“Okay,” Fiona said, settling back. “More Anne. We have at least a few more episodes before I fall asleep.”
“You’ll fall asleep in two.”
“I will not.”
She fell asleep in one and a half.
Stella watched her mother sleep.
Her mum looked different when she slept. Softer. Younger, maybe. She’d curled sideways on the couch, one hand tucked under her cheek, theother still holding the pillow Stella had thrown at her.
On screen, Anne was finally happy. Temporarily, at least. There was always another crisis coming. But for this moment, this episode, she’d found her people. Found her place.
Stella paused the show and sat in the quiet.
She should go back to Tyler’s. It was late. She had her own bed, her own room, her own life not many houses away.
But she didn’t move.
Instead, she found a blanket in the hall closet and draped it over her mother, careful not to wake her. Fiona stirred slightly, mumbled something that sounded like “Gilbert was annoying,” and settled deeper into the cushions.
Stella smiled.
She grabbed another blanket, turned off the TV, and curled up in the armchair across from the couch. Not leaving. Not quite staying. Just... being here.
The front door opened quietly sometime later. Margo appeared in the hallway, keys in hand, and stopped when she saw them — Fiona curled on the couch under a blanket, Stella tucked into the armchair, both of them drowsy in the dim light.
She didn’t say anything. Just smiled and raised one hand in a small wave.
Stella waved back, too sleepy to speak.
Margo disappeared down the hall toward herbedroom, and a moment later, her door clicked softly shut.
The last thing Stella saw before she fell asleep was her mother’s face, peaceful in the glow from the hallway nightlight, and the lumpy braid still somehow clinging to her own shoulder.
Tomorrow would bring whatever it brought.
But tonight had been good. Really good.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Stella woke to the smell of butter melting.
For a moment she didn’t know where she was—armchair, blanket, weak grey light through unfamiliar curtains. Then it came back. Margo’s living room.Anne with an E. Her mother falling asleep mid-episode.
The couch was empty now. The blanket Stella had draped over Fiona was folded neatly on the cushions.
Sounds from the kitchen. Cupboards opening. The soft clink of a bowl.
Stella untangled herself from her own blanket and padded toward the light.
Fiona stood at Margo’s counter in the early morning quiet, still in yesterday’s clothes, hair pulled back in a messy knot. Ingredients spread out in front of her — flour, oats, a tin of something golden, butter softening in a saucepan on the stove.
“Mum?”
Fiona looked up. Her eyes were tired but calm. Something different in her face that Stella couldn’t quite name.
“Did I wake you?”
