Stella laughed, wet and surprised.
“Come here.” Fiona opened her arms.
The hug was different from the ones they’d shared before—before the fight, before the photography lab, before the Anzac biscuits at dawn. Those hugs had been careful, restrained, two people going through the motions of affection without really feeling it.
Stella pressed her face into her mother’s shoulder and let herself hold on. Fiona’s arms tightened around her, solid and sure.
“I’m proud of you,” Fiona said into her hair. “I should have said that more. I should have said it every day. But I’m saying it now, and I’ll keep saying it until you’re sick of hearing it.”
“I won’t get sick of it.”
“You might. I can be very persistent.”
“I know. That’s where I get it from.”
Fiona laughed, the sound catching on somethingrough in her throat. She pulled back, hands on Stella’s shoulders, studying her face.
“You’re going to be extraordinary,” she said. “You already are, but you’re going to be more. And I’m going to be watching from the other side of the world, bragging to everyone about my photographer daughter in California.”
“Mum.”
“I’m serious. I’ve already shown your portfolio to three people at work. They’re very impressed.”
“That’s embarrassing.”
“That’s motherhood. Get used to it.”
Tyler had been standing back, giving them space. Now he stepped forward, hands in his pockets, looking as uncertain as Stella had ever seen him.
“Fiona—”
“Don’t you start either.” Fiona turned to him. “I’ve already done one emotional goodbye. I can’t handle two.”
“I just wanted to say thank you. For the paperwork. For... all of it.”
“You’re thanking me for letting you raise our daughter?”
“I’m thanking you for trusting me with her.”
Something passed between them—old hurt, old history, and something new underneath. Understanding, maybe. Or at least the beginning of it.
“Take care of her,” Fiona said.
“I will.”
“I know.” She smiled, small and tired and genuine. “That’s why I’m leaving.”
She hugged Tyler too—quick and awkward, the way people hugged when they weren’t sure of the protocol. But they did it. It counted.
“Okay.” Fiona picked up her carry-on, straightened her shoulders. “I need to go before I actually do start crying.”
“Call when you land?” Stella asked.
“I’ll call when I land. And when I get home. And probably tomorrow, because I’ll think of something I forgot to say.” Fiona touched Stella’s face, her thumb brushing her cheekbone. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“I know.” Fiona’s eyes were bright. “That’s the best part.”
