Content Warning:
This chapter contains references to a mafia environment, including brief mentions of structural violence, bodies, and family dynamics tied to organized crime. While no explicit scenes are described, the context may be uncomfortable or sensitive for some readers. The narration reflects an intimate and personal perspective, shaped by memory and inherited strangeness. Reader discretion is advised.
Wenn
After the shock of the news, I don't feel capable of looking Shawn in the eyes and blurting out, "We're going to be parents… and it's twins." I think it would kill my poor fiancé and leave me a single mother of two. So I choose the most sensible option: I ask Vanessa if I can stay with her at Olivia's place. One phone call later, and all of us head there.
Olivia opens the door and welcomes us with her usual warmth. Without asking questions, she leads us to the living room and offers us tea and warm bread. Vanessa asks if we can stay the night.
Olivia speaks calmly:
"Vane, the house is small, I only have your room, but if you don't mind squeezing in together, you're always welcome," she says, locking eyes with me.
"I don't think I've had the pleasure of meeting you yet, dear."
I smile at her. She's a very kind woman.
"My name is Wenn. I'm a friend Vane met here."
Vanessa adds:
"Actually, a very good friend. In a short time, she's won my heart," she says, looking at me as if to confirm she's here for me.
Olivia sits with us in the living room, a cup of tea in her hands and that serenity that seems to wrap around everything. The light is warm, dim, and the smell of freshly baked bread mixes with the soft perfume she wears on her neck. I feel safe. Not because of the place. Because of them.
"And what happened with the place you usually live, dear?" Olivia asks, with that voice that doesn't pressure but gently invites.
I settle into the couch, cross my legs, and take a deep breath before answering.
"I live with my fiancé. Shawn. But… I don't feel ready to go back. Not yet. Not after what happened today."
Olivia looks at me attentively, without judgment. Just waiting.
"I'm pregnant," I say softly. "And today I found out it's twins."
Vanessa takes my hand, as if she knows I need it. Olivia stays silent for a moment, then sets her cup down and leans toward me.
"That's big news. And beautiful. Though I understand it's also scary."
I nod. I can't say much more. My body trembles on the inside.
"I don't want Shawn to find out like this, all at once. I don't want to overwhelm him. I don't want him to look at me with fear. Or disappointment. Or that face I can't tell if it's love or panic."
Olivia sighs, with a tenderness that feels like a blanket.
"Your fear is valid. But sometimes fear puts ideas in our heads that aren't real. I had a husband. We married young. And I was widowed when we were only forty. I never remarried. Not because I didn't want to. But because he was my home. And after losing him, I didn't know how to rebuild."
Vanessa looks at her with shining eyes. So do I.
"We always wanted children," Olivia continues. "But we never could. And even though the pain was deep, I learned that love also shows up in other forms. In friendships. In nights like this. In advice given without expecting anything in return."
She settles into the armchair, as if the memory is embracing her.
"If Shawn loves you, he won't take it badly. Not if you tell him from the heart. Not if you give him the chance to be there. To choose you. To hold you."
I stay quiet. But something inside me shifts. As if her words were a blanket covering my fear.
That night we sleep there. Olivia sets us up in Vanessa's room, with mattresses on the floor, scattered pillows, and a small lamp that bathes everything in orange. We chat. We laugh. We paint our nails like teenagers. Vanessa picks a purple shade. Melissa goes for deep red. I choose light blue, like the sky I always see in Shawn's eyes.
We talk about silly things. About deep things. About things without names. And for the first time in days, I feel light. Not because the fear is gone. But because I'm no longer alone.
Vanessa
The next day, as soon as we step through the door, we're met with a scene that stops Wenn in her tracks. Her expression says it all: furrowed brows, tense jaw, eyes scanning the mess like it's a personal offense. She doesn't say a word—but she doesn't have to. Her body speaks for her. Melissa freezes, like the air just slapped her across the face. And me… well, I laugh a little. Not because it's funny, but because I'm used to it. I grew up around mafia parties, where messes are cleaned before the police arrive and bodies are arranged like part of the furniture. So yeah, the disaster feels almost endearing.
Shawn is on the couch. He wakes up as soon as we walk in, eyes half-closed, body barely able to hold itself up. Wenn gives him that look that needs no words, and without saying anything, heads straight to the bedroom. Shawn tries to stand, wobbles, and runs after her.
Mel and I stay behind, watching the scene like it's a badly directed play. We give a faint wave to poor Shawn as he disappears down the hallway, then lower our gaze to the chaos: bottles everywhere, broken glasses, stains on the floor, guitars tossed on the couch, and a broken table.
Zane comes down from his room, very sober, followed by Maeson. They look at us like they're not sure whether to apologize or pretend nothing happened.
"What is this?" Mel asks, in full detective mode.
"Intense night," Zane replies, scratching his head.
We sigh. And without saying a word, we start cleaning—almost in sync. Like our bodies know what to do before our minds catch up. I notice they weren't expecting that, because they watch us for a second, then immediately jump in to help.
There's something sweet about the scene. Maeson hands me a trash bag, and I smile at him. We greet each other with a short but intense hug. There's tension. The good kind. The kind you feel on your skin. We're not anything yet, but something's moving between us. Something unspoken, but present.
Zane and Mel have been distant since the night she arrived. Hot and cold. They look at each other like they're into it, but neither has said a word, and I think everyone's noticed.
At one point, Mel slips on a broken bottle, and Zane catches her before she falls. He moves so fast, no one else even reacts. It's like his body is trained to save her. Or at least, that's how it felt to me—because from where I'm standing, I see everything. The way he holds her. The way she looks at him. And then they let go, like nothing happened. But I saw it. And I know that was something.
Konnor never shows up during our cleaning scene, and Maeson mentions he drank a lot last night, and when he does that, he takes a while to wake up. I get worried and decide to check on him in his room. I notice Maeson gets uncomfortable, though he doesn't say anything. I see his body tense when I mention it. I place a hand on his arm, like saying "it's okay," and leave, feeling no need to explain further.
I head to Konnor's room. I take a moment before knocking, because I don't know what kind of drunk he is, and I don't want to relive bad experiences. When I knock, I hear his half-asleep voice and he lets me in.
The room I had pictured in my mind is completely different from what I find. I expected old rock posters, piles of clothes, and lots of crumpled paper on the floor. But I only find the last one. His room looks like a repurposed library—where the librarian sleeps and makes music. There are bookshelves packed on both sides of his bed. In front, a desk with a vintage turntable. Photos and letters—presumably from friends and family—hang on the wall above the desk. And on the floor, right beneath it, there's a pile of papers with what seem to be song ideas and poems he wasn't satisfied with. Beside the desk, there's a skateboard.
Konnor is lying on a couch by the window, holding a cup of tea, still half-drunk, but okay.
I walk over slowly. Konnor, wrapped in a blanket that looks like it's always belonged to him, shifts his legs to make room for me. I sit beside him.
"Here to torture me with questions?" he murmurs, half-covering his eyes with his arm. "Keep your voice low, please… even your breathing echoes in my head."
I let out a soft laugh. He gives me a mock-annoyed look, but can't hide the smile that slips through.
"You're so dramatic."
"If you'd had what I drank last night…" he says, dragging his words slightly, still playful.
We chat for a while about nothing in particular. The weather. How much he hates cold tea. A comment about the mess in the living room. I feel comfortable, almost like time has paused between us.
"Are you really okay?" I ask, lowering my voice seriously now.
He stays quiet for a second, staring at the cup in his hands.
"Yeah, I'm okay. Thanks," he looks up and smiles softly. "Hey, is the jazz café thing in two days still happening?"
"Yeah, of course—but it's not a date," I reply immediately.
"Well, dress warm, because we're going on my motorcycle," he says, raising his eyebrows.
I just laugh and nod.
Inside, I feel the words I wanted to say fogging up between my ribs. I had planned to talk to him, to set a gentle boundary, to explain that I only see him as a friend. But something in his tired expression, in the way he seeks me out even through a hangover, stops me. Better to wait. Another day. Not today.
I leave. And find Maeson nearby. He acts like he's about to go, but I stop him.
"Can we talk?" I say.
He nods. We head up to his room.
And my heart beats like it knows something is about to change.
Maeson – That Morning
The next morning, after failing to get any sleep the night before, I decide to get up and organize documents and important things for the concert we have with the guys in a few days. I open my laptop, and time slips by quickly between contracts and agreements Leo sends me to review with the band. Sometimes I wish I could just delete this part of my schedule.
I'm completely focused until I hear the unmistakable laughter of the girls. I close the screen almost on instinct and step out of my room. I come face to face with Zane, who's staring down with a horrified expression. And I remember that last night, even though I didn't drink that much, I was definitely part of the chaos.
Flashback
Shawn, with that spark he always has, dared me to jump from the glass table straight onto the couches, like we were acrobats. I accepted without thinking—half out of pride, half out of beer.
The problem came mid-jump, when the weight gave in and the table collapsed, shattering across the floor. For a second, all of us—Konnor, Shawn, Zane, and I—stood frozen, staring at the wreckage, until the tension broke and we burst into laughter that lasted for minutes.
End of flashback
Now, looking at the aftermath with a clearer head, it's not so funny anymore. Especially when I see Wenn storm off to her room and Shawn stumbling after her. The night was supposed to help him, not make things worse.
And then there's Vane and Mel, who start cleaning up our mess without asking or saying a word. Zane and I react almost instantly, clearly not expecting that from them.
We all clean together, and honestly, the fact that they don't ask anything worries me more than it reassures me. It makes me wonder if the secrets Vane keeps about her past have something to do with this.
But then, when she asks about Konnor and decides to go talk to him, any concern is replaced by that familiar feeling of inadequacy and insecurity that always seems to follow me.
Our ambiguous situation, and her friendship with Konnor, make everything worse. Because I shouldn't feel this way. She's been clear—her affection has been for me. She's given me signs that she wants the same thing I do. And that kiss on the cheek yesterday after lunch should be all the clarity I need. But something in me always whispers, "you're not enough."
When she leaves, I keep cleaning without thinking about what I'm doing—and that, combined with broken glass, is not a good mix. Without meaning to, I pick up a shard with my bare hand and grip it too tightly, cutting my palm. Blood comes out immediately. Zane and Mel are at my side before I even realize it. They try to help, but I wave them off and head straight to the bathroom to find the first aid kit.
When I come out, I see her just as she's leaving Konnor's room. And with all my emotions tangled up, I decide it's better to talk another time. But she stops me. And—against my better judgment—I decide to listen.