The Lighthouse at the End of the World

After Hoyt attacks them, the only way Maura can sleep is wrapped in Jane’s arms. This works out well, because Jane hasn’t been able to sleep unless Maura is in hers. They fall into an unspoken routine: one of them shows up at the other’s place around bedtime, they change into pajamas, share a bottle of wine, and whisper sweet nothings until sleep overtakes them.

It’s a comforting pattern, but far from simple. Jane is stuck in an on-again, off-again relationship with a man who drifts in and out of her life as he pleases. And she’s in strict denial about what she feels for Maura. Maura, on the other hand, is terrified of being vulnerable with Jane outside the safe haven of their bedrooms—or their couches, on some nights. The medical examiner dreads the possibility of Jane breaking her heart with such blunt finality that it might never heal.

Deep down, Maura already knows there’s no recovering from this. No forgetting the feelings she harbors for her best friend, no erasing the nights spent entwined, murmuring words they would never dare speak in daylight. She knows she needs Jane—desperately, maddeningly, irrevocably. And needing her like this is the very reason she can’t sleep alone anymore.

That’s why, when Jane texts her one night to say she won’t be coming over because Casey is in town and wants to see her, it feels like the world is suddenly ending. A wave of panic and nausea grips Maura, and before she can stop it, she’s doubled over the sink, vomiting. 

Love shouldn’t feel like this, Maura thinks as she brushes her teeth. It shouldn’t feel like dying, like suffocating, like living in constant fear. Fear that at any moment, the person you’re madly in love with will hurt you again. Because it’s not a question of if —it never is with Jane. It's always when .

That evening, Maura goes home and tries to simply exist—to be, in spite of the pain. She wills herself to feel nothing, to escape the crushing ache in her chest, to retreat into a state of numbness. But she fails miserably. The pain is everywhere, sharp and unrelenting, like needles piercing her skin.

She tries not to think about Jane. She fails at this, too. Jane is all she can think about. Jane consumes her. The knowledge that Jane is with Casey right now only makes it worse. It makes her chest tighten, her eyes sting, her throat ache with the weight of unshed tears.

She wishes Jane were with her instead, wrapped up in her arms, whispering sweet nothings to chase away the darkness and lull her to sleep. But Jane isn’t there. Jane has chosen someone else. She has left her. She has abandoned her. 

Everyone abandons Maura. Always.

She should be used to it by now.

Abandoned at birth. Abandoned by her adoptive parents every time they chose something— anything —over her. Abandoned by people she trusted, by people she thought loved her. ( No one ever really loved me. )

And now, abandoned by Jane.

Maura knows she has attachment issues when it comes to Jane. She knows she should be able to live without her—breathe without her, exist without her, function without her. But she can’t.

Jane is the center of her emotional universe. Jane is everything .

Maura clings to her in a way that borders on unhealthy. And she knows it.

Maura’s attachment to Jane is not just deep—it’s consuming, all-encompassing, woven into the very fabric of her being. It’s the kind of attachment that leaves her restless when Jane isn’t near, hollow when Jane pulls away, desperate for even the smallest sign of affection or reassurance. She measures her own worth by Jane’s attention, by the nights spent tangled in each other’s arms, by the words whispered in the dark that vanish with the morning light. It’s irrational, she knows that. But logic has never been a match for the way Jane makes her feel—safe, wanted, real . And if holding onto Jane too tightly is a flaw, if needing her this much is a weakness, then Maura is helpless to fight it. Because the alternative—losing Jane—feels like ceasing to exist altogether.

Maura’s never felt like this before. No one has ever made her feel like this—not even Ian. She’s never needed someone with this kind of raw, desperate intensity, never felt that losing them would leave her not just broken, but obliterated . That without them, she wouldn’t simply grieve—she would cease . No one has ever had her like this. Not like Jane.

She’s never loved anyone this fiercely, this maddeningly. She’s never been this attached to anyone in her life. 

It hurts when Jane doesn’t choose her. It hurts when Jane proves, time and time again, that there are people more important— that Casey is more important. That he will always come first. That he will always be Jane’s priority.

Jane is Maura’s priority. And Maura wishes, desperately, that she could be Jane’s, too. But she isn’t. And it hurts .

It hurts so much that she’s rendered speechless when Jane says she won’t be coming over tonight, won’t hold her close, won’t whisper soft reassurances until sleep takes her—because she’ll be with him .

The words hit like a punch to the stomach, knocking the air from her lungs. She can almost feel the ache settle into her bones, heavy and relentless, a deep and familiar wound that never fully heals. She swallows hard, but the lump in her throat refuses to go away.

She should have known this was coming. Of course Jane would choose Casey. Of course Jane would leave her for him. That’s how it always is—Jane running after Casey, Jane fighting for him, Jane wanting him in a way she has never wanted Maura. And Maura is expected to accept it. To smile, to nod, to pretend like it doesn’t kill her inside.

But it does. It does, and it burns like hell.

Because it’s not just about tonight. It’s about every time Jane has pulled away, every time Maura has been reminded that no matter how close they are in the dark, no matter how many nights they spend wrapped up in each other, Jane will always belong to someone else when the sun rises. It’s about knowing that, right now, Jane is probably touching him the way she has touched Maura—her hands tracing paths that should be theirs , whispering words that should be hers .

The jealousy is suffocating, wrapping around her like a vice, squeezing her chest so tight she wonders if her ribs will crack under the weight of it. She wants to be the one Jane chooses. She wants to be the one Jane wants .

But she isn’t.

And that is the most unbearable pain of all.

Maura knows she should be happy for Jane. Jane is finally getting what she wants with Casey. He’s finally opening up to her, letting her in the way Jane has always hoped he would.

But Maura can’t be happy. Because she’s utterly, completely, wrecked .

She hurts in ways she never thought possible, in ways she isn’t sure a person can survive without breaking apart completely. And the worst part? She feels selfish for feeling this way.

Selfish for wanting Jane all to herself.

Selfish for being so hopelessly, helplessly attached to a woman who will never want her back—not the way Maura wants her. Not with the same desperation, the same fire, the same all-consuming ache.

Maura tries to eat and fails at that too. The expensive, sophisticated meal she prepares on autopilot tastes like nothing. She may as well be chewing on cardboard.

She isn’t hungry. Her stomach is in knots, twisted so tight that the very thought of swallowing feels unbearable. But she cooks anyway, not out of hunger, not out of necessity, but because she doesn’t know what else to do. She doesn’t know what to do with her hands, with her time, with the aching emptiness stretching inside her. Cooking has always been a comfort, a ritual, a way to regain control. But tonight, it’s meaningless. Just another failed attempt to distract herself from the one thing she cannot escape—the unbearable fact that Jane isn’t here.

She inevitably thinks of the night before—the way they had held each other, the way their bodies had fit together like a secret only they understood.

Maura loves it when Jane spoons her, when she wraps herself around her from behind, arms locked tight, as if she never intends to let go. She loves the warmth of Jane’s hands resting flat against her stomach, fingertips tracing slow, soothing circles beneath the fabric of her shirt. She loves the weight of Jane’s chin on her shoulder, the quiet intimacy of Jane’s breath ghosting against her skin, her voice low and meant only for Maura. The whispered promises. The soft, unguarded terms of endearment. Words Jane will never say in the daylight.

Maura clings to those moments. Clings to her . She loves the way they breathe each other in, as if trying to memorize the scent of skin and shampoo and something distinctly them . As if they could never get enough. As if they wanted to drown in each other, to intoxicate themselves beyond reason, to poison themselves willingly on the other’s perfume.

But Jane has let go tonight. And now she is in Casey’s arms.

The thought is pure torture .

Maura replays Jane’s message over and over again, as if searching for some hidden meaning, some sign that Jane didn’t really mean it, that she might still change her mind. But there is none. Just the cold, clinical finality of it. The words drill into her tired brain, each repetition carving deeper wounds, each syllable pounding in sync with the dull, aching rhythm of her broken heart.

She wonders what Jane is doing right now. If she’s whispering to him the way she whispers to Maura in the dark. If she’s holding him the way she holds her. If she’s loving him in all the ways Maura wishes she would love her.

The thought alone makes her sick again, a violent churn deep in her stomach, rising fast, unstoppable. She barely makes it to the sink before she’s heaving, emptying herself of whatever little food she forced down earlier. But it’s not just the food—it’s the grief, the heartbreak, the unbearable ache of knowing Jane is in his arms and not hers.

Her body shakes as she grips the counter, gasping for breath, her throat raw, her eyes burning. She closes them, willing the nausea away, but the image of Jane with Casey is burned into her mind, relentless, unforgiving. It twists inside her like a knife, and she wonders—how much more of this can she take before she completely falls apart?

She goes back to the night before once more. She can’t help it—she needs to. She craves those moments like a lifeline, like a safe haven in the middle of the storm raging inside her. She craves Jane .

She closes her eyes and lets herself slip back into the memory, desperate to drown in it, to lose herself in the whispered words of love exchanged between them. Jane’s voice, hushed and intimate, wraps around her like a lullaby. The way she had murmured "I’ve got you" , the way her fingers had traced lazy patterns against Maura’s skin, the way their breaths had mingled in the dark, slow and in sync—Maura clings to all of it.

It felt real. So real .

And yet, here she is now, alone. Jane’s arms have let her go, her whispered words replaced by silence. And Maura is left clutching at memories, longing for something that was never truly hers to begin with.

It’s almost one in the morning, and Maura moves on autopilot, reaching for the kettle, intent on making herself a cup of chamomile tea. She tells herself it might help, might soothe the frayed edges of her nerves, might lull her into some semblance of sleep. But she knows better. Nothing will help. Not tonight.

And then her phone buzzes.

The sound cuts through the silence, sharp and sudden, and she startles, her breath catching in her throat. She glances at the screen, and the moment she sees Jane’s name, her heart stutters, skipping several beats before hammering against her ribs.

For a second, she just stares .

Her fingers tremble as she reaches for the phone, as a thousand possibilities flood her mind all at once. Is Jane coming over? Has she changed her mind? Does she miss her?

She swallows hard, pulse pounding, and opens the message—praying it’s something, anything , that will make the ache in her chest a little easier to bear.

Maura exhales sharply, her grip tightening around the phone as she rereads the words, her heart tumbling into freefall.

"I can’t sleep."

"How did I ever sleep without you in my arms?"

Her vision blurs for a moment, overwhelmed by the sheer weight of it. Jane is with Casey. She should be asleep in his arms, should be content, should be forgetting all about Maura. But she isn’t. Instead, she’s reaching out, late at night, when the walls come down and the truth slips through the cracks.

Maura sways slightly where she stands, emotions warring inside her—hope, longing, resentment, love, pain . She wants to be furious, wants to throw her phone across the room and scream because this isn’t fair . Jane shouldn’t be saying these things while lying beside someone else. She shouldn’t be making Maura feel like this, like she’s still hers , like there’s still something between them, like the nights spent in each other’s arms actually meant something .

But they did .

And that’s the cruelest part of all.

Her fingers tremble as she types a response, hesitates, deletes it, and types again. She wants to demand answers, wants to ask what the hell are you doing? , wants to say don’t do this to me unless you mean it .

But in the end, all she sends back is—

"Neither can I."

Maura spends the rest of the night waiting for a reply that never comes. The silence stretches on, heavier with each passing hour, pressing down on her chest like a weight she can’t shake off.

At some point, exhaustion wins out, and she drifts into a restless sleep on the couch, curled up in the fetal position, arms wrapped around herself as if pretending Jane is there, as if willing herself to feel the warmth of an embrace that isn’t coming. But it doesn’t work. She’s cold. She’s restless. And the nightmares come—one after another, relentless and suffocating.

She dreams of Hoyt and his apprentice, of the twin scars carved into her and Jane’s flesh, of Jane’s screams ringing in her ears, of helplessness and pain and loss . Each time, she jerks awake with a gasp, heart pounding, reaching instinctively for Jane—only to find nothing but empty space. The realization guts her every time. The sharp, brutal clarity of where Jane is and who she is with slices through her like a blade.

Each time she wakes, she checks her phone, desperate for something— anything —from Jane. But the screen stays dark. The message goes unanswered. The silence is unbearable.

It isn’t until the first weak light of dawn filters through her windows that her phone finally vibrates. Sleep-addled and aching, she scrambles to read the message, her breath catching in her throat as she takes in Jane’s words:

"I couldn’t sleep a wink last night. My hands ached like crazy the whole time. I missed you so much it physically hurt. "

Maura stares at the screen, her vision swimming. Her hands shake as she traces the words with her fingertips, as if touching them could somehow make them more real.

Jane misses her. Jane hurts for her.

But she’s still withhim.

And Maura doesn’t know if that makes this better or so, so much worse.

They see each other at work that day, and they both pretend everything is fine. They fall into their usual rhythm—cases, reports, coffee runs, the effortless banter that comes as naturally as breathing. To an outsider, nothing seems amiss. But beneath the surface everything is unraveling.

Jane talks about Casey. Casually, offhandedly—like it means nothing. Like she isn’t driving a knife straight into Maura’s heart with every syllable. She mentions him in passing, in the same way she talks about a difficult case or a late-night craving for takeout, as if his presence in her life isn’t a seismic shift that threatens to destroy Maura from the inside out.

Maura nods, smiles where she’s supposed to, laughs when the moment calls for it. But she feels herself crumbling, feels every word Jane says splintering inside her like glass. Jane doesn’t realize— or maybe she does —that she is doing to Maura exactly what Casey does to her.

Promises her the world one day.

Shatters her illusions the next.

Maura wonders how much longer she can keep pretending that she’s not breaking.

That night, Jane doesn’t come.

Nor does she the night after that.

The absence stretches on, a widening chasm between them, deep and dark and unbearable. But the messages still come. Short, fleeting glimpses into Jane’s mind, sent in the quiet hours of the night when the walls she builds around herself start to crack.

"I miss you."

"I can’t stop thinking about you."

"I crave you, Maura."

Words that should mean something. Words that do mean something. And yet, Jane stays away. She chooses distance. She chooses silence between the texts, leaving Maura stranded in an agonizing limbo, caught between hope and despair, between knowing Jane wants her and knowing it’s still not enough.

Maura doesn’t know what’s worse—the nights Jane doesn’t come, or the words she sends that make Maura ache even more than the silence.

She wants to ask Jane why.

Why is she doing this? Why is she leading her on, whispering words in the dark only to leave her drowning in silence? Why does she say she misses her, that she craves her, if she’s just going to spend the night wrapped up in someone else’s arms?

Why, why, why.

The word ricochets inside Maura’s skull, relentless, unyielding. It pounds against her temples, presses against her ribs, coils like a vice around her throat. She wants to scream it at Jane, shake her until she answers, until she explains why she’s playing this cruel, torturous game.

Why is Jane hurting her like this?

Why is she making promises she cannot keep?

Why is she beating Maura’s soul black and blue with every whispered confession, every lingering touch, every aching absence?

Maura doesn’t have the answers. And she’s starting to fear that Jane doesn’t either.

Maura has always suspected that Jane may have internalized homophobia—though she has never dared to say it out loud. Not to Jane, not even to herself in the quiet moments when the truth feels too sharp to ignore. But it lingers there, unspoken, in the spaces between them.

It’s in the way Jane flinches when someone teases her about her closeness to Maura, the way she laughs it off a little too forcefully, like she’s trying to convince herself as much as everyone else that there’s nothing to it. It’s in the way she shies away from certain touches in public but clings to Maura in the safety of the dark, behind locked doors where no one can see. It’s in the way she throws herself into relationships with men—men who never truly stay, men who never truly see her—like she’s trying to prove something, like she’s trying to outrun something.

And then there are the nights. The nights when Jane holds Maura like she’s the only thing anchoring her to the world, when she whispers I need you like a confession, like a plea. The nights when she lets herself feel —but only in the quiet, only in the dark, only in the moments that can be rewritten, redefined, or forgotten come morning.

Maura has always suspected that Jane may have internalized homophobia. And if she’s right, then Maura is terrified, because it means Jane is not only fighting against them —she’s fighting against herself. And Maura doesn’t know if she can ever win against that.

On the fourth night after Jane told her Casey was in town, Maura resigns herself to another night of shivering beneath the weight of her own loneliness, of crying into the empty silence, of fighting against the sickness that rises every time she remembers Jane is in someone else’s arms. It’s becoming unbearable, this aching, this desperate, gnawing need for Jane’s touch, so visceral that it manifests in her body—twisting her stomach into knots, hollowing her out until she is nothing but raw, exposed nerve endings.

She wishes— God , how she wishes—that in the past few days Jane had so much as looked at her properly, had seen her, had noticed the dark circles smudged beneath her eyes, the way she moves like she’s carrying something impossibly heavy, the way she barely feels like herself anymore. She wishes Jane had asked her, Maura, what’s wrong? Because Maura cannot lie. Not about this. Not without her body betraying her.

If Jane only asked, Maura would have no choice but to tell her the truth.

And the truth is, she is unraveling. She is dying for an excuse to tell Jane the truth, to let it spill from her lips like blood from an open wound. Because maybe— just maybe —if Jane hears it, if Jane truly listens , she will finally understand the depth of Maura’s pain. And maybe then, she will stop breaking her like this.

On the fifth night, a Wednesday, Jane knocks on Maura’s door as if the past four nights never happened. As if there had been no absence, no silence, no agony. As if Casey had never existed. As if there had been no intermission to their nights together.

And Maura lets her in. Of course she lets her in. Because no matter how much it hurts, no matter how deeply Jane carves wounds into her heart, Maura craves her too much to ever turn her away. She would never dare deny herself this—this fleeting relief, this fragile, intoxicating illusion of belonging. She needs this. She needs Jane . She needs the warmth of Jane’s arms around her, needs to bury her face in the crook of Jane’s neck, needs to inhale her until she is lightheaded, until she is drunk on her, until she is completely, utterly lost in her.

But she does nothing. She stands still, waiting. Always waiting. Waiting for Jane to speak, waiting for her to explain, waiting for her to choose her, really choose her. Waiting for an answer that never comes, for a declaration that will never leave Jane’s lips. Waiting, and suffering, and waiting some more—because that seems to be the only thing Maura knows how to do when it comes to Jane.

Maura opens a bottle of wine for herself and hands Jane a beer. She always keeps Jane's favorite beer in her fridge, always waiting ( there's that word again: waiting ) for Jane to come over and help herself to one. She would let Jane help herself to anything of hers, to everything she has to offer and more. She would give Jane her veins, her bones, her lungs full of oxygen, her beating heart— if only Jane asked. There is no part of herself she wouldn’t willingly surrender to Jane.

She watches Jane tip the bottle back, her throat working with each slow swallow, and wonders— not for the first time —what those lips taste like. If she’d like beer better if she tasted it on Jane’s tongue. The thought is recurrent , insistent, almost intrusive, creeping in whenever Jane is near, whenever she lets herself imagine . She wonders what it would be like to kiss her—to finally close the aching, endless distance between them, to breathe Jane in and never let go. To whisper those same sweet nothings they murmur in the dark, but this time against Jane’s lips, between soft, stolen kisses. Would Jane shiver against her? Would she pull Maura closer? 

The longing is unbearable. I shouldn’t want this so much. But she does. She always does.

They get drunk on alcohol first, and then they start getting drunk on each other. It happens slowly, like a tide creeping in, like something inevitable. They lie side by side on Maura’s bed, staring at the ceiling, their bodies close enough to touch but not quite touching. The silence between them isn’t empty—it’s thick, heavy, charged with things unsaid.

Maura has traveled extensively in her life, seen wonders most people only dream of. She stood beneath the grandeur of the Sistine Chapel, tracing the brushstrokes of divinity with her eyes. And yet, it’s the plain ceiling of her bedroom that steals her breath. Not for its beauty, not for its history, but because she’s contemplating it with Jane.

They lie there for hours, submerged in a silence so profound it feels like a masterpiece of its own—beautiful and devastating all at once. Deafening. Each second that passes feels like it’s painting something between them, something fragile and fleeting, something sacred. Maura wants to reach for Jane, wants to say something, anything, but she doesn’t dare disturb the delicate balance of this moment. So she just lies there, listening to Jane breathe, feeling the weight of everything they aren’t saying press down on her chest like a stone. 

Maura wants to hold Jane, wants to be held, wants to bury herself in Jane’s warmth and pretend the past few nights never happened. But she doesn’t dare move, doesn’t dare ask. Jane has spent those nights in Casey’s arms, and that thought alone makes Maura’s stomach twist violently. It’s something she can’t push aside, something that gnaws at the edges of her sanity, something that cuts her deep— deeper and deeper the more she thinks about it.

She tries not to picture it, but the images come unbidden. Jane tangled up with him the way she’s been tangled up with her, whispering to him the same words she whispers in the dark when it’s just the two of them, holding him the way she holds Maura so tightly, so protectively, as if letting go would mean losing something vital.

Maura feels the sting of it settle in her bones, a dull ache that won’t fade. She wonders if Jane notices how rigid she’s become, if she can sense the war raging inside her. Or if Jane is simply lying there, blissfully unaware of how much damage she’s done—how much she continues to do—just by being here, just by making Maura need her even when she knows she shouldn’t.

“What do you want?” Jane asks all of a sudden, her voice low and steady.

Maura takes a moment to ponder her answer. The faint scent of Jane’s lavender perfume fills the air, intoxicating her. All she can think is how much she wants to drown in that scent, to lose herself completely. She wants to get drunk on it. She wants to get drunk on Jane. 

Finally, she manages to string together a reply. “I just want to stay in this lavender haze.” Her voice trembles, but she doesn’t stop there. “I just need this love spiral.”

There it is. She’s said it. The most dangerous word there is—the four little letters that, when strung together, form the thing she fears most, the thing she craves most.

Love.

Jane goes still beside her. Maura can feel it—the way Jane’s breath hitches, the way her body tenses, as if the word itself is a loaded gun pressed against her spine. Love. It hangs between them, heavier than the silence, heavier than the past five nights of longing and hurt and unanswered messages.

Maura wonders if Jane will pretend she didn’t hear it, if she’ll laugh it off like she always does when things get too real, too raw. But Jane doesn’t laugh. She doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. The only sound in the room is the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the nightstand, marking the agonizing seconds that stretch between them.

Maura doesn’t regret saying it. She’s been drowning in this feeling for so long, suffocating under the weight of it, and now it’s out there, exposed, fragile but unrelenting. She closes her eyes and inhales, taking Jane in like she’s the only thing keeping her alive.

She’s afraid to look at her, afraid of what she’ll see—hesitation, fear, rejection. But she’s more afraid of what she won’t see.

Love.

Because if Jane doesn’t love her back, if Jane never loves her back, Maura isn’t sure how she’s supposed to survive it.

They sleep in each other’s arms that night—Maura nestled in Jane’s embrace, her face buried in the crook of Jane’s neck, her nose lost in the dark curls. She wants to inhale Jane, and she does. She breathes in the lavender perfume until it fills her lungs, until it seems to mix with the very blood in her veins. She inhales Jane like she’s the oxygen that keeps her alive.

Maura clings to her, wrapping herself around Jane like a baby koala, convinced that if given the chance, she would never let go. It would be impossible for anything to drag her away from Jane’s arms, to keep them apart.

But come morning, Jane is gone before Maura even stirs.

And Maura is left cold—wanting, waiting, pining, yearning. 

Their nights continue, week after week, stretching into a year. But outside their bedrooms, when they’re not wrapped in each other’s arms, they pretend nothing happens behind closed doors. In the daylight, they are just Jane and Maura—partners, best friends, colleagues. They slip into their well-rehearsed roles with ease, exchanging knowing glances and practiced smiles, pretending their nights don’t exist. No one suspects a thing. No one knows about the stolen touches, the whispered confessions, the way they fall asleep tangled together only to wake up and pretend it never happened.

Maura watches Jane flirt with other people at the bar, sees her wrap an arm around Casey when he’s in town, and she smiles through it. She drinks her wine and laughs at the right moments, but inside, she aches. She is Jane’s secret. She is the thing Jane won’t name, won’t acknowledge beyond the sanctuary of Maura’s bedroom.

And yet, Maura lets it happen. Night after night, she lets Jane in. She lets Jane take what she needs—comfort, escape, warmth—without ever asking for anything in return. She lets herself be needed because it’s the only way Jane will have her.

And Maura would rather be Jane’s secret than nothing at all.

In reality, they’re more than just friends, aren’t they? So much more. They’re friends who literally sleep together almost every night, holding each other in silence. They’re friends who would die for each other, who would kill for each other. They’re friends, in love with each other—desperate, to the point that they have no idea what to do about it. So they let this, whatever this is, just be.

Jane keeps leaving before Maura even wakes up, and Maura keeps dying a little bit inside every time she’s not in Jane’s arms.

It’s messy. It’s delicate. It’s exquisitely painful. It’s borderline toxic. Yet, they keep at it because neither of them knows how to stop. Because the pull between them is stronger than reason, stronger than pride, stronger than the fear of what they’re becoming. They orbit each other like twin stars on the brink of collapse—too close to break free, too volatile to survive unscathed.

Maura tells herself she can endure it, that she can live on the scraps Jane gives her. That it’s enough. But every time Jane walks away, every time she slips back into a life Maura isn’t a part of, it feels like a fresh wound, like she’s being hollowed out inch by inch.

And then, suddenly, their embraces aren’t enough for either of them. That’s when the kisses begin.

The kisses start off soft, full of wanting and longing. They’re tentative, as if neither is certain the other wants this to happen. But they both do. Oh, they both want this so badly, so desperately, they can barely stand it.

The kisses grow more passionate, more intense, until their lips are so scarlet and swollen they are maroon. The kisses turn hungry, urgent, consuming. Their mouths move against each other with a desperation that feels like drowning and breathing all at once.

Maura clings to Jane like she’s terrified she might disappear, like she’s afraid this is all a dream and she’ll wake up alone again. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful it hurts me everywhere,” Jane whispers one night, her voice barely audible as she traces the contour of Maura’s swollen lips with the tip of her thumb. “I feel this pain in my chest when I look at you,” she confesses, her words trembling under the weight of emotion.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Maura whispers back, her voice soft, as if they’re trading the most fragile of secrets.

They’re lying on Maura’s bed, side by side, so close their eyelashes brush, the tips of their noses just barely touching.

“I don’t think I could live without this pain now, even if I tried. I don’t think I could live without looking at you. You’re in my bones. You’re in my veins. How do I ever get you out?”

Maura says nothing. The truth is, she feels the same pain Jane does—this excruciating ache that reminds her Jane is in her bones, in her veins, in every atom of her being.

Jane is everywhere.

They kiss, and kiss, and kiss.

“You’re in my bones too,” Maura whispers between breaths, “and in my veins. I feel this pain everywhere when I look at you, and I…”

She doesn’t finish the sentence. She can’t.

Instead, they keep kissing—desperately, hungrily—until their lips are so swollen, so scarlet, they’re maroon.

Afterwards, they cuddle in bed. This time, Maura’s body is half on top of Jane’s, Maura’s head resting on Jane’s chest, while the detective’s hands trace gentle circles on Maura’s back.

“He’s in town today,” Jane says suddenly, and Maura doesn’t need any more details to know exactly who she means. “He’s here just for the day. He asked to see me. I said no.” There’s a pause, and then, quietly, Jane adds, “I chose you.”

Maura doesn’t say anything. She pretends to be asleep, though her mind is anything but calm. 

Eventually, Jane falls asleep for real, her breathing soft and steady. Maura, still wide awake, careful not to disturb her, slips quietly from Jane’s arms and locks herself in the bathroom.

Once inside, she breaks.

Her body shakes uncontrollably, her sobs muffled by her hands pressed to her face. 

As the tears flow, the truth settles in: none of this is enough.

The secret meetings, the stolen moments, the fleeting sense of belonging in Jane’s arms—none of it is enough anymore. Maura has given so much of herself to this, to them, to whatever it is they’ve built between them. But it’s never enough.

Jane choosing her this one time is not enough. What if there comes another moment when Jane doesn’t choose her? What if there have been others, moments Maura didn’t see, when Jane made a different choice?

What is she doing? How can she live with this? How can she live without it ?

Maura looks at herself in the mirror, her eyes swollen, cheeks flushed from the tears that have been falling freely. She barely recognizes herself, the face before her a mixture of pain and longing. Her puffy eyes reflect the weight of everything she’s been holding in—everything she’s tried so hard not to let show.

She breathes deeply, trying to steady herself, but the heaviness in her chest won’t go away.

She goes back into the bedroom and stands at the edge of the bed, her hands trembling at her sides. For a moment, she hesitates, watching Jane sleep. She looks so peaceful, her face soft in the moonlight filtering through the curtains, completely unaware of the storm raging inside Maura.

But the ache in Maura’s chest won’t let her rest.

“Jane,” she says softly at first, her voice shaking.

Jane doesn’t stir.

“Jane,” Maura says again, louder this time, placing a hand on her shoulder and gently shaking her awake.

Jane’s eyes flutter open, drowsy and confused. “Maura?” Her voice is groggy, her brows furrowing as she sits up slightly. “What’s wrong?”

Maura takes a shaky breath, feeling the weight of the words she’s about to say pressing down on her chest. “I can’t do this anymore,” Maura says, her voice trembling but steady enough to slice through the quiet of the room.

“What do you mean?” Jane asks, though part of her already knows.

“I can’t share you with Casey anymore.” The words spill out, raw and unfiltered, each one weighted with the pain Maura has carried silently for so long.

Jane sits up, her dark curls falling messily around her face. “Maura…” she starts, but her voice falters.

“No,” Maura interrupts, her voice stronger now, a trembling edge of finality in it. “I’ve told myself this is enough. That having you for stolen hours is better than not having you at all. But it’s not. It’s not enough anymore. Tell me why I should keep choosing you when you won’t choose me.”

Jane's breath catches. Her dark eyes, usually so sharp, so sure, flicker with something Maura can’t quite place—fear, maybe. Guilt. Longing.

“I do choose you,” Jane whispers, but the words sound weak even to her own ears.

Maura exhales a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “No, Jane. You don’t. You choose me in the dark, in secret, when no one else is looking. But when it matters? When it’s daylight and the whole world is watching? You choose him .” Her voice cracks on the last word, and Jane flinches.

Jane opens her mouth, but no words come. She swallows hard, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. “Maura, I…I don’t know how,” she admits, her voice cracking. “I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to be what you need me to be.”

Maura studies her, searching for something—anything—that will make this hurt less. But all she sees is Jane, sitting there, torn apart by her own contradictions, by her own fear.

A sad smile tugs at Maura’s lips. “I never asked you to be anything but yourself, Jane.”

Jane exhales sharply, running a hand through her hair. “But what if myself isn’t enough?”

The words hang heavy between them, thick with years of unspoken truths and buried longing. Maura wants to scream that Jane has always been enough, that she has never wanted anything more than this woman in front of her. But she’s so tired. Tired of fighting for something that Jane won’t fight for, tired of being a secret, tired of the ache that has settled so deeply into her bones she fears she’ll never be rid of it.

“Then tell me,” Maura says, voice barely above a whisper, “why do you keep coming back?”

Jane looks at her like she’s on the edge of something—like she might finally say the thing Maura has been waiting to hear for so long. But then she hesitates, jaw tightening, and Maura’s heart shatters all over again.

Because she already knows the answer.

Jane keeps coming back because she can’t stay away. But she also won’t stay. Not the way Maura needs her to.

“I—I don’t know how to let you go, Maura. I don’t think I can.”

Maura closes her eyes for a moment, willing herself not to break. Not again. Not over this. But Jane’s words seep into the cracks of her already fragile heart, threatening to pull her under.

When she opens them, Jane is still sitting there, looking lost, looking scared .

“That’s not the same as choosing me,” Maura whispers. Her voice is steady, but inside, she is anything but.

“I do choose you,” Jane insists, but even she doesn’t sound convinced. “I just… I don’t know how to do it right. I don’t know how to—” She exhales sharply, frustration etched into every fiber of her being.

Maura swallows around the lump in her throat. “Loving me shouldn’t feel like something you have to figure out, Jane. It should just be .”

The silence between them stretches, thick and suffocating. Jane looks at her as if she’s about to say something, to finally give her the answer she’s been waiting for—but then, just like always, she pulls back.

And Maura knows. She knows this is what they are. A cycle of almosts and maybes, of longing and heartbreak, of love that is right there but never fully realized.

Maura needs Jane—so much it’s a physical ache, a dull, relentless pain that pulses beneath her skin. She doesn’t know how to live with it, but she also doesn’t know how to exist without it. And the terrifying truth is, she doesn’t want to. The ache is exquisite, intoxicating in its agony. It’s unhealthy, she knows. Nothing about this attachment is healthy. But she is caught in a vicious cycle she cannot break, because breaking it would mean letting Jane go—and she can’t let Jane go. She never could. She realizes then, with startling clarity, that she is doomed. She can pretend she wants out and can pretend she’s ready to put herself first. But it’s a lie. Jane will always come first. The only question that remains—the one that burns and festers inside her—is whether she will ever come first for Jane.

That is the question that haunts her, the one that lingers in the silence between them, in the spaces where Jane’s arms should be, where Jane’s words should offer reassurance but never quite do.

She knows the answer, doesn’t she? She’s always known. But knowing doesn’t make it hurt any less. It doesn’t change the fact that she will take whatever scraps Jane offers, even if it means losing pieces of herself in the process.

Because the truth is, Maura wants to be doomed. She wants this torment, this aching, desperate, all-consuming love. She wants Jane in any way she can have her, even if it’s never in the way she truly longs for.

She will always choose Jane. The question is—will Jane ever truly, fully, irrevocably choose her?

“Will you ever choose me in the daylight?” Maura asks. 

Jane's breath catches, her fingers tightening around the fabric of her shirt as if bracing herself. Her dark eyes flicker with something unreadable—guilt, hesitation, longing. Maybe all three.

"Maura..." Jane exhales, running a hand through her hair, her voice barely more than a whisper. "I do choose you."

Maura shakes her head, her throat tightening. "No," she says, her voice steadier than she feels. " Not in the dark. Not behind closed doors. Not in whispers and stolen moments." She swallows hard, willing her voice not to break. "Will you ever choose me in the daylight?" she asks again. 

The silence stretches between them, thick and suffocating. And when Jane finally looks away, Maura has her answer.

"I wish I could be what you need," Jane whispers. "But all I know right now is that I need you. Just for tonight. Please."

Maura swallows hard, her chest tightening. "And what about when morning comes?"

She doesn’t really want the answer—she’s not ready to have her heart shattered again and again in the span of minutes. But she asks anyway, because she needs Jane to see . She needs Jane to understand the damage she’s inflicting, the way she’s unraveling her piece by piece.

Jane closes her eyes for a brief moment, as if the weight of Maura’s words is too much to bear. When she opens them again, they’re filled with something raw, something desperate. “I don’t know,” she admits, voice thick with emotion. “I don’t know what happens when the morning comes.”

Maura lets out a shaky breath, her heart hammering against her ribs. “But I do,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “You leave. You always leave.”

Jane flinches, as if Maura’s words have struck her like a physical blow. “I don’t want to leave,” she insists, her hands twitching at her sides as if resisting the urge to reach out. “I just… I don’t know how to stay.”

Maura exhales sharply, feeling that familiar ache in her chest—the one that never really leaves. She wants to scream, to shake Jane, to demand that she try . But instead, she does what she always does.

She lets Jane hold her.

Just for tonight.

"I don't want to lose you," Jane murmurs between kisses, her voice raw with desperation. "Please, Maura. Don't leave me."

“I do adore you, please know that,” Maura whispers against Jane’s mouth, her tears mingling with the kiss. Her hands find Jane’s face, her thumbs brushing away the tears she hadn’t even noticed falling. Then she kisses her—not desperately, not hungrily this time, but softly, like she’s trying to tell Jane all the things she can’t say out loud.

For the rest of the night, they hold each other close, their hearts beating in sync. They don’t speak of what comes next, of the morning that will inevitably arrive. For now, all that matters is this—the warmth of their bodies pressed together, the quiet comfort of knowing they are not alone, at least not yet.

When morning finally comes, Maura leaves for work before Jane even stirs. She slips out of bed, careful not to wake Jane, who somehow still looks so at peace, as if nothing in the world could shatter her quiet slumber. But Maura’s world is already in pieces. When she steps outside, the early morning sky greets her, painted in shades of maroon—like her lips after Jane’s kisses, the lips she used to call home.

Jane wakes up a little bit after Maura’s left, with Maura’s memory all over her. The pillow beside her still smells faintly of Maura’s perfume and something uniquely hers. The sheets are warm where Maura had been, and Jane stretches her arm out, expecting to find her there, only to meet an emptiness that makes her chest ache.

It’s then she notices the faint trace of tears on the pillowcase, darkened slightly by the dim light filtering through the bedroom curtains. Her heart sinks.

She sits up quickly, the panic rising in her throat as she looks around the room. “Maura?” she calls, her voice raspy with sleep, but the silence is louder than she can bear.

Jane runs a hand through her messy curls, frustration and regret swirling within her. She should’ve stopped her. Should’ve held her tighter. Should’ve said the words Maura needed to hear. But she hadn’t.

Her phone vibrates on the nightstand, and for a moment, hope flickers in her chest. She grabs it, expecting—no, praying —for a message from Maura. But it’s not her.

She tosses the phone aside and sits back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling. She’s never been good with words and now she’s terrified she’s run out of time to find the right ones.

Maura’s memory lingers like a ghost in the room, and Jane knows it will haunt her until she does something about it.

The only problem is that she isn’t brave enough to do what she needs to do. She isn’t brave enough to go against her family and their religion. She isn’t brave enough to fight her internalized homophobia, the thing that’s been an ever-present shadow since she was a teenager and first realized she liked girls. She isn’t brave enough to choose Maura—definitely and fully—the way she desperately wants to, the way Maura deserves.

She’s always known this. She’s always been painfully aware of her own flaws, her own shortcomings. She isn’t brave enough to end things with Casey, whatever it is they have, because he’s the last fragile thread tying her to the life her mother envisioned for her: a husband, a house, kids, Sunday dinners with the family where no one whispers behind their hands about her and her sexuality. 

She’s conflicted, torn between what she truly wants and the 1950s shit her family wants from her.

She’s damned if she gives a damn what people say. But she does. She cares what her family says, what they might think of her if they knew the truth.

That’s why she can’t allow herself to have Maura—not completely. That’s why she’s confined their connection to these clandestine meetings. It’s the only way she can have Maura, even if it’s just for a few stolen hours.

What is she expecting to happen? She doesn’t know. She doesn’t care. She just knows she needs to be with Maura, even if it’s fleeting, even if it’s temporary. She needs somewhere only they know. Somewhere they can be themselves.

Jane leans forward, elbows resting on her knees, her head in her hands. Her breath feels heavy, labored, as if the weight of her own cowardice is pressing down on her chest. Maura’s scent is still on her skin, her memory alive in every corner of this room, and it burns more than it comforts.

She grips her hands tighter, nails digging into her scarred palms. She’s furious with herself. Furious because she knows she loves Maura. Loves her in a way she’s never loved anyone before. Loves her in a way that has consumed her, filled her, broken her open. But love alone isn’t enough if she can’t fight for it. If she can’t fight for her .

She lets out a shuddering breath and looks toward the empty space beside her on the bed, where Maura should be. And for the first time in a long time, Jane feels truly, utterly alone.

She doesn’t know if she’ll ever be brave enough. She doesn’t know if she has it in her to choose Maura, to choose herself, over the expectations she’s carried her whole life.

And the worst part? She knows Maura will wait for her to figure it out. Maybe not forever, but for too long.

Because if there’s one thing Maura has never been able to stop doing, it’s loving her.

And if there’s one thing Jane has never been able to stop doing, it’s breaking her heart.

Jane looks at herself in the mirror before she leaves Maura’s bedroom. The space feels hollow now, stripped of the warmth that had filled it just hours ago when Maura was still here, still in her arms, still kissing her as if she were the only thing that mattered in the world.

She leans closer to her reflection, studying herself like a stranger. Her lips are still swollen from Maura’s last kisses, so scarlet they are maroon. A bittersweet ache spreads through her chest. She wonders if her lips will ever be this shade again—this heartbreakingly beautiful color, painted by love and longing and everything they’ve shared in these hidden moments.

Her fingertips brush against her lips, tracing the phantom feeling of Maura’s touch. The thought of it being the last time terrifies her, but she knows deep down that it might be. She knows Maura deserves so much more than stolen nights and hollow promises. She knows that Maura is right to want more. 

On her way to the police station, Jane writes Maura a text: "I need you like crazy. My hands are aching again. I crave the warmth of your soft skin. That’s the only thing that can make the pain go away. I need you every day, every minute of every hour. I need the way you look at me, like I am worth something, like you see me and understand me in a way no one else ever could. I will never stop needing you."

She does not send it. 

She wonders how she got here, every cell in her body aching for Maura.

Maura’s touch.

Maura’s kisses.

Maura’s everything.

Jane tries not to think about it, but her heart is rebellious. It replays the nights she spent in Maura’s arms, the way Maura’s lips felt against hers, the soft weight of her body pressed close. Every time she closes her eyes, she sees Maura’s smile, hears her laugh, feels the ghost of her touch.

Jane stares at the screen, letting the weight of the words she wrote—and all the ones left unsaid—settle deep inside her. She can almost hear Maura’s voice, soft and certain, whispering back the things Jane aches to hear.

I love you madly.
I need you more each day.
I can’t stop thinking about you.
I am so in love with you it hurts to breathe.

Or maybe, Jane realizes, these aren’t Maura’s words at all. Maybe they’re the ones she’s too afraid to say, the ones she’s buried beneath layers of fear, guilt, and the fragile illusion she’s clinging to with Casey every time he is around.

But the truth is inescapable, undeniable.

Maura is the only one who matters.

That’s why she chose her over Casey last night.

Because no matter how hard she tries to convince herself otherwise, no matter how many times she tells herself that Casey is the safer choice—the easier choice—her heart always leads her back to Maura. Because when she closes her eyes, it’s not Casey’s touch she longs for, not his voice she craves in the dark. It’s Maura. It has always been Maura.

Because the moment she stood outside Maura’s door, her hands trembling, her heart hammering against her ribs, she knew she couldn’t stay away any longer. Knew she didn’t want to stay away. Because Maura is the only one who has ever made her feel whole, the only one who has ever seen past her armor, past her walls, and still wanted her—still loved her.

Because with Maura, she doesn’t have to pretend. She doesn’t have to be the tough cop, the fearless detective, the one who always has it together. With Maura, she can simply be . And that’s why, when it came down to a choice, there was never really a choice at all.

Last night, she chose Maura. And maybe, just maybe, she’ll find the courage to do it in the daylight, too.

She sends the text.

Maura doesn’t reply.

They see each other at work, and the world around them continues to spin as if nothing had changed. They walk past each other in the halls, exchanging polite smiles, brief hellos, and casual words, all the while pretending that nothing has shifted between them—that last night, or any of the nights before, didn’t exist at all. Jane tries to focus on her tasks, on the rhythm of the day, but every movement of Maura, every glance, every word, feels loaded with all the things they haven’t said. Maura keeps her distance too, her professional mask firmly in place, though Jane can see the faint shadows under her eyes, the way her shoulders seem a little more hunched than usual, as if the weight of their unspoken truth is pressing on her. They both go through the motions, pretending that the night they shared, the stolen moments and whispered words, were just figments of their imaginations. Yet inside, they both feel the quiet tension building, an unacknowledged storm waiting to break.

When night falls, Jane leaves without a word, slipping out without a second glance at anyone. She can’t bear the thought of going home to an empty apartment, or sleeping without Maura in her arms. She feels untethered, lost in a way she hasn’t before—like she’s forgotten how to breathe without the other woman. And now, after everything that’s happened, after the kiss that still lingers on her lips, she’s certain: she’s addicted to Maura. Completely.

She sends Maura another message: “I wish you were here. I always wish you were here.”

As soon as the words leave her fingers, she feels the weight of them settle heavily in her chest. She knows she shouldn't be saying this—not now, not after everything. But it’s the truth, raw and unfiltered, and it burns like a brand. She wants Maura here, not just for the fleeting moments they steal in private, but for every quiet moment between them. For the stillness, for the way Maura makes her feel like everything could be right, even if only for a while. The phone screen remains blank for a long moment, and Jane wonders if Maura will ever understand just how much she craves her presence.

Maura doesn’t reply to the message, but an hour later, there’s a knock at Jane’s door.

It’s soft at first, tentative, like Maura is unsure if she should even be here. But Jane knows. She always knows when it’s Maura on the other side of that door. Without thinking, she opens it, and there she is—standing in the hallway, looking just as lost as Jane feels, her face a mixture of longing and uncertainty.

Jane steps aside, letting Maura in without saying a word.

Neither of them speaks. There’s nothing to say. Not when the silence between them is so thick, so full of everything they both want but aren’t ready to admit. Maura looks at her, eyes searching for something, anything, that might reassure her. Jane just stands there, heart pounding in her chest, knowing exactly what they both need but not sure if they’re strong enough to ask for it.

Maura’s eyes flick to Jane’s hands, and she knows without asking.

“Your hands are hurting,” she murmurs, her voice unsteady under the weight of everything left unsaid.

Jane exhales slowly, her fingers flexing at her sides. “They hurt because they’ve gone too long without touching you,” she admits, her voice low but certain—like saying it out loud might make it real, might make Maura understand.

It hasn’t even been a full day since they last held each other, but it feels like a lifetime. An unbearable eternity. And Jane hopes—desperately—that Maura believes her. That she can feel the truth in every aching syllable.

Maura gently guides Jane to the couch, and they sit in silence. Without a word, she takes Jane’s scarred hands in her own and begins to massage them with the practiced tenderness of someone who knows every inch of them by heart. 

Jane has never been one to dwell on her scars. They are part of her, woven into the fabric of her body like battle wounds she refuses to let define her. But with Maura, they are different. With Maura, her scars are not just remnants of pain or symbols of survival—they are something intimate, something known.

There is a strange kind of vulnerability in the way Maura’s hands trace the ridges and valleys of the old wounds. Jane doesn’t flinch under Maura’s touch; she never has. She doesn’t pull away, doesn’t hide. Instead, she lets Maura explore, lets her fingers map out what she already knows by heart.

And that’s what undoes Jane the most—the knowing.

“No one else knows how to make the ache go away—only you,” Jane murmurs, surrendering to Maura’s touch as her fingers work over the scars. She exhales shakily, eyes fluttering closed. “No one else knows every inch of my hands like this. Only you.”

Maura knows these scars better than anyone. She has memorized them in the quiet of the night, traced them in whispered moments between sleep and wakefulness, pressed kisses to them in the dark when Jane thought she couldn’t be loved in those places.

Jane wonders if Maura knows how much that means to her. How much it shakes her to her core that Maura doesn’t just see her scars—she understands them. That Maura accepts her in ways Jane struggles to accept herself. That Maura doesn’t pity her, doesn’t treat her like something broken, but instead cherishes her as she is.

It terrifies Jane. And it anchors her.

Because if Maura knows every inch of her hands, every raised edge and softened ridge, then maybe—just maybe—Maura also knows her . The parts Jane has spent years hiding, the emotions she’s buried beneath bravado and sharp wit. Maybe Maura sees through it all, right down to the core of who Jane is, and still chooses to stay.

And if that’s true, then Jane is more terrified than ever. Because she’s never known a love like that, and she doesn’t know if she’s brave enough to accept it.

They stay like that for a while—Maura’s fingers working over Jane’s scarred hands with slow, deliberate care, Jane with her eyes closed, breathing deeply, letting herself sink into the warmth of Maura’s touch. Each movement is soothing, each press of Maura’s fingertips a silent promise, and for a fleeting moment, Jane allows herself to simply be —no fear, no walls, just the quiet comfort of Maura’s hands in hers.

But then, the moment shatters with incredible force when Maura asks, “Does he love you like I do?”

Jane exhales a heavy sigh, the weight of the truth pressing down on her. “No one loves me like you do,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. “No one ever could.”

“I love you,” Maura says, her voice trembling with emotion. “I love your flaws and your contradictions. I want you. I want your midnights—all of them.” 

Jane looks at her, her eyes filled with guilt and a desperation she can’t mask. “I swear to you, what I am giving you is everything I can give you,” she says, her voice cracking. She needs Maura to believe her, to understand. She knows she isn’t right, that she’s being selfish and unfair, but she needs Maura to know she’s been trying—despite falling short every single time.

“Why are you willing to give Casey more than you can give me?” Maura asks, her voice quiet but sharp, slicing through the silence like a blade.

Jane flinches, the question hitting her harder than she expects. It lodges itself in her chest, an unbearable pressure she can’t shake. She wants to answer—wants to have an answer—but all she feels is the familiar tangle of guilt and fear twisting inside her.

How does she even begin to explain it? That with Casey, the expectations are clear, the path neatly laid out before her. A man. A woman. A future that the world understands. A future she’s been told she should want.

But with Maura? With Maura, everything is different. It’s terrifying and overwhelming and consuming in a way that shakes Jane to her core. Maura sees her, truly sees her, in ways no one else ever has. Loving her isn’t just love—it’s surrender. It’s exposing every guarded piece of herself, every scar, every unspoken truth.

And maybe that’s why. Maybe Jane isn’t giving Casey more. Maybe she’s giving him less. Because what she has with Maura is too big, too raw, too all-encompassing. Because the truth is, Maura already owns every part of her Jane is too afraid to give.

Jane hesitates, searching for the right words. “Casey comes and goes as he pleases… Casey is what my family wants,” she admits quietly. “They want me to get married to someone like him, have children with someone like him...”

“What do you want, Jane?”

“I want you!” Jane finally admits, her voice breaking. “It’s you—it’s always been you! It’ll always be you! Even if I marry him, I’ll never love him, or anyone, with the madness that I love you! You’ve ruined me for everyone else!” Her chest heaves as she starts to sob, her words tumbling out in desperation. “But I’m scared! Baby, I’m so scared,” she confesses, her voice trembling with vulnerability.

Maura’s resolve crumbles the moment Jane falls apart. Without thinking, she wraps her arms around her, holding her tightly. She presses Jane’s head to her chest, stroking her dark curls as sobs wrack her body. Maura’s own heart aches seeing the woman she loves unravel like this—broken under the weight of her internalized homophobia, her fears, her doubts, and the suffocating expectations placed on her shoulders.

“I’ve got you,” Maura whispers, her voice soft but steady as she kisses Jane’s temple. “I’ve got you.”

Jane cries until the weight of her emotions pulls her into exhaustion. Maura cries with her—quiet, aching tears shed for Jane, for herself, for the fragile, complicated love they share. They fall asleep together on the couch, tangled in one another like they’re the only thing anchoring each other to the world. Jane’s head rests on Maura’s chest, her soft, uneven breaths the only sound in the stillness. Maura holds her tightly, one hand absently stroking Jane’s back, a soothing rhythm that lulls her into a fitful sleep.

Jane wakes up a few hours later, the room steeped in darkness. She blinks, adjusting to the dim glow of the city outside, and then looks down at Maura, still asleep beneath her. Her breath catches when she notices the faint traces of dried tears on Maura’s face. She cried herself to sleep.

“I love you. I’m sorry,” Jane whispers, her voice barely more than a breath, as if saying it any louder might shatter the fragile moment. Her fingertips trace the dried tear tracks on Maura’s face with infinite tenderness, following the silent evidence of the pain she’s caused. Guilt presses down on her chest, heavy and unrelenting.

She wishes she could take it all back—the hurt, the uncertainty, the nights Maura spent wondering if Jane would ever truly choose her. But the past clings to them like a shadow, impossible to outrun.

Jane lingers, pressing a featherlight kiss to Maura’s temple, breathing in her scent like a drowning woman gasping for air. “I wish I knew how to love you the way you deserve,” she murmurs, but Maura remains asleep, oblivious to the confession.

The next time Casey is in town, Jane chooses him. She tells Maura they’re going away for the weekend—somewhere quiet, somewhere remote, somewhere Maura doesn’t belong.

And that’s when Maura understands.

Jane has no intention of ending things with Casey. No intention of choosing. She wants to keep holding Maura in the dark while promising herself to someone else in the light.

Maura won’t let her.

So she makes the choice Jane won’t.

Before Jane can leave, before another moment slips through her fingers, Maura ends it.

“I can’t do this anymore!” Maura cries, her voice breaking like a wounded animal. “I am every bit yours as you are mine, but the difference is I’d choose you—every time, no matter what. And you… you can’t choose me. Can’t you see what you’re doing to me? Can’t you see how you’re destroying me?” Her voice rises, raw with anguish. “You say one thing, then do another. It’s maddening. It’s confusing. In the dark you tell me I’m yours, that you want to spend every single minute of your life with me, that I’m the only one who can make the ache go away. And then—then you talk about going away with him, as if you were considering building a future with him—the very future I’ve spent years wishing you were brave enough to build with me!” Maura pauses, breathing heavily, her hands trembling as she wipes away fresh tears. “I mentally and physically cannot take this anymore, Jane,” she confesses, her voice softer but no less desperate. “I can’t take our nights together anymore. I can’t even take our friendship if this is how it’s going to be.”

“You’re right,” Jane says quietly, taking a deep breath. “Must be exhausting, always rooting for the anti-hero.” Her voice carries a tinge of self-loathing. “You deserve better.”

“But I want you,” Maura says, her voice breaking—this isn’t the first time, and she knows it won’t be the last.

Jane swallows hard, her gaze dropping to the floor. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, the words so quiet they almost disappear between them.

“Jane,” Maura pleads one last time, her voice breaking.

“He really is trying, Maura,” Jane says softly, almost as if trying to convince herself.

And then she’s gone. Jane abandons her once more, and Maura is left alone in the heavy silence of her beautiful Beacon Hill home. For a moment, she just stands there, stunned, staring at the closed door. Then the weight of it all crashes down on her, and she collapses to her knees in the middle of the living room.

Maura cries. She cries until her chest aches, until her throat burns, until her tears feel endless. She cries for herself, for Jane, for the broken pieces of what they could have been. She cries because she knows it’s over, because Casey will propose before he leaves, and Jane—tied down by her fears, by her family’s expectations—will say yes. She cries because the next time Casey returns to Boston, it will be for good. And she will have lost Jane forever.

But did she ever truly have Jane to begin with?

When she saw Jane standing at her door earlier that night, she let herself hope—just for a fleeting moment—that Jane had come to choose her. But no. Jane had come to break her heart again, to tear open wounds that were barely beginning to heal. Hope, Maura thinks bitterly, is a dangerous thing.

Maura stumbles to the bathroom and retches until there’s nothing left but dry heaving and shaking sobs. When she’s finally emptied, she steps into the shower, scrubbing her skin raw as if trying to wash Jane off her completely.

Afterward, she changes into fresh pajamas, the soft fabric a small comfort against her bruised emotions. Exhaustion drags her under the moment her head touches the pillow.

It is exhausting, she thinks before sleep claims her. Always rooting for the anti-hero.

Casey asks Jane to be his wife.

He knows nothing about the nights Jane has spent tangled with Maura, in Maura’s bed, or with Maura in her own bed—the same bed where he sleeps when he visits, the bed where Jane chooses him instead of choosing Maura. He knows nothing of the excruciating pain she endures every time she forces herself to make that choice, not because it’s what she wants, but because it’s what is expected of her.

He knows nothing about how the woman he’s proposing to is hopelessly, desperately, irrevocably in love with her best friend. Nothing about the stolen kisses, the soft touches and caresses, the whispered endearments that taste like promises they both know can’t survive the light of day. He has no idea that Jane’s true home isn’t a place, but a person—that Maura’s arms are the safest place she’s ever known.

And yet, every time he visits, Jane keeps choosing him. So he remains blissfully unaware of the heartbreak she suffers each time she forces herself to do so.

And so, with unwavering confidence, Casey asks. Because he’s certain of his future with Jane. Because he believes she wants the same.

And Jane says yes.

Of course she says yes.

So Casey stays none the wiser.

He tells her right then and there that he decided to move back to Boston, determined to build a life with Jane—not just in fleeting visits, but permanently. He speaks about it with excitement, making plans as if their future is already set in stone. He talks about finding a place together, about wedding venues, about dates and guest lists. He tells Jane he doesn’t want to waste any more time, that he wants to start their life together as soon as possible.

But Maura is still there, always there, always on her mind. Maura, with her gentle hands and knowing eyes, with the unspoken words that weigh heavier than the ones that ever leave her lips. Maura, who still looks at Jane like she’s something sacred, something worth choosing.

And Jane? She’s still choosing wrong.

She feels it in the pit of her stomach, the way dread coils there, making it hard to breathe. She should be happy. This should be the easiest decision she’s ever made. But as Casey speaks of their future, all she can think about is the past—the nights spent in Maura’s arms, the whispered confessions in the dark, the ache she’s never been able to shake.

And now, Casey is here. Permanently. There’s no more hiding behind distance, no more postponing decisions.

The wedding is no longer an abstract idea. She said yes. It’s happening.

And Jane doesn’t know how to stop it.

She doesn’t know how to stop herself. 

Maura learns about it the way she learns most things about Jane these days—indirectly, secondhand, as if she’s no longer someone who should be told but someone who just happens to overhear.

She’s in the breakroom at the precinct when she catches the tail end of Korsak’s sentence.

“…so, when’s the big day, Rizzoli?”

It doesn’t register at first. She’s pouring coffee, her mind elsewhere, when she hears Jane’s voice—light, casual, practiced.

“We don’t have a date yet,” Jane says, and Maura’s hands freeze around her cup. “Casey just got back, so we’re taking it one step at a time.”

It’s like the floor beneath her shifts, tilting her world off its axis.

She doesn’t breathe. She doesn’t blink.

She forces herself to turn, to look at Jane, to see the truth written across her face.

And there it is.

The ring.

Simple. Elegant. A promise Maura was never given.

The blood in her veins turns to ice, and she suddenly feels nauseous, the edges of her vision blurring as she struggles to hold herself together.

It shouldn't hurt this much. It shouldn't feel like something inside her is breaking apart.

But it does.

God, it does.

Jane finally meets her eyes, and for a split second, Maura swears she sees something like regret flicker in their depths. But it’s gone too fast, replaced by that same careful mask Jane always wears when she’s hiding something—when she’s burying the truth so deep it can’t reach the surface.

Maura wants to scream.

She wants to grab Jane by the shoulders and shake her, demand to know how she could do this, how she could lie in Maura’s arms, press whispered confessions to her lips in the dark, and still—still—choose someone else in the daylight.

But she doesn’t scream. She doesn’t cry. She doesn’t do anything at all.

She just lifts her chin, steadies her hands, and forces a smile so convincing it nearly fools her, too.

“Congratulations,” she says, and somehow, she makes it sound real.

Jane flinches.

Only for a moment.

Then she nods, murmurs, “Thanks, Maur,” like Maura is just another well-wisher, just another person in her life who isn’t slowly dying inside.

Maura excuses herself a moment later, coffee untouched, fingers trembling as she makes it to the sanctuary of her office.

She closes the door behind her.

And then she finally allows herself to break.

Life is emotionally abusive—Maura knows that all too well. At least, life has been nothing but emotionally abusive to her as of late. If she lets her mind wander, she realizes it’s always been that way. She feels like she’s spent her entire life at the mercy of a cruel, unseen hand, pulling her strings, breaking her spirit.

She was abandoned at birth, left with the Isles like one leaves a forgotten package with a neighbor—a temporary burden, handed off with no real thought or care. She wasn’t delivered into love, she was left. Left because no one was home to receive her, because no one actually wanted her.

And that feeling—unwanted—has followed her ever since. It’s a shadow stitched into her being, growing larger and darker with time. Unwanted by her birth parents. Unwanted by her adoptive family, who had no idea what to do with a child who craved affection but learned to survive on silence. Unwanted by lovers who grew tired of her perfectionism and quirks, who wanted someone simpler, easier to love.

Unwanted by Jane.

Jane.

How it hurts to think of Jane. How it hurts to feel her. Jane is the thread that ties Maura’s entire being together, and yet that thread is fraying, unraveling piece by painful piece. The pain is an ache that lives in her chest, radiating outward until it consumes her whole body. It’s physical. It’s emotional. It’s relentless.

Sometimes, Maura can’t breathe. The weight of loving Jane suffocates her. She feels like she’s drowning in it—gasping for air that will never come. This is one of those times. 

And yet, she knows she must keep breathing. She must keep moving, even when every step feels impossible.

Because what choice does she have?

Even if Jane doesn’t choose her, even if Maura remains unwanted, she knows she has to keep going. Not for Jane, not for anyone else, but for herself.

Still, that knowledge doesn’t make the pain any less devastating.

She takes a deep breath, willing herself to stay composed.

Jane Rizzoli is engaged. To Casey. The man she once swore she didn’t love the way she loved Maura.

Maura feels her heart shatter in ways she didn’t think were possible anymore, and yet, here she is. Broken anew.

She tells herself for the millionth time that this will be the last heartbreak Jane Rizzoli will ever give her, but Maura knows better than to believe her own lies. She knows that as long as Jane exists in her life—even in the background, even on the periphery—her heart will ache for the woman who could never fully choose her.

Her love for Jane is a wound that refuses to heal.

Jane knows, with excruciating clarity, that choosing Casey has shattered Maura. She also knows that, in making this choice, she is fracturing herself piece by piece.

It’s not that she doesn’t love him. She does—at least, she loves the idea of him. She loves that he fits neatly into the life expected of her, the life her mother has dreamed of for her since childhood. Angela is over the moon about the engagement, already planning the wedding, already talking about grandkids. Jane loves that Casey is uncomplicated, that being with him doesn’t require the same terrifying, all-consuming vulnerability that being with Maura does. He is the easy choice. The practical choice. The one that won't force her to unlearn everything she was taught about what love is supposed to look like.

Casey is safety. Casey is simplicity. Casey is the embodiment of everything her family believes a happy life should be. A husband. A house. A future that looks good on paper. Casey represents the 1950s shit they want from her. 

But then why does it feel like she’s suffocating? Why does it feel like she’s betraying the deepest parts of herself with every step closer to a life that isn’t the one she truly wants?

Maura keeps her word. She stops seeing Jane outside of work. She refuses coffee breaks at the precinct, politely declines dinners they’d once shared without a second thought, and avoids even casual texts that would reignite the spark she knows will only burn her in the end.

Every time she sees Jane now, it is like staring at a ghost of the life they could have had. The memory of Jane’s voice whispering, “It’s you, it’s always been you,” haunts her, mocking her with its impossible promise.

The mornings are the worst.

Maura wakes up and, for a split second, forgets that the person she loves most in the world is lost to her forever. Then reality hits like a tidal wave, washing over her with a relentless cruelty. She closes her eyes again, hoping that, if she stays perfectly still, she can stop the pain from spreading.

But it never works.

She wonders if Jane feels even a fraction of this heartache. She wonders if Jane misses her as much as she misses Jane. She doubts it. If Jane felt this way, surely she couldn’t stand to go through with the engagement.

And yet, Jane has chosen Casey.

So Maura does the only thing she can: she chooses herself.

She tries to focus on her work, on her routines, on anything that doesn’t remind her of Jane. But everything reminds her of Jane. Every laugh, every smell, every memory of a life they never quite had together.

Maura does not know how to stop loving her. She isn’t even sure she wants to.

She feels like she’s living in a surreal nightmare, the kind where she’s a ghost in her own life, haunting the spaces she used to inhabit with Jane. The whispers at the precinct are daggers she can’t escape, cutting her deeply no matter how hard she tries to tune them out.

“I thought she was a lesbian, actually,” someone chuckles.

Maura clenches her teeth and tries to focus on her autopsy report, her pen shaking ever so slightly in her hand.

“I thought she was in love with the Queen of the Dead,” another cop says, and laughter ripples through the room.

She stiffens at the nickname. She hates it, has always hated it, but now it’s unbearable. It’s a cruel reminder of the way the world sees her, of the persona she’s cultivated to protect herself, and of the fact that, even in her most private moments, she’s always been nothing more than a tragic figure.

“I thought they were definitely together, the way they used to do everything together, the way they looked at each other.”

Those words are the sharpest of all, twisting the knife already lodged in her chest. Maura wonders if the people gossiping realize how close they are to the truth. She wonders if they can see through the cracks in her armor, if they know just how much of her soul she’s poured into loving Jane Rizzoli.

But they don’t know. They couldn’t.

They don’t know about the stolen nights, about the whispered promises that Maura foolishly believed in, about the way Jane’s hands would tremble as she touched her, as if she were afraid Maura might disappear.

They don’t know about the way Jane had once sworn that it was Maura, that it had always been Maura, that it would always be Maura.

And they don’t know about the way Maura had ended it, not because she didn’t love Jane, but because she loved her too much to keep tearing herself apart.

And now, Jane is planning a wedding with Casey. A wedding Maura hears about only through the precinct grapevine, because she and Jane don’t speak unless it’s about the job.

She doesn’t know the details. She doesn’t want to know the details. But the snippets she hears—“It’s in September,” “They’re thinking about a vineyard,” “Her mom is over the moon”—are enough to slice through her composure like a scalpel.

Maura wonders if Jane is happy. She wonders if Jane is pretending to be happy. She wonders if Jane is thinking about her while planning a life with someone else.

And then she hates herself for wondering.

Because it doesn’t matter.

Jane has made her choice, and Maura has to live with it. She has to sit in meetings, exchanging nothing but professional words with the woman who once made her feel alive, who once made her believe that love was worth all the risk and all the pain.

But the whispers at the precinct remind her that even the illusion of their love was real enough for others to see.

And it hurts. It hurts so much she feels like she might shatter under the weight of it.

If only they knew the truth. If only they knew how close they were to understanding what had been hidden in plain sight. If only they knew that, behind closed doors, Maura had once held Jane in her arms and believed, with all her heart, that they were meant to be.

But they don’t know.

And now, Maura is left with the hollow ache of what could have been, listening to the whispers and pretending they don’t tear her apart.

Jane’s hands have been hurting more than ever, the pain seeping deep into her bones, gnawing at her constantly to the point that she can’t sleep. It’s unbearable. Casey notices and presses her to see a doctor, a specialist, anyone who can help ease the ache. He suggests physical therapy, painkillers, anything that might provide relief. But Jane refuses every suggestion, her lips tightly sealed.

She doesn’t tell him the truth—that her hands ache because she’s been deprived of the one person who has ever known how to soothe the pain, the one person whose touch she craves more than air. The hands that used to trace the lines of her palms, memorizing each scar, each imperfection, the way Maura’s fingers would move so effortlessly across her skin.

Instead, Jane endures the pain. She powers through it, forcing herself to focus on anything else—work, the wedding plans, the future she’s desperately trying to shape with Casey. But it’s all a blur. Every minute spent apart from Maura feels like another wound, another tear in the fabric of her being. And the ache in her hands? It’s nothing compared to the ache in her chest, the relentless heartache that consumes her from the inside out, so violent that sometimes it takes her breath away.

She dreams of calling it all off more often than she cares to admit, though the thought terrifies her. The idea of walking away from the carefully constructed life she’s built with Casey, from the future she’s supposed to want, feels both liberating and suffocating at once. She imagines standing in front of him, her voice trembling but firm, telling him that it’s not right, that she can’t marry him, that she can’t continue this charade.

But every time the thought crosses her mind, it’s quickly followed by another wave of guilt—guilt for not being able to give him the love he deserves, guilt for the hurt she would cause, guilt for the family expectations she would be shattering. She knows Casey loves her, that he’s already invested in a future that doesn’t involve doubt or hesitation, and she doesn’t want to be the one to rip that away from him.

Still, there are nights when she lies awake, staring at the ceiling, heart pounding with the weight of her longing. She dreams of running to Maura, of telling her everything, of throwing away the safety net of her family’s approval and the predictability of this new life for something uncertain but real. She dreams of the touch, the warmth, the comfort she only finds in Maura’s arms.

And each time, she fights the urge. Because the truth—what she really wants—feels too dangerous, too messy. She’s trapped between what her heart screams for and the life she’s supposed to lead. The dreams come in flashes, like a forbidden escape she knows she’s too afraid to make real. But the more she thinks about it, the more the idea of staying with Casey, staying in this controlled, predictable new life, feels like a lie.

She doesn’t know how much longer she can keep pretending. But for now, she’ll push through. She’ll keep lying to herself, to Casey, to everyone—including Maura—because the truth is too much to bear.

Whispers follow Maura wherever she goes. Ever since she ended her friendship with Jane, the rumors have taken on a life of their own. People notice things. People talk. They see the shift, the stark absence of what once was, and they draw their own conclusions. They know something happened. They know nothing is as it used to be. And they’re perceptive enough to put two and two together: Maura Isles has not taken well the news that her former best friend is engaged to Casey Jones.

People love to speculate. They love to pit women against each other. They assume Maura is jealous—jealous because Jane is getting married first, because Jane is fulfilling some kind of dream Maura supposedly harbors but has yet to realize for herself. They assume it’s about marriage, about the ring, about the future Jane is building with someone else.

Maura tries to ignore them, but she fails spectacularly. It’s hard to ignore the whispers. It’s even harder to ignore the theories that spread like wildfire. Some people come close to the truth, she’ll give them that. Some say she isn’t jealous that Jane is getting married first—she’s jealous that Jane is prioritizing someone else, another relationship, over their friendship. Others take it further. They say Maura is infatuated with Jane. That her feelings are unrequited. That she’s been pining for years, hopelessly, foolishly, while Jane has been oblivious all along.

Those theories sting the most because they are almost right. Almost.

Maura knows better. Maura knows the truth.

Her love is not one-sided.

Jane loves her.

Jane loves her in the way she’s held her in the dark, the way she’s kissed her like she was starving, the way she’s whispered Maura’s name like it was a prayer. Jane loves her in the way she’s told her there’s no safer place than her arms, no other bed as warm as hers, no other home but Maura.

Jane loves her.

But Jane is scared.

Jane is drowning in fear, in shame, in the weight of a life she’s been told she’s supposed to want. She cannot face the truth. She cannot look at the world and say, I love a woman . She cannot tell her mother, cannot tell herself. So she has chosen safety. She has chosen the lie. She has chosen Casey.

And Maura?

Maura remembers.

She remembers everything. And the remembering is unbearable.

And among those who whisper, who watch, who wonder, is Angela Rizzoli. If she’s heard the rumors—if she’s pieced together the truth—she doesn’t let it show. Instead, she approaches Maura, time and time again, gentle but insistent. She asks what happened, because Jane won’t tell her.

Of course, Jane won’t tell her.

If Jane could tell her mother what was happening between them, they wouldn’t be in this mess to begin with.

So Maura lies.

She tells Angela that their friendship simply ran its course. That these things happen. That sometimes people outgrow each other, and it’s natural. Expected. Healthy, even.

She doesn’t know if Angela believes her.

But Angela is so consumed by the idea of her daughter’s impending marriage that she doesn’t push further. Instead, she simply sighs and tells Maura she will always have a place in her life, that she will always be like a daughter to her.

And Maura nearly breaks.

Because Angela’s love is the only motherly love she has ever known.

She tells Angela she will still stay in the guest house, even if she and Jane are no longer friends.

Angela is relieved.

And Maura?

Maura feels like she is drowning.

Casey has moved back to Boston full-time. He lives with Jane now. His things are everywhere—his boots by the door, his uniform draped over a chair, his razor in her bathroom, his presence settling into the spaces that were once just hers. He places them in spots where they don’t belong, in places where Jane doesn’t want them to be, but she says nothing. She lets him be. She lets things happen.

She watches it all unfold as if from a distance, detached, like an outsider looking in. The pain—both emotional and physical—is all-consuming. Her hands ache constantly, a relentless reminder of what she’s lost. Sleep eludes her. Food holds no appeal. She’s lost weight, her clothes fitting looser, her reflection unfamiliar.

Casey notices. He sees the dark circles beneath her eyes, the way she barely picks at her meals, the exhaustion that weighs down her every movement. But he assumes it’s wedding jitters. Nerves. A perfectly normal reaction to a major life change. He has never truly understood Jane, not the way Maura does. He has never been able to read her, not completely.

No one understands her like Maura.

No one loves her like Maura.

And yet she is letting her go.

She is hurting her.

She is hurting herself.

Jane doesn’t allow herself to think about the damage she is inflicting—not just on Maura, but on herself, on Casey, on everyone caught in the web of her choices. But sometimes, in the quiet, when the weight of it all crushes her chest, she believes she deserves it. She deserves every ounce of this suffering.

She is getting married on September 30th. A fall wedding. A date picked arbitrarily, a season she barely thought about. It isn’t her dream wedding.

It isn’t her dream at all.

She doesn’t want to get married. She doesn’t want to go through with this.

But she is.

And she doesn’t know why.

It’s madness. It’s illogical. A self-inflicted wound she keeps pressing deeper.

Why is she doing this to herself?

Why is she doing this to Maura?

To Casey?

She hates herself. That much, she knows with certainty.

Maybe this is why.

Maybe she’s punishing herself for the love she refuses to accept. Maybe she’s punishing herself for her internalized homophobia, for the fear that has ruled her for too long.

But in punishing herself, she is punishing them, too.

And she doesn’t know how to stop.

She wishes someone would stop her. Wishes someone would see through the lies, call her out, force her to face the truth she keeps running from.

But the only person who ever could was Maura.

And Maura tried. She tried and failed. She fought for Jane, for them, until she couldn’t anymore. What makes Jane think she’ll try again? What gives her the right to expect Maura to keep fighting for someone who refuses to fight for herself?

She’s being selfish. Childish. Unfair.

Maura deserves better. Maura deserves more than this endless push and pull, more than stolen nights and broken promises. That’s why she walked away. That’s why she left. And she was right to do so.

If Jane were in Maura’s shoes, she would have left too.

And yet, she still wishes—desperately, foolishly—that someone will stop her. If not Maura, then someone else.

But no one does.

Two months before the wedding, the realization crashes down on her like a wave she can’t outrun.

No one is coming to stop her.

She has to stop herself.

She just doesn’t know if she can.

And that—more than anything else—is the scariest part of all.

That same night, as Jane lies awake, suffocating under the weight of her choices, her phone vibrates with a message that steals the breath from her lungs.

Maura.

She shouldn’t answer. She should let it go unread, let the silence settle, let the distance between them stretch until it’s too wide to cross.

But she doesn’t.

Because Maura misses her. Because Maura is breaking. Because Jane is breaking too.

“My love, what have you done to me? I'm addicted to you. To your kisses, your warmth, your touch, your words, your silence. I'm going through withdrawal, and it's slowly killing me. Every morning I wake up gasping for air, convinced this is the day it will finally break me, because there is no way I can keep living without you. Put me out of my misery, Jane. Tell me you never loved me. Tell me you never cared. Tell me I was never yours.”

Jane stares at the message, her pulse pounding in her ears.

She should do what Maura is asking. She should set her free.

But she can’t.

She types, deletes, types again. Nothing she says will be enough, nothing she says will fix this.

Finally, she sends the only truth she knows.

“I can’t tell you that, because it would be a lie. And I can lie to everyone else, but I can’t lie to you. I am yours in ways I will never be anyone else’s. I am yours in ways that hurt so much I can’t breathe. I can’t live without you. But I don’t know how to live with you, either. I don’t know what to do. Please, Maura. Tell me what to do.”

Her hands tremble as she presses send. 

Maura doesn’t reply.

Jane hesitates for only a moment before typing again.

“I need you. I need you all the time.”

She exhales sharply, her heart hammering against her ribs.

What is she doing, playing house with Casey, pretending to want a life that suffocates her—a life that was never hers to begin with?

What is she doing, sitting across from him at the dinner table every night after work, laughing at his jokes, letting him talk about their future like she isn’t lying to him with every smile, every touch, every nod?

What is she doing now, fingers trembling as she replies to Maura’s texts, spilling a truth she hides from everyone else just as she’s spent a lifetime hiding herself?

What is she doing, lying next to a man she does not love, could never love, will never love—not in the way she loves the woman whose name is on the tip of her tongue, whose absence is carved into her bones, whose messages she clings to like they are the only thing keeping her alive?

She sends another message.

“I can’t stop thinking about you.” 

“Even when you’re with him?”

“Especially when I’m with him.”

And then, for the very first time, Jane lets the truth slip through the cracks:

“I don’t know what I’m doing, Maura… but I know I can’t do it anymore.”

“You have to figure out what you want, Jane. Because I can’t do this back-and-forth anymore. I love you, and I always will, but I need to love myself too. So ask yourself this Jane: are you really mine? Or are you his?”

Jane hesitates for only a moment before typing again, her fingers trembling over the screen.

"Even when I try to fight it, I am so yours I can feel it everywhere. I feel it in my veins, in my bones. I’ve never been anybody’s the way I am yours."

She exhales, staring at the words, willing herself not to delete them, not to soften them into something less raw, less true. She’s spent so much time pretending—pretending she doesn’t want Maura, pretending she can live without her, pretending she can be someone she isn’t. But here, in this quiet, stolen moment, she surrenders.

"It’s in the way my hands ache for you, even now. It’s in the way my heart races when I see your name on my phone. It’s in the way I close my eyes at night and you’re still there, in every dream, in every breath. I don’t even have to try to be yours, Maura. I just am. I always have been."

She presses send before she can take it back.

“You saying these things isn’t enough if you’re still with him. You tell me you are mine, you tell me you love me, but he’s asleep next to you. You are going to marry him. It’s not fair to anyone in this situation, Jane. You need to stop playing games—with me, with him, and most of all with yourself. Make up your mind. I keep telling you I need to take care of myself, and yet you keep destroying me with your words and your actions. I can’t do it anymore, Jane. If you love me, if you’re mine like you say, then prove it. Break up with him. Be with me. Choose me. Stop being the anti-hero.”

When Jane reads the message, her chest tightens, and she slips out of bed, careful not to wake Casey. She hides in the bathroom, closing the door behind her as quietly as she can. Sitting on the cool edge of the tub, she feels like a trespasser in her own home, a thief stealing moments she doesn’t deserve. She feels like she is doing something wrong. She is doing something wrong—hurting Casey, breaking Maura, lying to everyone, most of all herself.

But she can’t seem to stop. The alternative—choosing Maura fully, without hesitation or fear—terrifies her in ways she can’t even articulate. Yet the thought of losing Maura forever terrifies her even more.

Jane calls Maura, even though it’s the middle of the night and she knows Maura is upset. She calls, even though Casey is asleep in the bedroom and could wake up, hear her, and ask questions she’s not ready to answer. She calls because her heart is breaking, and she knows Maura’s is too. She calls because she needs to hear Maura’s voice, even if it’s trembling with unshed tears, even if the pain in it will shatter her soul into a million pieces.

She knows this isn’t fair. She knows she’s being selfish, demanding, and cruel in a way that Maura doesn’t deserve. But she can’t stop herself. She can’t stop being the anti-hero in their story, and the self-loathing it ignites in her is sharp, violent, all-consuming. Yet here she is, hoping, praying, that Maura will still choose to pick up the phone.

But when Maura picks up the phone, Jane panics. Her breath catches, her heart slams against her ribs, and before she can think—before she can let herself feel more—she hangs up.

Because she shouldn’t be doing this.

Because she shouldn’t want this, crave this.

Because she never should have replied to that first text.

Because she already made a choice, and now she has to live with it.

Her phone vibrates almost instantly.

“Why did you hang up?” Maura’s text appears, sharp and direct. A pause, and then another message follows. “Are you scared of hearing my voice? Does my voice haunt you the way yours haunts me? Do you remember those nights, wrapped up in each other, whispering about forever? Does it hurt, Jane? Does it trigger something deep inside you—the sound of me?”

Jane squeezes her eyes shut, gripping the phone so tightly her aching hands throb in protest. Because yes, it does. It triggers everything.

Maura sends one more text, the weight of finality pressing against each word: "If you ever make up your mind, you know where to find me."

Jane stares at the screen, her vision blurring, her chest tightening. The message is simple, yet it feels like a door slowly creaking shut, like the final breath before something precious slips away forever.

No pleading. No ultimatums. Just a quiet resignation, a heartbreaking truth wrapped in the gentlest of offerings. The choice is Jane’s—has always been Jane’s—but Maura won’t wait forever.

Jane exhales shakily, her fingers hovering over the keyboard, desperate to type something, anything, to keep Maura on the other side of this moment. But what is there to say?

That she’s sorry? That she never meant to hurt her? That she can’t breathe without her?

She knows Maura deserves more than hesitation. More than late-night confessions and stolen moments wrapped in regret.

So she does nothing.

She locks her phone, places it face-down on the nightstand, and goes back to bed.

But she doesn’t sleep.

It is the beginning of August, just a couple of hours before Maura’s birthday. She is home, alone. These days, that’s where she spends most of her time when she’s not at work. She has no desire to see anyone, no energy to feign contentment or engage in conversations. The only company she seeks is Bass, her African tortoise. He is steady and comforting, a constant in her life who will never leave her, never betray her.

As the clock strikes midnight, Maura sits curled up on the couch, a blanket draped around her shoulders, a warm cup of tea cradled in her hands. She watches Bass munch on strawberries and greens, his quiet movements a soothing counterpoint to her stormy thoughts. “Happy birthday to me,” she murmurs, her voice soft, tinged with melancholy and bitterness. She knows better than to expect this day to bring her joy; happiness feels like a distant memory, an impossible dream.

The moment feels fragile, suspended in time, until her phone rings, shattering the stillness. Maura glances at the screen. The name on the display makes her heart clench.

It’s Jane.

Jane is calling her.

They haven’t spoken outside of work in what feels like forever. Conversations are clipped, reduced to necessary exchanges about cases, spoken in neutral tones that fail to hide the weight pressing between them. The silence stretches beyond the precinct, creeping into the spaces where laughter and late-night conversations once lived.

And there have been no more text messages—not since that night a couple of weeks ago when Maura, drowning in loneliness and the burn of unshed tears, had broken first. She had reached for her phone with shaking hands, her heart pounding as she typed out words she knew she shouldn’t send but couldn’t hold back.

Jane had answered. And for a fleeting moment, it had felt like breathing again. Like stepping into the light after being trapped in endless darkness.

But Jane had also pulled away.

Until now.

She hesitates before answering. What could Jane possibly want? To wish her a happy birthday? Maura laughs bitterly, the sound hollow and tinged with pain. In an ideal world, Jane would be here with her tonight, singing happy birthday softly in her ear, making love to her, holding her close until they both fell asleep, breathing the same air.

She imagines waking the next morning to Jane’s warm smile, breakfast in bed balancing precariously on a tray between them. They’d make love again, slower this time, savoring each touch, each whisper. Then they’d spend the day together—perhaps visiting a museum of Maura’s choosing, walking hand in hand through quiet galleries, stealing kisses in dimly lit corners.

But none of that is real. None of it ever will be.

Because Jane hasn’t chosen her.

She’s chosen Casey.

Jane is marrying Casey next month.

Maura swallows hard, blinking back tears. What do her little fantasies even matter? They’re nothing more than fragile daydreams, doomed to shatter under the weight of reality.

Her phone continues to vibrate in her hand, pulling her back to the present. She stares at Jane’s name on the screen, her heart pounding painfully in her chest.

She ignores the phone call.

But the phone keeps ringing. Again. And again.

Maura clenches her jaw, trying to steel herself against the nagging feeling in her chest. But she can’t ignore it. Jane never calls like this unless something is wrong.

Her mind races through possibilities—what if something has happened to Jane? Or to someone else? Korsak? Frankie? Frost? The worry gnaws at her resolve, her heart picking up speed with every insistent buzz of her phone.

Finally, she answers.

“Jane?” she says, her voice trembling despite her best effort to sound composed.

But it isn’t Jane.

To her immense surprise—and growing dread—it’s Casey on the other end of the line.

“Maura,” he says. His voice is breathless, frantic, teetering on the edge of panic.

Maura’s blood turns cold in her veins. She knows something is wrong. 

“What happened to her? How is she? Where is she?” she demands, her words tumbling out in rapid succession as she stands up, already pulling on a cardigan and reaching for her car keys.

“She’s in a lot of pain,” Casey says, his voice cracking. “Her hands—God, they’ve been hurting for days. She’s taken everything she can, but nothing works. She won’t see a doctor. She's been in so much pain since she got home from work. I—I don’t know what to do! It’s driving me crazy!”

Maura freezes. A sharp anger rises within her, hot and sudden, and before she can stop herself, the words spill out.

“She’s in excruciating pain, and it’s driving you crazy?” she snaps, her voice sharper than she intended.

“I mean,” Casey says defensively, his tone hardening. “It’s driving me crazy because I don’t know what to do to help her. I can’t stand seeing her in so much pain.”

Maura remains silent, her jaw tightening.

“She didn’t want me to call you,” Casey continues, a hint of desperation creeping back into his voice. “But I don’t know what else to do. I don’t know who else to turn to.”

“I’ll be there as soon as possible,” Maura says curtly, then ends the call before he can respond.

The drive to Jane’s place feels like an eternity, her heartbeat echoing in her ears, louder than the hum of the engine. Her mind races, torn between worry for Jane and the bitter ache of the circumstances. She can’t bear the thought of Jane suffering, even as a part of her resents the position she’s been put in—called to care for a woman she loves who has chosen someone else.

When she arrives, Casey greets her at the door. Maura is struck by the hollow absence of the key that once hung on her own keychain. She’d returned it months ago. It hadn’t felt right, keeping something so intimate when Jane’s home was no longer hers alone.

Casey steps aside to let her in. “She’s in the bedroom,” he says softly.

Without a word, Maura heads inside, her focus fixed entirely on the woman she’s come to help.

Maura steps into the bedroom, the door clicking softly shut behind her. She’s grateful that Casey, for once, seems to understand boundaries and stays behind in the living room.

The sight before her makes her heart ache: Jane is curled up in a tight ball on the bed, her body trembling with quiet sobs. The strong, unshakable detective Maura knows so well looks fragile, vulnerable. When Jane lifts her head slightly and sees Maura, there’s a fleeting moment of relief that softens her tear-streaked face—until she catches herself. The mask slips into place almost immediately, a familiar shield of false strength.

“I told him not to call you,” Jane says hoarsely, her voice a mix of apology and defiance.

Maura doesn’t respond, instead crossing the room silently. Jane struggles to sit up, wincing with effort, her shoulders hunched as if trying to hold herself together. 

Maura sits beside her on the bed, the space between them heavy with memories and regrets. 

“Let me see your hands,” Maura says softly, pulling herself out of her thoughts. Her voice is steady, though her heart is anything but.

Jane doesn’t argue this time. Slowly, reluctantly, she extends her scarred hands toward Maura, her fingers trembling slightly. Maura takes them gently in her own, her touch delicate, as though she’s cradling something infinitely precious and heartbreakingly fragile.

She begins to massage Jane’s right hand, her movements slow but purposeful, applying just the right amount of pressure. Her thumbs press into the tight muscles and swollen joints, coaxing the tension to release. At first, Jane continues to sob quietly, her body shaking with the weight of emotions too heavy to hold in.

“Is that better?” Maura asks softly after a few minutes, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jane nods, her eyes red and puffy, but the tears have slowed. “Yeah,” she murmurs, her voice hoarse.

Maura doesn’t stop. She continues the massage, her focus unwavering, as though this simple act could somehow undo all the pain Jane has carried for too long. Her hands move with care, smoothing over old scars and broken places, tending to Jane in a way that words never could.

The bedroom door is closed, and though they both know Casey is sitting in the living room, his presence feels distant, insignificant. For a fleeting moment, it’s as though they’re the only two people in the world. It’s like those nights all over again—the ones they spent wrapped up in each other, the rest of the world forgotten.

Maura doesn’t say anything, and neither does Jane. They don’t need to. In the quiet intimacy of the moment, they let themselves exist together, their unspoken feelings filling the space between them like an invisible tether they’re both too scared to break.

“Today’s August 7th,” Jane whispers after a long silence, her voice cracking under the weight of her emotions. Maura doesn’t stop the gentle, rhythmic motion of her hands, her touch steady, grounding. “Happy birthday,” Jane adds softly, her words barely audible over the tears streaming down her face. Maura glances at her, unsure if Jane is crying from the physical pain, the emotional agony, or the unbearable tension of it all—missing her, wanting her, loving her, struggling to keep the pieces of herself from shattering completely.

“Thank you,” Maura replies quietly. Her tone is calm, though her heart aches with unspoken words.

“I told him not to call you,” Jane murmurs again, her voice laced with guilt and shame.

“He did the right thing by calling me,” Maura counters gently. “Why didn’t you want to see a doctor?”

Jane hesitates, her eyes avoiding Maura’s. “Because I deserve this pain. I deserve it for what I did to you.”

Maura’s hands pause for the briefest moment, her breath catching. Then she resumes, her movements just as tender, just as soothing. She doesn’t look at Jane as she responds, her voice thick with suppressed emotion. “No one deserves pain like this.” She doesn’t clarify whether she’s referring to Jane’s pain or her own.

The room falls into a heavy silence again, broken only by Jane’s ragged breathing and Maura’s steady ministrations. The unspoken truths between them feel like a living thing, pulsing and raw, refusing to be ignored.

“I missed your touch,” Jane whispers softly, her voice trembling, as though uttering forbidden words meant only for Maura. It feels like they’re sharing a fragile secret, one that could shatter at any moment, as if Casey weren’t sitting just outside in the living room that now belongs to him as much as to Jane. And yet Jane continues, as if the engagement ring on her finger weren’t binding her to someone else, as if Casey’s belongings scattered throughout the apartment weren’t evidence of the life she’s chosen. “I miss you,” she admits, her voice breaking under the weight of the truth.

Maura freezes for the briefest moment, her heart constricting painfully. She knows she shouldn’t say it, knows she should protect herself, but the words come anyway, a whisper so quiet it’s almost swallowed by the room. “I miss you too.” Her throat tightens as she speaks, and she swallows hard against the knot forming there. It’s nearly impossible to breathe.

Jane looks at her, hope flickering in her tear-filled eyes. “Can we go back to being friends?” she asks hesitantly, the words fragile, like a plea.

Maura lowers her gaze, focusing on Jane’s right hand, still scarred, still in hers. She shakes her head slowly, her fingers faltering slightly before resuming their careful rhythm. “I’m unglued thanks to you,” she says, her voice quiet but firm. There’s no malice, only an aching sadness. She needs Jane to understand the devastation she’s caused. She needs her to see the wreckage she left behind. “I’m still in shattered pieces,” Maura continues, her voice cracking but steady. “I’m still broken. Time hasn’t healed anything, and I don’t think it ever will. I’ll always be broken, always wanting, always waiting for something that will never happen.” She exhales shakily, her hands still working over Jane’s, though her chest feels hollow. “So no,” she finishes simply. “We cannot go back to being friends.”

“He thinks we’re no longer friends because you don’t like him,” Jane admits, her voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking the words aloud might make them more real.

Maura pauses, her hands still holding Jane’s, the weight of the statement settling between them. “I do not like him,” she replies simply, her tone steady, though the confession is hardly a revelation.

Jane flinches slightly, as though she hadn’t expected Maura to be so blunt, even though they both know it’s the truth. But then again, Maura cannot lie; it takes a toll on her physically. 

“Your scars are like snow on the beach,” Maura comments softly, shifting the conversation. Her fingers glide gently over Jane’s scarred hands, tender and reverent. “They’re strange, but beautiful.”

Jane furrows her brow, her dark eyes searching Maura’s face. “How can you find beauty in my scars?” she asks, her voice cracking slightly.

Maura looks at her as if the answer should be self-evident. “I find beauty in every inch of you,” she says with quiet certainty. “You are, and always will be, the most beautiful thing in the world to me. After all…” She pauses, her voice lowering to a whisper, “I am in love with you.”

The confession hangs in the air, weightless yet heavy, like snowflakes drifting down to a sandy shore.

Jane exhales sharply, her eyes glistening. She tries to form words, but they catch in her throat. Finally, she manages, “You wanting me tonight feels impossible. Like snow on the beach,” she says, her voice trembling as she echoes Maura’s earlier words.

“Snow on the beach is not impossible. It’s rare, but it’s not impossible. And neither is my being in love with you,” Maura says, her voice steady yet tinged with vulnerability. “I am in love with you. Against my better judgment. Against my will sometimes. But I am in love with you.” Jane’s lips part as if she’s about to respond, but before she can, Maura continues, smoothly shifting the focus. “Has your right hand stopped hurting?”

Jane nods, a flicker of relief crossing her face. Maura allows herself a brief smile, then gently takes Jane’s left hand into her own. Her fingers brush against the engagement ring, and her heart tightens. Slowly, deliberately, she slips the ring off Jane’s finger.

For a fleeting moment, Maura’s mind spins with temptation—to throw the ring away, to beg Jane never to wear it again, to promise her a different future, one where Jane wears a ring that Maura gives her. But she swallows the impulse, her composure unshaken, and places the ring carefully on the bedside table.

She begins massaging Jane’s left hand with the same care and tenderness as before, her touch grounding them both. 

“I don’t wanna marry him,” Jane confesses suddenly, her words barely audible. Maura’s heart skips a beat, and her breath catches in her throat. “But I have to,” Jane adds quickly, and Maura feels the fragile hope she dared to let bloom shrivel once again. The woman she adores, the woman she aches for, has crushed her hope yet again, even as her words spark the faintest embers of possibility.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want,” Maura says, her voice still a whisper, her fingers kneading the pain away from Jane’s hand. “You don’t have to marry someone you don’t love. You don’t have to marry him if you’re in love with me.” She pauses, her heart pounding in her chest as she dares to say the unthinkable. “We could run away together,” she offers, her voice trembling with both fear and hope. It’s a wild, impossible idea, but one she clings to, unable to stop herself from dreaming. “I’ve been thinking about leaving Boston,” Maura says softly, her fingers tracing slow, soothing circles over Jane’s palm. “I think I’ll go the night before your wedding. Maybe I’ll even buy an extra ticket… just in case you want to come with me.”

Jane’s breath catches. “Where would you go?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

Maura tilts her head slightly, studying Jane’s face as if committing every detail to memory. “Have you ever read The Lighthouse at the End of the World by Jules Verne?”

Jane shakes her head.

“I’ve always wanted to go there,” Maura murmurs, her touch lingering against Jane’s skin. “To the very edge of the earth, to a place where no one knows us, where we can just… exist.” She pauses, her gaze searching Jane’s. “Will you follow me, Jane? Will you follow me to the end of the world? You don’t have to answer right now," Maura says gently. "Take your time. Think about it." She squeezes Jane’s hand, her voice steady despite the ache in her eyes. "I’ll be at my house the night before your wedding. If you decide you want to come with me… meet me at midnight."

Maura finishes massaging Jane’s left hand, her fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary, as if she were trying to hold onto the quiet intimacy between them. She looks up once, catching Jane’s gaze, but neither of them speaks. The silence feels heavier now, like the air itself is holding its breath.

Jane watches her, as if she were fighting the impulse to reach out, to stop her from leaving. But Maura doesn’t wait for any signal—she simply stands, brushes off her jeans, and walks toward the door. The soft click of the doorknob turning is the only sound in the room, followed by the faint rustle of her footsteps on the hardwood floor.

“I’ll be waiting,” Maura promises softly. She doesn’t wait for an answer. 

And then she’s gone. The space she leaves behind feels too vast, like a part of Jane has been taken with her. The door shuts, and for a moment, Maura wonders if Jane feels frozen, as if the room is holding its breath, too. She wonders if the other woman will stay there, unmoving, her hands still tingling from Maura’s touch.

Maura drives home in the stillness of the early morning, the weight of everything that has transpired pressing down on her chest. She grips the steering wheel tightly, her knuckles pale under the dim glow of the dashboard. Her mind races, replaying every word they exchanged, every moment of vulnerability shared in the dark sanctuary of Jane’s bedroom.

Maura’s breath catches as she thinks about leaving Boston. About leaving Jane. About Jane making the impossible choice to throw everything away, to follow her into the unknown. The life they could have together, away from the weight of expectations, away from the lives they’ve been living.

The thought is both terrifying and intoxicating. It’s a chance at something more, something real. And yet, Maura can’t shake the fear of what it would mean—of what it could cost them both. But she’s been asking herself that same question for so long, and the answer remains the same: It’s worth the risk. If Jane chooses her, it’ll be worth it.

By the time Maura pulls into her driveway, the first light of dawn is creeping over the horizon, painting the sky in soft shades of pink and orange. The world is waking up, and for the first time in a long while, Maura feels like she’s waking up too.

She sits in the car for a moment, her hands gripping the steering wheel as she takes in the view. A new day is beginning. And with it, a new chapter of her life. One filled with uncertainty, yes, but also hope. Hope that Jane will finally choose her. Hope that Jane will follow her, come to the end of the world with her, whatever that means. The possibilities feel endless, but they also feel fragile—like something that could slip through her fingers if she’s not careful.

Maura steps out of the car and into the quiet stillness of her house. The familiar scent of her home wraps around her like a comfort. The sound of her heels clicking softly against the floor as she walks toward her bedroom echoes louder in the emptiness. She slips out of her clothes, peeling away the night, the weight of it, and into something more comfortable. Her thoughts are still a storm—whirling around, unmoored—but she focuses on the task at hand, forcing herself to settle.

She sits down at her desk, her laptop still open from earlier. She stares at the screen for a moment, fingers poised over the keys. The decision has been made. She’s already halfway to the end of the world, and she’s not going back.

With a deep breath, she begins to type. She buys two tickets. One for herself. One for Jane.

And now, Maura just has to wait. 

After Maura leaves, Jane is left sitting there, the weight of her hands’ pain suddenly less significant compared to the ache that’s taken root in her chest. It’s an ache she recognizes. It’s the same ache she’s been running from. The same ache that’s been growing every time she looks at Maura and knows, deep down, that she doesn’t want to let her go.

But Maura’s voice, soft and steady, echoes in her mind. I’ll be waiting.

Jane’s pulse quickens. She knows what that means—what Maura is asking, even if she’s not saying it aloud. She’s once more asking Jane to choose. To finally make a choice that doesn’t come with excuses or justifications. To choose her, to take that leap, to follow her without looking back. Follow her to the end of the world. 

And in that moment, Jane knows she can’t keep pretending anymore. She can’t keep living a life that isn’t hers, can’t keep lying to herself or to Maura. But the fear is there, just under the surface. The fear of losing everything she’s built. The fear of what it will mean to walk away from Casey, to walk away from the future she’s been promised and the future that she promised him. 

Maura’s words echo again, like a thread of light in the darkness, pulling at her, guiding her. I’ll be waiting.

Casey walks back into the bedroom, his concern still palpable as he approaches Jane. "How are your hands now?" he asks, his voice laced with worry.

"They're okay," Jane replies, her words a soft lie. She doesn’t say anything more, doesn’t mention the dull throb that’s still there, or how the ache in her hands seems to intensify every time she tries to pull away from Maura, even in her own thoughts. She doesn’t tell him how it was never just the physical pain that had been gnawing at her.

"I’ve been going crazy with worry about you," Casey continues, his voice tinged with helplessness. "I’m not sorry I called Maura, Jane. I know you said not to, but I didn’t know who else to turn to. I just... I know she’s the one who’s been able to make the pain go away before."

He doesn’t know. He has no idea that the reason Jane’s hands have been aching is because they’ve been starved of the touch she’s always longed for. He doesn’t know that the only person who can soothe this constant burning inside her is Maura— always Maura. He has no idea that Maura has asked her to leave, to run away with her to the end of the world.

Casey climbs into bed beside her, his presence a stark contrast to the emptiness she feels inside. He notices the engagement ring resting on the bedside table, its gleam seeming to mock her. He picks it up, his touch gentle, almost tender, and slips it back onto Jane’s finger. She feels a sharp, suffocating pressure in her chest, a sudden inability to breathe, to move, to think clearly.

The ring feels too heavy, too final.

But then she remembers Maura. Maura who will be waiting for her. Waiting with an escape. An answer. A life that could be hers, a life that feels more like home than anything she’s ever known. And suddenly, in the middle of her confusion and pain, Jane knows that Maura’s not just offering a getaway. She’s offering a chance at freedom.

Today is August 7th. Her wedding day is set for September 30th. She doesn’t have to do anything right now. She still has time. 

Maura has booked a month off starting the last day of September. She doesn’t know if she’ll need more time—if she’ll need forever. It all depends on Jane.

She could leave Boston behind without a second thought. She has more than enough money to start over, to disappear to some quiet corner of the world where no one knows her name, where she won’t have to endure the suffocating whispers about Jane’s engagement or the unbearable weight of a love she can’t seem to let go of. Maybe the end of the world really is the only place left for her. Maybe Jane will come with her. Maybe.

But Jane has also booked time off—an entire month, just like Maura. A month meant for a honeymoon. A month meant to be spent in Europe with him. Every time Maura lets that reality sink in—Jane, in Paris, in Rome, in Vienna, with a wedding band on her finger and Casey’s last name on her passport—she runs to the bathroom, stomach twisting violently until she’s empty. She dry heaves even when there’s nothing left. It’s a physical reaction now, as involuntary as breathing. The idea of Jane being his in any official, irreversible way makes her sick.

So she tries not to think about it. She tells herself that if Jane chooses her, if Jane chooses them, then they’ll have a month. A month to breathe, to unravel the mess they’ve made, to figure out if they can still be salvaged. Maybe they’ll stay, maybe they’ll run, maybe they’ll spend thirty days wrapped around each other before Jane inevitably realizes she can’t do it, that the weight of expectations is too much, that she is too afraid.

Because Jane is afraid. Jane is terrified. Maura knows this. And yet, despite everything, despite the agony of waiting, despite the way she’s already begun to grieve the love she may never get to have, she still hopes.

She still hopes Jane will come to her. 

She still hopes Jane will choose her.

She still hopes Jane won’t break her heart all over again.

But she knows, in the deepest part of herself, that hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like her to have. 

It’s September 20th—ten days until the wedding—and Jane is still going through with it.

She tried on dresses, picked one, stood in front of a mirror while a tailor pinned and adjusted and fussed over fabric she couldn’t care less about. She’s let people fawn over her, telling her how beautiful she looks, how perfect she’ll be walking down the aisle. She smiled through it all, even as she wanted to tear the whole damn thing off and run.

She and Casey have picked a venue. They’ve chosen flowers—an excruciatingly dull experience that had her zoning out so completely she almost fell asleep at the consultation. They’ve printed and mailed invitations, including to people she hasn’t seen since she was a kid, people she barely remembers but who had to be invited, according to her mother.

Angela has been involved in every step of the planning, slipping in opinions, adding names to the guest list, rearranging details Jane doesn’t even pretend to care about. Jane barely recognizes the event she’s supposedly at the center of. It’s not hers. It’s never been hers. It belongs to her mother, to Casey, to a version of herself she’s been pretending to be for too long.

Casey seems happy. Excited, even. He talks about their future with an ease Jane envies, with a certainty she will never feel. And Jane plays along. She laughs when she’s supposed to. She nods when decisions are made. She goes home every night to the man she’s supposed to love, to the life she’s supposed to want.

Nothing about this wedding feels like it’s supposed to happen.

She hasn’t spoken to her father in years. Not since he walked out on their family. Not since he betrayed her mother, abandoned them all, started a new life like the one he had wasn’t worth fighting for. He doesn’t get to play the doting father now. He doesn’t get to put his hand over hers, lead her down that aisle, pretend he had anything to do with the woman she’s become.

So Korsak offered.

“Someone’s gotta do it,” he had said, voice gruff but warm. “And I’d be honored, Janie.”

She had almost cried when he said that. Almost.

Because Korsak had been more of a father to her than her real one ever was. He was the one who had looked out for her on the job, who had taught her how to lead with her gut but keep her head . He was the one who had supported her, protected her, believed in her.

And now he was the one who would walk her down the aisle, standing where her father should have been.

It should bring her some comfort.

But all she can think about is how much she doesn’t want to walk down that aisle at all.

She hates every moment of this.

She hates the flowers, the dress, the venue, the invitations. She hates the weight of the ring on her finger. She hates herself for saying yes in the first place.

Because she doesn’t want this.

She never has.

She said yes because she is a coward. Because it was the easiest, safest option. Because it meant she wouldn’t have to face herself, wouldn’t have to risk losing everything.

Because the truth—the real truth—is that she is not brave enough to scream to the world that she loves Maura.

But she does.

Oh God, how she loves Maura.

In the weeks following her birthday, Maura has been leaving breadcrumbs—subtle, deliberate hints—about her plan to escape to the end of the world. She’s mentioned, in passing but with intention, that she’s taken a month off starting on Jane’s wedding day. She’s mentioned booking a cabin in Ushuaia, the literal end of the world. She’s mused about whether she’ll stay for just that month or extend her leave—perhaps even take a sabbatical year. And Jane knows Maura isn’t saying these things idly. She’s choosing her moments carefully, speaking when she knows Jane is listening, planting the idea in Jane’s mind like a seed. She wants Jane to know. She wants Jane to understand. She is leaving. She is going away. And she is waiting for Jane to decide—waiting for Jane to follow her, to the very edge of the world.

And Jane wants to.

She wants to say to hell with everything and leave with Maura—to follow her to the end of the world. She wants to walk away from Casey, from the life she’s been pretending to want, from the weight of expectation that suffocates her more with each passing day. She wants to start over, somewhere no one knows her name, her history, her scars. Somewhere it’s just her and Maura. Somewhere she can finally, truly be free.

She spends more time researching Ushuaia than she does planning her wedding. Late at night, when Casey is asleep beside her, she reads about the city at the edge of the world—its rugged landscapes, its bitter winds, its quiet, untamed beauty. She studies the weather, the food, the lighthouse at the end of the world. She stands in front of her closet, running her fingers over sweaters and jackets, wondering what she would take with her to a place where spring still feels like winter. She eyes the lone suitcase she owns, picturing it filled with hastily packed clothes, with only the essentials—things she wouldn't even need if she chose the life she was supposed to.

And she imagines it—the moment when she leaves, when she takes Maura’s hand and steps into the unknown. The moment she chooses love over fear.

Casey has no idea that his fiancée is already gone. That every time she pictures her future, he isn’t in it.

But she hasn’t said anything yet. She hasn’t called off the wedding. She knows it’s stupid, knows she should just do it—rip off the Band-Aid, let the wound bleed, and be done with it. So why is she waiting? Why is she dragging this out, holding on until the last possible second, until the storm outside mirrors the one raging inside her?

Maybe Jane likes the pain. Maybe some part of her thrives on it—on the chaos, on the sharp edges of emotions she can’t quite dull. Maybe there’s something in her, something dark and self-punishing, that keeps her tethered to suffering even when escape is within reach. She walks the line between duty and desire, bleeding at the edges, unable to choose. Or maybe she already has. Maybe she’s been choosing Maura all along, in every unspoken thought, in every lingering glance, in every restless night spent picturing another life.

Still, she waits. Still, she hesitates. Maybe it’s fear. Maybe it's a habit. Maybe it’s the quiet, aching belief that she doesn’t deserve the happiness Maura is offering her.

It’s September 20th—ten days until the wedding—and Jane clings to the illusion that she still has time.

Summer went away, still the yearning stays. The season slipped through Maura’s fingers, leaving only the faint scent of sunscreen and the whisper of warm breezes in its wake. But the longing lingers in the corners of the medical examiner’s heart, insistent and unrelenting, refusing to be drowned out by reason or practicality.

It’s September 28th, and Jane is still engaged to Casey. Still set on going through with the wedding. At least, that’s what it looks like.

Maura is trying to play it cool, even as the weight of it crushes her. At work, she wears her usual armor—tailored suits, impeccable posture, carefully measured words. She smiles when she’s supposed to, answers questions with sharp precision, nods at the right moments. She never lets her gaze linger too long on Jane—afraid that if she does, someone will notice. Someone will see right through her.

But in the solitude of her home, the cracks begin to show.

She sits in her study, Bass munching lettuce leaves contentedly at her feet, and lets herself feel the ache she’s been suppressing all day. The longing she cannot escape. She closes her eyes, and there Jane is—her voice, low and fervent in the quiet of the night. The weight of Jane’s scarred hands in hers, the way her fingers curled around them like a promise. The impossible words they whispered in the dark, confessions spoken too late, dreams hanging in the space between them, fragile and dangerous. Promises Maura isn't sure either of them can keep.

But oh, how she wants to believe.

Maura has learned to wait. To endure. She has perfected the art of patience, even when her soul aches for more.

They’re not married yet.

Maura tells herself this over and over, like a mantra, like a lifeline. It’s the only thing anchoring her. They’re not married yet—there is still time. Jane could come running to her at any moment. Jane could meet her at midnight the night before the wedding, choosing love over obligation, choosing Maura over a life that doesn’t fit.

She has to believe that. She has to believe Jane loves her, that she will be brave enough, that she will silence the doubt and take the leap. Because if she doesn’t believe it, if she lets herself think—even for a second—that Jane might go through with it, that she might stand at the altar and say “I do” to a man she doesn’t love, Maura isn’t sure she’ll survive it.

She spends the last days before her trip consumed by planning—obsessively, meticulously, desperately.

She still doesn’t know if she’ll be going alone or if Jane will be by her side. She hopes, prays, aches for Jane to come with her, but hope alone is not enough to settle the unease crawling beneath her skin. So she plans. She makes lists, then rewrites them. She checks her itinerary over and over, highlighting flight details, cross-referencing time zones, triple-checking reservations. She organizes her suitcase, only to unpack it and start again, refolding every item with military precision. Her toiletries are lined up in perfect symmetry on her bathroom counter, labels facing forward. She cleans surfaces that don’t need cleaning, polishes silverware she won’t even take with her. Every action is an attempt to impose order, to silence the chaos in her mind, to quiet the voice that whispers, What if she doesn’t come? What if she chooses him?

Her nightly routine, once a series of gentle rituals, has turned into an exhausting series of compulsions. She brushes her hair exactly fifty times. Turns the bedside lamp on and off in even numbers. Closes every drawer, pressing three times to make sure it’s shut. She knows, logically, that none of this will change anything, that no amount of control will alter Jane’s decision. But logic is powerless against the gnawing dread inside her.

So she keeps planning, keeps organizing, keeps cleaning—because if she stops, even for a moment, she’ll have to face the possibility that when the time comes, she might be boarding that plane alone.

It's been a long time since she’s had an episode like this—since she’s felt this out of control, this desperate to impose order on the chaos swirling inside her. She used to have them often as a child, back when the world felt unpredictable and unsafe in ways she couldn’t yet articulate.

Back then, she would line up her books in perfect height order, straighten the edges of her papers until they were precisely aligned. She would count her steps, trace invisible patterns on the fabric of her clothes, touch doorknobs twice before walking through them. It wasn’t about logic—it never was. It was about control. About making things feel manageable, predictable. About holding onto something when everything else felt uncertain.

Her adoptive parents hadn’t understood. They saw a child who was “too particular,” who “worried too much” over things that didn’t matter. “You don’t have to do that, darling,” Constance would say as Maura carefully arranged her silverware at dinner, aligning the fork and knife at a perfect ninety-degree angle. But she did have to. If she didn’t, something terrible might happen.

She had learned, eventually, how to suppress it. How to function in the world without letting her compulsions take over. She built a life of logic and reason, of structure and control. She learned how to let go—at least, most of the time.

But now, as she paces her pristine house, packing and unpacking her suitcase for the third time in a single evening, she can feel it creeping back in. The need to control something—anything—because the one thing she wants most is entirely out of her hands. Jane.

Jane, who is still engaged to Casey. Jane, who hasn’t called off the wedding. Jane, who might not come.

Summer has gone away, but the promise of what could be—that stays. It thrives in the spaces between the impossible and the inevitable, and though Maura tells herself she is cool, detached, composed...she is not fooling herself, not even a little.

Maura clenches her hands, presses them flat against the cool marble of her kitchen counter, forcing herself to breathe. 

They’re not married yet. There is still time.

The day before the wedding, the panic sets in like a vice around Jane’s chest.

This is happening—unless she stops it.

This is happening—unless she finds her voice.

This is happening—unless she sits Casey down, looks him in the eye, and tells him the truth: that she cannot marry him, that she cannot pretend anymore, that she is hopelessly, irreversibly in love with someone else. That she is choosing Maura. Finally. Fully. Forever.

No one else can do this for her. No one is coming to rescue her, to swoop in at the last second and pull her out of the life she’s trapped herself in. If she wants out, if she wants Maura, she has to be brave—braver than she’s ever been before. She has faced danger, death, and darkness for the sake of others. She has thrown herself into the line of fire, quite literally, to protect the people she loves. But this? This is for her. For Maura. For the love they have both suffered for.

She cannot keep doing this to Maura—breaking her, wrecking her, making her hope only to shatter her again. She cannot keep ripping them both apart.

And if she goes through with this wedding, if she says I do when she doesn’t mean it, if she lets Maura walk away alone to the end of the world—

She will lose her forever.

It’s September 29th. There’s no more time.

Maura sits in her living room, her nerves unraveling with every relentless tick of the clock on the mantle. Midnight looms closer, each second stretching unbearably long. By the door, her suitcase stands ready—a picture of meticulous order, every article of clothing folded with precision, every essential document carefully placed. It’s an escape plan executed with the same calculated care she applies to everything in her life.

Her flight isn’t until the early hours of the morning, but that isn’t what matters. What matters is midnight. Because if Jane is going to choose her—if Jane is going to be brave, to love her out loud, to throw caution to the wind and follow her to the end of the world—she will show up then, suitcase in hand, heart on the line, ready to leave everything behind.

If.

That word hangs in the air like a storm cloud, heavy with doubt and fear.

Jane will show up. Jane will choose her. She has to. Every great love story deserves a happy ending, and theirs is the greatest of them all. Maura clings to these thoughts like a lifeline, repeating them over and over in her mind, willing them into reality. Her fingers tighten around the stem of her wine glass, knuckles white, as if holding on to it might somehow steady the storm raging inside her.

What if Jane stands at the altar tomorrow and pretends Maura never existed, never mattered? Maura’s heart clenches at the thought, and she closes her eyes, willing herself to trust Jane, to believe that what they’ve shared has been real.

But Maura knows Jane. She knows how fiercely loyal she is to her family, her sense of duty, her need to do what’s expected of her, even at the cost of her own happiness. Maura knows how much Jane struggles to be brave when it comes to matters of the heart.

The truth is, she isn’t sure Jane can go through with this.

The clock strikes 11:45. Fifteen minutes left. Maura’s breath hitches as she glances at the phone lying on the coffee table. No call. No text. Her heart pounds painfully in her chest, her mind racing with possibilities, each worse than the last. 

Maura takes a shaky breath and stands, pacing the room to calm herself. But nothing helps. Her chest feels tight, her pulse erratic. The possibility of Jane not showing up threatens to crush her completely.

“Please,” Maura whispers into the empty room. “Please, Jane.”

The seconds tick by. 

Midnight looms closer.

Will Jane come? Or will this be the moment Maura learns that she has, once again, allowed herself to hope for something that was never truly hers to have?

For her whole life, Maura has played by the rules, done everything by the book, and what has it brought her? Loneliness. Yearning. A lifetime of people leaving or never truly seeing her, never truly choosing her. Jane will see her. Jane will choose her. Won’t she?

She looks at the suitcase by the door, its perfect corners and carefully packed contents a reflection of how much this means to her. 

Maura thinks about every other time she’s put herself out there, every time she’s hoped for more, only to be let down.

She stands, moving to the window and pulling the curtain back just enough to see the street. It’s quiet, only a few cars passing by in the distance. Midnight is so close now, she can feel it.

Maura presses her forehead against the cool glass, her breath fogging the window as she exhales. She closes her eyes, trying to picture Jane walking through the door, her suitcase in hand. She can see it so clearly, it almost feels real.

But then the fear creeps in again.

What if Jane doesn’t come? What if she’s still sitting at home, staring at her engagement ring, too afraid to take it off? What if she’s decided that loving Maura is too much, that running away is too reckless, too impossible?

Her heart pounds in her chest, each beat a mixture of hope and terror. She turns back to the room, her eyes darting between the clock, the suitcase, and the door.

Please, Jane. Please.

Maura’s hand trembles as she lifts her phone, her fingers brushing over the smooth glass like it’s Jane’s face, as if she can reach through the void and feel her. She closes her eyes for a moment, imagining the warmth of Jane’s skin, the scars in her hands, the love she’s too scared to believe in fully.

Her heart is a storm in her chest, wild and erratic, pounding with the kind of desperation she has never felt before.

She plucks a single flower from a vase on the mantelpiece, its petals soft and delicate, and holds it between her trembling fingers. She loves me, she loves me not. The thought loops in her mind like a cruel game, one she knows she can’t win.

The ache in Maura’s chest is sharp, but she refuses to cry. She’s not sure she even has tears left to cry; it feels like she bled herself dry months ago. The quiet betrayal of hope is worse than any heartbreak she’s endured before, but she won’t let herself fall apart. Not now. Not again.

If Jane doesn’t come, fine. Maura will run away alone.

She tells herself this over and over, each repetition adding a fragile layer of resolve to her crumbling heart. She’ll leave Boston, leave Jane, leave everything. She’ll start over, build a life where Jane doesn’t haunt every corner, every breath. She’ll exorcise Jane from her mind, body, and soul—somehow.

Her breaths come in short, shallow bursts, each one carrying the weight of a thousand memories. The kisses. The stolen glances. The whispered confessions in the dark.

She loves me. She loves me not.

Maura gave her blood, sweat, and tears for this, like she might be saved by a perfect kiss. But Jane hasn’t shown up yet, and it’s almost midnight. Everything you lose is a step you take , she tells herself, trying to believe it, to convince herself that this will somehow be for the best—even if life without Jane is merely surviving, not living.

She looks down at her wrist. She’s wearing a friendship bracelet Jane made for her long ago, back when they were just falling in love. Before Casey, before falling asleep in each other’s arms, before the kisses, the promises—before everything . Her fingers hover over the bracelet, seconds away from ripping it off. She wants to wash Jane off herself, to erase her entirely. She wants seven years to pass in an instant so every cell in her body will be new—untainted by Jane’s touch, her kisses, her embrace.

But she can’t do it. She can’t let go.

She knows she’ll love Jane forever, no matter how much she wants to hate her. Jane has marked her, etched herself into her soul like a bloodstain Maura will never be free of.

You’re on your own, kid. You always have been , Maura whispers to herself, the words cutting deeper each time, like the edge of a blade that’s dulled but still sharp enough to wound. It’s not just tonight that she feels it—the absence, the loneliness—it’s a truth that has haunted her for as long as she can remember. She was born into a life of solitude, her earliest memories filled with quiet rooms and the distant hum of voices she was never quite a part of. Her adoptive parents loved her, she supposes, in the way they knew how: with discipline, with structure, with the kind of affection that came in the form of expectations rather than embraces. She learned to be alone before she even learned how to speak.

The friendships she’s forged over the years never seemed to fill the void, not completely. People liked her, admired her even, but they didn’t understand her. They couldn’t. Not really. She spoke a language of facts and logic, but her heart yearned for connection—raw, messy, imperfect connection. And then came Jane, who filled the spaces Maura didn’t even know were empty.

She looks down at the bracelet on her wrist. It’s a small thing, and yet it carries the weight of everything she ever wanted, but she’s on her own again. Maybe she always was, even when Jane was by her side. Maybe Jane was just an illusion, a fleeting mirage in a desert she’s been walking her entire life.

Maura wonders if it’s her fate, not just to be alone but to love so deeply and still end up here, clutching at fragments of what might have been, whispering promises to herself that she doesn’t quite believe.

The words loop in her mind, each repetition heavier than the last. You’re on your own, kid. You always have been. 

Jane waits until the very last minute—until there is no more space left between hesitation and action, until she has no choice but to do what she has always known, deep down, she must.

She isn’t supposed to see Casey the night before the wedding. It’s a tradition, her Ma insisted. Something about luck, about anticipation. He’s staying at a friend’s place, and she’s at her apartment— their apartment, at least for now—under her mother’s watchful eye. She’s supposed to be preparing for the biggest day of her life. Supposed to be giddy with excitement, jittery in the way brides are meant to be. Supposed to be nervous, but the good kind, the kind that comes before something beautiful.

Instead, she’s sick.

She’s spent the entire day hunched over the toilet, her stomach twisting itself into knots, rejecting food, rejecting everything. She can’t find the words. Can’t figure out how to tell her mother, how to tell Casey, that there will be no wedding, no honeymoon, no picture-perfect future they’ve all been planning for her. That she’s leaving. That she’s running away with Maura.

She tried to explain it to herself earlier, standing in front of the mirror with pale, clammy skin and haunted eyes. Practiced the words: I can’t do this. I love Maura. I have to go. But they stuck in her throat, choking her before she could even form them aloud.

Her mother, worried but unaware, keeps brushing it all off as nerves. “It’s normal, Janie. Every bride gets like this.” She pats Jane’s cheek, smooths down the loose strands of her hair, beams at her like she’s the happiest mother in the world.

Jane nods, stomach churning.

“Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

The priest is supposed to say those words tomorrow, if she goes through with this. If she stands at the altar beside Casey, wearing a dress she doesn’t want, speaking vows she doesn’t mean.

A part of her wonders—what if she does? What if she lets it happen? Will Maura miss her early morning flight, rush to the church at the last second, and speak for her, saving Jane from having to shatter her fiancé and her family herself? Or will Maura accept Jane’s silence as her answer, as her choice, and leave without a word?

No. Jane knows better. Maura is leaving either way.

Night falls, and Jane is unraveling. She tries to eat—because her mother insists, insists, insists until Jane is sure she’ll be force-fed if she refuses—but the moment the food touches her stomach, she runs to the bathroom and loses it all.

She is trapped.

She can feel the walls closing in on her, feel the panic pressing against her ribs, stealing her breath. She can’t do this.

She won’t do this.

And so, at last, she acts. At last, she speaks.

“Ma…” Jane begins, but the word sticks in her throat, thick and heavy.

Her mother turns to her, concern etched into her face. “What is it, Janie?”

Jane swallows hard. Her heart is pounding so violently she thinks she might be sick again, but she forces herself to push through it. She has to do this. There is no more time.

“I can’t do this,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. She clears her throat and tries again. “I can’t get married tomorrow.”

For a moment, the world holds still. Then, Angela scoffs—a small, disbelieving sound—before shaking her head. “Sweetheart, it’s just nerves. Every bride feels this way the night before—”

“No, Ma,” Jane cuts in, stronger this time. “It’s not nerves. It’s not cold feet. It’s not last-minute panic. It’s me realizing that this isn’t what I want. That it’s never been what I wanted.”

Angela’s face shifts, her brows pulling together, her expression hardening. “Jane, what are you saying?”

Jane exhales shakily, raking a hand through her hair. “I’m saying I don’t want to get married. I’m saying I don’t love Casey the way I should.” She shakes her head, as if trying to shake loose the weight pressing down on her chest. “I can’t stand up there tomorrow and say vows I don’t believe in. I can’t build a life with him when I know, deep down, that it’s not the life I want.”

Angela stares at her, silent for a long beat. Then, her lips press together, and Jane sees the shift—sees the mother in her, the fixer, the woman who has spent her whole life putting broken things back together.

“You do love him,” she insists. “I know you do. Maybe it’s not the head-over-heels, can’t-live-without-each-other kind of love, but Jane, that’s not real life. That’s fairy tale nonsense. This —marriage, commitment, choosing to stand by someone even when things aren’t perfect— this is real.”

Jane shakes her head, her throat tight. “Maybe for you. Maybe for a lot of people. But not for me.” She grips the edge of the table like it’s the only thing keeping her upright. “I don’t want to wake up ten years from now, in a life I feel trapped in, knowing I could’ve stopped it before it started. I don’t want to hurt Casey by marrying him when my heart’s not in it.”

Angela exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over her face. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing? What this will mean?”

“Yes,” Jane says, her voice firm despite the trembling in her hands. “It means I won’t be lying to myself. Or to Casey. It means I’m making the right choice, even if it’s the hard one.”

Angela looks at her long and hard, searching her face for something—hesitation, doubt, a crack in her resolve. But there is none.

Finally, Angela lets out a long, heavy breath. “What are you going to tell him?”

Jane swallows. “The truth. That I care about him. That he’s a good man. But that I can’t be his wife.”

Angela closes her eyes for a brief moment, as if willing herself to accept what’s happening. When she opens them again, she nods, slow and reluctant. “Okay,” she says. “Okay.”

It’s not approval. It’s not understanding. But it’s enough.

Jane lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. It’s done. There’s no turning back now. She’s let her mother down, crushed the dreams she’s carried for her since she was a little girl—the dreams of a white dress, a church filled with family, a perfect wedding that Angela had probably envisioned long before Jane ever understood what marriage even meant.

They spend two agonizing hours talking, Jane enduring the heartbreak in Angela’s voice, the endless questions, the disappointment that cut deeper than she expected. Angela pleads, demands answers, even tries to reason with her, but Jane stands firm. She isn’t getting married. She isn’t ready, she doesn't love Casey the way she should, and she can’t force herself into a life that isn’t hers. Eventually, after exhaustion settles in and the fight drains out of both of them, Angela sighs, wipes her tears, and accepts it. She doesn’t understand, not fully, but she lets Jane go.

"Ma… I need you to cancel everything," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "The guests, the venue, the flowers, the caterer, they honeymoon—everything." Guilt twisting inside her like a knife, Jane says: "I hate that this is so last minute. I hate that I’m putting this all on you, but I can’t do it, Ma. I just… I can’t." 

Angela blinks rapidly, shaking her head as if trying to wake up from a bad dream. "What am I supposed to tell everyone?"

Jane exhales sharply, dragging a hand through her hair. "Tell them whatever you need to. Tell them I got cold feet. Tell them I panicked. Tell them I realized this wasn’t right." She swallows hard. "I don’t care, Ma. Just—please, just handle it.”

“Okay," she whispers. "Okay, Janie."

“I need to go away for a while. I just… I can’t stay. I can’t pretend like everything’s fine when it’s not. I need to go somewhere where I can actually breathe, where I can figure out what the hell I’m doing with my life.”

Angela’s voice breaks. “But why do you have to leave? Can’t you figure things out here, with your family?”

Jane shakes her head. “No. Not here. I need distance. I need space. I’m sorry, Ma," she murmurs. "I never wanted to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt Casey."

Angela holds her tightly, her voice thick with emotion. "Just promise me you’ll be safe."

Jane presses her lips together, inhaling the familiar scent of her mother’s perfume.

"I promise," Jane says, her voice quiet but steady. She pulls away from her mother, wiping the moisture from her eyes. 

She packs a suitcase with a sense of urgency, moving quickly and efficiently, as if each item has a predetermined place. She’s done this in her mind a thousand times since Maura first suggested they run away together, rehearsing the steps over and over, imagining the weight of the decision, the freedom it would bring.

Her mother asks where she’s going, of course. Jane offers half-truths, the words coming out in a rush as if saying them aloud makes them more real. She tells her she has a plane ticket to Argentina, and that the flight leaves early tomorrow morning. No, she doesn’t know when she’ll be back. Yes, she’ll be staying somewhere safe. No, she didn’t go into debt planning this escape—how can she explain that this escape was never really hers to plan, that someone else planned it for her? That the only thing she had to do was speak up, finally admit what she’s known for so long?

She leaves her apartment—and her mother—behind, Angela still full of questions that Jane hasn’t bothered to answer. She hasn’t given her mother any real explanations, leaving her with nothing but confusion and worry.

With her suitcase in tow, Jane heads out to find Casey at his friend’s place. She knows she’s waited far too long to do this—that breaking things off the night before the wedding is cruel—but she couldn’t do it any sooner. She needed the weight of the ticking clock, the urgency of running out of time, to finally force her hand.

She glances at her watch. Nearly 9 p.m. This won’t be a quick conversation. Casey will demand answers, will try to reason with her, will refuse to let her go without a fight. She braces herself, knowing this will be just as painful as telling her mother—if not worse.

Jane takes a deep breath and knocks on the door. The wait feels endless, though it’s only a few seconds before it swings open. The moment Casey sees her standing there, suitcase in hand, he knows.

She sees it in his eyes—the quiet resignation, the way his shoulders stiffen like he’s bracing for impact. And he sees it in hers. The truth they’ve both been avoiding, stretching thin between them like a fraying rope. He’s always known this was coming. He’s been fooling himself by believing otherwise, by convincing himself that the proposal, the plans, the ring on her finger meant certainty. Meant permanence. Meant love.

But love—real love, the kind that doesn’t require forcing or pretending—has never lived between them the way it should.

He swallows hard, his voice rough when he finally speaks. “You’re not here because you missed me, are you?”

Jane shakes her head, her grip tightening on the suitcase handle. “No.”

Casey exhales, long and slow, looking past her for a moment, like he needs to gather himself. Then, with a nod, he steps aside and lets her in.

"Why did you wait until tonight, Jane?" he asks at one point, and she searches for an answer—any answer—but comes up empty.

Maybe, deep down, she wanted Casey to feel the sting, to know exactly what he was being saved from by her decision to let go. To make him see, in the rawest way possible, that she couldn’t marry him, wouldn’t marry him, and that no amount of pleading or reasoning would change her mind. Maybe she thought hurting him like this would make things easier in the long run, a clean break rather than a lingering, festering wound. Or maybe it wasn’t about Casey at all. Maybe it was about her, about exorcising the guilt she felt for not loving him the way he deserved by letting him see her at her worst.

She had done this before, after all. She’d hurt Maura a million times under the guise of making things easier. Pushing her away when things got too close, when the depth of her own feelings became too terrifying to confront. Thinking, wrongly, that her cruelty would help Maura forget her, help her fall out of love, help her move on. But all Jane had ever managed to do was inflict damage—on Maura, on herself, on anyone caught in the orbit of her inner turmoil.

It’s as if Jane doesn’t know how to wield her emotions without turning them into weapons. As if she can’t help but cut the people she loves most, all in some misguided attempt to protect them—or protect herself. Maura. Her mother. Even Casey. She’s spent so long trying to live up to everyone else’s expectations, trying to be what they want her to be, that she’s forgotten how to simply be .

It’s nearly 1 a.m., and the storm outside rages as if mirroring the turmoil inside Jane. Rain soaks her to the bone, her dark hair plastered against her face, water dripping from her jacket onto the stone steps of Maura’s Beacon Hill home. She stands there, breathless, her chest heaving with exhaustion, adrenaline, and something far more overwhelming. Every inhale burns in her lungs, every second stretches unbearably, but she doesn’t move—doesn’t knock—just yet.

Jane knows one thing for certain: she doesn’t want to hurt Maura anymore. She’s done with the games, the pushing and pulling, the self-inflicted chaos. For once in her life, she wants to be brave enough to love someone the way they deserve. Brave enough to love Maura openly, completely, without fear.

She just hopes it isn’t too late.

She knows she should have left Casey sooner, should have called things off weeks ago, should have saved everyone this last-minute chaos. But she also knows that the only thing that matters now is getting to Maura. She’ll apologize for being late, for keeping her waiting, for every time she’s hurt her, failed to choose her. She’ll make it right.

She has to.

Jane raises a trembling fist and knocks on the door, her heart pounding louder than the rain against the pavement. She waits, every second stretching unbearably, her breath shallow, her pulse thrumming in her ears.

The door opens, and there she is—Maura Dorothea Isles, standing in the doorway, her hair slightly mussed as if she’s been pacing in nervous anticipation. The look of relief and disbelief that washes over Maura’s face makes Jane’s knees go weak.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Jane says, her voice shaking. “I’m here now. I’m ready.”

And with those words, everything else falls away.

“I thought you wouldn’t come,” Maura whispers, her voice trembling with the weight of her emotions. She’s holding herself together by the thinnest thread, her nails digging into her palms to keep the tears at bay. “I thought you had chosen him again.”

“I’m done choosing anyone that isn’t you,” Jane says, her voice low but steady. The words seem to echo in the quiet hallway, and Maura visibly shivers, her breath catching in her throat. It feels too good to be true, too impossible to believe. Jane takes a small step forward, and the light from the entryway catches in her dark, rain-soaked hair. “I’m late because of my mother. And Casey,” Jane continues, her voice softening. “Talking to them took longer than I thought it would. And then I walked all the way here because I was too shaken to drive,” she adds, her tone almost apologetic. “That took longer, too. I should’ve called. I should’ve texted. I’m sorry I didn’t. I was—” She pauses, searching for the right word, “—too shaken up. But I’m here now. I’m here forever, if you’ll have me.”

Maura takes a tentative step forward, closing the gap between them. Her fingers hover near Jane’s arm, unsure, before finally resting there, feeling the warmth of her through the damp sleeve of her jacket. 

“You’re really here,” Maura murmurs, her voice breaking slightly.

“I’m really here,” Jane affirms, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips despite the tension in her features. “I’m here for you, Maura. Only you.”

Maura exhales shakily, her grip tightening just enough to anchor them both. “Then come inside,” she says, her voice thick with emotion. “Let’s figure out the rest together.”

Jane steps over the threshold, leaving the storm outside as the door closes behind her. Whatever comes next, they’ll face it together—starting now.

“You’re soaking wet,” Maura says softly, her eyes scanning Jane from head to toe. Her voice is gentle, but the worry in her tone is unmistakable. “You need a hot shower and clean, dry clothes,” she decides, already thinking of where she’s stored her extra towels.

“What I need is you,” Jane interrupts, her voice low and unsteady as if the weight of the night has finally caught up to her. Before Maura can say another word, Jane cups her face with her scarred hands, calloused yet impossibly tender, and kisses her. It’s the kind of kiss that carries a thousand unsaid things—promises and apologies all at once.

Maura freezes for a moment, overwhelmed, before melting into the kiss, her hands coming up to hold Jane’s wrists, grounding them both. And just like that, the rest of the world disappears. The storm outside is a distant memory, the late hour irrelevant. At that moment, Jane is home, Maura is home, and they are finally where they belong. Even though they’re on the verge of leaving everything they’ve ever known, it feels right—because they’ll be doing it together.

“I missed your kisses,” Maura whispers when they finally break apart, her lips tingling and her breath shaky. She presses her forehead against Jane’s, her voice thick with emotion. “I missed everything about you. I missed you .”

“I missed you more,” Jane replies, her voice raw with feeling. She leans in again, capturing Maura’s lips in another kiss, softer this time but just as fervent. She speaks between kisses, her words tumbling out like a confession. “Why did I think I could ever live without you? I need you like you’re oxygen. I love you like it’s breathing.”

Tears sting Maura’s eyes, but she refuses to let them fall. Instead, she whispers, “I love you too.” Her arms tighten around Jane, as if holding her any less firmly might cause this moment to slip through her fingers. She buries her face against the detective’s damp shoulder, inhaling the scent of rain and something undeniably Jane before finally pulling back, smoothing her hands down Jane’s chilled arms. “But,” Maura says gently, breaking the kiss with reluctant finality, “you need a hot shower and dry clothes, sweetheart. You’ll get sick if you don’t.” Jane starts to protest, but Maura presses a soft finger to her lips, silencing her before she can argue. “And,” she continues, her voice a soothing murmur, “we need to sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a long day, and we’ll need all the energy we can get.”

After Jane showers, they settle into bed together, lying side by side. Jane’s arms wrap securely around Maura’s frame, and Maura rests her head on Jane’s shoulder, her nose nuzzling the crook of Jane’s neck. The familiar scent of lavender soap lingers on Jane’s skin, and Maura wants to breathe it in until it intoxicates her, until it replaces every bad memory she has of the months they were apart.

It’s 2 in the morning now, and they both know they have to wake up in a few hours. Exhaustion tugs at them, their bodies heavy with the weight of the night’s events, but neither can bring themselves to sleep just yet. Instead, they whisper to each other, their voices low and intimate, as if they’re exchanging the most precious secrets in the world.

“I missed this,” Jane murmurs, her lips brushing against Maura’s temple. “Having you in my arms. I dreamed of this every single second of every single day. Just holding you close, telling you I love you. And now that I have you back, I’m not letting you go ever again.”

Maura tilts her head up slightly to look at Jane, her eyes soft and shimmering with unshed tears. “I missed you too,” she whispers. “I missed this more than I can even put into words.” After a beat, Maura hesitates, then asks: “How did Casey and your mother take the news?”

Jane sighs, her hand absently tracing soothing circles on Maura’s back. “They were disappointed,” she admits, her voice steady but tinged with guilt. “But... I think they weren’t surprised. I think they both knew deep down that I wasn’t in it for the right reasons. They were more upset about the timing than anything else. They couldn’t understand why I waited until the last minute.”

“I know it couldn’t have been easy.”

“I told them I needed time,” Jane explains softly. “That I was going away for a while to figure things out.”

“You didn’t tell them the real reason,” Maura says, her voice steady but heavy with hurt. It’s not a question—it’s a statement. “You didn’t tell them it’s because of me. Why?”

The words hang between them like a weight, and Jane feels it settle in her chest. Maura’s pain is palpable, written all over her face, in the way her lips tremble as she speaks. Even now, after Jane has supposedly chosen her, Maura’s name remains unspoken, her truth hidden. It makes Jane’s decision feel less like an act of love and more like a convenient escape—more about avoiding marriage than admitting she’s deeply, irrevocably in love with someone else.

Jane sighs deeply, her arms instinctively tightening around Maura’s frame. 

“I didn’t want to drag you into the mess I’ve already made. I thought it would be easier for everyone if... if I left that part out, at least for now. I didn’t want to overwhelm them. I didn’t want to make it seem like I left Casey for someone else. It’s... complicated. I am not ready to come out yet.” She shakes her head, frustration evident in the tense set of her jaw. “I just... I don’t know how to do it. I know it’s selfish. I know you deserve better than this half-truth, but I just—I need time. I need to figure out how to be honest with them. Can you be patient with me? Just a little longer?”

Maura lifts a hand, tracing her fingers gently over the sharp edge of Jane’s jaw, as though trying to soothe the tremble in her voice. 

“This is your journey. Only you get to decide when and how you come out. I could never ask you to rush that for me, or for anyone else. And I certainly can’t decide when you’re ready. But what I can do—what I will do—is stand beside you through all of it. I will be there when you find the words. I will be there when you’re afraid, when you feel like you’re drowning in expectations, when you wonder if you’re doing the right thing. And I will love you through every moment, just as I love you now.” She lifts Jane’s hand to her lips, pressing the softest of kisses against her knuckles, reverent, tender. “You don’t have to do this alone,” she whispers. “You never have to do anything alone again. And whether you say the words tomorrow or in ten years, whether you say them at all—I will be here. I will always be here.” 

A tear slips down Jane’s cheek, and Maura catches it with her thumb, her own eyes glistening. 

“You are the love of my life, Jane,” she says, a promise wrapped in devotion. “And that means I will love you in the light, in the dark, in the silence, and in the noise. I will love you exactly as you are, in every version of yourself, for as long as you’ll let me.”

Their lips meet, and the kiss is slow, soft, and filled with unspoken promises, the kind only they can make and keep.

They kiss again, and again, and again, as if time doesn’t exist, as if this moment is the only thing that matters. Slowly, exhaustion overtakes them, but even as they drift off, their words linger like a lullaby.

“I love you.”

“I love you more.”

“I’m so in love with you.”

Maura’s breath catches, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Say it again,” she pleads softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Say that you’re in love with me.”

Jane cups Maura’s face gently, her gaze steady and unwavering. “I am in love with you. I am so in love with you, you have no idea,” she says. “All I want is you. I want you. I only want you,” Jane whispers between kisses. 

Tears spill down Maura’s cheeks as she closes the distance between them, pressing her forehead against Jane’s. “You have me,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “You’ve always had me.”

Maura sleeps through most of the first flight, her head resting against the window, her features soft and peaceful, exhaustion weighing heavy in her bones. But beneath the fatigue, there’s a quiet, overwhelming joy—a deep, soul-settling relief. Jane is here. Jane chose her. After everything, after all the doubt and fear, Jane is by her side, where Maura has always dreamed she would be. 

Jane, the love of her life. Jane, her one and only. The only touch that has ever felt like home. The only voice that can calm the storms inside her, the only presence that can anchor her in a world that often feels too vast, too chaotic. 

Jane, her always.

The sleep Maura gets during this long flight is the deepest, most restful sleep she’s had in as long as she can remember. It’s the kind of sleep that only comes when the weight of uncertainty has finally lifted, when the fear of loss has been replaced by the quiet certainty of love chosen, love returned.

Jane holds her hand the entire time, her grip steady, unwavering, as if even in sleep she’s making a promise—one Maura feels in her bones. That she’s here. That she’s not letting go. That this isn’t just an impulsive decision made in the heat of the moment, but a choice Jane will keep making, over and over, for as long as Maura will have her.

Maura stirs briefly, the hum of the plane and the gentle press of Jane’s fingers grounding her. She turns her head slightly, catching a glimpse of Jane’s face—peaceful, more at ease than Maura has seen her in months, maybe years. And in that moment, in the quiet sanctuary of a flight carrying them into an unknown future, Maura allows herself to believe that this, right here, is the beginning of everything she’s ever dreamed of.

The second flight, shorter and quieter, finds them both wide awake. They speak in hushed tones, leaning in close as though sharing precious secrets. The intimacy of their whispers, the way their eyes meet and linger, make the noisy plane cabin feel like their own private universe.

“What are you looking forward to the most?” Maura asks, her voice soft but sparkling with the excitement of their journey. Her eyes glimmer with the promise of a whole month ahead—just the two of them, free from prying eyes, from opinions, from the expectations that have weighed them down for so long. A month to simply be .

Jane squeezes Maura’s hand, her lips curving into a tender smile. “Honestly? Just being with you. No interruptions, no judgment. Just us. And you?”

Maura leans into Jane’s shoulder, letting out a soft sigh. 

“I’m looking forward to seeing you happy, Jane. Truly happy. And if I get to be the reason for even part of that, then I’ll consider this trip the greatest success of my life.”

“You already are the reason why I’m happy,” Jane replies without hesitation. “It’s not the place, Maura. It’s not the escape. It’s not the running away or the starting over.” Jane shakes her head, her dark eyes never leaving Maura’s. “It’s you. It’s always been you.” She lifts a hand, brushing a strand of hair away from Maura’s face, her touch reverent, like she’s memorizing the feel of her, the warmth of her, the softness of her skin. “As long as I have you, I’ll figure out the rest. So, don’t ever doubt it. Don’t ever doubt what you mean to me.” She presses a kiss to Maura’s forehead, lingering there for a heartbeat, breathing her in. “You are my happiness, Maura. You always have been.”

Maura barely has a second to process Jane’s words before the emotion surges inside her, overwhelming and all-consuming. Jane is looking at her like she is the only thing in the world that matters, like she has been the answer all along, and Maura feels it in her bones, in the marrow of her very existence.

She reaches for Jane, her fingers threading through her unruly hair, pulling her closer. Jane exhales softly—like she has just let go of something heavy, like she is finally free—and then their lips meet.

Jane cups Maura’s face in her hands, her thumbs brushing over tear-streaked skin, as if trying to memorize every inch of her, as if grounding herself in this moment, in this love that no longer has to hide.

Maura sighs into the kiss, her body melting against Jane’s. She tastes like something wholly her own, something Maura has spent years aching for.

When they finally part, their foreheads rest together, breaths mingling, hearts racing in tandem. Jane’s eyes flutter open, dark and shining, and Maura sees it all there—the promise, the devotion, the love she once feared she would never truly have.

Jane smiles then, small and crooked and entirely hers. “I mean every word,” she whispers.

And Maura, her chest bursting with something too big to name, smiles right back. “I know,” she breathes. “I know.”

And then she kisses her again.

When they finally arrive at the small, cozy cabin just before midnight, the air outside is cold, and the stars above are endless. They are both exhausted, their bodies heavy with the weight of the long journey. Yet, as Jane pushes the door open, letting Maura step in first, she feels a spark of energy. This is the beginning of something new, something sacred. 

The place feels immediately like home. The cabin is nothing short of breathtaking—a secluded haven perched on the edge of the world, where luxury meets the raw beauty of Tierra del Fuego. Built from rich, dark wood and floor-to-ceiling glass, it blends seamlessly into the rugged landscape while offering a front-row seat to the majesty of the Beagle Channel.

Inside, the warmth is instant. The open-concept living area is a masterpiece of refined comfort—plush, oversized sofas draped in cashmere throws, a handwoven rug sprawled beneath a polished oak coffee table, and elegant shelves lined with curated books and delicate trinkets. The scent of cedar and the faintest trace of vanilla lingers in the air, wrapping around them like a quiet embrace.

The kitchen is state-of-the-art, fitted with marble countertops, copper fixtures, and a gourmet espresso machine waiting to fill the mornings with rich, dark coffee. A floor-to-ceiling wine rack sits near the dining area. Every detail is deliberate—crystal decanters catching the light, a perfectly arranged fruit bowl, and an assortment of fine wines and spirits waiting to be uncorked.

A floating staircase leads to the lofted bedroom, where a king-sized bed dressed in the softest linens awaits, positioned beneath an expansive skylight that offers a private view of the Patagonian night sky. 

Beyond the glass walls, the world feels untouched—endless forests stretch toward the mountains, and the distant call of seabirds drifts in from the channel. Outside, a private terrace extends over the rugged terrain, complete with a steaming hot tub and a firepit where they can sit, wrapped in blankets, watching the Southern Hemisphere stars burn bright against the ink-black sky.

Jane exhales, her tension melting as she steps onto the terrace, feeling the crisp air kiss her skin. She looks over at Maura, whose eyes shine with quiet wonder, her fingers trailing along the heated wooden railing. They are thousands of miles away from everything they’ve ever known, but standing here, in this place just for them—Jane knows without a doubt: this is home.

They head back inside and take turns showering, the warmth of the water washing away the weight of the day. By the time they’re both ready for bed, it’s nearly 1:30 in the morning. Exhaustion clings to them—not just the deep, aching fatigue of travel but the heavier kind, the kind that comes from unraveling a life and stepping into the unknown.

Before slipping into bed and into Maura’s waiting arms, Jane finally checks her phone—something she hasn’t done all day. The screen lights up with a dozen missed calls: her mother, her brothers, Casey, even Korsak and Frost. There are also at least twenty messages from all of them. She doesn’t have the energy to read them now, but she opens one thread at random—her mother’s.

Maura immediately notices the shift in Jane’s expression—the way her face tenses, relaxation giving way to worry in an instant.

“Is something wrong?” Maura asks gently.

Jane exhales sharply, running a hand through her damp hair. “It’s my mother,” she says. “She’s bombarded me with all the same questions from yesterday—plus a thousand new ones.”

Her mother’s words are rushed, laced with frustration: "Let me know where you are, how you are, and if you’re okay. Are you with Maura? She’s gone too." It’s not just concern—it’s suspicion, a veiled accusation that tightens around Jane’s chest. She swallows hard and keeps reading. "I’ve taken care of canceling everything like you asked," her mother continues. "The vendors, the guests, the honeymoon. Everyone is confused and disappointed. Casey is heartbroken—he’s still staying with a friend for support." The mention of Casey stings, guilt creeping in despite her resolve. But she pushes it aside. She knows she made the right decision, even if it left casualties in its wake. And then, the inevitable questions: "Why, Jane? Why did you do this? Why did you wait until the last minute?"

Jane stares at the words, feeling a pang of familiar helplessness. She’s heard these questions before, but she still doesn’t have the answers her mother wants. The truth—her full, unvarnished truth—is too raw, too tangled with feelings she’s only just begun to let herself fully embrace.

“What are you going to say to her?” Maura asks gently.

Angela must already suspect something—how could she not? Two women vanishing together right after a canceled wedding is bound to spark questions. And this is Angela, Jane’s mother, a woman with an almost supernatural knack for sensing when something is off.

Jane sits down on the bed beside Maura, exhaling slowly. “I’ll tell her I’m fine, that I’m somewhere safe. She already knew I was coming to Argentina,” she says, her voice steady, though the certainty doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She intertwines her fingers with Maura’s, seeking reassurance in the warmth of her touch. “And I’ll tell her that I’m with you.”

But Jane stops there, and the silence that follows is heavy. Maura knows immediately what’s left unsaid. Jane won’t tell Angela why she’s with her, not yet. She won’t tell her mother that Maura is the reason she couldn’t marry Casey, that she’s the love of Jane’s life.

“I understand,” Maura says softly, her voice gentle as she offers a small, reassuring smile.

Jane must see something in Maura’s expression because she tightens her grip on her hand, grounding herself in the warmth of her touch. “I’ll tell her everything, Maur,” she promises, her voice softer now, laced with quiet determination. “Just not tonight. I need a little more time.”

Maura nods, her gaze filled with understanding, even as Jane can feel the quiet ache beneath it. Still, her resolve remains steady. “Take all the time you need,” she whispers, even though Jane knows that, deep down, every part of her wishes she didn’t have to say these words.

Jane sinks onto the bed beside Maura, pressing herself close as she buries her face in the crook of Maura’s neck. The warmth, the steady rise and fall of Maura’s breath, soothes the lingering tension in her body. Maura’s fingers trace slow, comforting circles along Jane’s back, over and over again, her touch gentle and grounding. She presses a lingering kiss to the top of Jane’s head, a silent promise that she’s here, that she always will be.

After a while, Jane finally speaks, her voice trembling. “I wish you didn’t have to settle for just this,” she says, her words breaking as tears spill down her cheeks. “Running away... telling half-truths... waiting for me to be ready to come out. But…” Her voice catches, and she sobs, her hands clenching at her sides as though trying to hold herself together. “I’m not ready yet. I’m so sorry, Maura. I’m not ready.”

Maura’s eyes fill with tears, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she tightens her arms around Jane, holding her close.“Jane,” she whispers, her voice calm yet filled with unwavering strength. “Sweetheart, listen to me, okay?”

Jane nods into Maura’s chest, her face pressed against her skin. The weight of guilt and shame still lingers in her, but she can feel the warmth of Maura’s embrace, the steady beat of her heart beneath Jane’s ear. She forces herself to focus on Maura’s voice—so soft, yet so strong—and for a moment, she lets herself surrender to the safety Maura offers. Her fingers twitch, longing to touch Maura, to feel her more, but for now, she simply listens, her body still, her breath steadying as she sinks into the comfort of Maura’s arms.

“I know this journey hasn’t been easy for either of us,” Maura says, her voice soft but resolute. “But I believe we’re taking the best steps we can, given everything we’ve been through, the cards we’ve been dealt. You didn’t marry a man you don’t love,” she says firmly, her words steady and filled with a quiet pride that makes Jane’s chest ache with a mix of guilt and gratitude. “It wasn’t perfect,” Maura admits, her honesty slicing through the silence like a quiet truth, “we could have handled things differently, yes. But we did what had to be done. And we’ll keep doing what needs to be done. Okay? It might take more time than we thought, but that’s okay.” She pauses, her voice dropping into a gentle resolve. “I can wait for you to come out. I will wait. Because I love you, Jane. And I know you’ll get there when you’re ready.” Maura’s hands tighten around Jane, as if to make sure she feels every ounce of the certainty in her words. “I don’t get to decide when you come out,” she adds softly, her voice a little tremulous now, “that’s not my choice. It never has been.” A tear slips down Maura’s cheek, and her breath catches. She swallows hard before continuing, her tone full of quiet strength. “What I can decide is how I love you through this. What I can do is be patient. Stand by you. Give you the space to be ready. I’ll wait as long as it takes. Because that’s what love does—it waits, and it stays.”

Jane closes her eyes, the weight of Maura’s words wrapping around her like a lifeline. “Thank you,” she whispers, her voice hoarse but full of sincerity. “Thank you for understanding me. For being here. For loving me.” Then Jane adds, her voice barely above a whisper, "I love you more than words can ever express. More than I’ll ever be able to say."

"You say it perfectly every time," Maura whispers back, her voice thick with affection.

And within minutes, they drift into sleep, wrapped securely in each other's arms.

Maura wakes a couple of hours later, the stillness of the night surrounding them. She struggles to fall back asleep, her mind restless, so she simply watches Jane sleep. Jane looks serene, a stark contrast to the whirlwind of chaos that had unfolded in her life in less than forty-eight hours. Maura wonders what dreams fill her mind, silently hoping that somewhere in them, she’s there with her.

She knows that Jane is fighting battles inside herself, battles Maura can only witness, not fight for her. And yet, Maura feels so helpless, longing to take away the pain Jane is carrying, but understanding that it’s something Jane must face on her own. It makes her sad.

But it’s not just the sadness that fills Maura; it’s also love—so pure and consuming that it aches. Watching Jane sleep, looking so vulnerable and peaceful, makes her heart swell. The woman she loves is right there, in her arms, but Maura knows their journey is far from easy. There’s uncertainty ahead, but there’s also a quiet hope, a belief that they’ll navigate it together. She takes a deep breath, the weight of the moment settling over her. It’s not a perfect love story, but it’s theirs. And she’ll do anything to keep it safe.

She eventually drifts back to sleep, her body curling against Jane’s as if instinctively seeking to protect her. She rests her head against Jane’s chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breath, the warmth of her skin. As she settles into the comfort of their embrace, she wraps herself around Jane, as though holding her close can shield her from the storms of the world outside.

In spite of the way they left Boston and all they left behind, their first full day in Ushuaia feels like a glimpse of Heaven. Jane wakes first, around seven in the morning, the early sunlight casting a soft glow through the cabin windows. Maura is draped over her like a living blanket, her arms wrapped tightly around Jane, her face nuzzled into the crook of Jane's neck, her legs tangled with hers. Jane smiles, her heart swelling as she gently brushes her fingers through Maura’s hair.

“I love you, my baby koala,” she whispers, pressing a tender kiss to the top of Maura’s head.

“Mmmmh,” Maura murmurs something indecipherable, her lips barely moving against Jane’s skin. She doesn’t wake, though, her hold tightening slightly as if sensing Jane’s affection even in her sleep.

Jane chuckles softly, savoring the moment before carefully maneuvering out from under Maura. She moves slowly, mindful not to disturb her, because if anyone deserves extra rest, it’s Maura. Once free, she tucks the blanket around her sleeping form, ensuring Maura stays warm and cozy.

She scribbles a quick note— Went out to grab some things. Be back soon. I love you —and leaves it on the nightstand, just in case Maura wakes up while she’s gone. Then Jane pulls on her favorite pair of jeans and her Boston PD hoodie, the fabric comforting and familiar, and slips out of the cabin.

The crisp morning air greets her as she steps outside, invigorating and fresh. She pulls out her phone, looks up a nearby bakery on Google Maps, and sets off with a clear plan in mind. First, pastries. Then, coffee, milk, eggs, fruit, yogurt, granola—everything she needs to make Maura her favorite breakfast, a breakfast fit for her princess.

The streets are quiet but welcoming, and Jane feels a sense of freedom she hasn’t experienced in years. The locals are friendly, their smiles genuine, and while most speak enough English to help her, Jane tries her hand at a few Spanish phrases she remembers, earning warm responses. As she gathers everything she needs, a weight she hadn’t fully realized she was carrying begins to lift.

By the time she’s heading back to the cabin, a bag of warm pastries in one hand and a small grocery bag in the other, Jane feels lighter, freer, and happier than she has in what feels like forever. This isn’t just a getaway. It’s the start of something new, something she’s ready to build with Maura, one morning, one moment, one breakfast at a time. 

When Jane returns, the quiet stillness greets her like an old friend. She leaves her purchases in the kitchen and quietly makes her way upstairs to check on Maura. The medical examiner is still asleep, her soft, steady breathing the only sound breaking the silence of the cabin. It’s the sound Jane has come to cherish most in the world, a soothing rhythm that calms her heart with every breath. She pauses in the doorway for a moment, just watching Maura sleep, her heart swelling with a mixture of love and gratitude too deep for words.

Jane returns to the kitchen and begins preparing breakfast, working quietly so as not to disturb Maura still resting upstairs. She puts thought into each step. The coffee brews, the fresh fruit is sliced into a vibrant array, and the granola is gently mixed into the yogurt. She scrambles the eggs to perfection, warms the pastries she picked up, and arranges everything thoughtfully. Each small task feels like a labor of love, her movements slow and deliberate as she puts care into everything she does. 

The clock reads just past eight-thirty when Jane approaches the bed, the scent of freshly brewed coffee drifting through the room and gently rousing Maura from her sleep. Her eyes flutter open, and she blinks a few times, rubbing the sleep from them as she sits up slowly, the rich, comforting scent fully registering in her senses.

“Good morning, my love,” Jane says softly, her voice tender, a smile tugging at her lips.

Maura’s face brightens as she takes in the tray Jane holds, her expression one of pure delight. “Good morning,” she replies, her voice still thick with sleep but warm with affection.

Jane places the tray on the bed, settling beside Maura. They share the meal together, laughing softly, feeding each other bites of pastry, and sipping their coffee while wrapped in the cozy intimacy of the moment.

Throughout the day, Jane’s phone buzzes incessantly, each notification pulling her further away from the peaceful bubble she’s been trying to create with Maura. Texts from her mother, Tommy, Frankie, Casey, and even Korsak and Frost flood her inbox. They all want answers, and the pressure of it all weighs heavily on her. Where are you? Why are you with Maura? What were you thinking? The messages range from concerned to confused, some tinged with frustration or heartbreak.

Her mother’s are the most persistent, each text more frantic than the last, demanding to know things Jane is not ready to talk about yet. Tommy and Frankie are less direct, but their concern is still palpable, their texts filled with questions that are equally difficult for Jane to answer. And then there’s Casey—his messages drip with hurt and disbelief. A part of me thought you were coming back, one message reads, followed by What happened to us, Jane?

Even Korsak and Frost check in. Their usual jokes feel out of place in the face of what Jane’s dealing with, but they’re both trying to reach her, trying to offer support in their own way.

The texts continue to pile up, each one a reminder of the life she’s left behind. Jane reads them, but each word feels like a weight pressing against her chest. She doesn’t know how to explain herself to them yet—not when she’s still trying to figure it all out herself. So she puts her phone down, hoping the silence will give her the space she needs to think, to breathe, and to figure out what comes next. The truth is still tender and raw, and she knows she needs to protect it a little longer. She’ll share her story when the time is right, but for now, she chooses to focus on the moment—on Maura, on the freedom they’ve found here, and on the love that feels more real and solid than ever before.

In the late afternoon, Jane and Maura step out into the cool air, their fingers brushing as they walk to the small local market. The streets are quieter than they expected, the pace of life here slower, more forgiving. Inside the store, they move together with an easy familiarity—Maura carefully selecting fresh produce while Jane lingers by the bakery, sneaking a pastry into their basket with a smirk. They exchange knowing glances in the aisles, their movements unconsciously in sync. It’s such a simple thing—grocery shopping—but for Jane, it feels like a glimpse of something she never thought she could have: a life with Maura, out in the open, just being.

As night falls, Maura takes charge of the kitchen while Jane showers, the sound of water blending with the comforting rhythm of home-cooked preparations. When Maura’s turn comes to shower, Jane sets the table, arranging everything with care as they wait for the food to finish cooking.

When they finally sit down to eat, they do so hand in hand across the table. Their fingers intertwine naturally, Jane’s thumb tracing gentle circles on the back of Maura’s hand, a quiet gesture of affection.

“I love it when you do that,” Maura murmurs, her gaze soft as she watches their hands.

“When I do what?” Jane asks, her smile tender and curious.

“When you hold my hand and caress me with your thumb,” Maura replies simply, her voice warm and full of love. 

“I love that you are wearing the friendship bracelet I made you,” she says quietly. “I didn’t even know you’d kept it.”

Maura’s expression shifts, her eyes widening just slightly, as though Jane’s words sting. “I keep all the things you give me,” she replies, her voice steady but tinged with emotion. Her fingers brush the bracelet, an almost reverent touch.

Jane tilts her head, noticing the hurt flicker across Maura’s face. “Hey,” she says softly, squeezing Maura’s hand. “I didn’t mean to imply—”

But Maura shakes her head, her lips curving into a bittersweet smile. “It’s not just a bracelet, Jane,” she says, her voice quiet but filled with meaning. “It’s one of my favorite things in the world. You’re the first person who ever gave me something like this. The first person who truly saw me. The first person who cared.” Her voice falters, and Jane sees her eyes glisten with unshed tears. Maura looks down at their joined hands, her thumb now tracing circles on Jane’s. “You don’t know how much it means to me—to still have this, to still have you. This trip, this time together… It feels like the start of something new. And it means everything.”

Jane reaches across the table, brushing her fingers against Maura’s cheek to wipe away a stray tear. “I’m so lucky to have you,” she says, her voice breaking just slightly with the weight of her own emotions. “And I promise, I’m going to keep trying. For us.”

Maura nods, leaning into Jane’s touch. “We’ll figure it all out together,” she whispers. “We always do.”

When midnight comes, they’re tangled together in bed, their bodies pressed close, kissing with a passion that feels both intense and tender. There’s no urgency in their movements, no rush to move beyond this intimate exchange. Maura sighs softly into Jane’s arms, her fingers tracing delicate patterns along Jane’s back. Every kiss feels like an unspoken promise, every touch a revelation. No one has ever loved Jane like this, with such care and reverence. No one has ever taken the time to truly adore her, to cherish her in ways that make her feel both seen and treasured. She’s grateful for that now, grateful that her most sacred firsts will belong to Maura, and only Maura.

Jane smiles against Maura’s lips, breaking the kiss just enough to murmur, “I love your sighs.” Her voice is husky, filled with warmth and desire. “I love all the sounds you make when I kiss you. It’s like… I get so high just from loving you.”

Maura’s breath catches at Jane’s words, her heart swelling as Jane’s hands cup her face, their gazes meeting briefly before they kiss again. Jane’s weight presses down on her, grounding her, while Maura’s hands roam the length of Jane’s back, their legs entwined in a way that feels as intimate as their kisses.

“I’ve never felt this way before,” Maura whispers when their lips part for a moment, her voice trembling with emotion.

“Me neither,” Jane admits, her lips brushing against Maura’s cheek. “But with you, everything feels right.It’s like I’m not scared anymore when I’m in your arms,” Jane whispers, her voice trembling with honesty. “I feel safe. I’d live in your arms if I could,” she adds, her tone soft, almost shy. She looks at Maura with a vulnerability Maura has rarely seen, a fragility that feels as precious as it is heart-wrenching.

“What are you scared of when you’re not in my arms?” Maura asks gently, her eyes searching Jane’s face. 

Jane exhales shakily, her fingers tracing delicate lines along Maura’s cheek. “I’m scared of losing you, most of all,” she begins, her voice cracking under the weight of the admission. “I already lost you once, and it nearly killed me. Losing you again…” She pauses, swallowing hard, “It would destroy me, baby. That’s my biggest fear. Losing you.”

“You’re not going to lose me, my love,” Maura promises. “When we were apart, I thought I might die from the pain. I’m not going to leave you ever again, Jane. They’ll have to drag me away from your arms. They’ll have to drag you away from mine . I’ll hold onto you forever. We’ll hold onto each other forever, baby.”

Jane leans in, kissing Maura so softly it feels more like a whisper than a touch.

“What else are you scared of, my love?” Maura asks after a moment, her voice barely above a murmur.

Jane buries her face in the crook of Maura’s neck, her body trembling slightly as Maura tightens her hold, wrapping her arms securely around Jane’s frame. Jane breathes in the familiar, comforting scent of Maura’s perfume, and Maura inhales the subtle, clean lavender scent of Jane’s skin. It feels like the safest place in the world—this moment, this embrace.

Maura strokes Jane’s hair and whispers, “Whatever it is, you don’t have to face it alone. I’ll be here, my love. Always.”

And in that lavender haze, Jane feels her fears start to loosen their grip, one breath at a time, as Maura’s presence surrounds her like an unbreakable shield.

“I’m terrified of what my Ma and Pop will say and do when they find out about us,” Jane finally admits, her voice muffled against the crook of Maura’s neck. Her arms cling to Maura with an intensity that feels desperate, and Maura holds her just as tightly, as if her embrace alone could protect Jane from the weight of her fears. “Pop is really homophobic.” 

The words hang heavy in the air, as if naming the truth makes it more real. Maura’s fingers trace soothing circles on Jane’s back, a silent encouragement to let the words come, to unburden herself. 

“When I was fourteen…” Jane’s voice falters and her body begins to shake slightly. She is about to share something deeply painful, something that’s scarred her for years. “When I was fourteen…” Jane clears her throat and tries again, her voice small and raw. “There was this girl in my science class—Carla. She was Italian, too. And I liked her,” she confesses, the words sounding like they’ve been locked away for years. Maura is the first person Jane has ever shared this with. “I liked her so much,” Jane continues, her breath hitching. “I had a huge crush on her. And I made a mistake—I wrote about it.” She shivers in Maura’s arms, and Maura tightens her hold. “Someone gave me this stupid diary for Christmas, and I thought… I thought it was safe.” Jane pauses, her voice cracking. “I wrote about how Carla made me feel and how confused I was. Because my parents, the nuns at school—everyone—kept saying it was wrong. That two girls liking each other was a sin. But I liked her so much, Maura. I wanted her to give me my first kiss. And I wrote about that, about how I wanted Carla to give me my first kiss,” Jane says, her voice trembling. “And Ma read my diary.”

“Baby, I’m so sorry,” Maura whispers, her lips brushing Jane’s temple. “Those thoughts and feelings were yours. They were private. Your mother should have never—”

“We know how she is,” Jane interrupts, her voice tightening with restraint. “We know how she gets.” She pauses, her breath hitching. “She took it so bad, Maura.” Jane suppresses a sob, her body trembling in Maura’s arms.

 “I’m here,” Maura murmurs, her voice steady and soothing. “I’ll always be here.”

Jane tenses suddenly in Maura’s arms. Instinctively, Maura tightens her hold, her hand continuing its soothing motion on Jane’s back. “Breathe with me?” Maura asks softly, her voice calm and steady. Jane nods against the crook of Maura's neck, her breath hitching slightly. Together, they inhale—one, two, three—and exhale, one, two, three. Jane doesn’t fully relax, but the tension eases just a fraction. “Better?” Maura asks gently.

Jane nods again, though she remains a little rigid. Maura keeps the rhythm going, her own breathing slow and deliberate, silently encouraging Jane to follow her lead. One, two, three. One, two, three. Gradually, Jane's breathing steadies.

“Better?” Maura asks again.

Instead of answering, Jane continues. Her voice is low and unsteady, but determined. “Ma told Pop.”

Jane tenses again, and this time Maura doesn’t wait—she resumes the breathing exercises without hesitation. Jane follows her lead, their breaths syncing once more. Maura's hand never leaves Jane’s back, its circular motion constant and grounding.

“Pop didn’t react well,” Jane finally says, her voice cracking. “In fact, he reacted very violently.”

“I’ve got you,” Maura murmurs softly, her lips brushing Jane’s temple. “You’re safe with me.”

“Pop screamed at me,” she begins, her voice flat, distant, as if she’s recounting something that happened to someone else. “He called me a lesbian like it was the worst insult he could think of. Like it was dirty, something to be ashamed of. And Ma—” Jane swallows hard, shaking her head. “She just kept crying and crying, like I’d broken something inside her. Like I’d let her down in some irreversible way. I remember standing there, frozen, wondering what I’d done that was so terrible. I was fourteen. I had a crush. That was all. And then… and then Pop found my diary.” She’s back there, in that room, a scared teenager watching helplessly as her father ripped through her most private thoughts. “He tore it up, page by page, like he wanted to erase the words right out of existence. Then he trashed my room—knocked over my bookshelf, threw my clothes on the floor, like somehow that would fix me.” Jane lets out a hollow laugh, though there’s no humor in it. “Ma was mad at him,” she admits, glancing at Maura with tired eyes. “She yelled at him to stop. But she was also mad at me. So in her mind, his reaction was kinda justified. Like, yeah, maybe he’d gone too far, but I was the one who made it happen. I was the one who’d brought shame into the house.”

Her voice cracks on the last word, and for a moment, neither of them speaks. The silence between them is heavy, thick with years of unspoken pain.

“My parents never mentioned the incident, or Carla, ever again. Ever since that day, I’ve had what I now know is internalized homophobia.” Jane exhales shakily. “A boy gave me my first kiss a couple of months after that happened, and I only ever dated boys during high school. I only ever dated men during my adulthood. All my relationships have been with men. I thought I could suppress my feelings,” Jane admits. “I thought I could suppress who I am. But then I met you, baby.” Her voice softens. “And I fell so hard for you. I fell in love for the first time. This is no crush. This is pure love. The way you make me feel… I’ve never felt like this before. I’ve never loved someone this madly, this completely. Being with you is full of firsts for me because you’re the first person I’ve fallen in love with. You’re the only person I’m ever going to love like this. But I’m so terrified to tell my parents,” Jane admits. “Because if only talking about liking a girl from school got me into so much trouble with them, imagine what would happen if I told them I’m in a relationship with a woman.”

“You don’t have to tell them yet,” Maura whispers, her voice breaking. “You don’t have to tell them until you’re ready, until you feel safe. I’ll be with you every step of the way. We’ll face them together, Jane. You’ll never have to do this alone.”

“I think Ma already suspects what’s going on. That’s why she keeps asking what I’m doing here with you. I think she’s already stopped loving me because I’m a lesbian. In her eyes, that makes me a sinner.” Jane pauses, her sigh heavy with grief. “And Pop… Pop will never accept me. I think he’s always suspected, and that’s why he’s been so distant. I think he stopped loving me a long time ago.”

“Jane,” Maura whispers, her voice trembling with emotion, “I’ll always love you. I’ll always take care of you.”

Jane doesn’t respond, but Maura feels the subtle shift of her body, the way she leans just a little more into Maura’s embrace, as though Maura is the only thing anchoring her in the moment.

“We don’t have to go back to Boston if you don’t want to,” Maura continues, her voice steady, resolute. “Ever. Okay? We can stay here forever. Or we can go anywhere else, somewhere new, somewhere safe. I don’t care where we are as long as I’m with you. I just want to keep you safe. I just want you to be happy. I’ll do whatever it takes. Home isn’t Boston. Home isn’t a place. Home is your arms. Home is your kisses. Home is you. We can run away for good if that’s what you need to feel safe.  Home is this,” she whispers in Jane’s ear. “We’ve only been here a day or so, and we’re thousands of miles away from everything we know, but we are home.”

They fall into silence, wrapped in each other’s warmth, their breathing synchronized, their hearts beating in unison. 

“I’m so sorry you went through all of that, my love” Maura whispers, her voice thick with emotion. “You deserved to feel safe, to feel loved, to explore your feelings without fear or judgment. You still do.” Her fingertips continue to trace soothing patterns on Jane’s back, grounding her in the present.

Jane doesn’t respond immediately, but her breath steadies slightly, the rhythmic motion of Maura’s touch offering a sense of security she’s long craved. “It’s just… I’ve been carrying this fear for so long, Maura. Since I was a kid. It’s always been there, this weight, this shame. And now, being with you, it’s the first time I feel like maybe it doesn’t have to be this way. Like maybe I can let it go.”

Maura presses a gentle kiss to the top of Jane’s head. “You can let it go,” she promises. “Not all at once, but piece by piece. I’ll be here for every step of the way. You’re safe with me, Jane. Always Always, always, always, my love.”

As Jane drifts off to sleep in her arms, Maura holds her tightly, her fingers gently tracing patterns on Jane’s back. Jane's breaths grow steady and soft, signaling she’s finally found some peace, even if just for the night.

But Maura cannot follow her into that sanctuary of rest. Her mind is a whirlwind of emotions—anger, heartbreak, and a deep, protective love for the woman lying so vulnerably in her arms. She now fully understands the depths of Jane’s internalized homophobia, why she had clung so desperately to relationships like the one with Casey, why she hesitated to fully embrace her truth.

The pieces of the puzzle fit together now, but they form an image that tears Maura apart. The Rizzolis should have been Jane’s first line of defense, her haven, the people who made her feel safe no matter what. Instead, they were the architects of her fear and shame, the ones who broke her trust and hurt her in ways they could never take back.

Maura feels her anger simmering, not just at Angela and Frank Sr., but at a world that taught them to reject something so beautiful as Jane’s love. She wants to shield Jane from that pain, to erase the scars left by those who should have cherished her. But she knows she can’t undo the past, can’t rewrite those formative years of hurt and betrayal.

Her fingers still tracing soothing circles on Jane’s back, Maura silently vows to do everything she can to help Jane heal. She’ll make sure Jane knows she is loved, unconditionally and fiercely. No matter what it takes, she will be Jane’s safe haven, her home.

As the hours pass, Maura stares at the ceiling, her thoughts circling back to one truth: they can’t change what happened, but they can build a future where Jane feels safe to be herself, where no one’s words or actions can ever hurt her again.

The following morning they sleep in. They’re not there to sightsee or play tourists—they’re there to heal, to rebuild, and to nurture a healthier relationship after everything they've endured and all the hurt they’ve caused each other. Neither of them minds lingering in bed; they have nowhere to be but in each other’s arms.

It’s nearly eleven when they finally stir, awakened not by an alarm or the sun but by Maura’s nightmare. Having only fallen asleep around seven, Maura wakes abruptly, her scream piercing the stillness of the room. Jane, nestled against her, her face tucked into the crook of Maura's neck, wakes instantly. 

"Maur!" she calls out, her voice sharp with worry. She grabs Maura's shoulders gently but firmly, trying to ground her. "Maur, it's okay! I'm here. You're safe," she says, her own panic giving way to fierce protectiveness.

Maura's eyes snap open, wide and glassy with fear, her breathing shallow and uneven. It takes a few moments for her to focus on Jane’s face, her surroundings slowly coming into view. She grips Jane’s wrists as though to anchor herself, her chest heaving with each breath.

“It was just a dream,” Jane says softly, stroking Maura’s hair and brushing a thumb across her cheek. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

Maura nods, but tears begin streaming down her face. Jane pulls her close, wrapping her arms around Maura’s trembling body. She holds her tightly, murmuring reassurances, rocking them slightly as Maura sobs into her shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Maura whispers through her tears. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Jane replies, her voice firm but kind. “You’re allowed to have bad dreams. You’re allowed to feel whatever you’re feeling. I’m here, Maura. Always.”

Maura clings to Jane, her hands fisting the fabric of Jane’s T-shirt as she takes in the warmth and steadiness of the woman holding her. Slowly, her breathing evens out, and the tears subside.

“I dreamt about you,” Maura finally says, her voice shaky. “About what you went through when you were younger. I dreamt… I couldn’t protect you. I couldn’t keep you safe.”

“Maura, listen to me,” she says, pulling back just enough to look into Maura’s tear-streaked face. “You’re protecting me now. Every time you hold me, every time you tell me I’m loved, you’re giving me something I didn’t have back then. You’re my safe place now.”

Maura nods, her lips trembling. “I just wish I could take all of that pain away.”

“You already do,” Jane whispers, cupping Maura’s face and kissing her forehead. “Every single day, you make it better.”

“Do I?” Maura asks, her voice trembling with sudden insecurity.

“Of course you do, baby,” Jane reassures her gently, her eyes locked on Maura’s with unwavering sincerity. “Ever since I met you, ever since I first looked into these beautiful eyes of yours, my life has changed for the better. You're my best friend, my love, my everything.” She leans in, pressing a tender kiss to Maura’s lips. “You’re my forever, my always, my happy ending,” Jane continues, her nose brushing softly against Maura’s in a playful gesture of affection. “Never doubt that, please. I’m sorry for every single time I made you question all that you mean to me.”

Tears glisten in Maura’s eyes as she shakes her head, her chest tightening with the weight of Jane’s pain. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, her voice raw with emotion. “For every time I pushed, for every time I made you feel like I didn’t understand why you wouldn’t come out. I—” Her breath catches, and she swallows hard before continuing. “I had no idea what happened to you when you were young, what you went through just for having feelings that should have been safe to have.” She reaches out, cupping Jane’s face with both hands, her thumbs gently brushing away the tears that Jane won’t acknowledge. “I can’t change the past. I can’t erase what they did to you or how they made you feel. But I need you to know—I see you, Jane. All of you. And I love you exactly as you are. I would never, ever want you to feel like you have to hide from me. I will wait as long as you need, I will stand by you for as long as it takes, but please—please never doubt that you are worthy of love just as you are.”

Her own tears slip free now, but she doesn’t care. All that matters is Jane, the woman before her, the woman she loves more than anything. And if she could, she would go back in time and stand between fourteen-year-old Jane and all the hurt that came her way. But since she can’t, she does the only thing she can do—she holds Jane closer, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, willing her to believe every word.

“You had no way of knowing what happened to me until I told you,” Jane says. 

“But I should have been more patient,” Maura insists, guilt thick in her tone. “I should have…”

Jane cuts her off with a soft, lingering kiss, her lips speaking the words her voice doesn’t need to say.

“Let’s focus on the future, okay?” Jane whispers, her forehead resting against Maura’s. “Let’s focus on healing each other.”

They spend a few more hours in bed, completely absorbed in each other. They try to watch TV, flipping through channels until they find several in English. But the movies and shows fail to hold their attention. Instead, they exchange gentle kisses and murmur sweet nothings, savoring the intimacy of the moment.

Eventually, exhaustion catches up with Maura. She’s had only four hours of sleep, punctuated by nightmares, and her body finally gives in. She falls asleep in Jane’s arms, her breathing soft and even against Jane’s shoulder.

Later that day, they venture into the heart of the city, where the cobblestone streets are lined with old buildings, their facades worn but full of charm. The afternoon sun casts a golden hue over everything, and the air carries the scent of fresh bread from a nearby bakery. Street musicians play soft melodies on the corners, blending seamlessly with the distant hum of conversation and passing traffic.

Jane walks with her hands in her pockets, her gaze flickering between Maura and their surroundings. Maura, always eager to soak in the culture, pauses now and then to admire the architecture or peek into the windows of quaint little shops. When they stop for coffee at a bustling café, they sit outside, people-watching as they sip their drinks. Jane leans back in her chair, her foot nudging Maura’s under the table, and for a fleeting moment, everything feels effortlessly normal—just two people enjoying an afternoon together, with no weight of the past or fear of the future pressing down on them.

Until Jane’s phone buzzes in her pocket, yanking her back to reality. She exhales sharply, already knowing who it is before she even looks. A quick glance confirms it—more missed calls from her mother, her persistence unwavering. The text messages from her brothers follow, their tones shifting between curiosity and concern, while even Casey has sent a couple more. Jane stares at the screen for a moment, her jaw tightening, then sighs and shoves the phone back into her pocket, choosing—for now—to ignore it all.

She doesn’t want to deal with any of it—not now, not here, not while she’s trying to savor this rare, perfect afternoon with Maura. For once, she decides to put herself first, to focus on the person who makes her feel safe and loved.

“Are you okay?” Maura asks softly, her voice pulling Jane’s attention back to her.

“Yeah,” Jane replies with a small smile, squeezing Maura’s hand. “I’m perfect. You are perfect,” Jane adds softly, her voice thick with emotion as her eyes linger on Maura’s face, taking in every detail like it’s the first time she’s truly seeing her. In truth, Jane has never felt this way before—so deeply, so madly, so completely in love.

They walk back to the cabin hand in hand, their fingers laced together as if neither of them is willing to let go. The evening air is crisp, but Jane barely notices the chill—Maura’s warmth is all she feels, grounding her, steadying her.

When they step inside, Jane locks the door behind them to create a world that belongs only to them, if just for a little while. They move in sync, drawn together by an unspoken need. Maura cups Jane’s face, her touch featherlight, tracing the sharp angles of her jaw, the curve of her cheek. Jane leans into it, closing her eyes for a moment as if memorizing the sensation.

Then, slowly, they melt into each other. Maura presses soft, lingering kisses along Jane’s jawline, down to the hollow of her throat, her hands mapping familiar paths over Jane’s back. Jane sighs into the touch, her own hands slipping under Maura’s sweater, seeking warmth, seeking closeness. They sway gently, bodies fitting together effortlessly, hearts beating in tandem.

No words are needed. They lose themselves in each other—soft kisses, whispered breaths, hands grasping, exploring, holding on. The rest of the world fades away. For now, in this moment, nothing else matters but the love between them.

“You’re the most beautiful thing in my life,” Maura whispers, her voice trembling slightly as her thumb grazes Jane’s lips in a gentle caress.

Jane presses a kiss to Maura’s thumb and then to her palm, sealing the moment with a tenderness that makes her own heart ache in the best way. “And you’re mine,” she whispers back.

“I like being yours,” Maura murmurs, nuzzling Jane’s cheek. Her voice is soft, warm, like velvet against the quiet of the cabin. “It’s my favorite thing to be.”

They make love again. It’s even sweeter and softer this time. Maura bites gently on Jane’s shoulder as she comes undone in her arms, two of Jane’s fingers curled inside her. Two of Maura’s fingers are also curled inside Jane, who hasn’t come yet, so the blonde woman keeps caressing her lovingly. Jane always takes longer to come. She thinks this may have to do with the fact that she isn’t used to enjoying sex this much, or at all. Maura is the first person she’s ever enjoyed having sex with. Maura is the first person she truly trusts with her body, mind, and soul. 

They’re wrapped up in each other, lost in soft kisses and the warmth of their embrace, when Jane’s phone buzzes again, breaking the quiet intimacy between them.

“Damn it,” Jane mutters, pulling away reluctantly. “I thought I turned that off.” The sudden absence of Maura’s warmth sends a chill through her as she shifts out of bed. With a sigh, she reaches for her underwear, tugging it on before slipping into her T-shirt and a pair of boy shorts. The cold air nips at her skin as she pads downstairs to the kitchen table, where her phone vibrates insistently, demanding her attention.

She’s about to switch it off and head back upstairs to Maura when her eyes catch the screen.

Several missed calls—from her father.

Her brow furrows. It’s late—late here in Argentina, and even late in Boston, two hours earlier. He hasn’t called her in... well, she can’t even remember the last time. Her heart tightens. What if something’s wrong with her mom or her brothers?

She swipes to answer.

“Pop?” she says, her voice tight, her heart thudding hard in her chest. This time, it has nothing to do with Maura and everything to do with the anxious knot twisting in her stomach.

“Oh, so the princess finally picks up the phone,” Frank Sr. drawls, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Jane bristles at his voice, at the way he manages to needle her from miles away. She doesn’t like his tone—she’s never liked his tone—but she clenches her jaw, takes a slow breath, and wills herself to stay calm. Losing her temper with him never ends well.

“What do you want, Pop?” she says, keeping her voice steady, direct. Better to get to the point, to see what this is about without dancing around it. But she has a sinking feeling she already knows.

And then there’s the way his words slur just a little. He’s been drinking. Of course, he’s been drinking. That’s probably the only reason he’s worked up the nerve to call her. Ever since he lost the ability to lay a hand on her, Frank Sr. has been a coward—always was, really. But now, he needs liquid courage to call and unload whatever’s on his narrow-minded, homophobic mind.

“Your brother says you’re a lesbian,” he spits out, his tone accusatory. “Tommy says you ran off with that doctor friend of yours because you’re in love with her.”

“Her name is Maura, and you know it,” Jane snaps, her teeth clenched. Her body stiffens as the anger surges, hot and sharp. 

“So what?” Frank Sr. spits back, his tone dripping with venom. “Is Tommy right? You’ve got yourself a girlfriend now?”

Jane exhales sharply through her nose, fists curling at her sides. The words fly out before she can stop them.

“And what if I do? What are you gonna do about it?” Her voice rises, each word laced with defiance, daring him to answer. “I’m not fourteen anymore, Pop. You can’t rip through my room, tear up my diary, and make me feel ashamed just because I have a crush on a girl.”

Her voice cracks, not with fear, but with the weight of all the rage and hurt she’s carried since she was a teenager. It pours out now, raw and unfiltered.

Behind her, Jane hears the soft creak of the bedroom floor. She turns to see Maura standing there, her eyes wide with worry. Maura doesn’t say anything, but the look on her face is enough to pierce through Jane’s blind fury.

But Jane can’t stop. The fire inside her has been burning too long, too fiercely. She’s tired of giving a damn about what her father thinks—or anyone else, for that matter. She’s tired of being made to feel small, ashamed, or less than because of her sexuality. This time, she’s standing up—for herself, for Maura, for everything she’s fought to have. She won’t let anyone trample her peace of mind anymore—least of all her father. 

“I don’t care what you think anymore. I don’t care what anyone thinks.” Jane’s voice is steady, but her heart is pounding so hard it feels like it’s echoing in her ears, reverberating through her whole body. She takes another deep breath, her hands trembling with both fear and defiance. “Yes, I ran away with Maura. Yes, I broke things off with Casey because I’m in love with her.”

“This is not how your mother and I raised you,” Frank Sr. spits, his voice thick with disdain. “What you’re doing is a sin, Jane.”

Jane’s grip tightens around the phone, her knuckles turning white. A bitter laugh escapes her, sharp and humorless. “Oh, right,” she scoffs. “Because you and Ma were the picture of morality? Because screaming at your kids, tearing apart their rooms, and making them feel like they’re broken is the goddamn righteous way to parent?”

Her father exhales harshly on the other end of the line. “Don’t twist this around,” he warns, his tone low and dangerous. “We did our best with you. We tried to set you on the right path.”

Jane’s heart pounds in her chest, her breath unsteady. “No, Pop,” she says, her voice shaking but firm. “You tried to force me into being someone I’m not. You tried to make me ashamed of something I never should have been ashamed of in the first place.” There’s silence on the other end, thick and heavy, but Jane doesn’t stop. “I spent years trying to be what you wanted. I pushed down every feeling, every part of me that didn’t fit into your version of ‘right.’ And you know what? It didn’t work. Because this isn’t a phase, and it’s not something that needs fixing. I love Maura. And whether you like it or not, I’m done hiding it. And just so you know, divorce is a sin too, isn’t it? At least according to your beliefs. But that didn’t stop you from walking out on Ma, did it?” Jane’s voice is ice-cold now, cutting through the tension like a knife. Her words hang in the air, heavy with the weight of truth.

On the other end of the line, Frank Sr.’s breath hitches. For a moment, the only sound is the sharp buzz of silence between them. Jane can feel her pulse pounding in her ears, the fury of years of suppressed emotion finally bubbling to the surface.

“You think I don’t know what you did to Ma? You think I don’t know how you tore our family apart with your selfishness?” Jane’s voice rises, her anger unmistakable now. “You walked out on her without a second thought. Left her broken, alone, and still trying to hold this family together, all while you pretended like none of it mattered. And you have the nerve to lecture me about sins?”

Her father’s voice cracks when he speaks again, but there’s no apology in it—only defensiveness. “Your mother—she didn’t understand. I had to do what was best for me, for my own happiness.”

Jane scoffs bitterly, the words tasting like acid in her mouth. “Right. So your happiness mattered more than Ma’s? More than mine? You couldn’t even find it in yourself to try and make things right before walking out. But now, you’re all high and mighty, trying to tell me how to live my life?” She inhales sharply, her chest tight with the effort it takes to control her voice, to keep it steady. “I’m not asking for your approval, Pop. But I’m not going to sit here and listen to you talk about sin when you’ve done far worse than anything I’ve ever done. You left Ma. You left me. And I’m done carrying the weight of your hypocrisy. I was a fool to worship you,” she spits, her voice trembling with the rawness of years she can never get back. “I spent my whole life blindly following you, thinking you were someone to look up to. But I’m not that person anymore. I see you for exactly what you are now—a hypocritical, homophobic piece of shit.”

The words feel like fire on her tongue, but Jane feels lighter, as if a weight she's carried for far too long is finally slipping away. Her chest rises and falls with the effort, her heart still pounding in anger, but with a sense of finality too—like she’s just drawn the line in the sand for good.

“You left a good man practically at the altar for what?” he snaps, brushing aside everything she’s just laid bare.

“I left him because I don’t love him! Because I refuse to settle for a lie just to make you or anyone else happy!” Her chest tightens as the words rise, louder, rawer. “I left him to be with the love of my life!” she practically screams, the force of her confession ringing in her own ears. For a moment, there’s silence. Jane is breathing hard, her body trembling with adrenaline. Behind her, she feels the faintest touch—Maura’s hand brushing against her back. It’s grounding, steady, and for a split second, Jane’s rage softens into something else. Strength. Certainty. She stands taller, her voice steady now, but still fierce. “I’m not going to apologize for loving Maura. Not to you. Not to anyone. And if you can’t accept that, then that’s your problem—not mine.”

“You’re gonna break your mother’s heart with this,” Frank Sr. says, his voice cold and cutting. “Your mother raised you better than this. I raised you better than this,” he insists, his tone dripping with self-righteousness.

“You raised someone who spent all of her teenage years—and a good chunk of her adult life—denying who she is,” she fires back. Her voice trembles, not from fear but from the sheer force of holding back her rage. “That’s who you and Ma raised. Someone too scared to admit what she wanted, what she felt. But I’m done. I’m done playing that part. I’m done being what you want me to be, because it’s not who I am.”

“Since when do you care so much about what your mother and I think, huh?” he snaps, his tone shifting to something almost mocking. “You didn’t care what we thought when you signed up for the police academy. You didn’t care what we thought when you stood by your brother while he threw his life away chasing the same damn career. Your mother’s gonna be devastated all over again,” Frank Sr. says again, wielding his words like a weapon. “First, you become a cop and drag Frankie down with you. Now you’re a fucking lesbian who ran off with a woman the night before her wedding.”

“I wouldn’t be a lesbian if I’d run away with a man,” she snaps back, her voice sharp with sarcasm, cutting through his tirade. “That’s not how it works, Pop.”

“Have you ever stopped to think about what this is going to do to your mother?”

 “Since when do you give a damn about Ma’s heart? You weren’t this concerned when you stomped all over it and left her after thirty years of marriage. You don’t get to lecture me about breaking hearts,” she continues, her voice steady now. “Not after what you did. Not after the way you treated Ma. So don’t sit there and pretend you give a shit about her happiness.”

“Tommy was right—you’re as selfish as they come,” Frank Sr. sneers.

Jane freezes, her heart pounding. “What do you mean?” she asks, though she already has an idea where this is going.

“You knew he liked Maura,” he accuses. “And you did everything in your power to keep him away from her. And now what? You’re her girlfriend? Just like that?”

“Yes!” Jane practically screams. “Yes! She’s my girlfriend. Is that so hard to understand? Is it so impossible to believe that she would want me?”

Her words hang in the air, loud and raw, but they bring with them a tidal wave of doubt. She can feel it rising in her chest, the insecurities she rarely lets surface. Is she good enough for Maura? Does she deserve someone so remarkable, so kind, so... perfect ?

“She liked Tommy, but she loves me,” Jane says, repeating the very words Maura once used to reassure her during a conversation about her brother. Her voice trembles now, quieter but no less fierce. “Is that so hard to accept?”

Her father’s silence on the other end feels almost deafening, but Jane doesn’t back down. She clenches the phone tighter, standing firm despite the storm of emotions swirling inside her. She won’t let him plant seeds of doubt in her mind, not about Maura, not about what they have. Because what they have is real. It’s everything. And no one gets to undermine that.

“I don’t care what you, or Ma, or Tommy, or anyone else thinks,” Jane says, her voice rising with each word. “I’m not giving up the best thing that’s ever happened to me because you’re selfish, or homophobic, or both!”

And with that, she ends the call. Her hand trembles as she lowers the phone, her chest heaving with the effort of holding herself together. For a second, she just stands there, staring at the device as though it might shatter under the weight of everything she’s feeling.

Then the floodgates open.

She’s shaking from head to toe, her breaths coming in short, ragged bursts. Without a word, Maura wraps her arms tightly around Jane, holding her as though nothing in the world could hurt her now. Jane doesn’t resist; she can’t. For once, she lets herself lean into the comfort, lets herself fall apart in Maura’s embrace.

She buries her face in the crook of Maura’s neck, her tears soaking into the soft fabric of Maura’s pajamas. The sobs come hard and fast, wracking her body with an intensity she hasn’t felt in years.

“He hates me,” Jane chokes out between sobs, her voice shaking as she struggles to breathe. Each word feels like a weight on her chest, heavy and suffocating. “He hates who I am. He hates that I’m a lesbian,” Jane continues, her voice muffled by her hands. “And Tommy—” Jane falters, her breath catching in her throat, her body trembling as she tries to hold herself together. She can’t finish the sentence. “Tommy’s jealous,” she finally manages, the words slipping out like an admission she’s been holding in for too long. “Of course, he’s jealous. He figured it out—why I ran away with you, why I stood Casey up.” Jane’s voice cracks, and her body trembles, as though the weight of her own family’s rejection is too much to bear. “And now he’s bitter... because he wanted you for himself.”

Maura pulls Jane closer, holding her tightly, knowing there are no words that can fix this but offering her love anyway, as fiercely as she can. Her voice is soft, steady, a lifeline in the storm.

“Breathe with me,” Maura says gently, her tone warm and grounding. “Come on, Jane. In and out. Just follow me.”

Still clinging to Maura, Jane nods and tries to match her breathing. Together, they inhale deeply, then exhale slowly, the rhythm steadying Jane’s erratic breaths little by little. It takes time—several long minutes of Maura murmuring quiet encouragement—but eventually, Jane’s sobs subside. Her breathing evens out, and the trembling in her hands begins to fade.

“Are you feeling better, love?” Maura asks softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from Jane’s damp face.

Jane nods, her voice hoarse but steady now. “Yes, baby. Thank you.”

They walk back to bed hand in hand, Maura guiding Jane gently as though she might shatter under too much pressure. The warmth of Maura’s touch is grounding, and Jane clings to it like a lifeline.

When they settle back under the covers, Jane curls into Maura’s side, burying her face against Maura’s chest. She listens to the steady rhythm of her girlfriend’s heartbeat, letting the sound soothe her frayed nerves. Maura wraps her arms around Jane, holding her close, like she’s protecting her from the world beyond the walls of this room.

“I love you more than anything in the world, Jane. I’ll choose you over anyone and everyone else, every single time. You’re my one and only. You’re the love of my life. Nothing compares to you. And I don’t care what they think or what anyone else says.” She tightens her embrace, her fingers trailing gently along Jane’s back. “Your brother can be jealous all he wants. Your parents can be as homophobic as they want. None of that changes the fact that I adore you—more than I could ever put into words.”

Jane exhales a shaky breath, her voice muffled against Maura’s chest when she finally speaks. “Pop said horrible things to me,” she whispers. “About how I was breaking Ma’s heart just by being... who I am.”

Maura pulls back slightly, just enough to tilt Jane’s chin up so their eyes meet. There’s a fierce, protective love in Maura’s gaze, and it takes Jane’s breath away.

“Do you know who you are, Jane?” Maura asks, her tone gentle but insistent. She doesn’t wait for an answer. “You’re a beautiful, brilliant, wonderful person. You’re my best friend. You’re the woman I love. You’re an extraordinary jewel of a human being.” She leans down, pressing a tender kiss to Jane’s forehead. “There isn’t a single thing about you I’d change,” Maura continues, her voice trembling slightly with emotion. “Not one. I love everything about you. Even your flaws, Jane— especially your flaws. They’re part of what makes you you . And you wouldn’t be the person I fell in love with—the person I keep falling deeper in love with every day—without them.”

Tears well up in Jane’s eyes again, but this time they’re not from pain. They’re from the overwhelming, all-encompassing love she feels for the woman holding her. She clings to Maura tightly, her heart aching in the best possible way.

“You make me feel like I’m enough,” Jane whispers.

“You are enough,” Maura replies without hesitation. “You’re my everything, Jane.”

The room falls into a comfortable silence, broken only by the sound of their steady breaths. Slowly, Jane’s tension melts away, her eyelids growing heavier with every passing second.

In the days following Jane’s father’s call, they dive into the full tourist experience. Maura, having meticulously researched everything before their trip, already has an itinerary planned—must-see landmarks, the best local restaurants, and hidden gems only the well-informed would know. Jane rolls her eyes at the structured agenda but secretly enjoys the adventure. They stroll through historic neighborhoods, visit museums, and indulge in the local cuisine. They laugh over mispronounced street names, get lost despite Maura’s careful planning, and share quiet moments on scenic overlooks, letting the city become part of their story.

The rest of the time, they lose themselves in each other, making love with an intensity that borders on desperation. Maura is becoming utterly addicted to the way Jane unravels her, to the way she surrenders, piece by piece, until there is nothing left but Jane—completely, undeniably hers.

Maura wonders when Jane will finally pick up the phone and call her mother—or at least answer one of the countless calls she receives each day. So far, Jane has let every one of them go to voicemail. She’s responded to a few of Angela’s texts, just enough to reassure her that she’s okay, but she’s avoided saying anything more, sidestepping her mother’s pressing questions. Maura doesn’t push. She understands that this is Jane’s process, her battle to fight in her own time. So she waits, patient and unwavering, respecting Jane’s decision to stay silent until she’s ready—ready to come out, ready to share what they have with the world.

They’ve been in Ushuaia for two and a half weeks when Jane finally decides she wants Maura’s help to write an email to her mother. She wants to put into words everything she’s been holding back—how she feels, what’s been weighing on her mind, and most importantly, what’s been happening in her heart. She’s not ready to face her mother in a phone conversation just yet, but she hopes that writing it all down will give her the clarity and control she needs. 

To Maura, the written word has always been a powerful tool—one that offers precision, control, and the ability to shape emotions into something tangible. She understands why Jane would choose this method to reach out to her mother. A conversation is unpredictable; words can stumble, emotions can rise too quickly, and defenses can build before the truth has a chance to settle. But in writing, Jane can take her time. She can lay out her heart in a way that isn’t clouded by fear or anger.

Maura watches as Jane hesitates, fingers hovering over the keyboard, eyes clouded with uncertainty. She wants to say something, to offer reassurance, but she also knows this is Jane’s journey. So instead, she stays close, a quiet presence beside her, ready to help if Jane needs her.

And she does. Jane exhales sharply, turning to Maura with a small, almost shy glance. “I don’t even know where to start.”

Maura reaches for her hand, threading their fingers together. “Start with the truth,” she says gently. “The part of it you’re ready to share.”

Because Maura knows this isn’t just an email—it’s a turning point. A moment where Jane is choosing to step forward, even if her steps are still unsteady. 

Maura watches Jane stare at the laptop screen, her fingers hovering over the keyboard, hesitating. The glow of the screen casts soft shadows on her face, highlighting the tension in her clenched jaw, the weight pressing down on her shoulders. She’s never seen Jane like this—so vulnerable, so raw, teetering between fear and resolve. It makes Maura’s heart ache. She knows how much this moment means, how many years Jane has carried this secret, and how deeply the scars of her past still run. This letter is more than just words; it’s Jane unburdening herself, reclaiming her truth, reaching for the mother she still loves despite everything. So Maura stays close, offering silent reassurance, her hand resting lightly on Jane’s back. She won’t push, won’t rush—she will simply be here, steady and unwavering, as Jane takes this step toward freedom.

And so Jane begins to write.

The first sentence is the hardest—admitting it, naming it—but once it’s on the screen, the dam breaks. Her thoughts spill out in a flood of raw honesty.

She writes about the fear that kept her hidden, the shame she carried like a second skin, the way she tried to fit into the life she thought she was supposed to want. She writes about Carla, about the way her father looked at her afterward, the disgust in his eyes that made her feel small, dirty, wrong. She writes about Casey, about how she almost convinced herself to settle, to be the person everyone expected her to be—until she realized that lying to herself would only break her more.

And then, she writes about Maura. About the love she never saw coming, the way it terrified her and saved her all at once. How being with Maura feels like breathing for the first time. How, after all these years, she’s finally choosing to live.

Tears slip down her cheeks, but she doesn’t stop. She lets it all out, because this is her truth. And it’s time.

When Jane finishes writing, she quietly turns to Maura and asks her to read the letter.

Dear Ma,

I don’t even know how to start this letter. I’ve rewritten the first sentence at least ten times already, and it still doesn’t feel right. But if I wait until I feel ready, I’ll never do it. So here it is—the truth I should have told you years ago.

Ma, I’m a lesbian.

I know this probably isn’t a shock. Maybe you’ve always known. Maybe you’ve just been waiting for me to say it out loud. But I need you to hear it from me—not as some suspicion, not as something whispered behind my back, not as an accusation like when Pop threw it at me like an insult when I was fourteen. I need you to hear it from me, with pride, with certainty, with love.

I left Casey because I couldn’t spend my life pretending, lying to myself and to everyone else. I couldn’t go through with a marriage that would never be real, no matter how much I wanted it to be. He deserved better than that, and so did I. I knew that if I walked down that aisle, I’d be locking myself in a prison of my own making. And Ma, I’ve spent too much of my life trapped already.

You remember what happened when Pop found out about Carla. I was fourteen. I had no idea what to do with what I was feeling, but I knew it made me happy. I liked a girl, Ma. That was all. I had a stupid, innocent crush, and I wrote about it in my diary like any other teenage girl would. I didn’t think I was doing anything wrong. But when you and Pop found it, it was like a bomb went off in our house.

I can still hear the way he screamed at me, like I had committed some unforgivable sin. “Lesbian” wasn’t just a word to him—it was a weapon. And he hurled it at me with all the disgust he could muster. You cried. God, Ma, you cried so much. And I remember begging you—pleading with you—to tell me it was okay, that I wasn’t broken. But you couldn’t. You were mad at Pop, sure, but you were mad at me too. And that hurt even more.

Then he ripped my diary to shreds, like he could erase what was in it, erase what was inside of me. He trashed my room, threw my books and clothes everywhere, yelling that no daughter of his would ever be a lesbian. And I just stood there, frozen, watching it happen—watching him tear me apart piece by piece.

You didn’t stop him. I know you were scared of him, but so was I. And I was just a kid, Ma. I needed you. I needed you to tell me that who I was didn’t make me unworthy of love. But instead, I learned to hide. To be ashamed. To push it down so deep that maybe—just maybe—I could convince myself that I wasn’t what he said I was.

I spent years pretending. Years dating guys, trying to be what I thought you wanted me to be. I even convinced myself that I could marry Casey, that maybe if I loved him enough, I could finally be what you guys find normal. All because I was terrified of disappointing you. I was terrified of losing my family, of losing you. Do you know how many times I tried to convince myself I could be something I’m not? How many nights I lay awake, wishing I could just be what everyone in the family thinks is normal? That I could be the daughter you expected, the one who married a man and had kids and did things the way I was supposed to?

But that’s not me. It was never me.

And the worst part is, I knew that when I was just a kid. I knew when I had my first crush on a girl, and I buried it so deep inside me because I was scared of what would happen if anyone found out. I knew when Pop called me disgusting and tore my room apart just because I had the audacity to write about a girl in my diary. And I knew it when you cried, Ma. When you looked at me like I was broken.

I’ve carried that look with me for so long. I let it shape me. I let it keep me from being honest with myself.

I’ve spent my whole life trying to be strong, trying to be what everyone needs me to be. But being strong shouldn’t mean hiding who I am. It shouldn’t mean sacrificing my happiness to make everyone else comfortable.

And Ma, I’m finally happy.

I didn’t just leave because of Casey. I left because of her. Because of Maura.

I love her. 

I am in love with her.

I love her in a way I’ve never loved anyone. In a way I didn’t know I could love someone. And it’s real. It’s right. It’s the kind of love that makes me feel like I can finally breathe after holding my breath in for too long.

She makes me laugh, she makes me think, she makes me better. She sees me, Ma. All of me. Not just the parts I’ve let the world see, not just the version of me that I thought was safe. She sees all of me, and she loves me.

I need you to understand something. This isn’t new. This isn’t something I just woke up and decided one day. It’s been there, under the surface, waiting for me to be brave enough to claim it.

But I need you to know something else too—I still love you. I still need you in my life.

I don’t know how you’ll react to this. I don’t know if you’ll be angry or hurt or if you’ll need time to process it. I don’t know if you’ll ever be able to fully accept this part of me. But I hope you do.

Because for the first time in my life, I’m not ashamed.

Love,
Jane

“It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful,” Maura says softly, her voice thick with emotion as she blinks back tears. “It’s honest, raw, and so completely you.”

She presses a hand to Jane’s cheek, her thumb brushing over the strong line of her jaw, anchoring them both in the moment. The weight of everything Jane has just poured onto the page lingers between them—years of fear, of silence, of wounds left to fester in the dark. And yet, here Jane is, laying it all bare, choosing truth over shame, love over fear.

Maura leans in, their lips meeting in a kiss that is soft, slow, reverent. There is no urgency, no desperation—only understanding, only love. She pours everything she feels into the press of her lips against Jane’s, hoping Jane can feel it, hoping she knows.

When they part, Maura rests her forehead against Jane’s. “You don’t have to carry this alone anymore,” she whispers. “I’m here. Always.”

And so, with a deep breath and trembling fingers, Jane presses send.

In that moment, Maura feels more proud of Jane than she ever has before.

The wait is agonizing. Jane checks her phone obsessively, her stomach twisting each time she refreshes her inbox only to find nothing. She tells herself she doesn’t care—that she doesn’t need her mother’s approval—but the tightness in her chest says otherwise. Sleep is restless, appetite nonexistent. Every time Maura reaches for her hand, she squeezes tighter than usual, as if grounding herself. Two days feel like an eternity, stretching out with unbearable silence until, finally, Angela replies.

My Janie,

I’ve started and stopped this reply more times than I can count. I don’t know the right words, and I don’t know if anything I say will be enough, but I need you to hear me.

I love you. I have always loved you, and I always will. That will never change.

But I won’t lie to you—I’m struggling. Not because you love Maura. Not because you’re a lesbian. I think, deep down, I always knew. Maybe not in so many words, but I knew there was something my daughter was hiding from me. Or maybe you tried to tell me and I just never listened. I just never let myself see it clearly. And I should have.

What hurts me the most is knowing how much pain you’ve carried alone. That I made you feel like you had to hide such an important part of yourself from me. That your father and I—especially your father—made you feel ashamed, like who you are is something to be punished. That you thought you had to run away to be happy.

I wish I could go back and change so many things, Janie. I wish I had held you that day when your father screamed at you. I wish I had fought harder for you when he tore apart your room. I wish I had made you feel safe enough to come to me all those years ago, to tell me what was in your heart without fear.

I failed you. And I am so, so sorry.

I won’t pretend to have it all figured out overnight. I need time. But I promise you this—I will do better. I want to understand, I want to be the mother you deserve, and I want you to know that no matter what, you will always have a home with me.

I love you, Janie. I hope you’ll let me prove it.

Ma

Jane sobs into Maura’s arms, her body trembling as the weight of years of fear, pain, and relief crashes over her. She cries until she’s breathless, until her tears soak into Maura’s shirt, until the ache in her chest finally begins to ease. And still, Maura holds her, unwavering, steady—her anchor in the storm.

When she finally calms down, Jane takes a shaky breath and picks up the phone to call her mother. The moment Angela answers, she breaks into sobs, her emotions spilling through the line. Hearing her mother’s tears, Jane’s own resolve crumbles, and she starts crying again, their unspoken words and years of heartache pouring out in the silence between them.

They talk for over an hour, neither willing to let go of the conversation that has been years in the making. Before Jane dialed, Maura had gently reminded her not to worry about the cost of the long-distance call—this moment was far too important to be cut short.

“I am so sorry for everything, Janie,” Angela’s voice trembles, thick with years of regret. “I should have protected you. I should have stood up for you. I should have been the mother you needed.” Her breath hitches, and Jane can hear the weight of guilt crushing her with every word. “But I wasn’t. I wasn’t a good mom when I let your father scream at you, when I let him tear you down, when I let him make you feel like who you are was something to be ashamed of. I should have stopped him. I should have told him he was wrong. But I didn’t. I was scared too, Jane. I didn’t understand. I didn’t try to understand. And that’s on me.”

Angela’s sobs break through the line, raw and unfiltered. 

“I failed you, and I will never forgive myself for that. I should have been your safe space, but instead, I betrayed you. I shouldn’t have read your diary. I shouldn’t have told your father how you felt about Carla. That wasn’t my story to tell, and I had no right to take that from you. You should have been able to trust me. I should have held you, told you that nothing about you was wrong. Instead, I stood by while he made you feel small, and I—I let him.”

Jane clutches the phone tighter, her own tears slipping freely down her cheeks.

“I let us fail you,” Angela whispers, voice cracking under the weight of her grief. “And I am so, so sorry, Jane.”

“It’s okay, Ma,” Jane says softly, though her voice wavers. “I’m okay now. Maura’s helping me work through… a lot of things. My own internalized homophobia.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line. “Your what?” Angela asks, confusion laced with concern.

Jane exhales, rubbing a hand over her face. She knows this conversation isn’t going to be easy, but if she’s truly going to heal, if she’s going to move forward, her mother needs to understand.

“It’s when you grow up hearing that who you are is wrong—so much that you start believing it yourself,” Jane explains, her voice quieter now. “It’s when you’ve been told your whole life that being gay is shameful, that it’s something to hide, something that makes you less than… and eventually, that voice becomes your own. Even when no one else is saying it anymore, you still hear it in your head. You still feel it in your gut.”

Angela lets out a small, broken sound, and Jane can picture her mother pressing a trembling hand to her mouth.

“I spent so many years trying to convince myself that I wasn’t— wasn’t gay. That I could just push it all down, pretend it wasn’t there. I thought if I ignored it, maybe it would go away. But it never did.” Jane swallows hard, blinking against the burn in her eyes. “I hated myself for something I couldn’t change, and I didn’t even realize how deep that hatred went until now.”

“Oh, Janie,” Angela breathes, her voice thick with sorrow. “I never wanted you to feel that way. I—” She stops herself, sniffling. “I was so scared, baby. Scared of what people would say, scared of what your father would do, scared of what it would mean for your life. But I never wanted you to hate yourself.”

“I know, Ma,” Jane murmurs. “But I did. And I’m still trying to unlearn it.”

“And Maura is helping you?” Angela asks, her voice softer now, almost tentative.

“Maura is helping me,” Jane confirms, her words full of conviction. “Maura is the best thing that has ever happened to me, Ma.” She says it like a truth she’s finally ready to live, her voice warm with pride. “She’s amazing. And she’s mine,” Jane adds, a quiet thrill in her chest as she feels Maura’s presence beside her, even without looking at her. She imagines Maura’s cheeks flushing, even though she can’t see her face, because Maura’s hiding it in the crook of her neck, holding her close, just as Jane asked her to while she talks with her mother. “Maura loves me in a way no one else ever has, Ma,” Jane continues, her voice thickening with emotion. “She loves me so deeply, so fully, and I’ve never felt anything like it before. And I love her in ways I never even knew I was capable of. She’s the most incredible person I’ve ever known, and she’s mine,” Jane repeats, her voice steady and sure. “I’d follow her to the end of the Earth. There’s no place I wouldn’t go for her.”

“I’m glad she’s helping you heal,” Angela says softly.

“She’s the one healing me,” Jane replies, her voice full of quiet gratitude.

“Will you girls come back home?” Angela asks, her voice tentative, laced with an uncertainty that Jane hasn’t heard before. She can tell that her mother is afraid, not just of the answer but of everything that’s come between them, all the years of hurt, misunderstanding, and distance. Jane can feel the weight of Angela's fear through the phone, a fear that she's pushed her only daughter too far, that the divide between them is too wide to ever bridge. Angela's words hang in the air, fragile and pleading, as if she’s not sure whether Jane would even want to come back or if there's still room for her at all. Jane feels a pang of guilt, but also a deep understanding of the woman who raised her—flawed, but trying, and always, always wanting to make things right.

“We haven’t talked about it yet,” Jane admits, her voice softer now. Angela doesn't press, respecting the unspoken boundary, allowing Jane the space to figure things out in her own time.

That night, Jane falls into a peaceful sleep in Maura’s arms, the love-making that comes before tender and full of quiet intimacy.

The following day, Jane wakes to the soft morning light filtering through the cabin window. She feels Maura's warmth beside her, and for a moment, she simply lays there, letting the peaceful silence settle around them. As she runs her fingers along Maura's arm, an unexpected thought begins to take shape in her mind. It’s not a decision she’s made lightly, but something inside her feels ready.

"I think... I think I want to go back to Boston at the end of the month," Jane says quietly, her voice hesitant, as if testing the waters.

Maura turns to look at her, her expression unreadable for a moment, but Jane knows her well enough to see the understanding in her eyes. It’s as if Maura had already sensed it was coming. The idea of returning, of facing what’s ahead, brings a flutter of anxiety in Jane’s chest, but also a strange sense of determination.

"I need to face everything," she adds softly, her gaze drifting away, as if the words themselves are too heavy to hold. "I’ve been hiding for so long. I can’t keep running from it. From them."

Maura’s hand finds hers, her touch steady and reassuring. "You’re ready when you say you are, Jane," she replies, her voice full of love and support.

Jane closes her eyes for a moment, taking a slow breath. “I’m not sure I’m ready. But maybe... it’s time to be.”

Before they head back to Boston, Jane and Maura make one last stop—a visit to the lighthouse at the end of the world. The idea of it had sounded like a beautiful, romantic final adventure, and now that they’re standing at the base of the towering lighthouse, Maura can hardly believe they’ve made it here together. The sea air is crisp and salty, the wind biting against their faces, but nothing could shake the feeling that this is a moment suspended in time, as perfect as any they’ve shared.

Hand in hand, they walk along the weathered path, the sound of the crashing waves beneath them harmonizing with the quiet between them. Maura finds herself stealing glances at Jane, her heart swelling with each glance. Jane looks at her with such intensity, as if she’s seeing her for the first time each time their eyes meet. And it’s not just the way Jane’s looking at her—it’s the depth of it, the quiet adoration that stirs something deep inside Maura’s chest. She feels her cheeks warm despite the cold, her heart racing as Jane’s gaze lingers, completely enamoured, as if Maura is the only thing that matters in this vast, endless world.

“You’re blushing,” Jane teases, her voice low and playful, the hint of a smile dancing on her lips.

Maura’s fingers tighten around Jane’s, unable to suppress the soft warmth that blooms in her chest. She looks away, embarrassed, but can’t help the way her heart flutters. "It’s not the cold," she murmurs, her voice a bit shaky.

Jane steps closer, their hands still intertwined, her thumb brushing over Maura’s knuckles in a tender, affectionate gesture. "I can’t help it," Jane says softly. "You just have this effect on me. You always have."

Maura’s breath catches in her throat as she looks up at Jane, the affection in her eyes unmistakable. There’s no need for words—everything between them has been said in stolen glances and unspoken promises. But Jane’s gaze, so full of adoration and love, speaks more than enough.

They reach the base of the lighthouse, the towering structure looming above them, but it feels small compared to the quiet intimacy they’ve found in each other. Jane leans in slowly, her lips grazing Maura’s cheek in the softest of kisses, a silent promise of all the love that’s yet to come. In that moment, Maura knows—no matter where they go, no matter how far away the world may seem—she’ll always have Jane by her side. And that is more than enough.

Together, they stand there in the quiet, the sea stretching out into the horizon, hand in hand, as they take in the view—one last, beautiful moment before they head back to reality, but not before they share this sacred, unforgettable piece of time.