Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Maya Bishop had spent the last two days replaying the words over and over in her head.

“That’s not mine. You’re lying.”

Bryan hadn’t flinched when he said it. His voice had been flat, almost bored, as if she’d told him she’d lost a sock—not that she was carrying his child.

“I’m not doing this,” he added, grabbing his coat. “You want to play house, go find someone else to save you.”

Then he left. Just like that.

No apologies. No hesitation. No support.

Not that Maya had really expected it. Bryan had always been cruel in quiet, cutting ways. Isolated her from her friends. Insulted her beneath his breath. Grabbed her arm too hard when she disagreed with him. But she kept excusing it. Kept believing that maybe she deserved it.

Now she knew better.

Now she was eight months pregnant. Alone. And desperate.

She hadn’t spoken to her parents in months, but they were all she had left. She’d never planned to go home—not after the fights, the cold silences, the fear that always came with being under Lane Bishop’s roof—but she thought… maybe the idea of a grandchild would soften them. Maybe it would make her father see her differently.

She was wrong.

Lane Bishop's fist slammed into the wall so hard the frame of Maya’s childhood photo tilted sideways.

“You what?”

Maya flinched instinctively. Her hands had already moved over her stomach.

“I’m pregnant,” she said quietly. “The father doesn’t want anything to do with us. I—I didn’t know where else to go.”

Her mother stood by the kitchen counter, fingers wrapped around a steaming mug of tea like she was watching television and not her daughter unraveling in front of her.

Lane took one step forward. Then another.

“You think this is my problem? You come into my house, flaunting your mistake, and expect me to fix it?”

“I’m not asking you to fix anything—”

“You’re asking me to be okay with my daughter being a whore!”

Maya’s breath hitched. “I didn’t—he hurt me, I didn’t know how to leave—”

The back of his hand connected with her cheek before she could finish.

The force sent her stumbling backward, her hip slamming into the hallway table, the sharp edge bruising her side.

“I should have thrown you out years ago,” he snarled.

Her mother said nothing.

Another blow landed, this one to her arm as she raised it in defense.

“You think you can bring shame into this house and just be welcomed back?”

“Please,” Maya whispered, curling protectively over her belly. “Please, the baby—”

“That thing is not part of this family.”

He opened the door and pointed. “Get out.”

“I don’t have anywhere—”

“I said GET OUT!”

Her mother turned away.

So Maya left.

Ribs aching. Heart cracked wide open. A baby kicking beneath her bruised skin.

Three weeks later — Downtown Seattle

The diner was sticky with heat, noise, and the scent of fried food that turned her stomach. But it was a job. A few tips a night. Enough to keep her in a shelter until she could get her own place.

Maya’s belly was now undeniable, stretching the seams of her thrifted uniform. She moved slower. Winced more often. She hadn’t seen a doctor. Couldn’t afford to. The ache in her lower back had become constant, and her ankles were so swollen she couldn’t wear anything but sneakers.

She balanced a tray of burgers and fries as she approached a booth of rough-looking men in dirty work boots and reflective vests.

Her vision blurred.

The tray slipped.

Everything hit the floor.

“Jesus Christ,” one of the men barked. “You serious?”

“I’m—I’m so sorry—” Maya bent down, chest tight, hands shaking.

“You hiring pregnant strippers now or what?” another guy said, laughing with his friends.

Maya cowered. She hated herself for it, hated the way she couldn’t make eye contact, couldn’t stop trembling.

Then—

“Hey!” a woman’s voice rang out.

Italian. Sharp. Fierce.

“You will not speak to her like that.”

Carina DeLuca stood from her booth, her coat still half on. Her brother Andrea was right behind her, along with Jo and Amelia.

“Take a walk,” Andrea said evenly.

One of the men snorted. “Oh yeah? Who’s gonna make me?”

Amelia cracked her knuckles. “I’ve cracked skulls for less.”

Jo crossed her arms. “And stitched them back up.”

Eventually, the manager got involved, throwing the men out. Grumbling. Maya still hadn’t looked up.

She just crouched on the floor, arms over her stomach, hair in her face, trying to make herself smaller than she already felt.

Only when a hand—gentle, soft, clean—touched her shoulder did she flinch and freeze.

“It’s okay,” the voice said again. “You’re safe, tesoro. I promise.”

Maya looked up. Just for a second.

Carina’s eyes were full of worry. Not pity. Not judgment. Just… care.

Maya whispered, “Thank you,” and pulled away to finish her shift.

But Carina watched her the whole time. And something inside her told her this wouldn’t be the last time she saw her.

Carina couldn’t sleep.

Not because of the usual chaos of the hospital. Not because Andrea kept playing obnoxious classical jazz in their shared apartment. Not because Amelia had texted a meme about brain tumors at 2 a.m.

Because of her.

The girl with bruises on her arms and shadows under her eyes. The girl who had cowered on the floor as grown men shouted at her like she was worthless. The girl who had whispered “thank you” like no one had ever helped her before.

Carina didn’t even know her name.

But she couldn’t forget her.

Not the way she moved slowly, favoring one side. Not the way she flinched when anyone got too close. Not the protective way her arms curled over her belly—like her entire body was a shield for the tiny life inside her.

She’d seen trauma before. She worked in medicine. She was no stranger to abuse, neglect, suffering. But there was something about this girl that burrowed its way beneath Carina’s skin.

The next evening, after her shift at Grey Sloan, Carina skipped dinner and walked straight to the diner.

It was already dark. Rain had begun to fall, typical Seattle drizzle mixing with the cold air. The neon sign buzzed overhead as the bell jingled above the door.

The girl wasn’t inside.

Carina scanned the booths. A different waitress was working. Her heart sank—until she spotted movement just outside the window.

There. Sitting on the curb, arms wrapped around her belly, soaked through.

Carina pushed the door open and stepped outside.

The girl looked up.

Her face was pale, lips chapped, hair damp from rain. She looked so much smaller than she had the day before. Almost like a ghost.

“You’re going to get sick,” Carina said gently.

“I needed the air,” the girl replied, voice raspy. “And they said I couldn’t hang around inside if I’m not on shift.”

“You don’t have a coat?”

“I had to sell it.”

Carina hesitated, then shrugged out of her own jacket and held it out. “Take it.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” Carina said softly. “You’re soaking wet. And you’re eight months pregnant.”

The girl stared at her. “How do you know?”

Carina gave a small smile. “I’m in medicine. I’m training to be an OB. I can count.”

That earned the smallest, tiniest twitch at the corner of the girl’s mouth. Not quite a smile. But not nothing.

“I’m Carina,” she offered.

Silence.

Then, finally: “Maya.”

Carina nodded. “Maya,” she repeated like it meant something.

A beat passed.

“You don’t have to do this,” Maya said quietly, eyes darting away. “I’m not your problem.”

“No, you’re not,” Carina agreed. “But you are a human being. A pregnant woman sitting alone in the rain. And I care. Even if I don’t know you.”

“I don’t need pity.”

“Good. I’m not offering it.”

Another silence stretched between them.

Carina sat down beside her on the curb, not caring that the concrete was wet or that her scrubs would be soaked. “How far along are you actually?”

“Thirty-three weeks. I think.”

“You think?”

“I haven’t… seen a doctor.” Maya’s voice was flat with shame. “No insurance. No money. No support. It didn’t seem like an option.”

Carina’s heart twisted. “That’s dangerous, Maya.”

“I know.” She looked away again, eyes glossy. “I know.”

Carina reached into her bag and pulled out a small protein bar she kept for emergencies. She held it out. “Please. At least eat something.”

Maya took it, hesitating before opening the wrapper. She devoured it like she hadn’t eaten all day.

“Thank you,” she mumbled, not meeting Carina’s eyes.

“You should let me help you,” Carina said softly. “Let me take you to the hospital. Just for a checkup.”

Maya shook her head immediately. “No. No hospitals. No one can know. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Carina whispered. “You’re pregnant, freezing, exhausted, and clearly in pain. Let me at least make sure the baby is okay.”

Maya stood abruptly, hugging herself. “I don’t even know you.”

Carina stood too, slower. “That’s true. But maybe that’s a good thing. I don’t have expectations. I don’t want anything from you. I just… want to help.”

Maya backed away.

Carina didn’t follow.

Instead, she pulled a small card from her pocket and offered it across the space between them. “This is my number. You don’t have to call. But if you ever need anything—anything—I’ll answer.”

Maya didn’t take it at first. But just before she turned to leave, she snatched it quickly and tucked it into her hoodie pocket.

“Don’t freeze to death,” Carina called gently as Maya walked away.

She got no response.

But Carina didn’t stop watching until Maya was out of sight.

Chapter Text

The buzz of the diner had become white noise.

Voices blurred into a low hum. Silverware clattered, shoes squeaked on the linoleum, and the fryers hissed behind the counter. Maya moved on autopilot, her tray balanced in trembling hands, the weight of her swollen belly tugging at her spine with every step.

She hadn’t eaten since the stale granola bar she’d split between breakfast and lunch yesterday. Her fingers were cold. Her vision had a soft halo around the edges she couldn’t blink away anymore.

Just two more hours, she told herself. Two more hours and then she could go home. Lie down. Maybe find something edible in the back of her fridge. Maybe sit in the silence and cry without anyone seeing her.

She reached the booth with the burger and fries. Her hands shook as she slid the plate onto the table, the tray wobbling as she reached for the second order.

“Jesus,” the man muttered. “You look like you're about to give birth right here.”

“I’m fine,” Maya said automatically, forcing a weak smile.

But she wasn’t.

She turned too quickly toward the counter and the room swayed beneath her feet. The tray slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor. She gasped, reaching out for something—anything—to hold onto, but her knees buckled beneath her.

The sound of her own body hitting the floor was muffled by the blood rushing in her ears.

She didn’t black out right away.

Instead, she lay there, stunned, arms curled around her stomach, trying to breathe through the crushing tightness in her chest. Heat prickled along her skin. Her head throbbed. A waitress screamed. A few customers stood. She heard someone mutter something about “drama” and “firing her ass already.”

Then everything went black.

She came to lying in the employee break room.

Her manager—Derek, a miserable man who had made her work through two nosebleeds and a near faint the week before—stood over her with his arms crossed and no concern in his eyes.

“You can’t even stay on your feet,” he snapped. “You scared customers. Broke a plate. I’ve got a business to run, Bishop.”

Maya sat up slowly, every part of her body aching, stomach cramping faintly.

“I—I’m sorry. I think I’m just a little dehydrated. Please, I need this job—”

“Yeah, well, I need people who show up ready to work, not faint in the middle of the floor. You’re done. Get your things and get out.”

Her throat closed.

“But I don’t—” Her voice cracked. “I don’t have anything else.”

“Not my problem.”

She pressed her palm to the wall to keep from falling again as she stood.

The ache in her back had grown sharp. Her fingers trembled violently as she reached for her locker, twisting over themselves like they always did when she was trying not to cry.

The locker was empty. She hadn’t brought lunch. Didn’t own a second pair of shoes. Just her threadbare hoodie and the city bus schedule in her pocket.

She made it out the back door before the tears came.

The alley smelled like grease and rot. She slid down the brick wall, wrapped her arms around her knees, and felt the first sob shake her chest.

The baby kicked in protest.

Maya shivered.

Her world was crumbling around her and she didn’t know how to stop it. No job. No food. No insurance. No family. Just a body growing weaker by the day and a baby she loved more than anything—more than her own life—but couldn’t protect.

Her fingers twisted tighter.

You’re going to die like this, a voice whispered in her head. And they’ll never even have a name.

Maya closed her eyes, let the rain hit her face, and wished for the thousandth time that someone—anyone—could see her.

The next morning, after finishing a grueling overnight shift at Grey Sloan, she grabbed a coffee and made her way back to the diner. The air was thick with rain, Seattle’s signature gray skies pressing low on the buildings.

Maya wasn’t there.

Carina waited outside, eyes flicking to the curb where she’d last seen her.

Still nothing.

Inside, the same waitress from the other night was wiping down the counter. Carina stepped in.

“Excuse me,” she asked, gentle but urgent. “The girl who usually works the night shift—Maya. Has she been in?”

The waitress gave her a tired shrug. “Got fired last night. She passed out in the back and missed two tables. Manager was already looking for a reason to cut her. Pregnant girls don’t get much grace around here.”

“Did she look okay?”

The waitress hesitated. “She looked… done. Like she hadn’t eaten in a day. Like she might not make it another.”

Carina’s stomach turned. She didn’t have Maya’s number. Just the memory of that hollow look in her eyes and the aching twist in her heart.

“I gave her my number,” Carina whispered. “She hasn’t called.”

“Well,” the girl behind the counter said with a sigh, “some people don’t know how to ask for help.”

Carina didn’t wait another second.

She didn’t go home.

She couldn’t.

She sat outside the diner in soaked scrubs, arms wrapped around her knees, eyes scanning the street. The paper with her number? Gone. Maya had taken it, tucked it into her hoodie pocket with shaking fingers, and walked away like she was disappearing forever.

And maybe she had.

But Carina couldn’t let it end there.

She pulled out her phone and made a call.

Officer Ryan Tanner met her on the sidewalk outside the diner within twenty minutes. His uniform was damp from the drizzle, but his expression was calm and focused.

“Tell me what you know.”

“She’s young. Pregnant—eight months, maybe more. No coat. No insurance. Fired from this place yesterday. I think she lives nearby—walks to work. She hasn’t had prenatal care, and I think she passed out.”

“You got a name?”

“Maya. That’s all I know.”

Ryan looked at her for a long moment, then nodded. “Alright. Let’s go find her.”

They searched street by street, asking around at corner stores and coffee stands until a bodega cashier mentioned a blonde girl who “looked like she’d tip over if the wind hit her.”

“Top floor of the building down on Brighton. Creaky stairs. Flickering light on the porch.”

Carina was halfway there before Ryan had thanked him.

The building was as rundown as the cashier described. Rusted mailbox panel. Peeling paint. A flickering hallway bulb cast long shadows on the warped floor.

Carina’s heart thudded harder with every step.

They reached the third floor.

“Maya?” she called softly.

No answer.

The door to 3C was cracked.

Carina hesitated. Then nudged it open.

What she saw knocked the breath from her lungs.

Maya lay on the floor, crumpled near the doorway, one hand twisted against her chest in that nervous, painful knot, the other barely hanging onto a cracked water cup. Her face was pale, her hair damp with sweat. Her hoodie clung to her back. Her belly—large, tight, and far too still—rose and fell with shallow, uneven breaths.

Carina dropped to her knees.

“Maya, tesoro—can you hear me?”

Maya stirred faintly. Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused. Then—

A man’s voice: “Is she responsive?”

Ryan.

Maya’s body jerked.

“No—no men—don’t—please—don’t touch me—”

She recoiled, a weak cry ripping from her throat as her limbs flailed in panic.

“Back off,” Carina snapped softly over her shoulder. “Please, Ryan.”

He nodded immediately and retreated, holding up both hands. “Radioing for an aid car. No contact.”

Carina leaned over Maya carefully. “It’s me, sweet girl. Just me. You’re safe. It’s Carina.”

Maya whimpered, still half-delirious, tears leaking down her temples. Her fingers kept twisting.

Carina placed her hand gently over Maya’s and spoke in soft Italian—useless in meaning, but tender in tone.

The flinching slowed. But the fear didn’t leave her eyes.

“I’ve got you,” Carina whispered. “You’re not alone.”

The sound of boots on old stairs echoed through the hallway.

“Third floor. Pregnant female. Unconscious. No known history,” Ryan briefed as the aid crew came in.

Andy Herrera was first in, followed closely by Ben Warren and Vic Hughes.

Ben knelt beside Maya, checking her pulse. His expression shifted the moment he got a look at her face. Maya was in and out of consciousness so she didn’t notice that Ben was touching her. 

“Wait,” he murmured. “Is that…?”

Andy stepped in, crouching beside him. Her eyes widened.

“Oh my God. That’s Maya Bishop.”

Vic nearly dropped the oxygen mask. “No way.”

Carina looked up from where she was cradling Maya’s limp hand. “You know her?”

Andy’s voice was soft, laced with disbelief. “Yeah. She was supposed to join the fire academy with our class. She was a track star—broke records in college. Every recruiter was watching her. She was so fast… no one knew why she didn’t show.”

“We thought maybe she got injured,” Ben added. “Or went out of state.”

“But no one ever saw her again,” Vic finished, her voice barely above a whisper.

They stared at her now, barely conscious and bruised on the floor of a rundown apartment.

“She didn’t get injured,” Carina said quietly. “She got pregnant. And then she got left behind.”

“She’s in trouble,” Carina said. “She hasn’t had care. She’s malnourished, barely conscious. She needs to go now.”

Ben was already loading up vitals. “BP’s crashing. Get her on oxygen. Fetal movements decreased. We need to get her to Grey Sloan—stat.”

They moved carefully, cradling her like glass.

Maya stirred once on the stretcher. “Don’t… take the baby…”

“You’re safe,” Carina whispered, riding in the rig beside her. “You’re safe, my brave girl.”

Grey Sloan Memorial — Hours Later

The lights were too bright.

The sounds too loud.

The moment Maya opened her eyes, her first thought was run.

Her second was where is she?

She sat up quickly—too quickly—and everything spun.

“No—no, I didn’t ask for this—I can’t be here—I can’t pay—”

She tore at the IV. The machines beeped frantically.

“Maya!” Carina’s voice cut through the static.

Maya flinched.

“You brought me here?” she cried out, wild-eyed. “I didn’t say yes. You didn’t have the right—!”

“You collapsed,” Carina said, not moving. “You were dying. Your baby—”

“DON’T!” Maya shrieked. 

Her whole body shook. Her fingers twisted violently.

“I didn’t want this. I didn’t ask for this. They’ll take them—they’ll think I’m unfit—I don’t have anything—”

“Maya.” Carina stepped one inch closer, then stopped again. “I am not here to take anything from you. I’m trying to help.”

“No one helps,” Maya muttered. “No one ever helps. They leave, or they hit, or they turn their back. No one stays.”

Carina’s voice cracked. “I’m still here.”

Silence.

Tears slipped down Maya’s cheeks, but she didn’t wipe them.

She didn’t try to run again.

And for now—that was enough.

Chapter Text

Maya hadn’t spoken much since waking.

Carina stayed nearby—close, but never too close. She didn’t touch unless invited. 

Didn’t crowd. 

Didn’t press.

Maya barely acknowledged the nurses. Flinched when Jo had come in the night before to check her vitals. Said nothing when the social worker had tried to speak with her.

But she let Carina sit at the foot of her bed.

That was something.

The next morning, Jo walked in carrying a portable ultrasound machine. Her expression was calm but purposeful.

“We’d like to do a scan,” she said gently. “Just to check growth, heart rate, and fluid. You’re 33 weeks—maybe 34 by now. We don’t want to miss anything.”

Maya’s fingers twisted into that familiar, anxious knot.

“No one else,” she said suddenly.

Jo blinked. “What?”

Maya looked only at Carina. “I’ll let you do it. No one else touches me.”

Carina’s eyes widened slightly. “I’m… I’m honored, tesoro, but I’m still in my OB rotation. I’m not fully qualified to do this alone.”

Maya’s voice was barely audible. “I only trust you.”

Jo, after a pause, nodded. “I’ll supervise.”

Carina wheeled the machine closer. Maya remained silent as she pushed her gown up, exposing her belly.

Her body tensed. Shoulders tight. Every muscle is on high alert like a deer ready to bolt.

Carina warmed the gel in her hands before applying it.

“You’re okay,” she whispered. “I’ll talk you through everything. We’ll go slow.”

Maya gave the faintest nod.

The moment the probe touched her belly, her hands reflexively moved to protect it. Carina paused, met her eyes.

“Just the wand. Just me. You’re safe.”

Another nod.

Then the screen lit up.

Jo leaned in behind Carina to interpret the image while Carina focused on keeping Maya grounded.

“Heartbeat’s good,” Jo said. “Growth is a little behind average, but the baby’s moving well. Strong. Fluid’s okay for now.”

Carina moved the probe a little, adjusting the angle.

And there—on the monitor—a tiny foot kicked upward.

Maya sucked in a breath.

“You want to know?” Jo asked gently. “We can tell.”

Maya hesitated. Then nodded.

Jo turned the screen slightly. “It’s a girl.”

Carina looked up, smiling softly. “You have a daughter.”

Maya stared at the screen. Her throat bobbed once. Her eyes didn’t move.

She didn’t smile.

She didn’t speak.

And then—quietly, like glass cracking under weight—Maya whispered, “I can’t do this.”

Carina froze. “What?”

Maya shook her head. “I have no job. No money. My rent’s already late. I don’t even have a crib. I don’t even have a goddamn name for her.”

Her voice cracked, rising. “I was going to name her when I knew she was okay. When I knew I was okay. But I’m not. I’m not okay, and now I know it’s a girl, and I want her so badly, and I’m going to lose her because I can’t do this!”

The sob came from deep in her chest. She curled on her side, gel still smeared across her skin, and cried harder than Carina had seen yet.

Jo stepped back quietly, giving them space.

Carina placed the probe down and reached for a towel to gently clean her belly, hands slow and careful.

“You’re not alone anymore,” she whispered.

Maya shook her head. “I don’t want pity. I don’t want someone showing up for a week and then vanishing when it gets too hard.”

Carina swallowed. “I don’t do anything halfway, Maya. I don’t make promises I won’t keep.”

Maya looked up at her with wet, hollow eyes. “Then why would you help someone like me?”

Carina crouched at her side and spoke softly. “Because I see you. And because I know what it feels like to need someone… and have no one come.”

Maya didn’t respond.

She just cried.

But this time—she let Carina stay.

Maya didn’t sleep much that night.

She lay curled on her side, staring at the wall, the ghost of her daughter’s heartbeat echoing in her ears.

A girl.

The words kept looping through her brain like a lullaby she was too afraid to hum.

She didn’t know what scared her more—having this baby or losing her.

The social worker came just after sunrise.

Maya had been watching the city lights shift through the blinds, blinking hard to keep herself grounded.

“I don’t want to talk to her,” she said as soon as the knock came at her door.

“Maya—” Carina tried.

“No.” Her voice was sharper now, more rigid. “She’ll just offer me a list of shelters and places with two-month waitlists and tell me how ‘sorry’ she is while I lose the only thing I’ve fought to keep.”

“You can’t do this alone forever.”

Maya turned her head. Her eyes were dry now but rimmed with red. “I’ve only done this alone.”

Carina didn’t argue. She sat down in the chair beside her and folded her hands.

The silence stretched long and uncomfortable. Maya’s fingers began twisting in her lap again, over and over, a nervous, raw tic that hadn’t stopped since Carina met her.

“I’m not going to a shelter,” she finally muttered.

“Okay.”

“I’m not letting strangers near her.”

“Okay.”

“I’m not—” her voice cracked—“I’m not ready to trust anyone with her. Not when I’ve barely made it this far.”

Carina’s heart ached with the weight of it. “Then don’t trust anyone yet,” she said quietly. “Just trust me.”

Maya didn’t answer.

But she didn’t ask her to leave either.

Later that day, a knock on the door startled both of them.

Maya flinched hard, her arms immediately moving over her belly.

“It’s okay,” Carina said quickly, standing. “I’ll check.”

She opened the door.

Andy Herrera stood just outside, holding two large brown paper bags. Behind her were Vic, Ben, and Travis—all in civvies, not uniforms, standing respectfully like they knew how fragile this moment was.

“We brought some things,” Andy said quietly. “Just… stuff she might need. Diapers. Wipes. A few groceries.”

Carina stepped aside and gestured them in, but Andy shook her head.

“She doesn’t know we’re here,” Andy said. “And we don’t want to overwhelm her.”

Carina looked down at the bags. “She still doesn’t know why you remember her.”

Vic smiled gently. “We don’t forget the ones who disappear.”

Ben added, “She was one of the fastest we’d ever seen.”

Andy hesitated. “We just want her to know… she’s not forgotten.”

Carina took the bags with both hands, something tight in her throat.

“Thank you.”

They turned to leave, but Vic paused. “Tell her the offer stands. If she ever wants to come run drills—just run—we’ll make room.”

Carina brought the bags into the room. Maya was still curled on her side, staring at the same sliver of wall.

“Andy and some of Station 19 stopped by,” Carina said gently.

Maya didn’t respond.

Carina set the bags down on the chair beside her. Slowly, carefully, she started unpacking them.

One bag held food. Granola bars. Oatmeal. A small Tupperware of something homemade—Carina would bet money it was Vic’s.

The other bag made her chest ache.

Diapers. A pack of tiny socks. A simple gray onesie with white stars. A stuffed fox with a crooked ear. A swaddle blanket.

Maya’s eyes didn’t move until Carina placed the fox on the bed.

Then she looked.

And her lip quivered.

“They remembered you,” Carina said. “From track. From the recruitment circuit. They said you vanished. No one ever knew why.”

Maya exhaled slowly, like the breath had been waiting years to escape. “I was supposed to join the academy after graduation,” she whispered. “I had the paperwork filled out. I passed the physical. I was ready.”

“What happened?”

“I found out I was pregnant two weeks before I was supposed to start.” Her voice dropped. “Told Bryan. He said it wasn’t his. I went home. My father—” She broke off.

Carina waited.

“He tried to make sure I’d lose her.”

A long silence followed.

Carina reached over and set her hand beside Maya’s—not touching, just near enough to be felt. “You didn’t lose her.”

Maya nodded once, sharp. “But I’ve lost everything else.”

She turned her face to the wall again.

“I can’t pay rent. I don’t have a job. They’ll evict me. That was all I had left.”

Carina’s voice was quiet but firm. “Then we’ll find another way.”

Maya didn’t respond. But her hand inched closer to Carina’s on the blanket.

Not touching.

Just… not alone.

Chapter Text

Discharge didn’t feel like freedom.

It felt like walking back into a war zone with nothing but a paper gown and a fading heartbeat on a monitor to prove she’d survived.

Maya sat stiffly in the passenger seat of Carina’s tiny, red Mazda, her fingers twisting again and again as the streets of Seattle blurred past the window. Her bag was on her lap—hospital-issued clothes, half a bottle of prenatal vitamins, and discharge papers she hadn’t read.

“You don’t have to come in with me,” Maya said flatly, her eyes still on the window.

“I know,” Carina replied, voice calm. “But I want to.”

They parked across the street. Maya hesitated before getting out. It wasn’t the stairs that worried her. It was the silence inside. The cold. The emptiness waiting behind that door.

She led Carina up the three flights with slow, careful steps.

The moment she unlocked the door and pushed it open, her heart sank. It looked worse than she remembered.

The air was stale. The heat had stopped working two weeks ago. There was no food. Her mattress on the floor was rumpled and thin, a single blanket balled at the foot. Two mugs were in the sink. The windows were fogged with grime. A stack of unopened final notices sat on the floor near the door.

Carina didn’t say anything.

She stepped inside quietly and set Maya’s bag down. Her eyes scanned the room—one-bedroom, no crib, no kitchen table, no lamps.

Maya stood frozen in the doorway.

“This is all I had,” she whispered. “This was supposed to be her home.”

Carina turned. “Maya—”

“I was going to paint the wall,” Maya continued, her voice hollow. “I was going to get a used crib from Craigslist. I found a chair in the alley, and I thought I could fix it up, maybe use it for feedings. I thought… I thought if I just worked enough shifts, I’d catch up. But now—” she gestured vaguely toward the mattress—“I don’t even have rent.”

She crossed the room, slowly lowered herself onto the mattress. Her hand rested on her belly.

“She doesn’t even have a name.”

Carina walked over and sat beside her, not touching, not speaking yet.

Maya’s voice cracked. “I tried so hard.”

Carina exhaled slowly. “I know.”

“I did everything right. I didn’t drink. I ate what I could. I walked to work. I didn’t miss shifts unless I physically couldn’t stand. And still—it wasn’t enough. I still ended up here.”

“You did more than most people could,” Carina said softly. “You survived what no one should have to.”

“But what now?” Maya whispered. “What happens when they lock that door and I’ve got nowhere to go? What happens when she’s born and I’m sleeping in a shelter line?”

Carina finally reached out—her fingers brushing over Maya’s hand, slow and warm and patient.

“You come with me,” she said.

Maya’s head whipped toward her. “What?”

“I have a spare room. I have a steady income. I can give you stability until you figure out the rest.”

Maya pulled her hand back.

“No.”

“Maya—”

“No.” Her voice hardened, defensive. “I am not someone’s pet project. I don’t want charity. I don’t want to be pitied or kept like a stray dog in someone else’s house.”

Carina didn’t flinch.

“This isn’t pity.”

“Then what is it?” Maya spat. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough,” Carina said, her voice never rising. “I know that you’ve survived abuse, abandonment, and poverty without giving up on your daughter. I know that you flinch when someone raises their voice. That you twist your fingers when you’re scared. That you stopped trusting people because no one stayed. I know that, despite all of that, you’re still here. You still want her.”

“I don’t want to owe anyone,” Maya whispered, eyes burning.

“You won’t,” Carina replied. “You’ll just be safe. That’s all.”

Maya stared at her.

The silence between them stretched and shifted, softer now, like something trying to breathe for the first time.

Finally, Maya stood. “I need to pack what I can carry.”

Carina said nothing.

But when Maya crouched to open her single drawer and pull out two folded onesies and a bottle of prenatal vitamins, Carina knelt beside her and quietly helped fold a threadbare baby blanket.

Carina’s apartment was small, but clean. Warm.

The kind of place where a person could breathe without flinching at the sound of footsteps overhead. Where the walls weren’t cracked and peeling. Where the air didn’t carry mold or memory.

Maya stood just inside the doorway with her arms crossed over her chest, her duffel slung from one shoulder. Her body was still healing from the dehydration, the collapse, the bruising she wouldn’t talk about—but the real weight was behind her eyes.

“Are you sure?” she asked, voice low, like she might still turn around.

“Yes,” Carina said for the third time. “You can stay as long as you need.”

Maya stepped in slowly, scanning the space like it might bite.

The spare room was small—a futon against the far wall, a dresser, a desk with a broken lamp. Carina had placed a folded blanket at the foot of the bed and left the light dimmed.

She’d also brought in the bag of items from Station 19.

It sat neatly on the desk, the stuffed fox perched on top like it had always belonged there.

Maya’s fingers twitched at the sight of it.

“They remembered me,” she murmured. “I don’t know why.”

Carina set the other duffel—Maya’s own, filled with her worn clothes and the threadbare baby blanket—on the floor near the dresser.

“You made an impression,” Carina said softly. “Even if you didn’t know it.”

Maya didn’t respond. She walked over to the bag from the crew and unzipped it. Slowly, she pulled out the fox.

It was soft. Crooked. Mismatched button eyes. A faint scent of detergent and firehouse chili clung to the fabric.

“I haven’t held anything this soft in months,” she said quietly, then immediately looked embarrassed for saying it.

Carina didn’t comment.

She simply asked, “Are you hungry?”

Maya hesitated. Then nodded once.

The silence during dinner wasn’t uncomfortable. Not really. Maya sat at the small table while Carina reheated the tomato soup. Her eyes drifted across the apartment—photos framed on the walls, a small plant on the windowsill, books stacked messily on a shelf. There was life here. History. Warmth.

She didn’t feel like she belonged in it.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper as Carina set the bowl down.

Carina looked at her gently. “Because you needed someone.”

“There are lots of people who need someone.”

“I met you.”

Maya twisted her fingers under the table. “You don’t know what I’ve done.”

Carina’s expression didn’t waver. “I know what’s been done to you.”

“I didn’t fight back,” Maya said bitterly. “Not when he denied her. Not when my father hit me. Not even when I was fired. I just kept surviving and pretending it wasn’t all breaking me.”

“And yet… you’re still here,” Carina said softly. “That’s not weakness, Maya. That’s strength.”

Maya looked away, throat tight.

“I don’t want to be someone’s burden.”

“You’re not.”

“I don’t want your pity.”

“I promise you, this isn’t pity.”

“Then what is it?”

Carina hesitated, then said, “It’s care.”

Maya blinked. “But why?”

Carina exhaled, not frustrated—just honest. “Because I see you, Maya. And I don’t think anyone else has in a long time.”

The tears came too quickly for Maya to hide them. She ducked her head, angrily swiping them away.

“I hate that I need help.”

“I know.”

“I hate that I’m here.”

“I know.”

“But I don’t want to be alone anymore,” she choked.

Carina stood slowly, walked around the table, and crouched down beside her chair.

“You’re not.”

Maya didn’t fall into her arms. She didn’t shatter or sob.

But she leaned forward just slightly—just enough for her forehead to press gently against Carina’s shoulder.

And Carina didn’t move. She knew Maya’s fear of touch, so this little moment meant everything. 

Chapter Text

The apartment was quiet that night.

Too quiet.

Maya lay on the futon in the spare room, the blanket Carina had left draped over her shoulders, the stuffed fox from Station 19 clutched loosely in her hand.

She wasn’t used to silence that didn’t mean danger.

Every time the pipes groaned or a car passed outside, her body jolted, muscles tensing like they had to prepare for something bad. She wasn’t in that cold apartment anymore. But her nervous system hadn’t caught up.

She lay awake for hours. Twisting her fingers beneath the blanket. Counting the patterns on the ceiling. Listening for footsteps that weren’t coming.

Eventually, sleep dragged her under.

And that’s when it found her.

The hallway was narrow. Endless.

The wallpaper peeled from the walls, curling like fingers. The air was thick—too thick—and each step echoed like thunder. Maya walked barefoot, heart hammering against her ribs, one hand over her belly, the other clawing at the shadows.

There was a door ahead.

She reached for it.

Bang.

The door slammed open on its own.

Her father stood in the doorway, face twisted in rage. Bryan was behind him, smirking like a ghost. Her mother stood between them, arms folded. Silent.

“You ruined your life,” Lane spat.

“That thing’s not mine,” Bryan added.

“She’s disgusting,” her mother muttered. “Look at her.”

Suddenly, they were all in the room.

Lane’s hand struck her cheek. Bryan grabbed her wrist. Her mother turned away as Maya fell backward.

She hit the ground hard.

They didn’t stop.

Hands gripped her. Pinned her. Yelled over her screams.

“I didn’t ask for this!” she sobbed. “I didn’t do anything wrong!”

Please. Please, not my baby. Don’t—

Bryan leaned down, whispering in her ear, “You’re nothing. You’re no one.”

And then—

A cry.

A sharp, piercing wail.

She turned—there was a bassinet in the corner.

A baby. Crying. Alone. Wrapped in the threadbare baby blanket Maya kept in her drawer.

She tried to run to her.

But her legs wouldn’t move.

She was frozen.

Screaming.

And the babies’ cries turned to silence.

Maya bolted upright in the dark, breath exploding out of her lungs.

Sweat clung to her skin. Her heart galloped out of control. Her body screamed from the effort of trying to claw her way out of sleep.

Her voice cracked the stillness.

“No—stop—please don’t—please don’t touch me—!”

Her arms wrapped protectively over her belly as if they could shield it from ghosts.

Then—

The door opened.

“Maya—hey—hey, it’s just me.”

Carina’s voice broke through the panic, grounding and warm. But Maya couldn’t see her yet—her eyes still flashed with images of fists, screams, that silent bassinet.

She pressed herself back against the wall, knees drawn up, whole body shaking.

“I—I thought—he was there,” she whispered, breath stuttering. “I could feel—his hands—he was right there—”

“You’re safe,” Carina said, kneeling by the door. “You’re in my apartment. No one’s here but me.”

Maya’s eyes finally locked onto hers—wild, glassy, lost.

Carina’s voice softened even further. “Can I come closer?”

A long pause. Then a tiny nod.

Carina inched forward, not rising from the floor, never making a move that could be mistaken for dominance or threat. Her body language was quiet. Controlled. Open.

Maya’s breath was still ragged. Her fingers were twisted together so tightly her knuckles had gone white.

“I can still feel it,” Maya whispered. “The bed. The floor. The—the helplessness. I couldn’t get to her. I couldn’t move. I could hear her crying and I couldn’t get there in time.”

“It was a dream,” Carina said. “But the pain is real. I know.”

“I don’t even know what she looks like,” Maya choked. “I’ve never seen her face. But I already know I failed her.”

“No,” Carina said firmly. “You didn’t.”

“I froze. I didn’t fight back. I let them hurt me.”

“You were outnumbered. Powerless. You survived. That’s not weakness.”

Maya squeezed her eyes shut, as if the shame might disappear behind her lids. “I don’t want to sleep anymore.”

Carina slowly extended her hand, palm up, resting it on the edge of the bed.

“I’ll sit here,” she offered. “You don’t have to sleep. But you don’t have to be alone either.”

Maya looked at her. Really looked.

And then, slowly—painfully—she reached out and placed her trembling fingers over Carina’s.

The shaking didn’t stop right away.

But it eased.

Morning crept in gently.

Sunlight filtered through gauzy curtains and landed in gold strips across the futon. Maya lay on her side, staring at the ceiling. She hadn’t fallen back asleep after the nightmare. But she hadn’t left the bed either.

It was the first time in months she’d woken up without the sound of sirens, a leaking ceiling, or the cold pressing in through thin walls.

The silence was deafening.

She finally sat up when she heard soft movement in the apartment.

Carina appeared a few minutes later, dressed in clean scrubs, her hair loosely pinned, eyes gentle.

“Good morning,” she said softly, holding a steaming mug of tea. “It’s chamomile.”

Maya reached for it slowly. Her fingers still trembled.

“You didn’t sleep,” Carina said.

Maya shook her head. “Didn’t want to.”

“I understand.”

A long pause. Maya sipped the tea and stared at a patch of sunlight on the floor.

“I don’t know how to be here,” she admitted.

Carina didn’t look surprised. “You don’t have to know how. You just… are.”

“I feel like I don’t belong.”

“You do.”

“I didn’t earn this.”

“This isn’t a reward, Maya. It’s a roof. A warm place. A door that locks.”

Maya’s eyes dropped. “I’m not used to people doing things for me without expecting something.”

Carina sat across from her and said, “Then let this be the first time.”

Carina left for Grey Sloan an hour later. She paused at the door and said, “If you need anything, call me. I’ll only be gone a few hours.”

Maya nodded. She didn’t promise to call.

When the door closed, she stood in the quiet for a long time.

She moved through the apartment like a ghost.

She washed her mug. Folded the blanket on the futon. Sat on the edge of the bed with the stuffed fox in her lap. The apartment was modest—nothing extravagant—but it was warm. Safe. Lived in.

Which only made it harder.

She passed a bookshelf and stopped at a small frame. A photo of Carina and a man with kind eyes. Her brother, maybe. Both were smiling.

Maya touched the edge of the frame. She wondered when the last time was she smiled like that.

In the spare room, she opened the bag from Station 19 again.

She didn’t know why she kept revisiting it.

She pulled out the onesie—the one with the white stars—and held it up in the soft morning light. It was small. Fragile. Too clean for someone like her.

Her stomach twisted.

Her breath hitched.

And then—without warning—she dropped to the floor, knees tucked to her chest, the onesie clenched in her fists.

“I’m not ready,” she whispered.

No one answered.

Tears rolled slowly down her face as she sat in the center of the spare room, holding the future in her lap and the past still lodged in her ribs.

But she didn’t run.

And she didn’t shut down.

She just… let herself feel it.

For the first time in a long time.

Chapter Text

Carina came home to silence.

The lights in the apartment were off, but the door to the spare room was open just a crack — the same way she’d left her own door the night of Maya’s nightmare.

She stepped inside quietly, setting down her bag and slipping off her shoes.

Then she saw her.

Maya was sitting on the floor, back against the wall, knees drawn loosely to her chest. The onesie from the Station 19 bag was folded neatly in her lap, the stuffed fox nestled beside her : name it, it wouldn’t hurt as much when I lost her.”

“And now?”

Maya looked down at the tiny folded fabric in her lap.

“I think I love her. I think I always did. But now that I feel it… I’m terrified.”

Carina didn’t interrupt. She just sank to the floor across from her, letting the silence wrap around them.

“I was going to name her after I had everything figured out,” Maya whispered. “Like I could earn it. Like I had to prove I was good enough to be her mom first.”

“And now you think you’re not?” Carina asked gently.

“I know I’m not.”

Carina tilted her head. “I think she’d disagree.”

A beat passed, and then Maya’s gaze shifted.

“I saw the photo on your bookshelf. You and a guy. Kind eyes.”

Carina smiled softly. “Andrea. My brother.”

“He was with you at the diner.”

“Yeah,” Carina nodded. “He’s here. Moved a couple years ago for medical school. Couldn’t stay away from me, apparently.”

Maya looked down. “He seemed nice.”

“He is,” Carina said, a fondness in her voice. “Loud. Protective. Infinitely annoying.”

“You’re lucky.”

Carina’s smile faded, her tone shifting to something more careful. “Did you have anyone like that? A brother? A friend?”

Maya’s face hardened instinctively. She looked down at the floor. “I did. Sort of. A friend in college. Sam. She was… everything for a while. But Bryan didn’t like her. Said she was jealous. Manipulative. I stopped answering her calls.”

Carina’s expression didn’t change, but her heart ached at how easily Maya said it — like betrayal was expected.

“I think about texting her sometimes,” Maya continued. “But what do you even say after all this time? ‘Hey, sorry I vanished. I fell in love with someone who broke me and now I’m pregnant and barely surviving. Miss you?’”

“You say what you feel,” Carina said. “Or you wait until it doesn’t feel like a confession.”

Maya rubbed her fingers together. “You ever stop talking to someone you loved?”

Carina hesitated. “Not exactly. But I’ve lost people. Some by choice. Some by life.”

A quiet pause.

Then Maya asked, “You and Andrea — have you always been close?”

“Mostly,” Carina said. “We’re different. I’m calm, he’s chaos. But we take care of each other. He’s the reason I survived our childhood, to be honest.”

That caught Maya’s attention.

She looked up slowly. “What do you mean?”

Carina exhaled. “Our father was sick. Bipolar. Undiagnosed for a long time. He wasn’t always kind when things got bad. Andrea used to get between us.”

Something flickered in Maya’s expression — recognition.

“Sometimes I think the hardest part,” Carina continued, “is unlearning that love has to hurt to be real.”

Maya looked back down at the fox. “I’m not sure I know what real love feels like.”

“You’re learning,” Carina said gently.

Maya laughed softly. “Can I ask something stupid?”

“There’s no such thing.”

She held the onesie a little tighter. “Do you think she’ll like me?”

Carina’s eyes softened. She shifted forward, resting her arms across her knees.

“I think she’ll love you,” she said. “Because she’ll know your heartbeat before anything else. Because she’ll feel your fight in her bones. Because she’s already made of everything you never gave up.”

Maya blinked hard, but the tears didn’t fall this time.

Instead, she said quietly, “I don’t understand you.”

Carina tilted her head. “Why?”

“You’re kind. You listen. You show up. You offer help without strings. And I don’t understand why someone like you would care about someone like me.”

Carina’s voice was calm, but full of fire. “Because you are someone. And that’s enough.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It lingered like a blanket — not heavy, but warming.

Carina eventually stood and crossed to the doorway.

“Do you want me to leave the door open?” she asked.

Maya nodded.

Carina started to leave, but Maya’s voice stopped her.

“Thank you.”

Carina turned. “Anytime, tesoro.”

The next morning Maya stood by the kitchen sink, staring down at her tea as if it might offer answers.

The apartment was quiet again, but the kind of quiet that had shape and weight. It didn’t feel dangerous anymore—but it wasn’t comfortable yet either.

She still flinched when someone knocked too loud. Still twisted her fingers together when a memory crept too close.

But this morning, something had shifted.

She found herself thinking about Andy.

About the day she’d collapsed in her apartment.

Andy had been there. She remembered the voice—firm, calm. The one that said, “It’s okay, Maya. We’ve got you.”

Later, Carina told her that Andy had brought the bag of baby supplies from Station 19. Food, wipes, the stuffed fox.

No one had ever done something like that for her before. Not without expecting something in return.

Maya dried her mug and set it in the rack. Her hands still trembled slightly. But she didn’t twist her fingers this time.

She crossed into the living room, hesitated, and then asked:

“Do you think Andy would want to come by sometime?”

Carina looked up from her book, clearly surprised—but in a way that made Maya feel safe, not scrutinized.

“I think Andy would be honored,” she said. “Do you want me to call her?”

“Maybe… text her first.”

Carina smiled. “Of course.”

Carina sat between Jo and Amelia, sipping her coffee more for warmth than taste. She hadn’t planned to say anything, but the words had been sitting too long in her chest.

“I think I’m starting to fall for her.”

Amelia blinked once. Jo choked on her iced tea.

“You what?” Jo asked, coughing.

Carina didn’t repeat herself. She just stared down at her cup.

“She’s vulnerable,” Jo said, lowering her voice. “Carina, she has PTSD. She’s pregnant. You’re her doctor—her person.”

“I’m not acting on it,” Carina replied quickly. “I just… I’m feeling it. I can’t un-feel it.”

Amelia leaned back in her chair. “It makes sense. You see her. She trusts you. That’s a recipe for deep connection.”

“Exactly,” Jo said. “It’s also a recipe for dependency. I’m not judging—but please be careful.”

“I am careful,” Carina said softly. “I know this is fragile. I don’t want to hurt her.”

Jo nodded. “I believe that. Just… be sure this is love and not something wrapped in rescue.”

Carina looked out over the rooftop, letting the wind tangle in her hair.

“She asked about Andy today.”

Both women looked back at her.

“She wants to see her?”

Carina nodded. “She asked if Andy could come by sometime. It felt like… like a tiny door opening.”

“That’s huge,” Amelia said. “Andy’s solid. If anyone can meet Maya where she is, it’s her.”

Carina smiled faintly. “That’s what I thought too.”

The door opened softly.

Maya peeked her head out from the spare room, visibly bracing.

Carina stepped inside with the gentle rhythm of someone who knew how to carry tension without adding to it.

“You texted her?” Maya asked quietly.

“I did. She said she’d love to see you. She even offered to bring food again. I told her no surprises, and that it’s totally up to you.”

Maya hesitated. “What’d she say?”

Carina smiled. “She said, ‘Whenever Maya’s ready, I’ll be there. No questions. Just empanadas and good vibes.’”

Maya huffed a breath that was almost a laugh. “That sounds like her.”

“She remembers you well,” Carina added. “Said you used to outrun everyone at recruitment circuits. Said she missed you when you didn’t show.”

Maya looked down at the floor, the fox now in her hand.

“I thought they’d forget me.”

“They didn’t.”

Maya wrapped her arms around her stomach. “I’m not sure I’m ready. But I want to be.”

Carina stepped closer, voice warm. “That’s enough.”

Chapter Text

It started with a small idea.

Maya had been sitting on the couch, watching the rain bead against the window, when it hit her: she wanted to do something for Carina. Not because she had to, but because she wanted to show her… something. Gratitude. Trust. Maybe the beginning of something more.

So, she made a plan.

Dinner. Simple. Homemade. Nothing fancy—just pasta, the way Carina had offhandedly mentioned liking it with butter, garlic, and fresh herbs.

Maya had once been a perfectly capable cook. Before. Before her life had been reduced to takeout leftovers and packets of oatmeal.

She waited until Carina went out for a quick errand, then got to work. She Googled a few recipes. Took the box of pasta from the cupboard. Chopped some garlic, her fingers tense on the knife.

It went fine.

Until it didn’t.

She left the burner too high. Got distracted by the water boiling over. The garlic burned. The smoke started. The pan hissed and crackled like it was yelling at her.

And just like that—

She was back in that hallway.

Heat. Smoke. Screams.

The pan clanged against the burner as she stumbled back.

Hands on her. Voices yelling. The smell of burning. Her father’s belt slamming into the wall. Bryan’s voice—“You can’t do anything right, can you?”

Maya dropped to her knees.

Her breathing fractured.

Her hands shook violently, arms instinctively wrapping around her stomach like she could protect her baby from ghosts.

She didn’t hear the door open.

But she heard the voice.

“Maya—amore, hey, it’s okay—sei al sicuro.”

Carina.

Her voice, warm and urgent, cut through the terror like a blade.

“È solo fumo. Nient’altro. Respira con me. Just breathe, tesoro. You’re okay.”

Maya was crouched on the floor by the stove, tears already streaking her face, shaking from head to toe.

“I—I wanted to do something nice,” she gasped. “I just—I messed it up—again—”

“No. No, you didn’t.”

Carina knelt beside her, careful, measured, her palms open in offering.

“Va bene. Shh, va tutto bene.”

Maya sobbed once and pressed her forehead to her knees.

“I can’t even make dinner without falling apart.”

Carina slowly placed her hand on Maya’s back, just between her shoulder blades.

“You don’t have to earn kindness, Maya. It’s yours.”

Maya’s breathing hitched. Her arms were still curled around her belly, protective and rigid.

Then Carina, barely thinking, moved her hand—just the slightest bit—lower.

Just to feel.

Her palm landed lightly over the swell of Maya’s stomach.

And Maya flinched.

“I’m sorry,” Carina whispered, immediately pulling back.

But Maya’s hand reached out.

Slowly. Tentatively.

And placed Carina’s palm back over her belly.

Then—kick.

They both froze.

Carina gasped.

Maya’s eyes filled with fresh tears.

“She’s been quiet all day,” Maya whispered.

Carina’s voice trembled. “She knows you’re safe now.”

Maya let out a shaky breath. “I don’t deserve this.”

“You do,” Carina whispered.

Maya shook her head. “You’re… you’re this perfect Italian doctor. Smart. Kind. Safe. And I’m…”

Carina looked at her gently. “You’re strong. You’re brave. And you’re here.”

The moment hung between them, charged but fragile.

Neither moved.

Carina didn’t lean closer.

Maya didn’t pull away.

They just stayed there, connected by the pulse of life beneath their hands and the silence that finally felt like shelter.

The apartment still smelled faintly of burnt garlic, but Carina had cracked the windows and started fresh.

Dinner was simple — nothing extravagant. Just pasta with butter, parmesan, and parsley, and steamed vegetables on the side. But Maya couldn’t stop staring at her plate.

“I was supposed to make you dinner,” she said softly, fork turning listlessly in her hand.

“And you did,” Carina replied with a warm look. “You just didn’t get to serve it.”

Maya tried to smile, but it didn’t quite land.

She didn’t eat much — the panic had worn her out — but she managed a few bites, enough to satisfy Carina, who didn’t push her beyond that.

After the dishes were washed, Carina hesitated near the couch.

“I could head to bed, let you rest—”

Maya’s voice came quietly. “Do you wanna stay with me? Just… watch something? I think I can handle a movie.”

Carina blinked. “Sure. Yes. Whatever you want.”

Maya didn’t say she wanted company. She didn’t say she was afraid of being alone in the silence after the memory had crept up on her. She didn’t say she still felt Carina’s hand on her belly — or that the baby had kicked again while they were washing dishes, like some small form of permission.

Instead, she handed Carina the remote.

“You pick.”

Carina scrolled for a moment before landing on something soft and old — The Princess Bride.

Safe. Familiar. Half-fairytale, half-farce.

They sat on opposite sides of the couch at first. The space between them filled with flickering light and the rustle of popcorn Carina made on the stove.

Somewhere around the sword fight on the Cliffs of Insanity, Maya’s legs shifted closer.

By the time Westley was rolling down the hill yelling “As you wish,” Maya’s head was leaning lightly on Carina’s shoulder.

Carina didn’t move.

Didn’t even breathe too hard.

She just let her be.

Maya hadn’t realized how tired she was until her eyelids drooped somewhere around the fire swamp. Carina felt the shift, the soft weight of her exhale against her collarbone.

Maya was asleep.

Her hand rested protectively over her belly, fingers twitching now and then.

Carina reached over and adjusted the blanket.

And whispered, “Dormici sopra, amore mio.” Sleep on it, my love.

Not a confession.

Not yet.

But maybe… someday.

Chapter Text

The knock came at 11:00 a.m. sharp.

Maya sat on the couch, blanket across her lap, hands tangled tightly in one another.

Carina peeked out the peephole, then glanced over her shoulder.

“She’s here. Are you sure—”

“I’m fine,” Maya said automatically.

Carina tilted her head.

“I’m… mostly fine,” Maya corrected, quieter. “Just—don’t leave the room?”

Carina offered the smallest of smiles. “Not going anywhere.”

She opened the door.

Andy Herrera stood there, ponytail slightly windblown, eyes bright and searching.

She held a small tray of empanadas and a second bag filled with something that smelled suspiciously like Vic’s banana bread.

“Hey,” Andy said, a little too soft, like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to speak at full volume.

Maya stared at her for a beat.

And then—

“Did Vic actually bake something?”

Andy grinned, the tension melting just slightly. “She supervised Travis while he did it. But she definitely signed the note.”

Carina gently took the food and offered a warm nod before retreating toward the kitchen, giving them space—but not distance.

Andy stood there, waiting for a cue.

Maya finally waved her in. “You can sit. I’m not contagious.”

Andy chuckled, easing onto the couch.

There was a silence. Not hostile. Just… full.

“I didn’t know what to say,” Andy finally admitted. “After we found you. After I brought the stuff from the team. I wasn’t sure if you’d want to see me.”

Maya stared at the floor. “You didn’t have to do any of that.”

“I wanted to.”

Maya looked at her then. “Why?”

Andy’s voice softened. “Because I remember you.”

Maya scoffed, half-laughing. “You remember the girl who ghosted the fire academy and disappeared off the map?”

Andy shook her head. “No. I remember the girl who outran me every damn training run. Who talked trash with a mouth full of energy gels. Who was so good she could’ve had her pick of any station.”

Maya swallowed hard. “Yeah. Well. That girl’s gone.”

Andy’s expression shifted—still kind, but sharper. “You don’t get to say that. Not when you’re still here.”

Maya’s throat tightened. “You don’t know what happened.”

“You’re right. I don’t. And you don’t have to tell me. But don’t erase her. Don’t erase you.”

The words struck something. A soft place buried under months of bruised survival.

Andy looked down at Maya’s belly, carefully not reaching.

“How far along?”

“About thirty-five weeks,” Maya murmured. “I think. I never had a real scan until recently.”

“She’s been kicking a lot lately,” Carina added gently, stepping back into the room with two mugs of tea. “She likes pasta, dislikes Beethoven, and reacts strongly to garlic smoke.”

Andy blinked. “Wait, it’s a girl?”

Maya nodded once, emotion flickering behind her eyes. “Yeah. Found out last week.”

Andy smiled, but didn’t push.

Instead, she asked, “Can I still bring more baby stuff? The team keeps asking.”

Maya hesitated.

Carina’s voice was soft but steady. “They don’t expect anything back, Maya.”

“I know,” Maya whispered. “It’s just… hard to believe anyone wants to help.”

Andy leaned forward, voice light but sincere. “You’re not a project, Maya. You’re a person. You’re our person. Even if you didn’t get to join the station—we didn’t forget you.”

Maya blinked quickly, looking away.

Carina reached out without thinking, brushing her hand across Maya’s knee under the blanket.

Maya didn’t flinch.

Andy saw the gesture—and smiled to herself.

“I should go,” she said gently. “But… I’d like to come back. If that’s okay.”

Maya’s voice cracked a little when she replied, “Yeah. Okay.”

Andy stood, placed the banana bread on the counter, and offered Carina a quick nod before heading for the door.

When it closed, Maya exhaled shakily.

“She’s… a lot.”

“She is,” Carina agreed. “But she cares.”

Maya looked over at her, eyes raw. “You both do. And I don’t get it.”

“You don’t have to,” Carina said. “Just don’t run from it.”

Maya sank into the couch cushions, letting her head fall back against the worn fabric.

“I’m trying,” she said, barely audible.

Carina sat beside her, not touching this time.

Maya hadn’t touched her lunch. Carina caught her closing her eyes mid-bite, her hand pressed to her belly in silence.

“Maya…”

“I’m fine,” she said quickly. 

But she wasn’t. And by early evening, she was trembling as she leaned against the kitchen counter, cold sweat on her forehead, breathing shallow and fast.

“Okay, no,” Carina said, setting aside the soup she’d just started stirring. “You’re not fine. Sit down.”

Maya bristled. “I said I don’t—”

And then she winced so hard she nearly folded in half.

Carina caught her just in time, guiding her down to the couch.

“Talk to me,” she demanded, her voice gentle but urgent. “Where’s the pain?”

Maya gasped through it. “Low. It—it comes and goes. It started last night, but I didn’t want to freak out—”

Carina’s hands were already on her, guiding her gently back against the cushions.

“I need to check you, okay? Just external right now, just to be sure.”

Maya nodded, eyes full of something like shame.

Carina knelt beside her, steady hands assessing the tightness of her belly, her voice low and calm in Italian and English both.

“Your uterus is contracting but irregularly. And there’s no blood, right?”

“No. Just… it hurts.”

“It’s probably false labor,” Carina said. “Braxton Hicks. But they can be intense. You’re close to term.”

Maya’s shoulders sagged. “So it’s not real?”

“No, it’s very real pain. Just… not labor yet. But we’ll keep monitoring it, sì? No more hiding things like this.”

Maya nodded, eyes glassy. “Okay.”

Later, once Maya felt more stable, Carina suggested a short walk. The air outside had that gentle, overcast calm that only Seattle could offer—cool and crisp with a hint of spring somewhere under the concrete.

They wandered two blocks down the quiet street, Maya wrapped in a long cardigan, one hand tucked under her belly.

Carina kept close but didn’t hover. It felt peaceful. Companionable.

Until they turned the corner.

And ran directly into Lane and Katherine Bishop.

It took less than a second.

Lane’s eyes snapped to Maya’s belly first, then to Carina’s hand, which was still brushing lightly against Maya’s lower back.

His expression twisted.

Katherine’s lips thinned.

And then Lane sneered. “Well, isn’t this just perfect.”

Maya froze.

Carina straightened but didn’t step back.

Katherine’s voice was clipped. “We heard you were back in the city. Didn’t think you’d crawl out from whatever hole you were hiding in.”

Lane’s eyes flicked to Carina. “And this is your… what? Baby daddy’s replacement? Jesus Christ, Maya. Pregnant and a dyke? Just couldn’t stop shaming this family, could you?”

Maya flinched like she’d been struck.

Carina’s hand tightened into a fist at her side.

“Don’t,” she said sharply. “Don’t talk to her like that.”

Lane laughed bitterly. “Oh, she lets her girlfriend speak for her now. You always were a disappointment, Maya, but this? You’re a disgrace. You don’t deserve a child.”

Katherine didn’t stop him. Didn’t say a word. Just looked at Maya like she was dirty.

Carina stepped in front of Maya entirely. “You need to leave. Now.”

Lane rolled his eyes. “Yeah, go ahead and play hero, sweetheart. You think you’re going to fix her? She’s already broken.”

Maya’s breath came out in a choking sound.

It was all too much.

The sidewalk. The air. The nausea. The way Lane’s voice crawled into her skull and dragged her back to every hit, every insult, every slammed door.

“I said GO,” Carina barked, her voice low and deadly.

A few passersby had stopped, watching.

Lane muttered something under his breath, turned on his heel, and stalked off. Katherine followed without glancing back.

Maya stood rooted to the spot, gasping for breath.

Carina turned back to her, terrified. “Maya—look at me—are you okay? Are you—”

But Maya shook her head, her hands rising to cover her ears.

“I need to go. Please. Please just—just take me home.”

Carina nodded, wrapping an arm around her without a word.

They walked back in silence, Maya trembling under the weight of too many ghosts.

Chapter Text

The silence after the walk was deafening.

Maya hadn’t spoken since they got back. She didn’t even take off her shoes. She just sank onto the couch like her body no longer knew how to hold itself up.

Carina moved quietly around her—locking the door, pulling the curtains closed, setting down the keys, and folding the cardigan.

She wanted to sit beside her. Wrap her arms around her. Pull her into something warm and safe and far, far away from the venom of Lane Bishop’s voice.

But Maya was frozen.

Staring at nothing.

“Ti preparo del tè?” Carina asked gently. Can I make you some tea?

No response.

Carina hesitated, then sat down across from her, not too close.

“Maya.”

Still nothing.

Her arms were wrapped around herself, palms tucked beneath her elbows like she was holding herself together by force.

Carina leaned forward slightly, her voice low and cautious. “Can I touch you?”

A beat.

Then a small, jerky nod.

Carina reached out slowly, brushing the back of her fingers along Maya’s knee. No flinch, but no response either.

She spoke softly. “It’s okay to be angry.”

Maya blinked.

And just like that—she cracked.

“I didn’t think it would still hurt this much.”

Her voice was hoarse, raw like it had clawed its way out of her throat.

Carina moved beside her, careful not to crowd her.

“I thought I was past it,” Maya whispered. “I thought… after everything I’ve been through, after how much I’ve survived… seeing him wouldn’t matter.”

Carina said nothing. Just listened.

“I was wrong.” Maya’s hands were shaking. “It’s like… he opened his mouth and suddenly I was seventeen again. Terrified. Disgusting. Broken.”

“You’re none of those things.”

Maya’s laugh was sharp and bitter. “He looked at me like I was less than human. And the worst part? I believed him.”

“No,” Carina said fiercely. “No. You survived him, Maya. You are still here. And he has no power unless you give it to him.”

Maya’s eyes filled, but she blinked the tears away furiously. “He said I don’t deserve a child.”

“He’s wrong.”

“I flinched when you touched me.”

“And you let me touch you again,” Carina said gently. “That matters.”

Maya finally looked at her, and the devastation behind her eyes nearly shattered Carina’s breath.

“I’m trying so hard. Every single day. But I feel like… like I’m always one wrong word, one loud noise, one reminder away from falling apart again.”

“You’re not alone,” Carina whispered. “You don’t have to hold this by yourself.”

Maya stared at her, blinking hard.

“Why do you care so much?”

Carina hesitated, then reached up, brushing a strand of hair from Maya’s cheek.

“Because I see you.”

Maya closed her eyes at that. Let herself lean into the touch for just a second.

And then she sobbed.

It wasn’t quiet.

It wasn’t controlled.

It tore through her like a dam bursting, all the shame and pain and grief she’d buried for years.

Carina pulled her into her arms—gently, firmly—and held her like she’d never let go.

Maya clung to her, fists gripping the back of Carina’s shirt, whole body trembling.

“It’s okay,” Carina murmured into her hair. “Va bene, amore. Puoi lasciarti andare. Sei al sicuro.”

It’s okay, my love. You can let go. You’re safe.

The apartment was dark except for the soft yellow glow of the lamp near the couch.

Maya sat with a warm compress on her lower back, a cup of peppermint tea in her hands. Her face was puffy, red-rimmed, but calmer.

Carina sat beside her, close but not touching unless Maya initiated.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Carina asked softly.

Maya didn’t answer for a long time.

Then, “He used to say those things to me even before I came out. Before I even knew.”

Carina stayed quiet.

“He said I was too strong. Too loud. Too much. And then too soft. Too emotional. He’d hit me for speaking. And then again for crying.”

Carina’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t interrupt.

“My mom… she just stood there. Today, she stood there again. And I realized—it’s not just that he’s a monster. It’s that she let him be.”

Carina reached for her hand. Maya let her take it.

“Do you think… do you think the baby will be okay with me?” Maya asked quietly, terrified.

“I think,” Carina said, “she’s lucky to have a mother who asks that question.”

Maya broke again, just a little.

And this time, she didn’t fight the tears.

Maya didn’t sleep much, but she didn’t fall apart again either.

She woke slowly, the baby stretching beneath her skin like she was dreaming too.

Carina was in the kitchen, quietly making breakfast.

For the first time in a long while, Maya thought maybe—just maybe—she could breathe.

But the wounds were still fresh.

The road ahead is still long.

And she was still haunted by the echo of her father’s voice, whispering that she wasn’t enough.

But Carina’s voice—the soft Italian lullabies she sang while brewing coffee, the patient reassurances in the dark—was beginning to drown him out.

Little by little.

Word by word.

Step by terrifying step.

The hospital felt colder today.

Not in temperature—just in the way the fluorescent lights hummed and the chairs in the waiting area creaked too loudly. Maya sat on the exam table, paper crinkling beneath her. One hand was pressed to her belly, steady but protective.

Carina stood beside her in the small exam room. Today, Jo was running a bit late, so Carina waited with her—still technically an intern, still not allowed to lead the scan without supervision, but the only person Maya trusted enough to be near her with a machine like this.

Maya glanced up at the ultrasound monitor, which hadn’t been turned on yet. She was thirty-eight weeks now. So close. So terrifyingly close.

“I don’t know how to do this,” Maya whispered.

Carina looked over. “Do what?”

“Be a mom. Be… not him.”

Her voice cracked around the words.

Carina moved slowly, sitting in the chair beside her, not reaching for her hand—just listening.

“I keep thinking about what I grew up with. How every step I took felt like walking on broken glass. And now I’m about to bring someone into the world, and I don’t even know if I’ll survive it, let alone raise her.”

Carina’s throat tightened. She didn’t respond right away.

Then, gently, “My father… he was bipolar. Unmedicated. Undiagnosed for most of my childhood.”

Maya’s gaze snapped up.

Carina offered a quiet, sad smile. “He wasn’t violent the way yours was. But he was unpredictable. One day, he’d be dancing in the kitchen, and the next, screaming at the walls. There were days I thought he’d forget we existed. Other days, I wished he would.”

Maya’s eyes welled up.

Carina looked down at her own hands, twisting her rings slowly. “I’ve spent most of my internship studying women’s health, trying to make sure every mother I help feels safer than I did. And I never thought… I’d be here. With you.”

Maya swallowed hard. “You didn’t ask for this.”

“No,” Carina agreed softly. “I didn’t.”

Maya looked away.

“But I chose to stay.”

Silence settled like dust between them. Heavy, but honest.

Jo entered a few minutes later and gave Maya a warm, knowing smile. The exam was routine, the baby healthy and stubborn as ever, kicking the probe just enough to make Carina laugh.

Maya tried to laugh, too.

But her eyes kept flicking to Carina every time their fingers brushed near the monitor. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for—maybe reassurance. Or maybe just confirmation that she hadn’t imagined Carina’s voice trembling earlier.

The apartment was dimly lit, a storm soft-pattering against the windowpanes. Carina made soup, humming something gentle under her breath in Italian. Maya sat cross-legged on the couch, one hand idly tracing the hem of her T-shirt.

After dinner, they watched a documentary. Something slow and quiet, about whales. Neither really cared. It was just noise to cover the silence.

Eventually, Maya spoke.

“Can you… stay tonight?”

Carina turned. “Of course.”

“No, I mean…” Maya’s voice faltered. “With me. In bed.”

Carina’s eyes softened. “Are you sure?”

Maya nodded. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Carina stood and offered her hand.

Maya took it.

They curled up under the sheets fully clothed. Carina on her back, Maya tucked beside her, one arm over Carina’s waist and her cheek against her shoulder. The baby shifted gently between them.

“Thank you,” Maya whispered.

Carina didn’t answer right away. Her heart was pounding so loud she was afraid Maya could hear it.

“I’m falling in love with you,” Carina thought, but didn’t say. “With your stubborn heart. With the way you keep going even when you’re breaking. With the child you already love but fear you’ll fail.”

Instead, she whispered back, “Sempre.”

Always.

2:39 a.m. July 13th, 2013. 

Maya jolted upright with a gasp.

The sheets were damp.

Her body ached.

A deep, wrenching cramp pulled low in her abdomen, and she let out a small whimper.

Carina stirred instantly, hand already reaching. “Maya?”

“I—I think…” Maya’s voice shook. “I think my water broke.”

Carina sat up, all sleep gone. “Okay. Okay, breathe. Let me check.”

Maya nodded, but her breaths were already shallow, uneven.

Carina flipped the light on and gently helped her out of bed. The sheets confirmed it—definitely amniotic fluid.

Another contraction hit.

Harder this time.

Maya folded forward with a sob.

“I can’t—I can’t do this—I’m not ready—I can’t be a mom—I can’t—”

Carina caught her, both arms wrapped around her waist.

“Yes, you can. Ci sei quasi, amore. You are strong. And I am right here.”

She guided Maya into clean leggings and a sweatshirt, slipping shoes onto her feet.

The ride to the hospital was a blur of pain and breath and Carina’s hand in hers.

When they arrived, the nurse asked the question Carina hadn’t prepared for.

“Are you her support person? Are you coming into the delivery room?”

Carina froze.

And that half-second of hesitation sliced Maya straight through the chest.

“You don’t have to,” Maya said suddenly, withdrawing her hand. “I get it. You didn’t sign up for this.”

Carina’s face crumpled. “Maya—no, that’s not—”

“It’s okay,” Maya said, even though it wasn’t. “You’ve already done more than enough.”

She was wheeled down the hall, alone.

Carina stood frozen in the corridor, guilt twisting inside her like a blade.

Jo met her in the hallway. “What are you doing? Go after her.”

“She thinks I don’t want to be there.”

“Then prove her wrong.”

Maya was already dilated to eight centimeters. The contractions were relentless.

She hadn’t asked for anyone.

She didn’t think she deserved to.

Until the next one hit.

And she screamed.

And Carina was suddenly there.

“Maya!” she gasped, breathless from running. “I’m here. I’m here. I’m so sorry.”

Maya looked up, tears flooding her eyes. “You came?”

“I never left you,” Carina said fiercely, gripping her hand. “And I never will.”

And when the next contraction came, Maya didn’t scream.

She breathed.

With Carina.

With every push.

With every whisper of “Brava, sei bravissima, ci sei quasi” — you’re doing amazing, you’re almost there.

And when the baby finally arrived — pink, wailing, perfect — Carina was the first to cut the cord, her hands trembling.

The nurse laid the baby on Maya’s chest.

Her little girl.

Small, fierce, alive.

Maya wept.

And Carina kissed her temple.

And the world shifted.

Forever.

Chapter Text

Maya held her daughter like she couldn’t quite believe she was real — skin-to-skin, tears still fresh on her cheeks, eyes glassy with exhaustion and awe.

Carina stood just beside her, one hand lightly stroking the baby’s back, the other trembling slightly. “Bravissima,” she whispered, barely able to keep the emotion from choking her. “You did so well, Maya.”

Maya smiled.

It was soft. Faint. But real.

And then her body went still.

Eyes fluttered. Her grip slackened.

The baby gave a surprised wail as her head dipped slightly from Maya’s chest.

“Maya?” Carina asked quickly, alarm rising.

Maya didn’t respond.

Her head lolled sideways, her skin suddenly pale.

“Maya!” Carina’s voice was pure panic now. “Help! Someone—Jo!”

She reached instinctively for the baby, cradling the newborn tightly against her chest just as the monitors shrieked to life. The room erupted into controlled chaos.

Jo burst back in with a team of nurses and a trauma cart. Carina stumbled backward, arms locked around the baby, frozen in place as Jo leaned over Maya.

“She’s hemorrhaging—get me another line and crash cart now!”

Someone barked vitals.

A nurse yanked back the blankets—blood.

Too much blood.

Carina stood against the wall, the baby screaming in her arms, her own legs barely holding her up. Her breath came in short, uneven gasps.

“No, no, no, per favore…” she whispered, pressing her cheek to the baby’s head. “Stai con me, amore. Tua mamma tornerà. Te lo prometo.” (Stay with me, sweetheart. Your mommy will come back. I promise you.)

Another doctor rushed in.

“Stay with us, Maya,” Jo growled, her voice taut with urgency as she began compressions.

Carina couldn’t look away.

And couldn’t stop shaking.

Carina hadn’t moved.

She sat in a rocking chair in the small, dimmed section of the NICU, swaddling the baby tightly against her chest in soft pink hospital blankets.

The world had gone blurry around the edges — only the slow, steady rise and fall of the baby’s breaths tethered her to the present.

She hadn’t cried yet.

It felt like if she started, she wouldn’t stop.

Instead, she hummed — quiet, off-key, barely audible Italian lullabies. Melodies she hadn’t thought of since she was a little girl.

“Piccola guerriera,” she murmured, brushing a thumb over the baby’s tiny cheek. (Little warrior.) “Non hai ancora un nome. Ma sei già piena di forza.” (You don’t have a name yet, but you are already full of strength.)

The baby grunted softly, tiny mouth puckering as if searching for Maya’s heartbeat.

Carina’s throat tightened.

“Tua mamma… è la persona più forte che conosca.” (Your mommy is the strongest person I know.)

A nurse stepped in quietly. “Dr. DeLuca? There’s… someone at the desk asking about Maya Bishop.”

Carina stood, stiff and sore.

“Who?”

“He said he’s her father. Lane Bishop.”

The name hit her like ice water down her spine.

“I’ll handle it.”

Carina didn’t need the nurse to say his name. She placed the baby in the bassinet before exiting the room. 

She heard the voice before she even reached the front desk—sharp, grating, already laced with venom.

“I'd better be allowed in there. I’m her father. I’ve got legal rights—”

“You’ve got a lot of nerve,” Carina snapped, stepping into view, arms folded tight against her chest.

Lane turned.

His expression darkened immediately.

“Oh, look who it is. The Italian dyke playing house with my daughter.”

“Don’t you dare say her name,” Carina growled. “You already said enough the last time.”

Lane sneered. “Didn’t think you’d still be here. Guess I underestimated how desperate people like you are to take advantage of broken girls.”

Carina didn’t flinch. Her voice was ice. “Maya nearly died tonight. She’s in the ICU. And the only reason you got called is because she forgot to change her emergency contact — probably because she’s had to spend the last few months trying to survive after what you did.”

Lane stepped forward. “I’m her father. You think you get to keep me away?”

Carina held her ground. “I know I do.”

“I’ll go to the board. The police. She’s got my name, my blood—”

“She has bruises from your hands. She has nightmares because of you.” Her voice shook now, with fury and pain. “And she’s finally safe. Because you are not near her.”

Security was already in motion.

“Try me again,” Carina warned, voice low and dangerous. “Come near her, or her daughter, and you won’t just be escorted out — I’ll make sure there’s a report on file, restraining order included.”

The air felt electric.

Lane’s face went purple, but the security guard stepped in, firm hand guiding him back.

“This isn’t over,” Lane spat.

Carina’s reply was cold and quiet.

“It is for you.”

The first thing Maya registered was pain.

Not sharp or screaming — dull, heavy, like her body was a sunken weight in the mattress. Her chest ached. Her arms felt like they’d run a marathon. Her head pulsed.

Then came the second thing: the sound of gentle humming.

Soft. Warm. Familiar.

Carina.

Maya blinked slowly.

Her eyes felt glued shut, and when they opened, the light seared through them. She tried to speak, but her throat felt like sandpaper.

A quiet gasp answered her movement, and in the next second, Carina was there.

“Maya?” Her voice cracked — soft, desperate. “Can you hear me?”

Maya managed a nod, barely.

“Thank God…” Carina whispered, tears already pooling. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”

Maya blinked slowly again, forcing her lips to move. “Wh… where…”

“Grey Sloan. You’re in the ICU,” Carina said quickly, brushing Maya’s hand gently. “There were… complications. You lost a lot of blood after delivery. But you’re here now. You’re safe.”

Maya’s brow furrowed. “Baby—?”

“She’s perfect,” Carina said, her voice catching. “She’s in the nursery, but I was just feeding her. I didn’t want to leave you, not even for a second.”

The panic in Maya’s chest ebbed slightly. Her body hurt, but her heart… it thundered.

She hadn’t missed her.

She hadn’t missed the moment she thought she might never get.

“Do you… are you ready to see her?” Carina asked softly.

Tears built behind Maya’s eyes. She nodded, and the movement made her wince.

Carina slipped out quickly and returned minutes later with a small bundle tucked in her clear bassinet. The baby was warm, soft, and so tiny it made something rupture inside Maya’s chest. She had a tiny button nose, cheeks that already looked squishable, and a shock of soft blonde fuzz on her head.

Maya couldn’t speak. Her mouth opened, but no words came.

“She looks like you,” Carina whispered.

Maya choked on a breath. “Oh… oh my God…”

She ran a trembling finger across her daughter’s cheek.

“I didn’t know…” Maya whispered brokenly. “I didn’t know I’d feel this. I didn’t know I could feel this.”

Carina sat beside her. “You can. You do. And it’s okay to be terrified.”

“I am.”

“I know.”

Maya sat in silence for a moment, staring down at the girl in her arms.

“I picked a name,” she said quietly. “For her.”

Carina’s breath caught. “You did?”

Maya nodded. “Gianna Marie Bishop.”

A pause.

Carina smiled — a little startled, a little watery. “Gianna?”

“I used to babysit this kid named Gianna when I was in high school,” Maya said, her voice fragile. “She once stuffed an entire grilled cheese in the VCR and told me it was a ‘cheese movie.’ I don’t know. It just stuck.”

Carina laughed, caught off guard, hand flying to her mouth. “A cheese movie?”

Maya managed a smile. “It’s stupid, I know.”

“No, it’s perfect,” Carina whispered, her voice thick. “It’s… sweet. Unexpected. A little weird. Like you.”

Maya looked away quickly, but her lips twitched, trying not to smile.

“And Marie was my grandma’s name,” she added quietly. “She used to sing to me when my dad got mad. I think… I think she’d like this.”

Carina nodded, her throat tight. “She’d be proud of you.”

Maya’s smile vanished.

She looked down at Gianna again, and the fear came flooding back in.

The fear that this moment — this brief, beautiful stillness — wouldn’t last.

That Carina would go back to her real life soon. To twelve-hour shifts and intern rotations and long nights filled with charting and no room for a broken girl with a baby and nowhere to go. Carina was just getting ready to head into her Residency. 

Maya blinked back tears.

“She’s beautiful, Maya.”

“Yeah,” Maya said hoarsely. “She is.”

Her voice cracked on the last word.

Carina’s hand hovered above hers.

“I want you to know…” Carina started, and for a moment, Maya looked up — hopeful. Desperate.

But Carina’s words stalled. She looked down at her hands instead.

“I was so scared last night,” she finally said. “I thought I was going to lose you. And the idea of that was… unbearable.”

Maya said nothing.

Because if she spoke, she might beg.

Please don’t go. Please stay. Please don’t tell me this was just until the baby came.

Instead, she whispered, “Thank you for staying.”

Carina’s eyes flicked up.

“I don’t mean just now,” Maya added, voice shaking. “I mean… for the last month. Everything. You didn’t have to. But you did.”

Carina looked like she wanted to say something. Maya hoped she would.

But silence settled again.

It pressed in thick and slow — full of all the things they weren’t saying.

Carina

I want to tell her I’m not going anywhere.

I want to tell her that she’s not just some responsibility I picked up at a diner. That this month has changed me, that I wake up every morning and look for her.

I want to tell her I’ve fallen in love with her.

But I can’t. Not yet.

Because she’s just had a baby. Because she’s scared. Because I don’t want her to feel like she owes me anything.

Because maybe I’m scared too.

Maya 

She’s leaving.

Not tonight. Not tomorrow.

But soon.

The baby’s here. Her responsibility is done. She helped me through the hard part, and now she’ll go back to her real life — where there’s no room for someone like me.

I’m not someone people choose.

I’m someone they rescue — then leave.

And I can’t survive that again.

Chapter Text

The sun outside Grey Sloan’s fourth floor was the kind that didn’t care.

It warmed the windows and painted streaks across Maya’s hospital bed, but it didn’t reach the cold settling into her bones.

Gianna was swaddled tight against her chest, sleeping soundly — unaware of the storm brewing inside her mother.

Maya sat on the edge of the bed, dressed in borrowed clothes that Jo had brought the day before — soft sweatpants and a hoodie two sizes too big. A nurse had just signed off on her discharge.

The baby had been cleared an hour earlier.

And Carina?

She wasn’t here.

She wasn’t here.

Maya’s heart had been beating too loudly for the past twenty minutes, the static in her head growing louder with every second.

Carina had stepped out to “check in with someone” before they were supposed to leave together. She smiled. She had promised.

But it had been over an hour.

And no one had seen her.

Maya stood slowly, shifting Gianna carefully into her arms, her movements stiff with pain. The C-section still ached. Her legs were wobbly. But she was used to pushing through pain.

It’s what survivors did.

What girls like her did when the world decided they weren’t worth the wait.

She tried not to cry as she adjusted the diaper bag on her shoulder — stuffed with everything the Station 19 crew had brought her. Diapers, wipes, a pacifier, a stuffed fox. Formula.

She stared at the empty doorway one last time.

Carina wasn’t coming.

Not anymore.

And Maya refused to let herself be told to leave.

She would go before she heard those words.

Ten Minutes Later

Carina sprinted up the hallway, clipboard still in hand, stethoscope bouncing against her chest.

She had scrubbed out of the urgent consult as fast as she could — a hemorrhaging OB case Jo needed her for. Carina hadn’t expected it to take more than twenty minutes.

When she’d looked at the time and realized she’d left Maya waiting for over an hour, something inside her had turned to ice.

She pushed open the door to Room 402.

And stopped.

The bed was empty.

The monitors were unplugged. The blanket is folded.

Gone.

“No no no no no—” she whispered, already turning back into the hallway.

Her heart pounded as she checked the nurses’ station. “Have you seen my friend? Maya Bishop? She was supposed to be discharged with her newborn—”

“She left,” the charge nurse replied. “Didn’t say where. Just asked to be discharged. 

Carina’s mouth dropped open. “She what?!”

The elevator.

She bolted.

Maya stood near the cab line. She was rocking Gianna’s bucket seat with her foot. The baby was fussing now, the sun too bright, the wind too sharp.

The cab hadn’t come yet.

Maya kept her head down, hood up, the nerves in her stomach tying themselves in knots.

She didn’t even know where she’d go. Her apartment had been cleared out. She’d have to find a shelter again, maybe beg the social worker from before to help—

“MAYA!”

She froze.

The voice punched through the wind like a lightning strike.

Carina.

Maya turned, slowly, her throat already closing.

Carina was running toward her — wild hair, untied coat, eyes blazing with panic.

She didn’t stop until she was inches away.

“What are you doing?!” Carina gasped, breathless. “You… you left. You just left!”

Maya stared at the sidewalk.

“I thought you weren’t coming back,” she whispered.

“What?”

“You were gone. It was over an hour. You said you’d be there and then you weren’t.” Her voice cracked. “I thought… maybe this was your way of telling me. That’s it. That I should leave.”

Carina’s mouth opened in horror.

“Oh my God,” she breathed. “Maya…”

“I get it,” Maya said quickly, blinking fast. “You’re in your last year of your internship. You have a real life, a career, friends, and options. And I’m just… some pregnant girl you found at a diner who brought chaos into your life.”

“Maya, no—”

“It’s okay,” she said, and a single tear spilled over. “I mean… it’s not. But I understand. No one ever really stays. And I just… I didn’t want you to have to ask me to go.”

Carina stepped forward slowly, gently reaching for her hand.

“Look at me.”

Maya hesitated, then met her eyes.

“I wasn’t leaving you,” Carina said, voice breaking. “I was helping with an emergency. Jo needed me. And I ran back here the second I could. You think I wouldn’t come back for you?”

“I don’t know,” Maya whispered. “I don’t know what to expect from people anymore.”

Carina looked down, tears spilling freely now.

“I wanted to be there when you left the hospital. I wanted to walk you out. I even brought you discharge flowers—” She held out the bouquet sheepishly, crushed from running.

Maya let out a broken laugh, then burst into tears.

Carina stepped forward and wrapped her arms around — Maya — letting her heart fill every crack between them.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered against Maya’s temple. “You don’t have to go through this alone.”

Maya shook with sobs, gripping her tighter.

“But I don’t have anything to offer,” she cried. “I’m just… me. And she’s everything.”

“She is everything,” Carina agreed. “And so are you.”

“I’m going to get my car and then we can go home.” Maya just blinked at Carina as if the words coming out of her mouth made no sense. 

Carina noticed her stupor but just kept speaking, “Jo gave me Luna’s old car seat, and it’s already all set up for us. Gianna’s bucket will fit right in it.”

Maya smiled at the older brunette and kissed the top of her daughter’s head. 

Maya sat curled against the window, Gianna asleep in her bucket seat, and Carina drove smoothly. 

No one spoke.

But Maya didn’t flinch when Carina touched her hand. 

She didn’t pull away.

And when their eyes met, something unspoken passed between them.

Not a declaration. Not yet.

But the beginning of something.

Real. Fragile. And worth fighting for.

Chapter Text

Chapter 12 

Three weeks postpartum, and Maya still hadn’t figured out how the world expected her to survive on two hours of sleep and a smile.

Carina had returned to full shifts at Grey Sloan, juggling rounds and surgery boards while rotating under attendings like Bailey and Jo. She always came home when she could, always texted to check in, but Maya was still new to this. New to the crying that wouldn’t stop. The formula-stained shirts. The diapers that piled faster than she could keep up with. The way her body still ached in strange, unfamiliar ways.

She hadn’t left the apartment in over a week.

She hadn’t showered in four days.

She’d stopped answering Andy’s texts.

And tonight, Carina was working the night shift.

9:52 PM

The apartment was quiet except for the soft lull of the TV playing some low-budget rom-com in the background and Gianna’s fussing in her bassinet.

Maya had tried to feed her an hour ago, but she’d only taken half the bottle before spitting it back up. Now she refused to settle — her tiny hands curled into fists, her whimpers escalating into shrill cries.

“I know, baby, I know,” Maya whispered, bouncing her gently. “I’m trying, I’m trying…”

But her voice was brittle. Her hands trembled.

The nursery was a corner of the bedroom, the laundry basket overflowing. A few bottles sat unwashed on the kitchen counter. The air smelled faintly of spit-up and something sour Maya couldn’t place.

She hadn’t eaten since that morning. She didn’t remember what.

10:38 PM

She finally got Gianna down — not asleep, but at least quiet.

Maya collapsed on the couch, too exhausted to cry. She pressed the heel of her palm to her eyes and let the world fade around her, letting the weight of the last three weeks sit fully on her chest.

This wasn’t just exhaustion.

It was a slow erosion of self.

The silent thought crept in again — the one that had been growing louder each night since the birth.

You’re not cut out for this.

Not alone. Not like this.

11:57 PM

Gianna’s cry pierced the night again. Maya jolted upright, heart pounding as if she’d been pulled from a nightmare.

But this was the nightmare.

She stood up too fast — the room spun, her knees locked. She caught the edge of the counter to steady herself.

She made it to the bassinet and leaned down—

Black.

Everything turned black.

She collapsed.

Sometime After Midnight

The apartment door opened with a quiet click.

Carina stepped in, her white coat damp from the misty Seattle night, stethoscope still looped around her neck. She’d left work at midnight after convincing Jo to cover her last case. Something in her gut had told her to check on Maya.

And now, her heart stilled.

“Maya?”

No answer. She could hear the faint sound of Gianna’s cries. 

The lights were off except for the warm glow of the bedroom lamp.

Carina stepped into the room—

And found Maya crumpled on the floor beside the bassinet, unmoving, her breathing shallow.

“Maya!” she gasped, rushing forward. Gianna was wailing, her tiny body flushed red from screaming. “Oh my God…”

Carina picked up the baby first, pressing her against her chest, shushing her in rushed Italian. 

Then she knelt beside Maya and gently rolled her to her back.

She was pale. Sweaty. Her breathing was fast and shallow.

“Dio santo…” Carina reached for her pulse — too fast.

She was awake, barely, blinking like she didn’t know where she was.

“Carina?” Her voice cracked.

“I’m here, sweetheart, I’m here.” She gently pressed a cool cloth to her forehead. “You fainted. You’re dehydrated. Have you eaten?”

Maya blinked again, eyes glossing with tears. “I tried. She wouldn’t stop crying. I couldn’t get her to sleep. I didn’t want to call you. You were working.”

“Shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you now.”

Maya whimpered. “I couldn’t do it. I thought I could. But I can’t.”

Carina’s heart broke as she tucked a blanket around both of them. She held Gianna in one arm and Maya’s hand in the other. “You are doing it. You’ve been doing it every single day. And now I’m here. You’re not alone, Maya.”

The guest room was warm and dimly lit, the only sound the soft hum of the white noise machine Carina had set up for Gianna.

Maya sat curled up against the headboard, a warm compress tucked behind her back, her body sore and hollowed. Gianna lay peacefully in the bassinet nearby, finally asleep.

Carina returned from the kitchen in a hoodie and leggings, her hair pulled back in a loose braid. She offered a mug of tea, her voice careful. “It’ll help.”

Maya accepted it without a word.

After a long pause, Carina spoke gently. “You need to take care of yourself, too, Maya.”

Maya’s gaze stayed low.

“I know it feels impossible, but you don’t have to do this all alone. I’m here,” Carina said softly. “But if I’m on shift and you’re struggling, you could call Andy… or Andrea, maybe. Just so you have someone.”

Maya’s shoulders tensed. “You think I need a babysitter.”

“No!” Carina shook her head quickly. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

But Maya was already shrinking in on herself.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to sugarcoat it. I get it — I’m too broken. You’re trying to give me an easy way out without saying it.”

Carina moved closer. “That’s not true. Maya, this is normal. So many new moms feel this way. You’ve been through hell, and you’re still standing. That’s not failure. That’s strength.”

Maya looked at her, finally, eyes hollow. “You’re only here because you feel responsible.”

“I’m here because I care,” Carina whispered.

The silence stretched. Something shifted in the air.

Carina leaned in — eyes lingering on Maya’s lips, then her eyes. Slowly. Gently. As if afraid to spook her.

Maya’s breath hitched, and she leaned in too.

But just before their lips touched, Carina hesitated. Pulled back.

It was a fraction of an inch—barely a breath.

But it was enough.

Maya froze, the flicker of hope on her face extinguished.

Carina opened her mouth. “Maya—”

“It’s okay,” Maya whispered, her voice tight. “I misunderstood.”

“No, that’s not—”

“I think I need to sleep alone tonight,” Maya said quickly, before Carina could finish.

Carina reached for her, but Maya subtly recoiled.

And in her lap, Maya clutched the blanket tight in her shaking hands. 

Carina stood slowly, her face stricken.

“I’ll be in my room. If you need anything…”

Maya didn’t respond, just waited for Carina to leave. 

The door to the spare bedroom clicked softly behind Carina, but she didn’t move right away. 

She stood in the hallway, her hand still on the doorknob, heart heavy. The aching space between them was growing again – not with anger, but with fear. With miscommunication. With unspoken words and too many wounds trying to heal at the same time. 

She reached for her phone and slipped into the kitchen, thumbs hovering above the screen before she finally typed:

Carina
Tu sei sveglio? (You awake?)

The reply came quickly.

Andrea
Kind of. Studying at the library. Why? Is everything okay?

Carina
No. Not really. Can you come over? Please?

Andrea
I’ll be there in twenty.

Carina sighed, quietly setting her phone down while wiping at her eyes.

Chapter Text

The next morning dawned gray and drizzling, the kind of Seattle gloom that felt more like a mood than a weather condition. In the guest room, Maya sat curled in bed, her back to the door, Gianna nestled in the crook of her arm.

She hadn’t slept.

Not really.

Not after the way things ended.

Carina hadn’t come in during the night. Hadn’t knocked. Hadn’t said a word. At some point, she did hear Andrew come over. 

Maya told herself it was for the best.

She didn’t belong here. Not in this house. Not in this bed. Not in Carina’s orbit.

She’d been a moment. A project. Something beautiful and broken for Carina to fix.

And now that the baby was here, what else was left?

She gently ran her finger down Gianna’s soft cheek. “I don’t know what we’re gonna do, baby girl,” she whispered. “But we’ll figure it out.”

Down the hall, Carina stood at the kitchen sink, unmoving. Her cup of espresso had gone cold in her hand.

She hadn’t slept either.

She kept replaying the moment in her mind — the way Maya had leaned in, the flicker of hope in her eyes, and how Carina’s hesitation had shattered it.

She hadn’t meant to pull away.

She just… panicked.

And now she didn’t know how to undo the damage.

Andrew stepped inside, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Hey,” he said, eyeing her closely. “You look like shit.”

Carina offered a tired eye roll. “Grazie mille.”

He crossed to the counter, glancing at the untouched espresso. “You okay?”

She hesitated. They had spoken last night. Andrea just climbed in next to his sister and held her while she cried. 

Then: “I kissed her. Almost.”

Andrew blinked. “What?”

“She leaned in and I… I stopped. I didn’t mean to, but—”

“You what?”

“I froze. And now she thinks I don’t want her. She asked to sleep alone.”

Andrew rubbed his face. “Carina…”

“I know,” she whispered. “It was a mistake. I just didn’t want to make her feel pressured. She’s been through so much, and she’s still healing.”

He nodded slowly, but his brows were drawn together. “Can I ask you something… as your brother?”

“Always.”

“Are you sure this is something you should be getting into?”

Her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” He exhaled. “She’s dealing with real trauma, Carina. PTSD. She flinches every time someone moves too quickly. She has panic attacks over burnt food. She’s a new mom with no support system. And you… you’re at the end of your intern year. This isn’t just a friendship. It’s a whole life.”

Carina’s jaw clenched. “You think I don’t know that?”

“I know you know,” Andrew said gently. “I just need to know that you’re not falling into this because you want to save her. Or because she needs someone.”

Carina swallowed hard. “It’s not about saving her.”

“Then what is it about?”

She looked down, voice trembling.

“She makes me feel like myself. Even when she’s scared. Even when she’s lashing out. I see her. The way she talks to Gianna, the way she always tries, even when she’s terrified. She has nothing, Andrea. And still, she holds that baby like she’s holding the world.”

Andrew softened. “You’re already in love with her.”

Carina smiled faintly. “I think I’ve been in love with her for a while.”

He sighed. “Okay. Then fight for her. But be careful, Sorella. She’s fragile.”

“I know,” she said. “But so am I.”

—

That night, the silence between the women was heavy, but not cold. Just… tentative.

After Gianna was asleep, Maya padded softly into the kitchen in socks and one of Carina’s oversized t-shirts.

Carina was washing bottles at the sink.

“Hey,” Maya murmured, voice small.

Carina turned. “Hi.”

A pause.

“I never thanked you,” Maya added. “For… everything.”

“You don’t need to thank me.”

Another pause.

“I’m sorry,” Maya said, shifting awkwardly. “For… last night.”

“No.” Carina stepped closer. “I’m sorry. I should’ve kissed you. I wanted to. I just… I panicked.”

Maya’s eyes flicked up. “Why?”

Carina looked at her for a long moment. “Because I didn’t want to make you feel like you owed me anything. And because… I already love you. And I was scared I was rushing you.”

Maya’s breath caught.

“But if I hurt you,” Carina whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

The silence thickened — and then Maya stepped forward, closer, her voice shaking.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been loved like that before.”

“You deserve to be.”

Carina reached up, slowly brushing a piece of hair behind Maya’s ear.

This time, there was no hesitation.

When their lips met, it wasn’t urgent — it was honest.

Soft. Real. Trembling with everything they hadn’t said and everything they might say later.

When they pulled apart, Maya’s eyes were glassy.

“I’m scared,” she whispered.

“So am I,” Carina replied.

Maya smiled faintly. “Still want to sleep by yourself?”

Carina shook her head.

They curled up together on the bed that night, careful of Maya’s stitches, Gianna sleeping peacefully in the bassinet beside them.

And for the first time in weeks, Maya slept through the night.

Chapter Text

It had been a quiet day, mostly.

Carina had spent her morning studying a case while Maya moved slowly through the house, her body still healing, her mind always a few paces behind. Gianna had been clingier than usual, fussier, like she could sense the restlessness stirring beneath her mother’s skin.

Now the evening sun was dipping lower, casting a soft amber glow across the living room. Maya was curled up on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her, Gianna nestled on her chest. Her thumb absentmindedly traced soft circles on the baby’s back.

Carina sat beside her, their bodies close but not quite touching, her presence steady, as it had always been.

The silence was peaceful—until Carina shifted slightly, turned toward Maya, and said gently, “Would you want to go out with me sometime?”

Maya blinked. “Like… out?”

A nervous smile pulled at Carina’s lips. “Yes. On a date. Just us. Not as patient and intern, not as roommates. Just… you and me.”

Maya’s stomach turned, her throat tightening.

“I—” she hesitated, eyes flickering down to Gianna. “I haven’t… been asked out in a long time.”

“That’s okay.”

“I wouldn’t even know how to do that anymore.”

Carina’s voice remained gentle. “You don’t have to know. We can take things slow. We’ve been taking things slow already.”

Maya nodded stiffly, but her mind was spinning.

Carina gave her a reassuring smile and stood to head toward the kitchen. “Think about it. There’s no rush.”

Once the door clicked shut behind her, Maya let the panic rise.

She texted Andy before she could overthink it.

Maya: Hey, are you around? Can you come over to Carina’s place? 

The reply came fast.

Andy: Of course. I’m just getting off shift. You okay?

Maya: No. Please just come. 

—

Thirty minutes later, Andy was at the front door, a paper bag of donuts in one hand and concern written all over her face.

Maya opened the door slowly, stepping aside to let her in.

“Donuts?” Maya asked, eyes flickering toward the bag.

Andy offered a small smile. “Comfort food. I wasn’t sure if it was a crying emergency or a ‘let’s eat sugar and yell at the ceiling’ emergency.”

Maya almost laughed. “A little of both.”

They sat in the guest room, the bassinet a few feet away as Gianna dozed peacefully. Maya sat on the edge of the bed, arms wrapped around her knees. Andy dropped into the armchair.

“She asked me out,” Maya said, her voice flat.

Andy blinked. “Carina?”

Maya nodded, not meeting her gaze.

“Okay,” Andy said slowly. “And… that’s a good thing, right?”

“I think so. I mean… I want it to be.”

Andy frowned. “But?”

“But I don’t know how to do this, Andy,” Maya whispered. “I don’t know how to be in something safe.”

Andy sat forward. “You don’t have to be perfect at it.”

“I don’t even know what ‘healthy’ looks like,” Maya said. “Bryan—my ex—he wasn’t just a jerk. He was violent. Controlling. The only reason I even went home to my parents was because he told me the baby wasn’t his and walked out. And you know what happened after that.”

Andy’s stomach sank. “Maya…”

“I keep thinking,” Maya continued, voice shaking, “that Carina’s going to wake up one morning and realize she’s stuck with some girl who got knocked up by an abuser, has no degree, no job, no future—”

“Hey.” Andy stood and sat beside her on the bed. “Don’t do that.”

“She’s perfect, Andy. She’s brilliant, kind, and whole. And I’m just…” Maya’s voice broke, “me.”

“You’re strong. And you’ve survived hell. And you’re raising a baby in the middle of it.”

Maya wiped at her face with the back of her hand. “What if she wants more, though? What if she wants… intimacy? And I can’t—Andy, I can’t even think about that right now. I still flinch when someone reaches for me too fast. I still can’t stand to be in a room with a man without planning an exit route.”

Andy was quiet.

“I don’t want to lose her,” Maya whispered. “But I also don’t want to give her something I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready for.”

“Then tell her that,” Andy said softly. “Tell her everything you just told me.”

“I don’t want her to leave.”

“She won’t. But even if she does, you’ll still have you. You’re not broken, Maya. You’re healing. And Carina… she doesn’t strike me as someone who scares easily.”

—

Later that night, Maya found Carina in the kitchen washing bottles. The lights were dim. The house was quiet.

Maya stepped up behind her and said softly, “Thank you for earlier.”

Carina turned, drying her hands. “Of course.”

“I’m… scared,” Maya admitted. “About everything. And I’m still figuring stuff out.”

Carina stepped closer. “We don’t have to rush. Just one step at a time.”

Maya looked up at her. “Would you sit with me? Just for a little while?”

Carina nodded.

They curled up on the couch again, this time closer than before, with Maya tucked gently into Carina’s side. Gianna slept beside them in her bassinet, her tiny fingers twitching in her dreams.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Maya whispered.

“Neither do I,” Carina said, her lips brushing Maya’s temple. “But I’m right here.”

And somehow, even through all the doubt and ache, that was enough for now.

The next day began with a quiet stillness.

Sunlight filtered through gauzy curtains, painting soft lines across the nursery walls. The small bassinet nestled in the corner of Carina’s guest room stirred with the sound of Gianna’s gentle whimpers. Maya, seated cross-legged on the floor, rubbed sleep from her eyes and tried to smile.

In her lap was a tiny onesie—white, with little red strawberries stitched on the front.

“What do you think?” she asked the newborn, holding it up like she was presenting a Paris runway piece. “Too fruity?”

Gianna gave an exaggerated yawn that ended in a hiccup. Maya chuckled softly.

“Ruthless critic.”

She picked up another, this one with fire trucks—courtesy of Travis, who had apparently decided Gianna was destined to become a firefighter. Maya gave it a little wave.

“Don’t worry, you’ll wear this eventually. I’m not letting Uncle Travis down.”

But as she moved toward the small standing mirror Carina had left in the room, something shifted.

She held the onesie in front of herself first, then lowered it slowly, her eyes catching her reflection.

Her stomach was still rounded. Her hips were wider, her chest heavier, her skin mottled with faint stretch marks and a long healing scar from the c-section. Her ribs showed more than they used to, her cheeks slightly hollow.

She didn’t recognize the girl in the mirror.

She stared, then swallowed hard. “You look disgusting.”

Her voice was barely a whisper, choked and full of venom. She grabbed the tank top she’d tried on earlier—one of her pre-pregnancy ones—and tugged it over her head.

Too tight. Uncomfortable.

Like her body didn’t belong to her anymore.

She yanked it off with a frustrated cry, hurling it to the ground.

The sudden movement made Gianna fuss again, and Maya rushed to her, scooping her up gently despite her own shaking hands.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” she whispered, more to herself than the baby. “I just… I don’t know who I am anymore.”

Her arms wrapped around the baby instinctively, but her breathing was unsteady, her heartbeat too fast.

Across town, Carina sat at the hospital café with Amelia and Jo. She cradled a cappuccino in her hands but hadn’t taken a sip.

“She’s struggling,” Carina said quietly. “I walked in on her trying to hide from her reflection in the mirror yesterday.”

Jo’s face softened. “That’s normal after birth. Especially with PTSD in the mix.”

“She doesn’t believe she’s lovable,” Carina murmured. “She flinches every time I touch her—even gently. And yet she lets me stay.”

Amelia leaned back, watching Carina closely. “You care about her.”

“I do.”

“Is it more than that?”

Carina paused. “I know I’m in love with her, I told her that much. But she and Gianna… they feel like a chapter I wasn’t expecting. And now I don’t want to stop reading.”

Jo smiled softly. “Then keep turning the pages.”

Back at the house, Maya had calmed Gianna down. She swaddled her again, laid her gently back into the bassinet, and wiped her face with the sleeve of Carina’s borrowed sweatshirt.

Then came a knock on the front door.

Maya startled, instinctively putting herself between the bassinet and the noise.

She crept toward the door and peeked out the window, breathing a sigh of relief when she saw Vic holding a drink tray and an oversized tote bag.

Maya opened the door slowly.

“Hey,” Vic said, flashing a careful smile. “Carina texted me. Said today might be… rough.”

“Oh.”

“I can leave if you want—”

Maya stepped aside. “No. Come in.”

Vic followed her into the guest room, taking in the chaos—tiny clothes strewn across the bed, a discarded tank top on the floor, a half-zipped diaper bag. She said nothing, just handed Maya a coffee.

Maya took it, blinking quickly. “Thank you.”

Vic sat on the floor beside her. “I figured we could hang. You don’t have to talk. Or you can talk as much as you want. No rules.”

For a while, they just sat.

Then Maya whispered, “I tried on four shirts. Hated all of them. I looked like… like someone else.”

Vic was quiet, listening.

“I used to be fast,” Maya continued. “Track team captain. I had… control. Strength. And now I can’t look at myself without hearing his voice in my head.”

Vic’s hand brushed her sleeve. “He doesn’t get to live there anymore, Maya.”

Maya looked down. “Sometimes I think Carina’s going to realize she made a mistake letting me stay.”

“She won’t,” Vic said gently. “She’s still here, isn’t she?”

Maya’s throat tightened. She just nodded.

That evening, Carina returned home and was surprised to find Maya and Vic sitting cross-legged in the living room, sorting baby clothes into labeled bins. She wasn’t sure if Maya would be receptive to Vic coming over but she’s glad it seems to have worked well. 

“Hey,” Carina said softly, setting her bag down. “Am I interrupting?”

“Not at all,” Maya said. “Vic came to save the day.”

“I mostly brought coffee and moral support,” Vic added with a wink.

They chatted a bit longer before Vic excused herself, sensing Maya was a little more settled but still in that delicate headspace.

When Carina returned from saying goodbye at the door, she found Maya sitting in front of the mirror again. This time, in one of her looser tees. Still unsure. Still trying.

“Parli con la tua bambina quando pensi che nessuno stia ascoltando,” Carina said as she walked up behind her.

Maya blinked at her in the mirror. “You’re going to have to translate that.”

Carina smiled. “You talk to your daughter when you think no one is listening.”

Maya blushed faintly. “Well, someone has to appreciate my fashion show disasters.”

“You’re beautiful,” Carina said, without hesitation.

Maya looked away.

Carina stepped forward and reached up, brushing a piece of hair behind Maya’s ear. “One day, I hope you’ll see what I see.”

That night, after Gianna was asleep and the house was quiet, Carina curled up beside Maya on the couch. The TV was on low—some random sitcom they weren’t paying attention to.

Maya leaned into her slowly, letting her head rest on Carina’s shoulder.

“I liked today,” Maya whispered. “Even the messy parts.”

“So did I.”

“Grazie,” Maya said, her pronunciation awkward.

Carina laughed gently. “Prego.”

They stayed that way until Maya’s eyes drifted shut.

Still scared. Still scarred. But no longer alone.

Morning came too quickly. Carina was called out in the middle of the night to assist Jo in an emergency C-section. She checked in on the two sleeping blondes at 3 am, careful not to wake them. Gianna had just started to sleep a bit longer through the night, only waking once or twice. 

It was 7:30 am when Carina heard the first cry of Gianna, but not her mother. The brunette padded into the room to see the older blonde snuggled into the pillow, still sound asleep. 

“Buongiorno, piccola,” Carina cooed as she reached into the bassinet to pick up Gianna. 

“Let’s let your mommy sleep, Tesoro. I, on the other hand, need espresso. Gianna immediately calmed at the sound of Carina’s voice and just stared up at her with big blue eyes. 

Carina held Gianna as she moved gracefully around the kitchen. Singing her Italian lullabies. Once the baby quieted in her arms, her thoughts started to run wild. 

It had been a week since Carina asked Maya if she wanted to go on a date with her. The brunette knew Maya was nervous, and she was too. So many thoughts had gone through her head. Am I making the right choice? Am I ready to take the next step? Does Maya only want to be with me because of some heroine complex? She shook her head at that one. No, Maya wants to be here. 

Maya had heard Carina come into the spare room and talk to her daughter. She was a very light sleeper, but she held her breath and let her take Gianna for a few minutes. Eventually, she got up and heard Carina singing to her beautiful baby. She leaned against the entryway and just watched as Gianna rested quietly in the Italian’s arms. Maya can’t believe how beautiful Carina is and how wonderful she is with a child who isn’t even hers. 

Maya softly cleared her throat so as not to startle the woman holding her whole world. 

Carina jumped slightly but turned toward the younger woman with a smile. 

“Sorry, I kidnapped your child. I was hoping you would sleep a bit longer.”

Maya tilted her head to the side just to watch Carina with her daughter.

”I heard you come in, but she’s so comfortable with you that I didn’t mind a little more rest.”

“She’s had her morning bottle, so I’ll just put her in the bassinet and make you some breakfast.”

”You didn’t have to do all that, Carina.”

”I wanted to, Bambina.”

Maya was so grateful for this woman, she was perfect in so many ways. She still hasn’t answered Carina’s date question. Mostly because she can’t understand why someone, like Carina, so put together, a doctor, unbelievably beautiful inside and out, would want the mess that is Maya Bishop and all her baggage. 

She’s interrupted from her thoughts when Carina returns without her sleeping daughter. 

“So I was thinking…”

Oh God, this is it, isn’t it? She’s going to tell me to pack my stuff and leave. To take my child and to get moving.

”Bambina?” 

Maya just blinks at Carina, not having heard a word that she said. 

“Did you hear anything I said?” Maya just shakes her head no.

“I was wondering if you wanted to maybe go to dinner this week? Andrea, Jo, and Amelia all offered to watch Gianna. We don’t have to go for very long. I just would like to spend some time with you outside these four walls.” 

When Maya doesn’t answer Carina immediately, she backtracks.

”You know what? No need to worry, I don’t want to push. What can I make you for breakfast?” 

Maya notices Carina spiralling, obviously thinking that Maya was rejecting her. 

The Italian is moving far less gracefully around the kitchen than she was earlier. Maya knows she has to stop Carina from freaking out about thinking that she doesn’t want this. She moves carefully toward the older woman and stills her hands that are struggling to cut whatever fruit she grabbed on the counter.

“Hey, hey, Carina. Calm down. I want to go out with you. I’m definitely nervous about leaving Gianna with someone for the first time, but I do want to spend time with you.” Maya was not ready to share all her insecurities with Carin, but she knew that she wanted to go to dinner with the older woman. 

Carina smiled at their hands being connected. Maya’s hands were so warm while rubbing softly over her knuckles. 

“Okay, Bambina, I have an idea of where to take you. I’m off on Thursday, does that work for you?”

“I’ll check my schedule … she thought for three seconds … 'I’m free” that got her a big laugh and soft kiss on the lips. 

“I’ll make the reservation,” Carina said. “Go shower, Bambina. Breakfast will be ready soon.”

Maya nodded at the older woman, looking at her lips. She leaned in once more to kiss, what were becoming her favorite lips, feeling her stomach flutter with butterflies. 

Chapter Text

Thursday came a lot faster than Maya anticipated. 

Maya stood in front of the mirror, tugging at the hem of the dress she’d chosen for the fourth time.

Carina walked by and paused in the doorway, taking in the sight of Maya’s tense shoulders and troubled face.

“You look… nervous,” she said gently.

“I’m fine,” Maya replied quickly, then sighed. “It’s stupid. I just… this dress used to fit differently.”

Carina stepped in, her voice lower, closer. “Your body carried life, Maya. That’s not something to be ashamed of.”

Maya’s jaw clenched. “Yeah, well, try telling that to the mirror.”

Without a word, Carina wrapped her arms around Maya from behind and rested her chin on her shoulder. “Sei bellissima così come sei.” (You are beautiful just as you are.)

Maya blinked. “Was that a compliment or a spell?”

Carina smiled. “Both.”

Jo arrived early, of course. Andrea came with her—already holding a bottle before Maya could even ask. Amelia, for her part, let herself in with a dramatic flourish and immediately announced, “I made a diaper-changing playlist. It’s mostly Beyoncé.”

Maya looked like she might faint.

Gianna, on the other hand, was unfazed. Swaddled and dozing in Andrea’s arms like she’d known him her whole life.

“You sure you’ll be okay?” Maya asked for the fourth time, hovering by the couch.

Jo smiled. “She’ll be asleep for most of the time. We’ve got this.”

“She’s a very calm baby,” Andrea added.

“Must get that from me,” Amelia said. Then, at Jo’s withering look, she added, “Kidding. Kidding.”

Carina appeared at Maya’s side, a warm hand settling on her back. “They’ll call if anything happens.”

Maya’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Yeah.”

“And we’ll only be gone a couple of hours.”

“Right.” She was nodding too much. “Right.”

Gianna let out a tiny sigh in her sleep.

Maya melted a little. “Maybe we should cancel—”

“Maya.” Carina’s voice was soft but firm. “We’re going. We need this. We want this”

Maya looked down. Then up. And finally nodded. “Okay. But if Amelia plays Beyoncé while she’s trying to sleep, I will file a noise complaint.”

Amelia grinned. “Gianna’s a Cancer. She needs strong female role models.”

Carina kissed the baby’s forehead, whispered something in Italian, then gently guided Maya toward the door.

The car ride was quiet. Not in a bad way—just in the way that still carried nerves, unspoken thoughts, and the weight of too many feelings trying to take shape.

Maya kept glancing into the rearview mirror, even though the car seat wasn’t there.

“She’s fine,” Carina said softly.

Maya nodded. “I know.”

Silence again. Then—

“What if she wakes up and doesn’t know where I am?”

“She’ll smell Jo and think she’s being raised in a eucalyptus garden,” Carina teased lightly.

That earned a tiny laugh. “True.”

Carina glanced over at her. “You’re allowed to miss her. You’re also allowed to have something for yourself.”

Maya didn’t answer. Not yet.

The restaurant was cozy, intimate. Tucked on a side street in Capitol Hill, lit with warm candlelight and soft instrumental guitar humming low through the speakers. Carina had made the reservation under “DeLuca,” but the hostess smiled knowingly when they arrived—something about the way Carina held Maya’s hand.

They were seated in a quiet corner booth, tucked away from the crowd. It felt safe. Easier to breathe.

Maya watched as Carina ordered in fluent Italian, the syllables soft and musical. She didn’t even try to pretend she understood.

“Okay, tell me that wasn’t a Harry Potter spell,” Maya teased once the waiter walked away.

Carina laughed. “I asked for bruschetta and cacio e pepe.”

“Uh-huh. That still sounds suspicious.”

“You’ll thank me when you taste it.”

The warmth between them flickered gently. Carina looked at her like she was learning a new language—slowly, with patience, and the promise of fluency.

They ordered drinks—sparkling water for Maya, a glass of red for Carina. The waiter left, and for a few beats, they just sat there in silence.

Carina finally spoke. “So… did I pass the babysitter interview?”

Maya smiled, albeit a little nervously. “You’re winning points.”

“And Amelia?”

“Amelia’s on probation.”

They both laughed.

Maya tucked her hair behind her ear, then traced her finger around the base of her glass. “I keep thinking I’ll screw this up.”

Carina tilted her head. “Dinner?”

“Us.”

Carina’s smile faded gently, replaced by something tender. “You haven’t.”

“I might.”

“You haven’t yet.”

Maya looked up. “You say that like you’re waiting.”

“I’m not waiting. I’m here.” Carina reached out, palm open. “And I’ll be here as long as you want me.”

“So,” Carina said around a bite. “What’s something I don’t know about you?”

Maya tilted her head. “Like a fun fact?”

Carina nodded. “Sure.”

“I used to be scared of those mall escalators. The ones that go up.”

“Why only up?”

“I thought they’d suck me in and I’d disappear into the mall void.”

Carina laughed, loud and joyful. “That’s adorable.”

“Don’t tell Jo.”

“No promises.”

Carina reached across the table and took Maya’s hand. “Your turn.”

Maya blinked. “Wait, what?”

“Ask me something.”

Maya hesitated. Then, quietly: “What made you come back? To find me, I mean.”

Carina’s expression softened. “You looked so alone. And terrified. But you still said thank you. I think that broke me.”

Maya swallowed hard. “You didn’t even know me.”

“I wanted to.”

They talked about little things too: pasta shapes (Carina insisted spaghetti was overrated), childhood snacks, and what TV shows they secretly hated. Maya found herself laughing more than she expected. And yet, even in the soft moments, something in her stayed alert.

A wrong move. A loud noise. A flash of shadow from a waiter walking past—and she jumped. Her hand trembled against the glass she reached for. Carina noticed. She didn’t say anything, just gently placed her hand over Maya’s until her breathing evened again.

“I’m sorry,” Maya murmured.

“Don’t be.” Carina’s thumb brushed hers. “You’re doing everything right.”

After dinner, they walked together under a blanket of city light. It had rained earlier; now the sidewalk shimmered beneath the lamplight like scattered stardust. Maya was quiet, her fingers interlocked with Carina’s.

“I panicked back there,” she said softly.

“I know.”

“It’s not fair to you. You shouldn’t have to…”

“Maya.” Carina stopped walking and turned toward her. “There’s no have to with you. I want to be here. Even when it’s hard.”

Maya looked down, kicking at a loose pebble. “Sometimes I feel like… I’m dragging all my baggage into your perfect life.”

“My life is far from perfect.” Carina smiled gently. “And you’re not baggage. You’re a story I want to keep reading.”

Maya’s throat closed up. She blinked quickly, looking up at the stars just to keep her tears from falling.

They came home to find Andrea asleep on the couch, Gianna resting on his chest. Amelia and Jo were eating popcorn in the kitchen, arguing over whether Baby Einstein or lullabies produced smarter babies.

“She was perfect,” Jo said, eyes still warm from watching them.

“She’s a genius,” Amelia declared, shoving another handful of popcorn into her mouth. “Definitely my influence.”

Maya let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

Later that night, Carina found Maya sitting at the edge of the bed, arms wrapped around her knees.

“Everything okay?”

Maya nodded, but her voice betrayed her. “It felt good. Being with you tonight.”

Carina stepped closer. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“But?”

Maya turned toward her, eyes glassy. “What if I can’t ever be what you need? What if I’m never… better?”

Carina knelt in front of her. “You don’t need to be better, Maya. You just need to be you.”

“And if I stay broken?”

“Then I’ll love every cracked piece,” Carina whispered.

Maya blinked. 

Carina froze.

Maya froze.

Neither of them said another word.

But when Carina crawled into bed beside her and held her gently—careful of every scar, every flinch, every unsaid thing—it felt like the answer was yes.

Carina turned on ‘The Princess Bride,’ the only thing that seemed to keep Maya from jumping about in the middle of the night. Both closed their eyes and drifted off peacefully. All that was heard was tiny snores coming over the tiny baby monitor. 

Chapter Text

July 12, 2014 

The banner over the living room read “Happy 1st Birthday, Gianna!” in shiny letters with tiny sunflowers dotting the corners-Carina’s idea, of course. The floor was scattered with crumpled tissue paper and partially assembled goodie bags. While the high chair stood by the kitchen, proudly wearing the scars of its first cake smash rehearsal. 

Maya knelt on the floor, trying to fold a stack of pastel pink napkins with one hand while keeping Gianna from gnawing on a balloon ribbon with the other. 

“No, no—Gianna, that’s not food,” she laughed, tugging the string away. Gianna squealed and took off crawling in the other direction, blonde curls bouncing as she made a beeline for her stuffed fox.

“She’s fast,” Carina said from the doorway, arms crossed, eyes soft.

“She’s a Bishop,” Maya replied with a smirk. “Speed’s in her blood.”

It had been seven months since Maya and Carina’s first date. 

One year of middle-of-the-night feedings, of exhaustion so deep it lived in their bones, of quiet touches and lingering looks and building something new from the ashes of what nearly broke them.

They shared a room now—Carina’s room, once so clean and curated, now covered in tiny socks and half-read books and a baby monitor on the nightstand. The spare bedroom had been transformed into Gianna’s nursery. Pale green walls. A mural of clouds, Carina painted in a burst of inspiration one Sunday afternoon. A framed photo of the three of them from the hospital, still tucked inside a cheap plastic frame they’d promised to replace but never had.

Their life had changed.

But with it came new pressure.

Carina had begun her OB residency. Maya had officially joined the Seattle Fire Academy. Maya had been in therapy for several months. After their first date, Carina suggested Maya speak to someone to work on all those feelings instead of keeping them inside. 

Their days rarely lined up. Sometimes Maya left for drills before the sun rose, and Carina didn’t return from a delivery until after midnight. They texted between shifts, left notes on the fridge, passed each other in sleepy hellos, and kisses pressed to foreheads.

They were making it work.

But just barely.

It started with cupcakes.

“I just needed you to pick them up,” Carina said, voice tight as she searched the kitchen for her coffee thermos. “The party is tomorrow, Maya.”

“I had drills all day,” Maya said. “I was soaked in foam for four hours, then Gianna had that diaper blowout, and—”

“I know! I had a 28-hour shift and still managed to get party favors.”

“Well, maybe you’re better at this than me!”

Silence fell. Gianna babbled from the floor.

Carina slowly turned. “That’s not what this is about.”

“Isn’t it?” Maya snapped. “Because lately it feels like no matter what I do, I’m failing at something.”

“You’re not failing. But I’m tired, Maya. We’re both exhausted, and you barely talk to me anymore.”

“I’m trying to survive, Carina.”

“So am I.”

Another silence.

Then, too softly—too real—Carina said, “It’s been months, Maya. Since you even let me touch you. I feel like I’m your roommate, not your girlfriend.”

Maya went still. Her hands clenched at her sides.

Carina saw it—the twist in her fingers, the way she pulled into herself like armor. The same way she had all those months ago in that diner.

“I didn’t mean—” Carina tried to step forward.

“I know what you meant.”

“I wasn’t saying I want— I just— I miss you. I miss us.”

Maya’s voice cracked. “Maybe I’m not the person you miss. Maybe I was just... a distraction. Someone broken you tried to fix.”

“Maya—”

“Don’t.”

She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t cry. But Carina flinched like she’d shouted.

“I think I need some space,” Maya said, already heading toward the nursery.

Gianna had started pulling herself up on the toy bin, babbling cheerfully as if she hadn’t just been caught in the storm front of two people coming apart.

Carina stood in the hallway, holding a bib Maya had dropped, not sure whether to follow or give her space.

She hated this.

She hated the way miscommunication was killing them by a thousand cuts. Hated how desperately she loved this family and how little she seemed able to do to hold it together.

Maya zipped up the diaper bag with shaking hands, her breath coming in short, uneven bursts.

Gianna, unfazed by the tension in the room, was happily chewing on the ear of her well-loved stuffed fox, her little legs kicking the edge of the playmat. Maya knelt beside her, brushing a stray curl from her daughter’s forehead and pressing a kiss to the crown of her head.

“We’ll just go for the night, okay, babygirl?” she whispered, her voice cracking at the end. “Just tonight.”

Her fingers hovered over her phone before she finally tapped out a message to Andy.

Hey. Is it okay if Gianna and I come over for the night?

The response came almost instantly.
Of course. Come whenever you need. You okay?

Maya didn’t answer the question.

A second message followed.
Vic says she’ll make cookies. We’ve got the crib set up from last time.

Another pause, and then:
Wait. Gianna’s party tomorrow? Is everything okay with Carina?

Maya’s chest tightened. She stared at the screen for a moment, the weight of that question heavier than she could carry.

We just need some space. I’ll explain later.

Three dots danced for a while before Andy replied.

Okay. You can explain when you’re ready. Just come.

Maya let out a slow breath, trying to hold herself together as she scooped up her daughter. Gianna’s head tucked neatly into her shoulder, unaware of the fracture lines threatening to split everything apart.

She grabbed the diaper bag, the stuffed fox, a change of clothes, and a blanket that still smelled like lavender and hope. With one last glance toward the closed bedroom door, Maya walked out.

Carina stood frozen in the hallway, the weight of her words hanging in the thick, strained silence. Her eyes searched Maya’s, pleading — for understanding, for forgiveness, for something she couldn’t quite name. But Maya was already backing away, her jaw clenched, her hands trembling as she adjusted Gianna on her hip.

“I didn’t mean it the way it sounded,” Carina said quickly, her voice catching. “Maya… I’m just tired and—”

“So am I,” Maya whispered, her voice barely audible.

Gianna squirmed in her arms, one chubby hand reaching toward Carina. “Tarina,” she chirped, the nickname that made Carina's heart clench and bloom all at once. “Tarina!”

Carina’s eyes filled with tears. “Amore mio…” she said softly, brushing a kiss to Gianna’s forehead before gently stepping back. “Maya, I didn’t mean to make you feel like—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Maya interrupted, though her voice cracked. “I get it.”

“No, you don’t,” Carina replied quickly, the Italian lilt in her voice trembling. “I love you, Maya. I love you. And I love her. I didn’t mean to hurt you—”

Maya’s blue eyes met brown. Her lips parted like she might respond, but no words came. Her arms tightened around her daughter, and she took another step back, retreating into her own silence.

“I love you both,” Carina repeated, softer this time, like she was trying to press the words into Maya’s skin. “Even if you don’t believe it. Even if you can’t say anything right now.”

Maya turned toward the door, hand on the knob, but hesitated.

“Tarina!” Gianna chirped again, beaming, unaware of the chaos surrounding her. “Amo, Tarina.”

Carina let out a laugh, soaked in heartbreak. “See?” she whispered. “Even she knows.”

Maya didn’t turn back, didn’t say a word — just opened the door and walked into the night.

The apartment was too quiet. Too hollow.

Carina sat on the edge of the bed, the blanket Maya always curled up in clutched tightly in her fists. The scent of baby lotion still lingered in the fabric, haunting her like a ghost. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her chest aching in a way she didn’t know was possible.

She finally picked up her phone and called Jo.

“Are you okay?” Jo’s voice came through the speaker, concerned but unsurprised.

“No. Can you come over?” Carina asked, her voice hoarse. “Bring Amelia. Please.”

Fifteen minutes later, her friends were sitting in her living room, a half-eaten pint of ice cream on the coffee table between them. Amelia had her feet on the coffee table, her posture lazy but her gaze sharp as ever.

“She left,” Carina murmured. “With Gianna. I think I broke something.”

Jo rested a gentle hand on her knee. “Tell us what happened.”

Carina ran both hands through her hair. “I made a stupid comment—during a fight. We haven’t been… intimate. At all. And I didn’t even mean it like that, but I think it came out wrong. She shut down. She thought I was going to leave.”

Amelia blinked. “Wait, that’s it?”

“I said I felt like her roommate. I didn’t mean it to be cruel. It’s just—I wanted to talk about us. I thought she was ready.”

“Carina,” Amelia said gently, “you’re brilliant. You’re kind. But right now? Sei un’idiota.”

Carina let out a broken laugh. “Thanks.”

“You’ve been walking on eggshells for months,” Jo said gently. “She’s still healing, and you’ve been patient. But Maya’s trauma—her past—she’s still stuck there sometimes. You didn’t do anything wrong. But you also have to talk about it. You’re in this, too.”

“I love her,” Carina whispered. “I love them both. I’d wait forever if I had to.”

Jo smiled sadly. “Then make sure she knows that.”

Maya sat on the couch, knees drawn to her chest, the old stuffed fox tucked under her chin. Gianna slept soundly in the travel crib, one tiny hand curled around the edge of her blanket.

Andy handed Maya a cup of tea and sat beside her while Vic flopped on the other end, munching quietly on a cookie.

“I always thought I was going to ruin this,” Maya whispered.

“You haven’t,” Andy said softly.

Maya stared at the tea. “She deserves more.”

“She deserves you,” Andy replied.

Maya hesitated, her voice barely audible. “She deserves Tarina.”

Vic’s cookie froze halfway to her mouth.

“She told me she loved me,” Maya added, breath hitching. “And I still left.”

Andy leaned forward, brows knitting. “Maya, what happened?”

Maya exhaled sharply. “We were fighting. She said we felt like roommates. And she’s right—we haven’t done anything. Not really. Not much has happened other than kissing. Every time things start to heat up, I stop her.” 

She paused, swallowing thickly. “And she always stops. She’s never once made me feel unsafe. She’s so soft with me. So patient. But I know I’m frustrating her. I can see it. And she won’t say it, but she’s tired of it.”

Vic shifted closer. “Babe. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t want you.”

“She’s never seen… all of me,” Maya said, her voice low. “The scars. Not just the ones you can see. The ones I wake up screaming from. Bryan used to hurt me when I didn’t ‘perform’ the way he wanted. I was just… a body to him. A punching bag if I said no.”

Andy winced, her eyes soft. “Maya—”

“I’m working out again. For the academy. But I see myself in the mirror, and I just… I see everything he called me. Every lie. I’m afraid that the second I let her see all of me, she’s going to decide I’m not worth it.”

“Hey,” Andy said firmly, reaching over to grab her hand. “You are worth it. You’re not what he did to you. And if Carina’s even half the woman I think she is, she’s not going anywhere.”

“But what if she wants more?” Maya whispered.

“Then talk to her,” Andy replied. “Tell her what’s going on. And if you’re not ready, say that. But if you do want to get there eventually, maybe think about what makes you feel safest. Maybe being on top would help you feel more in control. You set the pace. You decide.”

Maya blinked at her, surprised. “You really think—”

“I think you’ve been trying to survive your whole life. It’s time you learn how to live. With someone who actually sees you.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 17

Andy and Vic’s apartment was quiet. 

Too quiet.

The only sounds were the soft creaks of Andy’s old couch beneath Maya’s shifting weight and the distant hum of Seattle traffic outside. She had tried to sleep, but her mind wouldn’t stop playing the argument over and over like a scratched vinyl record.

Gianna was fast asleep in the portable crib in Andy’s room, her little hand curled around her favorite stuffed fox, which Tia had given to her mommy all those months ago. Maya had stood over the crib for nearly twenty minutes before finally forcing herself to the pullout couch in the living room. 

Her phone buzzed.

She sat up, heart racing. She fumbled for the device, expecting… she didn’t know what. A message from Andy’s shift partner? A check-in from Amelia?

But it was Carina.

Would it be better if I didn’t come tomorrow? I don’t want to ruin Gianna’s birthday. You deserve to be surrounded by people who you love and love your daughter.

Maya’s breath caught in her throat. Panic surged like a wave. No. No, no, no. That wasn’t what she wanted at all. But before she could type a response, her fingers froze. Her chest tightened. The words blurred. How could she say what she wanted — needed — when she didn’t know what Carina wanted anymore? 

So she set the phone down and clutched one of Gianna’s bibs to her chest, her breath shallow and uneven.

She didn’t even realize she had fallen asleep until the faint light of early morning peeked through the blinds. She jolted upright, heart pounding. The phone was still in her hand — the message unanswered. It was 5:30 in the morning. 

“Oh no,” she breathed, already scrambling to her feet.

She padded toward Andy’s room and gently knocked.

“Mmh?” came the groggy response.

“Andy… I need to go,” Maya whispered. “Just for a little while. Can you stay with Gianna?”

Andy sat up slowly, blinking. “What? Why? Is everything okay?”

Maya didn’t answer at first, just wrapped her arms around her torso. “I… I think I broke her.”

Andy stared at her for a beat, then nodded. “Yeah. Go.”

Maya didn’t wait for anything else. She threw on the jeans from the night before and pulled her hoodie tight around her, bolting down the stairs and out into the misty morning.

The apartment door was locked.

Maya’s fingers trembled as they touched the handle, and a pit formed in her stomach — the kind of instinctual dread that clung to old wounds and whispered worst-case scenarios into every step forward.

Inside, the apartment was dim. Too still. The kind of quiet that doesn’t come from peace — but from absence. Or endings.

She stepped in slowly, eyes scanning the familiar space until they landed on something by the door.

A bag.

Half-zipped. Not stuffed with essentials — but enough. A change of clothes. A phone charger. A crumpled photo strip from the Grey Sloan vending machine booth — one of the first pictures Maya had taken with Gianna. Carina must’ve slipped it into the outer pocket.

It was packed just enough to leave.

Maya’s breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t answered the text. She’d left Carina alone after the worst fight they’d ever had — after walking out. She hadn’t even realized what silence might sound like to someone who’d always shown up for her.

She made her way toward the bedroom, heart pounding.

The door was cracked open. Inside, the pale early morning light spilled across the sheets like a ghost of what used to be. Carina lay curled on her side — their side — knees to her chest, one hand gripping the pillow Maya used to sleep on.

Her shoulders were shaking.

Maya froze in the doorway, the image slicing straight through her.

“Carina…” Her voice came out hoarse.

No answer — just the sound of broken, silent sobs against cotton sheets.

“Carina,” she said again, barely louder, as if anything more would shatter the room further.

Carina flinched.

“I saw your message,” Maya whispered. “I… I wanted to answer. I swear. I was going to. I just—” Her voice cracked. “I panicked.”

Carina sat up slowly, the pillow falling from her arms. Her eyes were bloodshot, lashes clumped from dried tears. Her mouth opened, then closed again — she looked so tired. Not just physically, but soul-tired.

“I thought you left for good,” she said. “That I pushed too far. That maybe you realized you were better off without me.”

Maya’s face crumpled. “You’re the only thing that makes me feel safe. And I left you crying alone in the home you invited me into.”

“You didn’t answer, Maya. Not for hours. I just— I thought I was right that you regretted all of it. Letting me in. Letting me love her.”

Maya took a shaky step closer. “I regret nothing about you. Or her.”

Carina’s eyes flicked to the bag by the door. “I didn’t want to leave. I just didn’t want to stay if you didn’t want me anymore.”

A deep sob clawed its way out of Maya’s chest. “You thought I didn’t want you?”

“I had to ask if you even wanted me at the birthday party,” Carina said softly, bitterly. “And you didn’t respond.”

“I didn’t know how,” Maya whispered. “I thought I broke us. I thought… I’ve ruined every good thing I’ve ever had. Every person who’s loved me has walked away— or hurt me. But not you. Never you.”

She reached out, trembling. “Please don’t go. Gianna’s party — she wouldn’t want her Tarina to miss it.”

Carina’s breath hitched, her gaze softening instantly at the sound of the nickname. A tremor passed through her.

“She was looking for you last night,” Maya said. “Kept crawling around Andy’s room whispering ‘Tarina…’ and then ‘Amo.’”

Carina’s lips quivered. “She said it again?”

Maya nodded, eyes glossy. “She meant it. Just like I do.”

Carina covered her mouth for a beat, the weight of those words — of that love—crashing into her with full force. “Maya…”

“I love you,” Maya whispered. “And she does too. You’re… her Tarina. You’re our Tarina.”

Carina blinked rapidly, her whole body trembling now. “You still love me?”

Maya’s voice cracked as she nodded. “So much it scares the hell out of me.”

Carina stepped forward like she couldn’t stop herself, like the gravity between them had finally won. “You two are everything I didn’t know I needed.”

“I love you more than anything. And I’m terrified of it. Because I don’t know how to be loved the right way. I keep waiting for the pain to come. For you to walk out like he did. Or like my parents. But every time, it’s just you—quiet, steady, kind. I don’t understand how someone like you could love someone like me.”

Carina’s voice broke. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true,” Maya whispered. “You have a life, a career, a future. You didn’t plan for a broken woman and a baby who cries through the night. You deserve more than this.”

“I don’t want more than this,” Carina said, stepping forward, finally touching her. “I want you. I want her. I want mornings with bad coffee and toys on the floor. I want tantrums and teething and maybe someday, date nights that end in exhausted snoring on the couch.”

Maya laughed through a sob.

“I want the mess,” Carina said fiercely. “Because it’s our mess.”

Maya crumbled into her arms, her forehead pressed to Carina’s shoulder. “I almost let you go.”

“I wasn’t leaving,” Carina whispered, wrapping her tightly in her arms. “I was waiting for a sign that I still had a place here. And this… this is it.”

They stayed like that until the morning light was no longer soft — until the baby they both loved would need to be picked up. 

Maya tilted her face up, eyes glassy. “You’re still coming to the party, right?”

Carina smiled gently. “Only if Tarina gets the first slice of cake.”

“Deal,” Maya breathed, voice cracking from relief.

They kissed softly — not rushed, not hungry, but lingering like two people rediscovering what home felt like.

And outside the window, the day of Gianna’s first birthday finally began.

The apartment was buzzing with quiet energy as the final touches were placed on the decorations — pastel pink balloons floated above, streamers zigzagged across the ceiling, and a homemade “Buon Compleanno Gianna!” & “Happy 1st Birthday Gianna” banners hung above the living room window in Carina’s bold handwriting. The scent of cake and lasagne filled the air, mixing with the soft hum of laughter from the gathering crowd.

Maya stood by the window, holding a wiggling, one-year-old Gianna on her hip. She wore a little pink romper with a glittery number 1 on the front and a headband she kept tugging off her head. Carina walked over and gently adjusted it back into place, earning a giggle and a stubborn “No!” from the toddler.

Maya chuckled, kissing her cheek. “You’re a menace.”

Gianna squealed and smacked her tiny palm against Maya’s mouth.

Carina laughed, eyes twinkling. “She gets that from you.”

“Excuse me,” Maya said with mock offense. “I’m a delight.”

“Sei la mia catastrofe preferita,” Carina teased softly.

Maya frowned. “I caught preferita, but not the rest.”

“It means… you’re my favorite disaster,” Carina whispered.

Before Maya could respond, the door swung open and Vic burst in, balancing cupcakes in one hand and a gift bag in the other. “I brought chaos and sugar!”

Andy followed close behind, carrying a large box wrapped in firefighter-themed paper. “We come bearing toys that will make you regret inviting us.”

Soon, the apartment filled with laughter, hugs, and affectionate teasing. Jo brought an Italian onesie that said “Mommy’s Probi,e” and Amelia, who declared herself “the fun aunt,” had gifted a toddler-sized doctor coat complete with a plastic stethoscope.

Andrew decided it was a good idea to get a huge teddy bear with a large pink bow around the neck.

“Andrea, sei matto? Quell'orsacchiotto è più grande della mia piccola fidanzata!” (Andrea, are you nuts? That teddy bear is bigger than my tiny girlfriend!)

“Non preoccuparti, sorella maggiore, Gianna lo adorerà!” (Don’t worry big sister, Gianna is going to love it!”

Carina just shook her head at her little brother and the monstrosity that was this teddy bear. 

“She's going to be bilingual and bossy,” Travis said as he adjusted a pink balloon. “Just like her moms.”

Carina’s smile faltered just slightly, but she recovered quickly.

Later, as the cake was brought out — a soft, pink strawberry creation with whipped frosting and a single candle — everyone gathered in a loose half-circle around the table in the living room. Maya held Gianna securely on her hip, the little girl squirming with giddy energy, eyes wide at the flickering light atop the cake.

Carina stood just a step behind them, hands folded in front of her, a smile frozen on her face.

She shouldn’t be in the way.

She wasn’t Mamma.

She was just the girlfriend — the one who held bottles at 2 a.m. and soothed fevers with whispered lullabies and Italian lullabies. The one Gianna called Tarina because she couldn’t say her name right. But not Mamma.

Her heart twisted.

Carina had told herself she was okay with that, that love didn’t need titles. But today, it hurt more than she expected.

Everyone began to sing, off-key and cheerfully. Maya’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper, as she rocked Gianna gently and pressed a kiss to her daughter’s head. When the song ended, Carina took a hesitant step forward, meaning to lean in and help Gianna blow out the candle… but stopped herself.

This wasn’t her place. Not really.

She started to step back — retreat to the crowd where girlfriends belonged — when Maya looked over her shoulder, brows drawing together with a puzzled expression. She reached out and caught Carina’s wrist.

“Help her,” she said simply.

Her voice was steady, but her eyes held something fragile and unspoken — like she wasn’t just asking Carina to help blow out a candle.

She was asking her to stay.

Carina blinked, startled, before nodding. Her breath caught as she leaned in beside them, their cheeks brushing. Gianna’s chubby hands reached out again, nearly smacking the flame, and both women instinctively held her back, chuckling through misty eyes.

Carina steadied Gianna’s hand with one of her own, the other resting near Maya’s elbow. “Soffia, amore,” she whispered.

Together, the three of them blew out the candle.

The room erupted in applause and laughter, but Carina barely heard it over the thundering in her chest.

She felt Maya’s fingers graze hers again — lingering, grounding.

For a fleeting second, Carina allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t just the girlfriend anymore.

But as the crowd dispersed and Maya pulled Gianna into her arms, spinning her gently around, Carina stepped back again.

She didn’t want to overstep.

She loved them both — the woman and the baby who had wrapped themselves around her heart — but she didn’t know if she would ever be allowed to call herself Mamma.

And oh, how desperately she wanted to.

The guests had all gone home, leaving soft echoes of laughter and fading music behind. The apartment was scattered with colorful ribbons, empty juice cups, and a single, half-eaten cake with tiny pink frosting roses. Maya stood at the sink, washing a stray bottle, her hands moving on autopilot while her mind replayed that moment again and again — the moment Carina had stepped back.

The candles had been lit. Everyone had gathered, clapping and singing off-key. And Carina… Carina had quietly taken a step back from where Maya was holding her daughter. She hadn’t tried to help Maya lean over or hold Gianna’s hand. She’d just faded into the background, like a guest.

And Maya had stopped her. One look. That strange, stunned look — one filled with confusion and a flicker of something else. Hurt.

Maya hadn’t said anything then. She hadn’t needed to. But now, standing in the silence of their home, she couldn’t ignore it.

She turned slowly from the sink to where Carina was folding Gianna’s new clothes at the dining table. “Why did you step back?”

Carina looked up, her brow creasing slightly. “What?”

“Earlier. The candles. Why did you step away?” Maya’s voice was quiet, almost shy, but steady. “That’s your spot too, Carina.”

Carina blinked, her breath catching in her chest. “I didn’t want to… overstep.”

Maya walked over slowly, her heart already cracking.

Carina set down the little pink onesie she’d been folding. “Maya, I love her. I love both of you more than I know how to say. But she’s not mine. Not really. I mean, she calls me ‘Tarina’ and she wraps her tiny fingers around mine and it feels like breathing again after being underwater for years, but—”

“But?”

“I’m just your girlfriend,” Carina whispered. “I didn’t carry her. I didn’t name her. And you’ve never called me her other mother. I didn’t want to assume something that… maybe isn’t mine to claim.”

The room was still.

And then Maya did something she never would have done just months ago — she dropped the walls.

“She is yours,” she whispered, walking closer until their knees brushed. “Carina, I didn’t say it because I didn’t know how. But you’re her Mamma. She already knows it. I see it when she reaches for you, when she babbles ‘Tarina’ and holds your necklace in her tiny hands. You’re in every heartbeat of this home.”

Carina’s throat bobbed as she tried not to cry.

“I love you,” Maya said, her voice trembling. “And I love that she loves you. And I want… I want you to be her Mamma. Officially. Forever.”

Tears slipped down Carina’s cheeks, and Maya leaned in to kiss one away. It wasn’t rushed or desperate — it was full of aching relief.

Their lips met in a gentle, slow burn, and suddenly, nothing else mattered but them.

Maya backed away just a little and whispered, “Can we go to bed?”

Carina nodded, gently taking her hand and leading her into their bedroom.

Carina didn’t expect anything when they walked into the bedroom.

She thought they’d crawl under the covers, maybe exchange one last kiss on the cheek, and fall asleep wrapped around each other in quiet exhaustion. The emotional weight of the party — the candles, the confession, the tears Maya had barely hidden — had settled into Carina’s bones like fog.

So when Maya stood near the bed, fidgeting with the hem of her oversized shirt, Carina reached for the lamp to turn it off.

But Maya’s voice, small and almost panicked, stopped her.

“Don’t.”

Carina turned slowly, confused. “Don’t… what?”

“Don’t turn off the light.”

A pause.

And then Maya turned to her with wide, uncertain eyes. “Unless… unless you don’t want to see me.”

The words hung between them like shattered glass.

Carina’s heart cracked open. “Maya—”

“I just thought…” Maya’s hands twisted the fabric of her shirt tighter, like it might hold her together. “I thought maybe you didn’t want to tonight. Which is fine. It’s totally fine. We’re tired, and it’s been a long day and—”

“Maya,” Carina whispered, stepping toward her. “No.”

Maya bit her lip, the spiral already spinning. “I’m not what I used to be. I have scars and stretch marks and… I’m not even sure I’m okay, you know? And I know it’s been a year and we haven’t—really done anything, and maybe that’s too long and maybe you’re just too nice to say anything but—”

Carina took her hands, firm but gentle. “Stop.”

Maya blinked.

“I didn’t try anything tonight,” Carina said, her voice trembling with truth, “because I thought you were tired. I thought you were overwhelmed and just needed sleep. I never don’t want you, Maya. Never.”

Maya looked down again, ashamed. “But you didn’t touch me.”

“I didn’t want to scare you,” Carina said, and then, softer, “I want you so much, amore mio. But only if you want to. Only if you’re ready.”

Silence.

Then Maya swallowed, her voice raw. “I don’t know how to say that I want to. I just… I need…”

Carina brushed her knuckles down Maya’s cheek. “You don’t have to say anything.”

She kissed her softly — not demanding, not even expectant. Just present.

Then she reached again for the hem of Maya’s shirt, pausing only when the blonde stiffened slightly.

“Let me see you?” Carina asked. “Only what you want to share.”

Maya hesitated, then slowly nodded. Her hands were trembling, but she let the shirt slide up, revealing a body marked with time, trauma, and motherhood.

Her arms crossed instinctively over her stomach.

Carina’s eyes didn’t waver. She stepped forward and dropped to her knees. “Il mia bellissima amore,” she murmured. “You gave life with this body. You survived with this body. I will honor every scar.”

She kissed the dip above Maya’s navel. The faded mark near her hip. The stretch of skin across her lower abdomen.

Maya was breathing heavily now, overwhelmed. But not afraid.

“Can I undress you too?” she asked, reaching for Carina’s blouse.

Carina nodded, letting her guide the buttons free with trembling fingers. Maya took in the dark lace of her bra, the smooth lines of her skin, the way Carina’s eyes never once judged her. Not when she stripped off the rest. Not when Maya hesitated again, arms wrapped around her own waist.

“I don’t know how to… ask,” Maya whispered, eyes wet. “But I think I want to… Can I…”

Carina tilted her head and smiled so gently it almost broke Maya open.

“Do you want to be on top?”

Maya gave the smallest nod. Relief — and something more — flooding her face.

Carina lay back, slowly, giving over everything with the trust Maya had never known in anyone else. And Maya, shaking but brave, climbed over her like it was a mountain she was afraid she hadn’t earned.

They kissed again — this time deeper, the hunger blooming slow and molten.

Maya hesitated before taking off her bra. Her hands went to cover the scars from the belt, the ones that traced her ribs and shoulder like ghost stories. But Carina reached up and took her hands.

“Don’t hide from me,” she whispered in Italian. “Non nasconderti da me.”

Tears slipped down Maya’s cheeks. She let the bra fall.

Carina looked up at her like she was a miracle.

Maya leaned down, pressing her lips to Carina’s jaw, her neck, the hollow of her collarbone. Every inch she kissed was a silent thank-you for staying. For loving her when she couldn’t love herself.

When Carina’s hands slid to her thighs, Maya paused.

“Tell me if you want to stop,” Carina whispered.

“I don’t.”

They moved together slowly — learning, breathing, shaking. Carina’s hands never roamed without permission. Her touch asked more than it took. She let Maya guide everything, and the moment Maya moved her hips just a little, it was Carina who gasped.

Their rhythm built softly, like waves drawn toward shore. Carina whispered encouragement in Italian — così bella, così forte, ti amo, ti amo, ti amo — and Maya clung to her like she was the only thing keeping her whole.

When Maya broke apart above her, crying her name, Carina held her tighter, burying her face in golden hair.

And afterward, when they lay tangled in the sheets, Maya curled up beside her, resting her head on Carina’s chest like she belonged there — because she did.

“I was so afraid,” Maya whispered. “That I wouldn’t be enough. That I couldn’t give you this part of me again.”

“You’re everything to me,” Carina said softly, kissing her temple. “Everything.”

And in the quiet glow of that moment, Maya finally believed it might be true.

Chapter Text

The morning light crept in slowly, painting soft gold across the walls of their bedroom. Maya stirred first, eyes blinking open to the sound of Gianna cooing softly through the baby monitor. The tiny voice was still sleepy, content in her crib. Maya’s body ached in unfamiliar ways — not from fire drills or rope rescues, but from something far more intimate. Her limbs were sore, but her chest was full. Or maybe... breaking a little.

Carina was tucked close, her arm draped over Maya’s bare waist, the warmth of her breath against Maya’s shoulder.

She didn’t move. She couldn’t.

Because if she did, it might all disappear.

She didn’t deserve to wake up like this. In a warm bed. With the woman she loved — loved asleep beside her. With her daughter safe in the next room. It was too much. Too good. Too fragile.

Carina’s fingers twitched, and then she murmured in Italian, pressing a kiss to Maya’s shoulder. “Buongiorno, amore…”

Maya swallowed thickly, blinking back tears.

“Hey,” she whispered. “You okay?”

Carina blinked at her, smiling gently. “More than okay. You?”

Maya nodded too quickly. “Yeah. I just…” Her voice cracked. “I didn’t think anyone would ever want me like that.”

The smile fell from Carina’s face. She sat up, pulling the blanket around them both. “Maya…”

“I mean it.” Maya stared at the ceiling. “You could have anyone. And last night—I just—I didn’t want to be scared anymore.”

“I know.” Carina touched her face. “I didn’t expect anything, Maya. I thought we were going to sleep. I didn’t want you to feel pressured—”

“You didn’t,” Maya cut in. “You didn’t. You were perfect. I just… sometimes I still hear him in my head. See myself through his eyes.”

Carina’s eyes welled up. “He doesn’t get to have that power anymore.”

Maya nodded slowly. “I want to be someone better. For her. For you.”

“You already are.” Carina leaned in, brushing their foreheads together. “And we’ll keep going slow. Sempre. Always.”

A cry came through the monitor.

Carina smiled and pressed a final kiss to Maya’s temple. “I’ll get her.”

6 months later 

December 2014 – Seattle Fire Academy Graduation Day

The crowd roared as the graduates of the Seattle Fire Academy threw their hats in the air. Maya stood in the middle, arms raised, a real smile on her face for the first time in what felt like forever.

Andy rushed up first, tackling her in a hug. “You did it, Bishop!”

Travis grabbed her next, shouting, “That was badass, girl!”

But her eyes were already searching the crowd. And then she saw them.

Gianna — now crawling and babbling, sporting a tiny red onesie that read “My Mommy’s a Firefighter” — sat in Carina’s arms, her fist tangled in her dark hair.

Maya rushed over, swept Gianna up, and twirled her gently. “Hi, baby. Did you see Mommy graduate?”

“Mommy!” Gianna squealed.

It wasn’t the first time she’d said it. But it still made Maya’s eyes sting.

Carina stood behind them, eyes glowing. “She was so proud of you.”

Maya leaned in, pressing a kiss to Carina’s cheek. “I’m just glad you’re both here.”

Carina touched her shoulder. “Where else would we be?”

Later that evening, after cake and hugs and team photos with Station 19, Maya pulled Andy and Vic aside and whispered, “I need your help.”

It was simple. Elegant. A vintage rose gold band with a small sapphire — understated yet timeless, something Maya thought Carina would adore. The stone glinted under the soft display lighting, and Maya’s thumb hovered over the velvet box as her heart hammered against her ribs. She could already imagine it — Carina’s fingers trembling as she slipped it on, her eyes glassy with tears, their daughter giggling with flower petals tangled in her curls.

But the moment swelled with more than just hope. Doubt trickled in like cold rain.

Andy leaned over her shoulder and whispered, “You okay?”

Maya hesitated, her voice tight. “We’ve never talked about marriage.”

Vic practically bounced beside them. “But you have talked about forever. You’re living together. You’re raising a tiny, adorable human. Come on, Maya, this is endgame.”

Maya stared down at the ring again, her voice quieter now. “Yeah, but… marriage is a big deal. And she’s Italian. Catholic. But what if she doesn’t believe in it? What if she says no?”

Andy nudged her lightly. “You’re not asking just anyone, you’re asking Carina. The woman who stayed through every panic attack, who dances with Gianna in the kitchen, who calls you amore or bambina like it’s stitched into her soul.”

“She’s never mentioned getting married, not even in passing.”

Vic softened, placing a hand on Maya’s arm. “Hey. That woman is in love with you. We’ve all seen it. You said she kissed your scars and made you feel whole again. That sounds like someone who’s already said yes — just not in words.”

Maya’s eyes welled unexpectedly, the ring blurring in her vision. “I can see it, you know? The wedding. She’s in this beautiful white dress, barefoot in a garden, maybe, or on a beach. Gianna toddling down the aisle as our little flower girl. Andy, you’re crying, standing next to me as my maid of honor. Vic, you’re filming everything and getting the angles wrong on purpose.”

Vic laughed through a sniffle. “Damn right I am.”

Andy wrapped her arm around Maya’s shoulder, grounding her. “If she’s the one — and I know she is — you’ll figure it out together. Even if it doesn’t go exactly like you pictured.”

Maya swallowed hard, nodding.

She looked at the ring again, heart thudding. “I’m gonna ask her,” she said, a little steadier this time.

Vic squealed. “Oh my God.”

Andy grinned widely. “She’s gonna say yes.”

But deep in Maya’s chest, the excitement tangled with nerves — because she knew she was ready. She just didn’t know if Carina was, too.

The dishes were finally done. The apartment, for once, was quiet.

Carina had her head on Maya’s shoulder, their fingers laced loosely on the couch while Gianna lay curled between them — asleep in her footie pajamas, one hand gripping the edge of Carina’s tank top. The night was soft, the TV flickering in the background with the low hum of a documentary neither of them was fully watching.

“I’ve been thinking,” Maya said, keeping her voice low. “About us. About the future.”

Carina turned her head just enough to look up. “Mm? What part of the future?”

“This apartment is getting smaller by the day.” Maya smiled, brushing a knuckle across Gianna’s round cheek. “Especially with all of her toys taking over.”

Carina chuckled. “You mean your daughter’s empire of chaos?”

“You’re not off the hook, you helped build it,” Maya teased gently. Then, a little quieter, “I think we should start looking. A yard. More space. Maybe even a fireplace?”

Carina’s expression softened. “You’re serious?”

Maya nodded. “Yeah. I want… a home. A real one. One where Gianna can grow up and ride her little tricycle around a backyard. One where we have more than a closet for our coats and a kitchen that doesn’t feel like a hallway.”

Carina’s lips pressed into a smile that was equal parts warmth and wonder. “That sounds beautiful.”

“I saw a little home on Parkhill recently that was for sale. I have to admit that I walked around 3 times so I could take a look at it. I can even see Gianna running in the backyard chasing a puppy. “She blushed 

“You are absolutely adorable. I’ll take a look sometime this week.”

For a while, they just sat there — watching their daughter’s chest rise and fall in sleep, their bodies curved around her like bookends. The idea of a house, of space, of forever, floated between them like a promise already made.

Later, the lights were dimmed. Gianna was still asleep between them, now holding tight to one of Carina’s fingers in her sleep. The movie played on — some romantic comedy that neither was truly invested in — and Carina leaned into Maya’s side again, her voice casual.

“I don’t believe in marriage.”

Maya blinked. “What?”

Carina didn’t pull away. “Marriage. I’ve never needed it. My parents had a terrible one. My father was erratic, my mother was loyal to a fault. They stayed together for all the wrong reasons. For appearances. For shame. But never for love.”

Maya’s throat tightened. “So… you don’t want to get married?”

Carina shook her head gently. “It’s not that I wouldn’t commit. I already have. To this. To you. To her.” She glanced at Gianna and gave a small smile. “But I don’t need a paper to prove that. I feel it every day I come home and see her crawling to greet me or watch you rock her to sleep. That’s love. That’s family.”

Maya forced a tight smile, nodding slowly. “Right. No, I get that. Totally.”

Carina didn’t seem to notice the subtle way Maya’s hand curled away from hers, how the tension in her body barely registered but still stiffened beneath the weight of unsaid things.

She had imagined it so clearly. The backyard wedding. The sun in Carina’s curls. Gianna is throwing flower petals from a tiny basket. A white dress. A kiss that sealed the life they’d already built.

But now…

That night, after Carina fell asleep with Gianna nestled on her chest, Maya got up from bed quietly. She padded across the room in bare feet, opened the back of the closet, and pulled out the small velvet box. It felt heavier than it should’ve. She didn’t even open it — just stared at the outline she’d memorized, the shape of the life she’d envisioned.

And then she slid it to the back of the shelf, behind old coats and bags they never used. Buried it.

Her heart stayed with it.

Maya, unable to deal with her feelings, picked up a 24-hour shift knowing her girlfriend had the day off to spend with Gianna. 

“I’ll be home tomorrow afternoon.”

She thought it was weird that her girlfriend would take a shift when they could all spend the day together.

“It’s fine, one of the other probies called out sick.”

Carina kissed her goodbye. “Be safe.”

Gianna patted Maya’s cheeks. “Tarina?” she asked sweetly, not understanding. 

“Tarina’s got the day off,” Maya smiled. “She’s going to take you somewhere fun.”

Carina had decided she would take Gianna to the aquarium. 

Carina had dressed Gianna in her soft blue overalls with tiny whales stitched along the pocket and a white sunhat that never stayed on her curls. She packed snacks — carrot sticks, cut strawberries, those puffed rice things the baby loved — and extra wipes, two bottles, and a backup outfit Maya always insisted she bring “just in case.”

The aquarium had always been on her list. Today felt like the perfect day for it.

Gianna squealed in delight the moment they stepped into the cool, dark entryway, her tiny hands slapping against the glass of the first exhibit. Carina laughed, crouching beside her to point at the stingrays gliding beneath the water.

“Guarda, amore. È come volano”, she whispered. Look, love. It’s like they’re flying.

Gianna babbled something incoherent and pressed her nose to the glass.

They took silly selfies in front of the jellyfish. Carina let her daughter ride on her hip most of the afternoon, even as her back started to ache. She didn’t mind. Not even for a second.

Later, they sat on a bench outside, beneath the overhang of the main atrium, and Carina fed Gianna pieces of banana while she sipped a lukewarm cappuccino from the gift shop café.

She was tired. But happy.

When they got in the car, Gianna was already nodding off in her car seat, one hand loosely curled around her stuffed fox — the same one the Station 19 crew had gifted her months ago.

Carina adjusted the mirror so she could see her daughter’s face as she drove. The sky had darkened slightly, clouds rolling in from the west, and traffic was just beginning to swell with the evening rush.

She was humming softly to the Italian lullaby she always sang at bedtime when—

The scream tore through the intersection.

A blinding flash of movement to her left.

A horn.

Brakes.

Too late.

The sound was violent. Glass exploding. Metal shearing. A force so powerful it ripped the steering wheel from her hands and flung her body sideways, the seatbelt catching hard across her chest.

Gianna.

The car spun. She couldn’t tell how many times. She tasted blood. Her head struck the side window. Something cracked — a rib, maybe more.

And then—

Silence.

For one terrifying second, Carina didn’t know if she was dead.

Then: pain. A bolt of it through her skull. Her shoulder. Her side.

She blinked.

Smoke.

The smell of burned rubber.

A woman screaming from another car.

And then the sound that shattered her more than any injury ever could.

“MAMMA!”

Gianna’s voice. Terrified. Screaming.

“MAMMAAAAA!”

Carina tried to move. Her hands wouldn’t respond. Her legs were heavy, trapped under twisted metal.

She choked on a sob. “Gianna,” she whimpered, turning her head slowly toward the backseat. “Gianna, I’m here. Amore mio—I’m here—”

But the child’s cries were panicked now, unrelenting. Screaming for her mother. Screaming for her Mamma.

And Carina — all she could do was watch.

Blood trickled into her eye. Her vision swam. Her baby was trapped in her car seat, still moving, thrashing now. She could see the fox toy gripped in her hand, the way Gianna’s legs kicked in distress.

“Maya,” she whispered. “Oh Dio… Maya…”

She wasn’t supposed to take that street. She wasn’t supposed to get hit. Gianna wasn’t supposed to see this. Carina wasn’t supposed to be powerless.

Her baby was calling for her. And Carina couldn’t move.

The pain grew sharper, crushing her ribcage with every breath. Her vision blurred.

Still, she fought to stay awake — for one more second. To make sure Gianna was still alive. To listen. To keep breathing.

Until—

“Mamma!” came Gianna’s last cry. A high, cracked sob.

And then—

Silence.

Too much silence.

“No, no, no…” Carina whispered as the world tilted sideways.

And everything went black.

Station 19: Dispatch Call – 2:14 PM

“Engine 19, respond to a multi-vehicle accident near the Aquarium Drive exit. Multiple injuries. One vehicle reported to have a child inside.”

Maya froze.

She was rinsing out a hose line, her gloves still damp, when the klaxon blared overhead. The words “Aquarium Drive” seemed to echo around her, louder than the alarm. Her heart thudded once — hard.

That was where Carina had said she was taking Gianna today.

She dropped the hose.

Andy was already sliding into the front seat of the rig when she looked back and saw Maya standing still, pale, her entire body rigid.

“You okay?” Vic asked, catching the strange look in Maya’s eyes.

Maya shook her head slowly. “That’s where they were going.”

“What?”

“The aquarium. That’s where Carina was taking Gianna. Today.”

Vic’s face fell. Andy turned in her seat, already dialing her radio mic.

They had no names. No IDs. Just “a two-vehicle collision” and “a child possibly trapped.”

But Maya was already running.

She ripped off her gloves and jumped into the back of the rig without a word. Andy didn’t question it.

The ride was a blur of sirens and Maya’s worst fears clawing at her throat. Her knee bounced uncontrollably. Her hands trembled against her bunker pants. Every second felt like a lifetime.

She kept hearing Gianna’s laugh in her head. Carina’s voice calling her amore.

And then Andy’s voice crackled through the headset — hesitant, grave.

“Maya… I just got an update from the first unit on scene. The plates match Carina’s car.”

The air left Maya’s lungs. She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.

The Porsche was crushed on the driver's side. The windshield spider-webbed, and a side panel crumpled in around the front seat.

Maya shoved through the crowd, screaming.

“CARINA!”

Jack and Travis held her back.

Andy pulled her close. “She’s alive, but she’s not waking up. Maya—stop—let us get her out.”

Gianna was still in her car seat, awake again, and sobbing. “MAMMA! MAMMA!” 

Gianna has never called her blonde mother, Mamma; she had to be referring to Carina.

Carina’s head was slumped forward, blood on her temple.

Gianna’s small hands banged on the straps, trying to reach her.

Then she screamed.

“MAMMAAAA!”

And then—

She passed back out.

Everything went black for Maya.

“No—NO! GIANNAAAA!”

Her knees hit the pavement.

The trauma unit, Owne and Teddy, was already on site, running toward the aid car. “We’ve got a toddler and an adult female. Unconscious. Possible head trauma on both. Let’s move!”

Carina’s hand slipped from Maya’s grasp as they lifted her. Her daughter’s tiny body being placed on a stretcher made her look even smaller. 

Maya stared at her girlfriend and her child. “She was supposed to say yes. She was supposed to say yes…”

Andy grabbed her. “She’s going to be okay. We’re all here.”

But Maya could already feel it — the spiral. The weight. The fear.

She was supposed to be off today.

She was supposed to be with them.

She was supposed to propose.

Now she might lose everything.

Carina was loaded into one ambulance. Gianna was being lifted into the other. 

Owen shouted, “Bishop, let’s go!” 

The sirens wailed as they raced towards Grey Sloan. 

Maya couldn’t even speak. She had no idea what was to come. Yesterday, she had everything, and today she could very well lose it all. 

Chapter Text

Chapter 19 

The flashing red and blue lights blurred against the wet December pavement. Rain streaked the windows of the aid cars, and the heavy thrum of urgency never stopped pulsing. Teddy’s voice was urgent as she barked vitals into the radio, pressing two fingers against Carina’s fading pulse.

“She’s bradycardic—pressure’s dropping again—damn it, she’s coding!”

“No, no—Carina, stay with me!” Teddy shouted, hands already on the defibrillator pads. “Charging to 200—clear!”

The ambulance jolted as Carina’s body arched on the gurney, her soaked brunette curls plastered to her forehead. The monitor beeped. Nothing.

Again.

Gianna’s ambulance rode ahead, lights slicing through the night. Maya clung to the edge of the bench seat, her hands locked around their daughter’s tiny, bloodied hand as a paramedic worked furiously. Gianna wasn’t responding to any stimuli. Her pale lips trembled, but her eyes never opened.

“Pulse is thready,” the medic murmured. “BP 72/46. She needs imaging immediately.”

“She was calling for her—Carina—she said ‘Mamma’ before—before she passed out,” Maya whispered, voice hollow and shaking. “She said it—her first time—and I wasn’t even—”

She didn’t finish. She couldn’t.

All she could do was press her forehead to Gianna’s tiny hand, brushing her thumb over the fragile fingers that had clung to her since the moment she was born.

She’s so small. So small. She shouldn’t even know what it means to scream like that.

Every second Maya wasn’t in the ambulance with Carina, her heart warred with guilt. But every breath Gianna took was a tether keeping her rooted. She couldn’t let go of her daughter. Not for anything.

She didn’t know that just one vehicle ahead, Carina’s heart had stopped for a second time.

Grey Sloan was chaos.

The trauma bay was prepped for a double intake. Two trauma teams—one for a toddler, one for a critical adult with suspected spinal and head trauma. Meredith Grey stood at the head of the ER, shouting orders with terrifying clarity. Amelia Shepherd paced just outside the trauma bay, scrub cap in her hand, her jaw tight.

Maya burst through the ER doors next to the gurney that was holding her daughter’s precious life. She held tightly to her little hand.

“She’s unresponsive! Her name is Gianna Bishop—she’s only seventeen months—she was screaming and then she just—just stopped—” Maya shouted before Owen could even get the words out. 

“We’ve got her,” a nurse said, taking control of the gurney that the trauma team was pushing. “Mom, we need you to wait—”

“No—I need to be with her!”

“You need to let us do our job!”

They disappeared behind the swinging trauma doors. For a moment, Maya’s legs buckled.

And then she heard it.

Carina.

Carina’s trauma team rushed past the opposite entrance. Blood down her face. Oxygen mask on. Spine board under her. She was a broken, unconscious mess.

And Teddy was shouting, “She coded again en route! Pupils are sluggish, BP still tanking—get her to CT stat!”

Maya couldn’t move. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t breathe.

Her knees hit the floor.

The chairs in the waiting room weren’t meant to hold this kind of pain. They weren’t built to carry a woman whose heart had just been ripped from her chest.

Maya sat silently, hunched over, her turnouts soaked with dried blood, rainwater, and vomit. Whose vomit? She wasn’t sure. She hadn’t changed. She hadn’t moved. Her hands trembled in her lap, clutching the little stuffed fox that went everywhere with Gianna.

Around her, Station 19 sat like a protective wall—Andy to her right, a hand barely resting on her knee; Jack pacing in front of her like a caged animal. Vic and Travis huddled together across from her, whispering, too afraid to speak above a murmur. Theo sat near the door, one eye on the hallway in case someone came to deliver news. Ben was trying to get updates from Miranda, but so far, she didn’t have anything to give. 

But Maya hadn’t said a word.

Not since they wheeled Carina away.

Not since Gianna was taken from her.

Not since everything fell apart.

OR 2 

“She’s crashing—again—” Teddy’s voice cracked through the sterile OR. “Get suction in here! Blood pressure’s plummeting!”

Carina’s body lay motionless on the table, her skin pale under the harsh surgical lights. Her blood had pooled along the side of her neck, soaking the surgical pads beneath her.

“Cranial swelling’s progressing,” Amelia said, voice tight behind her mask. Her gloved hands were inside Carina’s skull, delicately maneuvering. “I’ve got pressure on the dura—this is worse than the scan showed.”

“She has multiple rib fractures,” Teddy added. “Left lung was nicked by a broken rib—we’ve got a hemothorax, chest tube is in, but she’s still not stabilizing. She needs a miracle.”

Amelia didn’t flinch. “She needs time. And I’m going to buy it for her.”

She looked down at Carina, her friend—her firecracker, her resilient hurricane of a woman—and whispered, “Don’t you dare leave Maya and that baby, you hear me? Not now.”

OR 3

Arizona Robbins leaned over Gianna’s small body, her expression heartbreakingly gentle. “We’re almost done, sweetheart,” she whispered, though the toddler lay unconscious under anesthesia. “You’re going to be just fine.”

Alex Karev double-checked vitals and nodded. “Concussion is mild. Fractured wrist is set. Laceration closed. We’ll get her up to peds soon.”

Arizona glanced at the sling on the toddler’s arm, the bruises along her temple, and exhaled tightly. “That poor little girl. Screamed for her Mamma until her throat gave out. And then silence.”

Alex said nothing. He just glanced toward the clock and quietly prayed Carina made it through.

Waiting Room – Later

Maya stood.

She didn’t remember doing it.

Amelia stood before her, scrub cap off, hair frizzed around her flushed face. Blood spattered her surgical gown.

“She’s alive,” Amelia said gently. “We removed a subdural hematoma and stopped a bleed in her temporal lobe. We’ve got her in a coma to monitor intracranial pressure. The next 48 hours are… critical.”

Maya blinked. Her voice cracked like broken glass.

“Will she wake up?”

“I hope so.”

Teddy stepped forward. “We did everything we could. She’s stable—for now. You can sit with her once they transfer her.”

Maya didn’t nod. She didn’t speak.

Andy rose beside her, gently guiding her back down. “Let’s wait a little longer.”

Pediatrics – Gianna’s Room

The soft beeping of monitors echoed through the quiet room. Maya stood at the foot of the hospital crib, one hand gripping the rail so tightly her knuckles were white.

Gianna shifted beneath the thin blanket, her bandaged head nestled against the pillow. Her blonde hair was matted with blood and antiseptic, her fox clutched in her good arm.

Maya had barely blinked when the girl stirred.

“Mommy?” came the hoarse, confused whisper.

Maya’s heart shattered into a thousand pieces.

She reached over the crib railing and scooped her up, cradling her close.

“I’m here,” she whispered. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, baby.”

Gianna curled against her chest, quiet now, eyes fluttering shut again.

But not before murmuring again:

“Mamma… Tarina?”

Maya let the tears fall freely. “She’s here too, babygirl. She’s fighting. We’re all fighting.”

48 Hours Later — Grey Sloan ICU

Maya hadn’t left the room in two days. Gianna was kept for two nights for observation. One would have been sufficient, but the doctors knew that Maya didn’t want to leave her girlfriend or her child. 

She hadn’t eaten much either—just picked at cold food Amelia or Meredith left behind. The lights were dimmed low in the ICU room, but even in that soft haze, Carina looked too still. Too pale. Her skin, normally golden and glowing, was bruised around her temple and stitched beneath a gauze wrap that circled her head. Tubes ran from her body—oxygen, fluids, monitors chirping and beeping like static reminders of everything Maya was afraid to lose.

She sat slumped in the recliner beside the bed, Gianna tucked against her chest in a tiny fleece hoodie with ducks on it. The little girl had refused to be put down for longer than a few minutes, and Maya hadn’t had the heart to force her.

Gianna stirred against her, her tiny voice muffled. “Tarina?”

Maya felt her throat close up. “She’s here,” she whispered, kissing her daughter’s curls. “She’s still here.”

But Maya didn’t know for how long.

Despite the doctors’ reassurances—despite Amelia saying the brain swelling had stabilized, despite Teddy telling her the surgery went well—Carina had yet to open her eyes. Yet to speak. Yet to squeeze Maya’s hand the way she always did when she was teasing her in Italian.

And Maya was breaking apart with every second.

She’d started to count the reasons it was her fault. She should’ve been there. She should’ve said something. She shouldn’t have taken that extra shift. She shouldn’t have left her girls alone.

And when that guilt got too heavy… the anger crept in. Not at Carina, not really, but in the way she always rushed into things, always did too much, always tried to be everything to everyone. Why the hell did she leave the aquarium during the rainstorm? Why not wait till it passed?

But then the autopsy of blame unraveled—because it wasn’t Carina’s fault.

A speeding driver. Wet roads. A slick curve on the viaduct near the aquarium.

A freak accident.

Maya couldn’t scream at fate.

So she screamed at herself—silently, over and over.

Gianna shifted again in her arms, and Maya was just about to lower her back into the crib when a soft moan echoed from the hospital bed.

Maya’s head snapped up.

“Carina?” she breathed.

The monitors beeped faster.

Another low sound, lips parting.

“Tarina?” Gianna asked, louder now, as she stretched toward the bed.

Carina’s brows twitched. Her fingers curled slightly at her side.

Maya rose instantly, heart thudding, and Gianna clutched close to her chest. “Carina? Baby, I’m here. We’re here—Gianna’s here too.”

Carina groaned softly, her eyes fluttering open. Glassy, unfocused… confused.

Maya moved closer, tears brimming. “It’s okay, you’re okay. You’re safe. I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

But Carina blinked at her like she was a stranger.

Her lips cracked as she croaked: “Non… non capisco.”

Maya froze.

Her heart stopped.

“Carina?”

Carina’s expression tightened. She looked between Maya and the baby—visibly panicking. “Chi sei?” Who are you?

The air left Maya’s lungs in one single, sharp exhale.

Gianna whimpered, sensing the tension, and clutched Maya’s hoodie.

Before Maya could speak, the door burst open.

“Hey—hey, I came as soon as—” Andrea stopped in the doorway, panting from the stairs.

Carina’s head turned toward the sound.

Her eyes welled. “Andrea?” Her voice cracked in disbelief. “Dio mio… che è successo?”

Andrea crossed the room in two long strides, taking his sister’s hand. “Carina, sei in ospedale. Sei stata in un incidente. Sono qui. Stai bene. Respira piano.”

Maya took a trembling step back, a sob lodged in her throat as Gianna whimpered again.

Carina knew her brother.

But not her.

Andrea looked over at Maya with quiet devastation. “She remembers me. But not… not anything else in the last two years.”

“She doesn’t know me,” Maya whispered, more to herself than anyone. “She doesn’t know us…”

She sank onto the chair again, holding her daughter tight.

Gianna reached for the bed, confused and teary. “Mamma…”

Carina's eyes widened, then blinked slowly, eyes landing on the child with a vague softness—but no recognition.

“Chi è lei?” she asked Andrea, pointing to Gianna.

Andrea paused. Then, gently: “Lei è… la tua famiglia.” (She’s your family.)

Carina blinked, breathing shallow and uneven.

And Maya—Maya broke silently behind her eyes. Because her family had just been erased from the woman she loved.

Chapter Text

Chapter 20

The apartment was quiet. Too quiet.

The kind of silence that felt heavy instead of peaceful. The kind of silence that rang in Maya’s ears louder than sirens.

She sat at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee untouched beside her. It had long gone cold, forgotten like most things these days. The baby monitor hummed quietly, a soft static buzz that confirmed Gianna was still asleep down the hall.

She’d finally worn herself out crying.

Gianna was curled up in the crib with her arms wrapped tightly around her beloved stuffed fox — a fraying, fire-orange plush toy with a too-large head and one flopped ear that Gianna had named “Finn” months ago after watching a cartoon one afternoon. The name had stuck. Gianna clutched Finn like he was a lifeline now.

And maybe he was.

Maya’s fingers twisted together again, palms brushing, then pulling apart only to knot again — a frantic, unconscious rhythm she couldn’t stop. The skin along her knuckles was raw in some places, the motion compulsive. Familiar. Exhausting.

It had started the night Carina opened her eyes.

Because Carina had looked at her like she was a stranger.

Not the woman she kissed goodnight, or the mother of the child who adored her — just… someone. A visitor in her room. A presence without meaning.

No spark of recognition.
No smile.
No flicker of softness in those usually warm, expressive eyes.

Just confusion. Polite, guarded confusion.

And then Carina’s gaze had drifted to the small blonde girl with the wide, tearful eyes — her arms outstretched, calling over and over: "Mamma!"

Gianna’s voice had cracked with hope. With need.

And Carina had flinched.

Maya hadn’t slept since. Not really. Not in any way that counted.

Gianna had been released from the hospital after 48 hours — miraculously okay, the doctors said. Just a mild concussion, a wrist fracture, and a gash on her head that required multiple stitches. But once they came home and the chaos of the emergency had faded, it all went to hell.

Her daughter wouldn’t eat unless Maya held her.

She wouldn’t sleep unless Finn was near and Maya was within sight.

And the one person who could calm her instantly — the person Gianna called Tarina with so much joy in her tiny voice — was still in a hospital bed, across the city, not knowing either of them.

And Maya…

Maya didn’t know how much longer she could keep pretending to be okay.
To be strong.
To carry it all — the pain, her daughter, the grief for the love story that might’ve died in that wreck.

The door to the hospital room creaked softly as Maya pushed it open with one hand, Gianna cradled against her chest with the other. The lights inside were dim, and Carina sat upright in bed, her eyes scanning a tablet. Her posture stiffened when she heard them enter, and for a long beat, the room was silent except for the soft hum of hospital monitors.

Maya’s heart ached at the sight.

“Hi,” she said softly, her voice almost breaking.

Carina looked up. Her expression was polite. Distant. “Hi.”

Gianna, now one year old, squirmed in her mother’s arms. “Tarina!” she squealed excitedly, reaching toward the bed.

The name made Carina pause—just a flicker. “She… she keeps calling me that.”

Maya nodded, adjusting the toddler on her hip. “She can’t say C’s yet. It comes out as ‘Tarina.’”

“She called me ‘Mamma’ when I woke up,” Carina whispered, then quickly looked away as if the words frightened her.

Gianna continued to babble and reach for her. Carina instinctively held out her arms, and the baby immediately lunged toward her with surprising trust. Maya passed her gently into Carina’s lap.

Carina held Gianna awkwardly at first, like she was holding someone else's child. Gianna didn’t seem to notice—she curled into Carina’s chest with a happy sigh and started tugging at her necklace. Carina let out a shaky breath, one hand on the baby’s back.

“She’s been asking for you,” Maya said, her voice quieter now. “I… I didn’t know if I should keep bringing her, but she’s… she misses you. I do too.”

Carina looked down at Gianna. “I don’t remember her. I don’t remember you.”

“I know.” Maya folded her arms, twisting her fingers nervously against the hem of her hoodie. That old tic she hadn’t been able to shake had returned with a vengeance.

“I don’t even know how I ended up in a relationship that lasted more than three months,” Carina admitted bitterly. “I’ve never lived with anyone. I’ve never thought about kids.”

Maya swallowed the lump in her throat. “You did.”

A long pause.

“I’m sorry,” Carina said finally, though her voice lacked resolution. “Andrea said we were… really in love.”

“We are,” Maya whispered, barely trusting herself to say it aloud.

Gianna yawned against Carina’s shoulder, her little hand fisting in the woman’s loose hospital gown. Carina stiffened again, unsure of what to do, but eventually rested her cheek gently against Gianna’s hair.

“I—I-I’m trying,” Carina said after a moment. “But I don’t know how to be a mother to a baby I don’t remember having. I’m trying to make sense of who I am, and… this doesn’t feel like my life.”

Maya nodded, blinking rapidly to keep tears from falling. “You’re not alone. I know you don’t feel it right now, but I promise—none of this was ever supposed to fall on you all at once. I… I never expected this either.”

“I was in love with you?” Carina asked after a long silence, her voice trembling as she looked up. “Like, actually in love?”

Maya let out a breath that was half a laugh and half a sob. “Yeah. You were it for me, Carina. You still are.”

Carina blinked quickly, her eyes darting back to the baby in her arms. “She’s beautiful.”

“She’s ours,” Maya said softly, stepping forward. She crouched beside the bed, one hand brushing a blond curl from Gianna’s cheek. “You are her favorite person.”

“But I don’t remember,” Carina whispered, tears filling her eyes. “And she looks at me like I’m supposed to know her…like I’m supposed to know how to comfort her.”

“You do,” Maya said, voice tight. “You always knew.”

Another long beat. Carina didn’t respond, but she didn’t let go either.

Later that night, Maya stood to leave. Visiting hours were ending, and Gianna needed a bath and a story and her favorite lullaby — the one Carina used to hum in Italian while combing her fingers through her curls.  

But as she turned toward the door, Carina’s voice stopped her.

“Are you going to keep living in my apartment?”

Maya blinked.

Carina quickly added, “Andrea said that’s where you’ve been. With her. I just — I don’t know if I’m supposed to go back there or —”

Maya’s breath caught.

“No one’s going to make you do anything,” she said, trying to keep her voice even and the tears already welling up from falling. “It’s…it’s your home. But I can pack up. I can find something else if that’s easier for you.”

Carina’s face fell. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just –”

Maya nodded, her throat tight. “I get it. You don’t remember us. It’s okay.” 

But it wasn’t. It wasn’t okay. 

And when the door shut behind them, Maya leaned against the wall, holding her sleeping child, and closed her eyes, struggling to breathe.  

Back at Carina’s apartment, Maya had given Gianna a quick bath, not having the motivation to do all the extras tonight. 

She stared at her sleeping toddler, her hand wrapped around the edge of the crib. Gianna’s lashes fluttered. Hopefully, she was having good dreams because her mother was living a nightmare. 

“I don’t know what to do,” Maya whispered. “I can’t make her remember, or make her love us again. I’m so tired.” She bent down to kiss her daughter’s tiny forehead, careful to avoid the still-healing wound. 

“Maybe we could stay with Tia Andy, and Vic until I can find us a place to live.” She whispered into the quiet room. 

Chapter Text

The hospital room was too bright, too sterile, and far too quiet. 

Carina sat propped against the pillows, her arms crossed tightly across her chest. The window across from her showed a rare patch of blue sky, but it did nothing to lift the heaviness pressing down on her chest. 

“Discharge papers are almost ready,” the nurse, Rachel, had said with a too-cheery smile. “You’ll be good to go home shortly.”

Home

The word rolled around in her head. She wasn’t going back to the apartment that she shared with her girlfriend and their daughter. No. That place felt like someone else’s life — some stranger who had loved fiercely and built a family without Carina even knowing. She was supposed to be going home to her empty apartment. The one she bought with her own money, and thought about getting a cat. 

Andrea sat in the corner of the room, chewing the inside of his cheek, shifting uncomfortably every few seconds.

“So,” he finally said. “You sure you don’t want to stay with me for a few days?”

Carina sighed and turned to look at him, the lines around her eyes tight. “No, I’m not staying with you. I want to go home. My home. My apartment.” Her voice was clipped, and even she could hear the coldness in it.

Andrea frowned. “That’s not what—Carina, that’s not just your place anymore. Maya and Gianna—”

“Stop,” she said firmly, holding up a hand. “Please.”

He threw his hands in the air. “You can’t just pretend they don’t exist.”

“I’m not pretending,” she snapped. “I just… I don’t remember them, Andrea. I don’t remember being in love, I don’t remember a baby, and I certainly don’t remember planning a life with a woman I apparently didn’t even marry.”

There was a long silence, broken only by the beep of her heart monitor. Andrea rubbed a hand over his face.

“She loves you so much, you know,” he said, quieter now. “She looks at you like you’re her whole world.”

“I know,” Carina murmured, eyes flicking to the baby blanket folded on the side table—the one that smelled faintly of vanilla and baby lotion. “And that’s the problem.”

He didn’t answer.

A knock on the door interrupted the tension like a crack of thunder. Amelia Shepherd strolled in, her coat slightly askew, curls bouncing, coffee in hand.

“Am I interrupting a sibling showdown?” she asked with a sly smile before sobering at the look on their faces. “Yikes. Okay. Neurologist hat on.”

Carina couldn’t help but crack a small smile. It was the first time she had since waking up.

Amelia moved around the room like she owned it. “Vitals are stable. Healing is slow but steady. You’ll need follow-ups, rest, and no stress.”

She paused and looked at Carina, more serious now. “But you also need to talk to Maya.”

Carina shifted uncomfortably. “Why?”

“Because you’re hurting her,” Amelia said gently but firmly. “And I know you don’t mean to. But she and that baby… they’re not just part of your past, Carina. They’re your present. Your family.”

Carina stared at her lap, fingers tightening.

“And,” Amelia added, “you two were house hunting. You were going to put an offer on that charming little craftsman on Parkhill.”

Carina’s head snapped up. “What?”

“Yeah,” Andrea muttered. “You practically cried when the backsplash tile didn’t match the natural light.”

Amelia grinned. “You were smitten. And not just with the house.”

Carina’s expression twisted. “This is too much. I feel like I’m being forced into a life I didn’t choose.”

Amelia stepped closer, her voice softer. “Maybe. But what if you did choose it? You just don’t remember. What if you gave your whole heart to that woman and that baby because they’re where your heart belongs?”

Carina didn’t have an answer.

Amelia turned to Andrea. “Give us a minute?”

He nodded, casting one last glance at his sister before stepping out.

“I don’t even understand why I’m upset,” she mumbled under her breath, her accent thick and laced with something hot and wild. 

“You don’t have to understand,” Amelia said gently, sitting on the window ledge, her eyes soft with experience. “But pushing people away just because you don’t remember loving them? That’s not protecting yourself – that’s just hurting everyone, including you. 

Carina glared. “She looked…destroyed when I mentioned wanting to return to my apartment. But it’s mine. I fought for it. It was my first step toward independence after leaving Italy.”

“And it was also the place where you built your family,” Amelia replied evenly. “Look, I’m a neurosurgeon, you know this, and I don’t want to overwhelm you. I truly believe that your memory will come back. But I do want you to know that you did everything to save and protect Maya. That woman loves you so much it’s breaking her in half. Gianna is your daughter. How she came to be is a story Maya should tell. 

Carina blinked, mouth twisting. “I’m not her mother. I don’t…I don’t do long-term relationships. Two years? That’s so unlike me. I’m a disaster at commitment.”

Amelia tilted her head. “I promise you, it was you who fell for Maya first. Maybe you were a disaster at commitment, but that woman changed something in you. You may not remember it, but we all do, and your heart still does. You’re still in there.”

“I don’t know how to be that person,” Carina whispered once they were alone. “The one everyone says I was.”

“You don’t have to be her,” Amelia said. “Just be someone who’s willing to try.”

Maya sat cross-legged on the floor, a half-packed duffel beside her. Gianna’s clothes, toys, and that damn stuffed fox—Finn—were scattered across the floor of the guest room that never quite felt like hers. There were boxes for their clothing and all of Maya’s other products. 

She twisted her fingers together until they were pale, her nervous tic fully in control.

Her phone buzzed. She didn’t want to look. Didn’t want to read another “update” or a gentle nudge from someone telling her to take care of herself. But it wasn’t that.

Amelia: Can you come to the hospital? Carina wants to talk.

Maya’s heart skipped a beat.

She looked around the room again, then grabbed her jacket and gently picked up a sleeping Gianna, strapping her into the carrier.

The ring box still sat tucked in the bottom drawer.

The house listing for the Parkhill home was still bookmarked.

But the hope… the hope had grown dimmer.

She pressed a kiss to her daughter’s hair and whispered, “Let’s go see Mamma.”

Andrea greeted Maya at the front entrance and took Gianna to hang out with Miranda and Pru. 

A knock at the hospital door startled both Amelia and Carina. Maya stepped in, awkward and guarded, her eyes flickering between the two brunettes. 

“I’ll give you two a minute,” Amelia said, slipping past Maya and squeezing her shoulder before leaving the room. 

Maya didn’t move from her spot. “You wanted to see me?”

Carina shifted in the bed, posture suddenly taut with nerves. “Yes.” Her fingers tugged at the hem of the hospital blanket. “I wanted to talk about…the apartment. 

“I–I already packed up all our stuff, I promise.”

Carina just held up her hand, “I–I don’t think it’s fair to ask you and Gianna to leave, but I also don’t think I can go back to having strangers in my home. I don’t know who I am in that space anymore.”

Maya’s throat tightened. “Right. Of course. That makes sense.”

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes before she could stop them. She looked down, hiding her face. Her hands gravitated together, twisting into knots. 

Carina’s voice cracked. “That’s not what I meant, Maya.” The blonde’s name felt strange on her tongue.

“You don’t have to explain.” Maya forced a bitter smile. “Like I said, I already packed up our stuff. We’ll find somewhere else.” 

“Hai già iniziato a fare le valigie…” Carina murmured. The words came out heavy.

Maya was still learning Italian, but that one she couldn’t quite grasp. Carina’s body language gave her an idea of what she said. 

“You don’t remember us. You don’t remember any of it. I don’t blame you, Carina. I wouldn’t want to live with a stranger either. Why would you want us to stay?”

Carina’s eyes welled. “Because I feel something every time I see you. Every time I hear Gianna cry or laugh or say ‘Tarina’ or ‘Mamma.’ That pull toward you? It hasn’t gone away.”

Maya’s voice cracked. “You think I don’t feel that too? I’m just waiting for you to say it – that we’re a burden. That this … this makes no sense for someone like you. A toddler. Me. I’ve never been good at keeping people around.”

“You’re not a burden,” Carina whispered. “I just don’t know how to do this when everything feels like a movie I’ve never seen.”

The silence between them was too full, too sharp.

Then, finally, Maya stepped forward. “We don’t have to rush anything. But we – we don’t want to leave. I don’t want to leave. I can’t lose you.”

Carina blinked rapidly. “So…we try?”

Maya’s lip trembled. “We try.”

Carina reached for her hand, tentative but sure, and for the first time since the crash, Maya let herself hope.

Chapter Text

Carina stood just inside the doorway, holding a tote bag full of discharge paperwork and new prescriptions she had no memory of ever needing. Her keys still worked, but the place didn’t feel like hers anymore. She took a step inside and was hit with the familiar scent of lavender and something warm and earthy—Maya’s shampoo, she guessed. Or maybe Gianna’s lotion. The walls were the same, the furniture unchanged, yet everything felt impossibly foreign.

She wasn’t alone.

Maya had stayed… and brought the child—their child —back home too. Carina had agreed, after a stilted conversation with Amelia and a far more heated one with Andrea, to at least try. Try not to let her confusion bleed into cruelty. Try to figure out what came next without unraveling entirely. Maya and Carina had agreed to try to understand what each other was going through. 

But nothing prepared her for the overwhelming flood of dissonance the moment she stepped into the life she was supposed to remember.

The sounds of soft humming filtered in from the back of the apartment—Maya’s voice, low and melodic, paired with the occasional squeak of a stuffed toy. Carina hovered in the hallway for a moment, clutching her bag too tightly. She wasn’t ready. She wasn’t sure she ever would be.

She moved slowly toward the living room. Finn, the little fox Maya had said was Gianna’s favorite, sat abandoned on the rug, its head tilted toward the kitchen like it had been waiting.

The toddler's bedroom was new—she didn’t remember that as anything other than a guest room. It was bright, painted a soft pastel peach, and filled with carefully chosen decorations. Large fluffy clouds on the wall. The crib had a tiny blanket draped over one corner. There were framed photos on a nearby shelf—Maya holding Gianna, both smiling like they hadn’t a care in the world.

Carina’s chest tightened.

She stepped back into the hallway and turned toward the bedroom. Her bedroom. Except now it looked lived in by two people. A sweatshirt of Maya’s was draped across the back of a chair. A framed picture of the three of them at some hospital event sat beside the lamp on the nightstand. A small box of baby hair clips rested near Carina’s hand lotion.

She sat heavily on the edge of the bed.

How had this become her life?

How could she love someone enough to share a home, a child, a bed—and not remember any of it?

Later that evening, the silence in the apartment thickened. Carina barely spoke, eyes flitting from corner to corner like the walls were closing in. Maya had made pasta, something simple and comforting, but Carina barely touched it.

Gianna, on the other hand, was pure sunshine—until it came time for sleep.

Maya had just finished her second bedtime story when Carina peeked her head in, hovering in the doorway. Gianna caught sight of her instantly.

“Mam..Tarina!” she squealed, the nickname a stubborn invention of her toddler's mouth. “Up, up!”

Maya hesitated, but Carina stepped inside, letting instinct override awkwardness. She took the baby gently, holding her as though trying to memorize the weight. Gianna buried her face in her shoulder with a soft sigh of relief.

“I think she was waiting for you,” Maya said quietly, watching the way their daughter melted into Carina’s arms like she’d been waiting all day.

Carina didn’t answer. She felt the small arms around her neck, the warmth of the little girl’s cheek, and the way Gianna whispered, “Amo” against her skin before her eyelids fluttered closed. Her heart ached in places that didn’t make sense. 

Later that night, after Gianna had finally gone down—though not without crying for her Mamma half a dozen times—Carina stood by the living room window, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. The dark Seattle skyline shimmered beyond the glass, but her reflection haunted her more than the view did. Her own eyes looked hollow. She didn’t recognize the woman staring back.

Behind her, the apartment was heavy with unspoken words.

Maya hesitated before stepping into view, her voice low. “She’s been asking for you every night,” she said softly. “Used to fall asleep curled into you. If she woke up and you weren’t there… she’d cry until you were.”

Carina closed her eyes briefly, then opened them again with a shallow breath. “I don’t… I don’t know how to be who you need me to be.”

“I’m not asking you to be anyone but yourself,” Maya said, but the strain in her voice betrayed her. “Just… be here.”

“But it’s not enough,” Carina whispered, her voice catching, “is it?”

The question cut deep, unintentionally cruel in its truth. Maya flinched.

“I thought I could do this,” Carina continued, blinking rapidly. “But being here—feeling these things I didn't know I would feel, missing memories I never made—it’s… it’s maddening. And she… that little girl—she looks at me like I’m her whole world, and I can’t remember even the first time I held her.”

Maya’s voice broke. “You were so in love with her. With us.”

“I saw the house,” Carina whispered suddenly, like it physically hurt to say it. “On your laptop. The one on Parkhill. A little blue craftsman with white trim and an overgrown garden.”

Maya nodded once. “You found it by accident on a walk. You told me that you circled the block three times just to look through the fence, and you told me you could see Gianna chasing a dog through that yard.”

Carina’s face crumpled. “I don’t even like dogs.”

“You did with her,” Maya said. “With us.”

Silence stretched, brittle and biting.

“And now?” Carina asked, eyes burning. “Is the dream gone? Or are you just waiting for me to stop being a stranger?”

Maya didn’t answer.

She didn’t have to.

The tension was thick by morning.

Gianna was fussy, crawling after Carina like she couldn’t bear even a few steps of separation. Maya, dressed and ready but not going anywhere, sat on the floor folding laundry that didn’t need to be folded again. Her movements were mechanical.

Carina stood at the kitchen counter, staring at the same coffee she hadn’t sipped in twenty minutes.

The duffel bag near the bedroom door—half-packed, half-forgotten—loomed like a threat neither of them wanted to acknowledge.

Finally, Carina broke the silence. “I know this isn’t fair to you.”

Maya glanced up.

“I’m not the woman you fell in love with anymore,” Carina continued, voice rough. “I’m just someone who wears her face and lives in her body but can’t remember how it felt to love you.”

Maya’s face twisted. “But you’re still the person I love.”

Carina exhaled, slowly. “You keep saying that, but it feels like you’re clinging to a ghost. Someone I can’t become on command.”

“I don’t want you to pretend,” Maya whispered. “I want you to find your way back. Even if it takes time. Even if we’re strangers again first.”

Carina turned away, shoulders shaking. “I hold her, and she calms down. I speak to her in Italian and she lights up like the sun. But I don’t know her, Maya. Not the way a mother should.”

Maya stood, approaching cautiously. “She knows you. She loves you.”

“I’m not her Mamma.”

“Yes,” Maya said firmly. “You are.”

Carina looked up, wounded. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because the night before the accident, you kissed me in the kitchen while she was banging on pots and pans, and you told me that loving us was the best thing you had ever done.”

Carina’s knees gave slightly, and she sat on the armrest of the couch, trembling.

Maya knelt in front of her, gently. “Let us help you remember. Let us help you fall in love again—even if it’s for the second time.”

Tears welled in Carina’s eyes.

“I’m terrified,” she whispered.

“So am I,” Maya admitted, her voice cracking. “But I’d rather be terrified with you than lose you completely.”

A soft whimper echoed from the nursery.

They both stood instinctively, moving together.

This time, when Carina reached for the door, Maya didn’t stop her. And when Carina lifted Gianna into her arms, the little girl wrapped herself around her neck like nothing had changed.

Carina’s breath hitched. “Amo,” Gianna murmured sleepily.

The sound broke something open inside her.

“I’m not ready for everything,” Carina whispered, kissing the girl’s forehead with trembling lips. “But I’m willing to try.”

Maya nodded, tears falling freely. “Then we try. Together.”

Chapter Text

Two weeks. Fourteen days since Maya had stepped inside Station 19. 

She sat at the kitchen table, Gianna on her hip and an untouched protein shake on the counter. Her clothes were half on — sneakers, jeans, and a tank top — she would change at the station. She had spoken to Andy several times, who updated her on all things Station. Pruitt Herrera had done Maya a favor by allowing her to take enough time off to take care of her family. But now it was time to get back in the swing of things. 

Maya was so overwhelmed, and now she was dealing with a toddler clinging to her neck and a girlfriend, if she could still call Carina that, who barely looked her in the eye anymore. 

Gianna whimpered, rubbing her eyes with a tiny fist, her blond hair curling from sweat and sleep. The little girl hadn’t been sleeping well. Maya could only assume it was nightmares from the accident, but she couldn’t be sure. 

‘Shh, babygirl.’ Maya whispered.

Her voice caught in her throat. She’s almost said bambina – but that was Carina’s word, not hers. 

Just then, Carina’s door creaked open. Maya had been sleeping on a blow-up bed in Gianna’s nursery. Carina looked tired. Her curls were a mess, and she wore a hoodie and leggings, the hoodie was Maya’s, but Carina didn’t notice. She blinked at them, almost unsure of what to say. 

“I didn’t mean to sleep so late,” Carina said quietly.

Maya stood and placed Gianna into her high chair. “You’re still recovering.”

Silence stretched between them like frayed rope. Tense. Ready to snap.

“I have to leave soon for my shift,” Maya added, grabbing a sippy cup with juice for Gianna. “I’m still trying to figure out who can watch her while I’m gone for 24 hours.”

“I could—” Carina started, but her voice faltered. “Actually… maybe not yet. I still—”

“It’s fine.” Maya cut in. She opened the fridge too quickly, slamming it harder than necessary. “I’ll ask Meredith or Amelia.”

Carina stepped forward. “Maya—”

“What?”

“I didn’t mean—”

“I know,” Maya said, spinning around. “You didn’t mean anything. You don’t remember anything. Trust me, I know.”

Gianna let out a confused little sound, and Maya immediately softened, brushing her fingers over the child’s curls.

“I’m trying,” Carina said, stepping closer, almost whispering. “But it’s like walking through fog. I look at her, and I feel… something. I look at you, and it’s worse. Like my body remembers, but my mind won’t cooperate.”

Maya held the fridge door handle like it might ground her. “You know, I thought we’d be looking at daycares together by now. Not… pretending you don’t know how she says your name.”

Carina looked down. “Tarina,” she said softly.

Maya’s heart caught in her throat.

“She says it often and sometimes she almost says Mamma,” Carina continued, barely louder than a breath. 

“She wants her Mamma,” Maya said, turning toward her. “But you’re not her Mamma anymore, are you?”  

That was too much. Carina’s eyes flicked upward, stung and defensive. “Don’t do that.”

“You think I want to?” Maya stepped closer, her voice breaking. “Do you know what it’s like? Watching you move through the house like a zombie, reliving the memories we created together, and the only thing you want is to wrap yourself in the person who made the rest of the world quieter—only to find her looking at you like you’re a stranger.”

Carina’s jaw clenched. “Do you think this is easy for me?”

“No!” Maya snapped. “I think you have the luxury of forgetting everything that hurts.”

“Don’t,” Carina warned.

“You forgot our daughter!” Maya cried, voice cracking. “You forgot me.”

“I didn’t choose this, Maya!” Carina shouted back. “Do you think I wanted to wake up not knowing how I got here? Not knowing why my apartment is filled with someone else’s life—why my life is suddenly about diapers and lullabies and a woman who cries in her sleep?”

Maya froze.

Carina’s breath hitched. “I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, you did,” Maya said, voice raw.

Gianna began to fuss louder now, confused and scared. Maya picked her up quickly, bouncing her gently.

“I’m sorry,” Carina whispered.

The room was spinning. The heat between them blazed into something dangerous. And yet Maya stepped forward, quickly placing Gianna on her playmat. 

“This isn’t sustainable,” she said.

“I know.”

“We can’t live like ghosts.”

Carina’s eyes filled. “I know.”

They stared at each other, breath heavy, the weight of everything unspoken rising until it burst.

“I wish I could remember,” Carina said. “Because I think—I think I loved you so much it scares me now.”

Maya couldn’t breathe.

The kiss came like a wave—unexpected, crashing. Carina stepped forward, cupping Maya’s jaw, and Maya leaned in before she could think twice.

It was soft, painful, everything Maya had ached for. Her eyes fluttered shut, lips trembling, like she could taste all the things they had been.

But Carina pulled back first. Slowly. Regret was already blooming in her eyes.

“I shouldn’t have—”

Maya turned away. “Right.”

“Maya—”

“It’s fine,” Maya said, placing Gianna back into her high chair with shaking hands. “You don’t remember, I get it.”

Tears spilled down her cheeks.

“It was just a kiss.”

“I’m sorry,” Carina whispered, more to herself than to Maya.

Maya nodded, even though she couldn’t feel her legs. “I’ll find someone to watch her.”

And then she disappeared down the hallway, not even bothering to shut the door behind her.

The apartment was still cloaked in morning shadows when Maya stumbled back out of the bathroom, still half-dressed, pale, and shaking. Her breath hitched in ragged bursts, the phone pressed to her ear with trembling fingers.

“No, I—I can’t call out again, I’ve already used my probation grace day,” she whispered, pacing in tight, frantic circles across the living room. “I can’t bring a toddler to the station!”

She paused, listening, then squeezed her eyes shut.

“Jo is on a double. Amelia’s in surgery all day. Andrea’s in class. There’s no one else, and I—I don’t know what to do. Everyone else is on shift with me!”

Behind the closed bedroom door, Carina had woken again to the sound of Maya’s muffled voice and the telltale rasp of panic winding itself through every word.

At first, she stayed still, listening with her heart pounding. It wasn’t her business. Maya hadn’t asked for her help, and she barely remembered why the desperate ache in her voice made Carina’s own chest twist so tightly.

But then she heard it—Maya gasping for air, the spiraling of breath quickening, the short sob that followed.

And Carina was on her feet.

She didn’t think. She just moved.

When she opened the door, Maya had dropped onto the couch, both hands braced on her knees as she tried to regulate her breathing. She hadn’t noticed Carina yet—hadn’t heard her come in.

“Hey,” Carina said gently, kneeling beside her. “Hey, breathe. Just breathe, bella.”

Maya startled, her head snapping up—and when she saw Carina, something in her cracked. Her lips wobbled, eyes glistening.

“I don’t have anyone,” she whispered. “And I can’t lose this job, Carina. I can’t.”

Carina’s hand came to rest instinctively on her back, just between her shoulder blades, rubbing slow, steady circles. The same pattern she’d used a dozen times before without ever remembering she had.

“You won’t,” Carina said softly. “I’ll stay with her.”

Maya blinked at her. “What?”

“I’ll stay with Gianna,” Carina repeated. “If that’s okay.”

It was the last thing Maya had expected to hear—just an hour ago, Carina said it was too soon, and yet, the only thing that made any sense. There was no trace of obligation in Carina’s eyes. Just a concern. A familiar tenderness. Something Maya couldn’t name.

She swallowed, slowly nodding. “Okay. Yeah. Just for this shift. I—thank you.”

Maya took longer than usual to get ready. She wrote a list of emergency contacts, then another with Gianna’s food preferences. She set out her favorite books, showed Carina where the extra diapers were, and where Finn usually ended up when he went missing. Her hands hovered over everything three or four times, her panic not quite dissipated.

“I’ll be gone overnight,” she said, hovering in the doorway before she left. “There’s a baby monitor. If—if she cries, she likes Finn, her little fox.”

Carina offered a small nod, watching her go.

She didn’t tell Maya about the unfamiliar ache settling in her chest.

The day was long.

Gianna was sweet, curious, energetic—but Carina still felt the emotional gap between them. The toddler cried a little when Maya didn’t return for naptime. She looked for her in every room. She called out “Mommy!” with a wobbling lip before curling into Carina’s lap out of sheer exhaustion.

Still, Carina didn’t flinch. She sat with her. Read to her. Gently braided her soft blonde hair back when it got in her eyes.

She even smiled—because this little girl was impossibly lovable.

But it wasn’t until nightfall, when the apartment had gone still, that things began to change.

A sharp cry pierced the baby monitor.

Carina startled upright in bed, heart pounding. She didn’t hesitate—just rushed down the hallway to the guest room where Gianna slept.

The little girl was thrashing in her crib, tangled in her blanket, hot tears streaking her cheeks as she screamed.

“Mamma! Mammaaa!”

Carina didn’t think. She scooped her up without hesitation, holding her against her chest, rocking her side to side.

“I’m here, piccolina. I’m here, va bene?”

Gianna hiccuped. Her small hands fisted in Carina’s shirt. “Tarina,” she sobbed. “Mamma gone.”

Carina pressed her lips to her forehead. “No, amore mio, Mommy is coming back. Just a little more sleeping, okay?” Carina didn’t seem to realize that Gianna was talking about her. 

“Mamma, stay?” she whimpered.

That hit harder than Carina expected.

“I’ll stay,” she whispered back.

She tucked Gianna into her bed—Carina’s bed—and curled around her, the tiny body fitting into her arms like they’d been made for each other. Her palm rested on Gianna’s back as she settled into sleep.

And for the first time in weeks, something clicked.

A flicker.

A memory.

She could feel the weight of Gianna curled against her like this before—many times. Her breath caught. Her heart clenched.

You’ve done this before.

Her vision blurred as she kissed the top of the little girl’s head and whispered, “Ti voglio bene, stellina.”

Maya called twice that night, and again in the morning. Not out of distrust—she trusted Carina with her life—but because she couldn’t shake the fear that everything would fall apart again. That she’d come home and find emptiness.

When Carina answered on the third call, her voice was quiet but soft.

“She’s okay,” she said. “She… had a nightmare, but she’s okay now. We’re okay.”

Maya let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

And for the first time in weeks, hope—tiny and fragile—found a place between the bruises.