“It’s protection.”

Jennifer looked at her.

Kathy’s voice stayed gentle but firm.

“Right now you are exposed from every direction. Every card. Every document. Every account. Every explanation. The more things don’t line up, the more likely someone asks questions.”

Jennifer looked back at the papers.

Jennifer Russo.

Kathy continued:

“And questions are what we cannot afford.”

Michelle looked exhausted suddenly.

Not physically.

Emotionally.

“I’m trying to keep you safe.”

Jennifer wanted to argue.

Instead she sat back down.

Because that was the worst part.

Michelle was right.

—-

Tow hours later they were at the courthouse.

Jennifer sat rigidly beside Kathy on a polished wooden bench outside Superior Courtroom 4B while Michelle paced slowly near the windows with her phone pressed against her ear.

Everything smelled faintly like old paper, coffee, and industrial floor cleaner.

Jennifer hated it immediately.

“You’re making yourself sick,” Kathy said gently.

Jennifer looked down at her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

Her nails were pale pink now.

Shorter than Kathy preferred.

Longer than Jennifer was comfortable with.

“I shouldn’t be here.”

Kathy sighed softly.

“Sweetheart—”

“No. This is insane.”

Jennifer lowered her voice further.

“What if somebody recognizes me?”

Kathy glanced around the mostly empty hallway.

“Nobody is looking at you.”

That was the problem.

Nobody ever really looked anymore.

They just saw:

* blonde hair,

* soft makeup,

* nervous woman beside her aunt.

Nothing more.

Michelle finally hung up and walked back toward them. At the same time a court officer walked over to them.

“She’s ready.”

Jennifer’s stomach dropped instantly.

“She?”

Kathy stood.

“Judge Mercer.”

Jennifer blinked.

“You know the judge?”

Kathy gave a small shrug.

“Our social club sponsors the women’s legal scholarship fundraiser every spring.”

Jennifer stared at her.

“You’re telling me your wine club knows a Superior Court judge?”

“It’s not a wine club.”

Michelle muttered:

“It’s absolutely a wine club.”

Kathy ignored her.

“She’s helping us.”

Jennifer stood slowly.

“That somehow makes this feel more illegal.”

Michelle walked closer and lowered her voice.

“Jennifer.”

Jennifer froze slightly hearing the name spoken so naturally now.

Michelle’s eyes softened.

“This only works if you stop panicking every five minutes.”

Jennifer laughed once under her breath.

“Helpful.”

Then the courtroom doors opened.

A clerk smiled politely.

“They’re ready for you.”

—

The courtroom itself was smaller than Jennifer expected.

Quiet.

Private.

Nothing like television.

No jury.

No crowded gallery.

Just polished wood, soft lighting, and Judge Elaine Mercer seated behind the bench wearing reading glasses low on her nose while reviewing paperwork.

She looked more like an elegant grandmother than a Superior Court judge.

Silver-blonde hair.

Pearl earrings.

Sharp intelligent eyes.

The kind of woman who probably destroyed people politely.

Judge Mercer looked up immediately as they entered.

And smiled warmly at Kathy.

“There you are.”

Kathy smiled back.

“Thank you again for seeing us on short notice.”

Judge Mercer waved a hand dismissively.

“Oh please. Half the women in our club would owe you favors until the end of time after what you did for Patricia’s fundraiser.”

Jennifer stood frozen beside Michelle trying not to visibly shake.

Judge Mercer finally looked toward her directly.

“And you must be Jennifer.”

Jennifer’s throat tightened instantly.

Not Michael.

Jennifer.

“Yes.”

The judge’s expression softened slightly.

“You nervous?”

Jennifer gave a small humorless laugh.

“A little.”

Judge Mercer nodded like that was perfectly reasonable.

“Well that’s probably healthy considering the amount of paperwork involved in modern life.”

Jennifer blinked.

Then unexpectedly laughed.

Just slightly.

The judge smiled.

“Good. Sit down, honey.”

—

The hearing itself felt surreal.

The clerk swore Jennifer in.

Jennifer nearly stumbled over the oath because hearing herself answer formally as Jennifer Russo felt so deeply unnatural.

Judge Mercer reviewed the file calmly.

Petition for name change.

Privacy request.

Supporting documentation.

Emergency petition due to personal hardship and emotional distress.

The wording made Jennifer sound fragile.

Maybe she was.

Judge Mercer looked over the paperwork one final time.

Then finally:

“And what name are you requesting legally?”

Jennifer froze.

Even though she already knew the answer.

Even though the paperwork sat directly in front of her.

Even though she had practiced it repeatedly the night before.

Still…

saying it out loud felt enormous.

Jennifer looked briefly toward Michelle.

Then Kathy.

Then back toward the judge.

“…Jennifer Russo.”

The courtroom went completely still afterward.

Judge Mercer studied her carefully for a long moment.

Not suspicious.

Not judgmental.

Just observant.

Then quietly:

“Do you understand this represents a legal identity change?”

Jennifer’s chest tightened.

“Yes.”

The judge tilted her head slightly.

“And are you making this request voluntarily?”

Jennifer hesitated.

Not because anyone **** her.

Because she honestly no longer knew where survival ended and choice began.

“Yes,” she answered finally.

Judge Mercer’s gaze softened further.

Then she signed the paperwork.

Just like that.

One smooth movement of black ink across white paper.

Done.

The clerk stamped several documents rapidly.

Official.

Approved.

Real.

Jennifer stared at the sound of the stamp hitting paper harder than she stared at anything else in the room.

Because each stamp sounded final.

Judge Mercer removed her glasses afterward and looked directly at Jennifer again.

“For what it’s worth,” she said gently, “I think Jennifer suits you. Welcome to the team.”

Jennifer’s eyes filled instantly.

She looked away before anyone noticed.

Too late.

Kathy noticed everything.

—

The drive to the DMV afterward felt strangely quiet.

Jennifer sat in the passenger seat holding the certified court order in both hands the entire time.

Jennifer Russo.

Officially approved by the Superior Court of New Jersey.

Not pretend anymore.

Not temporary paperwork.

Legal.

Michelle drove one-handed while occasionally glancing toward her nervously.

“You okay?”

Jennifer laughed softly without humor.

“No.”

Michelle nodded once.

“Fair.”

Then after another minute:

“You can still back out.”

Jennifer turned toward her immediately.

“Can I?”

The question hung heavily inside the car.

Michelle didn’t answer right away.

Finally:

“I don’t know anymore.”

Neither did Jennifer.

—

The DMV was somehow even worse.

Crowded.

Fluorescent.

Children crying somewhere nearby.

A woman loudly arguing over registration renewal.

Jennifer sat silently between Kathy and Michelle holding ticket B-42 while her entire body buzzed with low-grade panic.

Michelle leaned closer quietly.

“You’re okay.”

Jennifer stared straight ahead.

“I feel like I’m committing fraud.”

Kathy answered calmly without looking up from her magazine.

“You’re literally holding a court order signed by a Superior Court judge.”

“That doesn’t make this feel less insane.”

“No,” Kathy admitted. “But it does make it legal.”

Jennifer wished that helped more.

—

The clerk barely looked at her.

That somehow unsettled Jennifer most.

No dramatic scrutiny.

No suspicion.

No:

wait a second.

Just bureaucracy.

“Old license?”

Michelle slid Michael’s license forward.

Jennifer physically flinched seeing it.

Michael Brennan stared back from the photo.

Short hair.

Tired eyes.

Five o’clock shadow.

A man Jennifer already struggled to emotionally connect to anymore.

The clerk checked the court order next.

Then typed for several long seconds.

“New signature here please.”

Jennifer took the stylus carefully.

For one horrible moment her hand automatically started writing:

M—

Jennifer stopped instantly.

Cold panic flooded her chest.

The clerk finally looked up.

“You okay?”

Jennifer **** herself to smile.

“Sorry. Long morning.”

The clerk nodded sympathetically.

“Happens all the time.”

Jennifer stared at the screen.

Then slowly wrote:

Jennifer Russo.

The letters flowed more naturally this time.

That frightened her.

The clerk clicked something.

“Alright Ms. Russo, photo time.”

Ms. Russo.

Jennifer stood mechanically and moved toward the blue backdrop.

“Look forward please.”

Flash.

Done.

A few minutes later the temporary license slid across the counter.

Jennifer picked it up slowly.

Female.

Jennifer Russo.

Legal identification issued by the State of New Jersey. All it took was a favor from Kathy’s friend and a simple form at DMV.

Michelle looked at the card over her shoulder quietly.

Then smiled faintly.

Jennifer stared at the license.

—

The bank came next.

Then Social Security.

Then payroll paperwork.

Then new credit cards.

New accounts.

New signatures.

New systems.

By the time they finally got home, Jennifer felt emotionally hollowed out.

Michelle dropped the stack of paperwork onto the kitchen island while Kathy kicked off her heels dramatically.

“I need wine.”

Michelle laughed tiredly.

“Same.”

Jennifer stood silently beside the counter staring at the collection of documents spread across the granite.

Court order.

Temporary license.

Bank paperwork.

Direct deposit forms.

Jennifer Russo.

Jennifer Russo.

Jennifer Russo.

Everywhere.

Michelle noticed her expression immediately.

“Hey.”

Jennifer looked up slowly.

Michelle’s voice softened.

“We’re just making things safer.”

Jennifer swallowed hard.

“Yeah.”

But privately she realized something terrifying.

Safety wasn’t what scared her anymore.

What scared her was how quickly the world accepted Jennifer once the paperwork matched the person standing in front of them.

Because not one single person all day had looked at her and seen Michael.

—-

The next day Jennifer came downstairs already dressed in the soft pink sweatsuit Michelle had laid out for her the night before.

The fitted hoodie hugged her just enough to feel flattering without being revealing, and the matching pants somehow made her legs look longer than they had any right to in a pair of sweatpants, and while not happy about it, she was getting used to being tucked.

Michael’s plain white sneakers actually worked with the sweatsuit.

Michelle looked up from her coffee and smiled immediately.

“See? Cute.”

Jennifer rolled her eyes. “You say that like this was somehow my idea.”

“It became your idea the second you looked in the mirror twice.”

Jennifer opened her mouth to argue, then stopped.

Because annoyingly… Michelle wasn’t wrong.

—

Twenty minutes later Jennifer sat on a stool in Michelle’s bathroom while Michelle leaned close with a makeup brush.

Jennifer watched nervously in the mirror.

“This still feels ridiculous.”

“It’s mascara, not witness protection.”

Jennifer snorted softly.

Michelle stepped back slightly, studying her work.

“There. Better.”

Jennifer blinked at her reflection.

The makeup was subtle.

Natural.

Just enough to soften her features and brighten her eyes.

“You make it look easy.”

“It gets easier,” Michelle said casually while putting products back in a drawer. “Kathy’s gonna help next week too, but eventually you’ll need to learn how to do it yourself.”

Jennifer nodded slowly.

The fact that Michelle said things like that so naturally still occasionally caught her off guard.

Like this wasn’t temporary anymore.

Like there was suddenly a future being planned around Jennifer existing this way.

Michelle handed her a gloss tube.

“Keep this in your purse.”

“I have a purse now,” Jennifer muttered.

Michelle grinned. “You have three.”

—

The mall turned into an all-day event.

Ann Taylor was first.

Michelle moved through the store with terrifying efficiency while Jennifer followed carrying increasingly large piles of clothing.

“No florals,” Michelle declared. “You’ll disappear in florals.”

Jennifer laughed. “Apparently I have very strict branding now.”

“Correct.”

Within twenty minutes Jennifer had accumulated multiple pencil skirts, fitted blouses, dresses, sweaters, and blazers and cardigans in creams, blacks, soft blues, and burgundies.

When Jennifer stepped out of the fitting room wearing a silky ivory blouse tucked into a fitted black pencil skirt, Michelle visibly froze.

“Oh, that’s a keeper.”

Jennifer looked down immediately. “Too much?”

“No,” Michelle said honestly. “That’s exactly the problem.”

Jennifer burst out laughing.

—

By the time they reached J.Crew and Express, the teasing between them had become effortless.

Michelle sat outside fitting rooms giving critiques like a professional stylist.

“That says executive assistant.”

“That says recently divorced realtor.”

“That says you absolutely schedule meetings nobody wants to attend.”

Jennifer nearly lost it laughing in the middle of Express.

“You are impossible.”

“And yet,” Michelle replied smugly, “completely correct.”

—

Nordstrom was where things escalated.

Jennifer insisted she did not need multiple pairs of shoes until Michelle explained commuting logic like it was a military strategy.

“You need practical shoes and impressive shoes.”

“That sounds made up.”

“It’s not.”

Eventually Jennifer left with black patent leather pumps, black ankle booties, and a pair of Tory Burch flats Michelle insisted would “save your life.”

Then came Macy’s for pantyhose and shapewear.

Jennifer stood staring at several nearly identical Spanx bodysuits and panties.

“How are these all different?”

Michelle blinked.

“Compression levels.”

“Of course they are.”

—

The food court was loud in the comforting way malls always were during the middle of the afternoon — trays clattering, blenders humming, teenagers laughing too loudly somewhere nearby.

Jennifer sat across from Michelle at a small round table, absently pushing grilled chicken around the top of her salad while Michelle sipped an iced tea.

“You know,” Michelle said, smiling as she glanced at the growing pile of shopping bags beside them, “most people don’t buy an entirely new life in one afternoon.”

Jennifer laughed softly.

“I think you’re enjoying this more than I am.”

“Oh, absolutely.”

Jennifer shook her head, smiling into her fork this time.

It had been… easy today.

Michelle’s phone lit up again halfway through lunch.

She glanced down at it, smiled faintly to herself, then turned the screen face down beside her salad.

Jennifer narrowed her eyes immediately.

“That’s like the tenth time today.”

Michelle looked up innocently.

“What is?”

“You checking your phone and smiling at it.”

Michelle laughed softly.

“I am not.”

“You absolutely are.”

Michelle shook her head, still smiling a little as she picked at her salad.

“It’s just a work thing.”

Jennifer gave her a skeptical look.

“A work thing that makes you smile?”

“Sometimes people at work are funny.”

Jennifer leaned back in her chair, unconvinced but amused.

“Mmhm.”

A second later Michelle’s phone buzzed again.

Jennifer pointed at it immediately.

“There. Again.”

Michelle looked down automatically and another tiny smile slipped through before she caught herself.

Jennifer laughed.

“You’re doing it right now.”

Michelle rolled her eyes and slipped the phone into her purse.

“There. Happy?”

Jennifer grinned.

“Moderately.”

Michelle shook her head, laughing softly to herself.

The moment passed easily after that, blending back into salads, shopping bags, and teasing arguments about shoes.

But Jennifer did quietly notice something.

Whatever “work thing” Michelle kept looking at…

it was making her happier than she’d seemed in a long time.

They went back to talking about outfits and what else they needed.

Then, at the end of lunch, Jennifer shifted awkwardly in her seat.

Michelle noticed immediately.

“What?”

Jennifer lowered her voice.

“I, um… need to use the bathroom.”

“Okay?”

Jennifer hesitated.

Michelle’s expression softened slightly as realization crossed her face.

“Oh.”

Jennifer looked down quickly.

“I know it’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.”

Jennifer stared toward the crowded food court.

“What if someone says something?”

Michelle leaned back in her chair calmly.

“Jen, nobody is paying attention.”

Jennifer gave her a doubtful look.

“I’m serious,” Michelle continued. “Women go into public bathrooms to pee, fix their makeup, complain about their husbands, and leave. That’s basically it.”

Jennifer laughed nervously despite herself.

“I just…” She lowered her voice further. “What if I don’t belong in there?”

Michelle reached across the table and squeezed her hand.

“You do.”

Jennifer swallowed hard.

Michelle stood first, grabbing her purse.

“Come on.”

Jennifer followed her through the food court, anxiety built with every step closer to the restroom entrance.

But Michelle didn’t rush her.

At the doorway, she stopped casually beside her.

“You know how many women are in there right now worrying about whether they look okay?”

Jennifer gave a weak smile.

“All of them.”

“Exactly. Nobody’s inspecting credentials.”

Jennifer exhaled a nervous laugh.

Michelle lowered her voice gently.

“And if it makes you feel better, I’ll stay right outside the stall and protect you from the terrifying world of women washing their hands.”

Jennifer rolled her eyes.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Usually effectively.”

For a second Jennifer just stood there.

Then Michelle nudged her lightly with her shoulder.

“You’ve got this.”

Jennifer finally nodded and stepped inside beside her.

And within two minutes, Michelle had been completely right.

Nobody stared.

Nobody questioned her.

Nobody cared.

One woman was fixing her lipstick. Another was texting at the sinks. Someone’s child was crying in a stall.

It was… just a bathroom.

When Jennifer came back out after washing her hands, Michelle was leaning against the counter waiting for her.

“Well?”

Jennifer looked almost surprised.

“That was… anticlimactic.”

Michelle grinned.

“Told you.”

As they walked back into the mall together, Jennifer noticed something unexpected.

For the first time all day, she hadn’t been thinking about whether she looked out of place.

She had just felt normal.

—

Victoria’s Secret somehow became the funniest stop of the day.

Jennifer was already red-faced holding bras when Michelle casually added three matching satin pajama sets onto the counter. Pink and white stripped satin pjs.

Jennifer stared at her.

“You bought matching pajamas?”

Michelle shrugged innocently.

“For you, me, and Sophie.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s cute.”

Jennifer shook her head while the cashier laughed in agreement.

Michelle added a lace-trimmed robe “for drama.”

Jennifer didn’t even bother arguing anymore.

—

They even stopped in the Kate Spade store to get Jennifer a more appropriate phone case. Michelle said a plain black one wasn’t going to cut it and she needed something with more color.

Jennifer ended up with a lilac colored case with sparkles over the back. Michelle even picked up a new Kate Spade wallet for her.

—

By late afternoon as they walked out of Sephora Jennifer thought they were finally done.

Then Michelle abruptly stopped outside Claire’s.

Jennifer immediately shook her head.

“Oh absolutely not.”

Michelle was already walking inside.

Ten minutes later Jennifer sat nervously in the piercing chair while Michelle and the teenage employee reassured her simultaneously.

“It’s quick.”

“It barely hurts.”

“You’ll have so many more earring options.”

Jennifer narrowed her eyes at Michelle.

“You planned this.”

“A little.”

A few moments later Jennifer stared at herself in the mirror touching the tiny heart-shaped studs now in her ears.

Michelle looked absurdly proud of herself.

“See? Worth it.”

Jennifer smiled reluctantly.

“…Okay maybe a little.”

—

The drive home was quieter than the drive to the mall had been earlier that morning.

Not awkward quiet.

Comfortable quiet.

Shopping bags filled the backseat and cargo area of Michelle’s SUV — shoe boxes, garment bags, cosmetics, folded sweaters, little pink-striped Victoria’s Secret bags shoved between Nordstrom and Ann Taylor.

Jennifer sat curled slightly toward the passenger window in her pink sweatsuit, one hand resting lazily against the iced coffee cup Michelle had insisted they grab before leaving the mall.

Her feet hurt.

Her wallet hurt.

And somehow she still felt lighter than she had in years.

Michelle glanced over at her as they stopped at a red light.

“You okay over there?”

Jennifer smiled tiredly.

“It is exhausting being a girl.”

Michelle laughed.

“Oh honey, this was entry level.”

Jennifer shook her head, smiling to herself.

Then after another minute or two, Michelle spoke again — more casually this time.

“Oh, by the way… I did create a little backstory for you.”

Jennifer blinked.

“A what?”

Michelle kept her eyes on the road.

“For the office.”

Jennifer turned toward her fully now.

“What do you mean?”

Michelle shrugged lightly.

“Well when I asked Paula to help get the job I did have to give her some details.”

Jennifer immediately tensed slightly.

“What did you say?”

Michelle glanced at her reassuringly.

“Relax. Nothing bad.”

Jennifer waited.

Michelle adjusted one hand on the steering wheel.

“I just figured people are naturally going to ask questions. About how you know me, why you’re staying with us, stuff like that. Offices are basically adult high schools with better shoes.”

Jennifer laughed softly at that.

“So…” Michelle continued, “I told her you are my cousin who recently got divorced from your husband after a long marriage.”

Jennifer looked down quietly.

Michelle’s voice softened slightly.

“The kids are grown and moved out, and things fell apart.”

Jennifer swallowed.

It sounded oddly believable hearing it out loud.

“And,” Michelle added casually, “you needed a fresh start for a while, so you moved in with us temporarily.”

Jennifer looked over at her.

“You came up with all that on the spot?”

Michelle smirked.

“I’m very talented under pressure.”

Jennifer laughed again, but more quietly this time.

Then after a moment she asked:

“Why does that story actually make me sound… normal?”

Michelle glanced over briefly.

“Because it is normal.”

Jennifer stared ahead through the windshield.

Women like that existed everywhere.

Women who started over.

Women who rebuilt themselves.

Women who moved cities, changed jobs, changed lives.

For the first time, Jennifer realized Michelle wasn’t treating this like a costume.

She was treating it like a transition.

“You okay with it?” Michelle asked gently.

Jennifer thought for a moment before nodding slowly.

“Yeah.”

Then after another second:

“I actually kind of like it.”

Michelle smiled softly to herself and turned into their neighborhood.

“I thought you might.”

—

By the time they got home, shopping bags covered nearly every surface of the guest room.

Michelle helped Jennifer organize everything into closets and drawers while Jennifer carefully unwrapped shoes and folded sweaters.

For the first time since moving in, the room actually looked lived in.

Not temporary.

Not borrowed.

Hers.

Michelle hung tomorrow’s outfit neatly outside the closet.

Cream blouse.

Black pencil skirt.

Camel blazer.

Simple gold jewelry.

Black patent leather pumps.

Jennifer stared at it nervously.

“That’s a very adult outfit.”

Michelle smirked.

“Terrifying, isn’t it?”

—

About an hour later the front door opened downstairs followed by Sophie’s voice announcing that cheer practice had run late.

A second later Kathy’s voice followed behind her.

Sophie came upstairs still carrying her cheer bag and stopped dead when she saw the mountain of shopping bags.

“Oh my God.”

Michelle pointed dramatically toward the hanging outfit.

“First day look.”

Sophie inspected it seriously for a moment before nodding once.

“She’s gonna destroy that office.”

Jennifer laughed while Michelle looked entirely too pleased with herself.

Kathy walked over carrying her purse and pulled a small pill bottle out of it.

“I got you something, sweetheart.”

Jennifer looked up curiously.

“Melatonin pills. Take one every night this week. You need sleep.”

Jennifer smiled immediately.

“That’s actually really thoughtful.”

“And,” Kathy continued casually, pulling a small adhesive patch from another packet, “a slow-release anxiety medication. Lasts about a week.”

Before Jennifer could even react, Kathy pressed it gently onto the small of her back, just above her bum.

“There,” Kathy said warmly. “That should help take the edge off everything.”

Jennifer looked genuinely relieved.

“That’s honestly such a great idea. Thank you.”

“Of course.”

Jennifer missed the quick glance Michelle and Kathy exchanged over her shoulder.

The rest of the week was spent practicing everything Michael had never thought about before: walking in heels, softer speech, makeup, posture, signatures, eye contact, even the way Jennifer carried herself entering a room.