Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The house was too quiet.

Carla Connor sat on the sofa, staring at the suitcase propped up against the coffee table. Its zip was drawn to a close, but her heart wasn’t. Inside, a week’s worth of clothes sat folded with clinical neatness, but nothing could tidy the chaos in her chest.

For weeks she’d been pretending—smiling in front of Betsy, laughing in front of Ryan, carrying on at the factory as if nothing had changed. But everything had changed. Becky’s return had fractured something delicate, something that had only just begun to feel solid beneath her feet.
Carla couldn’t take much more of this. She couldn’t just sit around, waiting for Lisa to walk out and leave her. Not after everything they’d built, not after all the love she’d poured into this relationship. The uncertainty was eating her alive.

By the time Lisa’s key turned in the lock, Carla’s chest was tight, her mascara smudged from silent tears. Lisa stepped inside, kicking her boots off with a weary sigh, but stopped short. Something was wrong. The atmosphere was different—thick, heavy.

“Carla?” Lisa’s voice wavered, uncertain.

Carla gestured weakly. “Come here.”

Lisa’s stomach knotted tighter with each step as she crossed the room.

“I’m going to Ireland for a while,” Carla said, her voice low and heavy, every syllable cracking like fragile glass.

Lisa froze, her throat dry. “Oh… okay. How long you going for?”

Carla finally turned to face her. Lisa’s heart cracked at the sight of her swollen, red-rimmed eyes. “Depends on your decision.”

A chill crawled through Lisa’s veins. “What do you mean?”

Carla’s gaze dropped to the engagement ring on her finger. She twisted it once, twice, as if it burned. “I can’t just sit around and carry on waiting for you to eventually choose Becky. She’s still your wife, Lisa.”

Lisa’s breath hitched. “Carla, no… no. You can’t mean—”

But Carla was already sliding the ring off. Slow, deliberate. The scrape of metal leaving skin sounded louder than any scream. She placed it on the coffee table with a soft clink that reverberated through the silence.

Lisa’s chest collapsed. “Carla… don’t leave me. Please. I need you.” Her voice broke, tears spilling down her cheeks, the desperation raw. How had she let it come to this? How had she made Carla doubt her, doubt them?

Carla stood, her movements painfully calm, as though rehearsed in her head a thousand times. She reached for the suitcase handle.

Lisa lurched forward, grabbing her hand before she could leave. “No—Carla, please, don’t walk out. Not like this.” She clung on, sobbing, her tears dripping onto their joined hands. “I can’t lose you. You’re all I’ve got.”

Carla froze, letting Lisa hold her for a moment. But then, with devastating resolve, she slipped her hand free, leaving Lisa clutching at nothing.

“You can’t just give up on us,” Lisa cried. “You can’t just leave me here like—like I don’t matter.”

Carla turned, her voice trembling but steady. “You matter more than anything. That’s why I have to go. Because right now, loving you is tearing me in two. And if I stay, I’ll break.”

She tugged the suitcase toward the door, the wheels clattering against the floor. Lisa stumbled after her, fingers brushing her arm. “Carla, I’ll choose you. I swear I will. Just don’t go.”

Carla’s back stiffened. She didn’t turn. “Don’t say it unless you mean it.”

She opened the front door. Cool evening air swept in, chilling Lisa to the bone. Outside, the waiting taxi’s headlights cut through the dusk.

“Carla!” Lisa’s cry tore out of her, jagged and raw, but Carla didn’t stop moving.

Tim, standing by the cab, glanced awkwardly at the scene but wisely kept quiet. He lifted the suitcase into the boot, catching a glimpse of Carla’s tear-stained face, but didn’t ask questions.

“Where to?” he asked gently.

“Manchester Airport, please.”

“You got it.”

Lisa appeared in the doorway, her face streaked with tears, her whole body trembling. She looked so small, so broken, standing there like a shadow of herself.

Carla hesitated for the briefest moment. Her heart screamed at her to turn back, to run into Lisa’s arms, to promise she’d never let go. But her mind whispered the truth—if she stayed, nothing would change. Not yet.

As the cab pulled away, Carla twisted in her seat to look back. Number 6 shrank in the distance, but Lisa was still there on the step, her face lifted, her tears glistening in the light. She raised a hand, half a wave, but it faltered as the cab turned the corner.

The sight burned into Carla’s mind—Lisa, crumbling, left behind.

And Lisa, standing in the street with her arms wrapped around herself, felt the emptiness hollow her out completely. The house loomed behind her, cold and silent. Through the window, the engagement ring glinted on the coffee table, a cruel reminder of what she’d lost.

She pressed a trembling hand to her chest as though to hold herself together, but nothing stopped the ache.

“Don’t let this be the end,” she whispered into the night.

Lisa closed the door slowly, as though slamming it might break what little pieces of her were left. She staggered into the living room, her knees weak, her chest aching. The engagement ring still sat on the coffee table, gleaming under the lamp.

She picked it up, holding it tightly in her palm until the edges dug into her skin. “You daft cow,” she whispered to herself, though whether she meant Carla or herself she didn’t know.

The sofa still smelled like Carla’s perfume. Lisa collapsed into it, clutching the ring, and for the first time in years, she let herself sob like a child. Big, racking sobs that made her shoulders shake and her throat burn.

Images came back to her—the first time Carla had reached for her hand, tentative and brave. Their first kiss inside of Carla's flat, when Carla finally admitted she had feelings for her, when the world had felt like it finally made sense. Nights curled up together watching rubbish telly, mornings with Carla making coffee just the way she liked it. It had always been Carla.

But then Becky had come back.

Lisa shut her eyes, guilt clawing at her chest. She hadn’t meant to let Becky get into her head, but she had. Old wounds, old guilt, old habits—Becky knew how to twist them. And now Carla was gone, all because Lisa hadn’t been strong enough to slam the door shut on her past.

“Mom?”

Lisa’s head snapped up. Betsy was standing in the doorway, schoolbag slung over one shoulder, confusion etched across her face. She glanced from Lisa’s red, blotchy eyes to the ring clutched in her hand.

“Where’s Carla?”

Lisa’s voice broke. “She’s gone.”

Betsy’s bag thudded to the floor. “What do you mean she’s gone?”

Lisa couldn’t look at her daughter. She stared at the carpet, her tears dripping onto the fibers. “She’s gone to Ireland. Said I needed space… said I needed to decide.”

Betsy’s hands clenched into fists, her face flushing. “Decide? About what? About Becky? Oh my God, Mom, please tell me you didn’t let her mess this up!”

Lisa covered her face with her hands. She didn’t need her daughter to tell her what she already knew—that she’d made the biggest mistake of her life.

“Bets… I don’t want Becky. I want Carla. I’ve always wanted Carla. But I’ve—” Her voice cracked, her chest heaving. “I’ve messed it all up.”

Betsy crossed the room and sat beside her, her teenage bravado melting into something softer. She pulled her mum into a hug, resting her chin on Lisa’s shoulder.

“Then fix it,” Betsy whispered fiercely. “Go after her. Don’t just sit here and cry about it. Carla loves you, Mom. She loves you so much. She’s just scared.”

Lisa clutched her daughter tight, the weight of her words sinking in. She’d already lost Becky once—and survived. But losing Carla? That was unthinkable.

She had to find a way to bring her back.

And this time, she couldn’t let fear or guilt stop her.

Chapter Text

Lisa lay curled up on what should have been Carla’s side of the bed. The sheets were cold now, untouched since that awful night. She hadn’t left the spot since Carla walked out of number 6, days ago. But to Lisa, it felt like years.

Her hand clutched Carla’s engagement ring so tightly the edges dug into her palm, leaving angry little crescents in her skin. She couldn’t let it go, couldn’t set it down, as if keeping it close might somehow tether Carla to her. Without it, she feared she might float off into nothingness, untethered, lost.

The clock ticked loudly in the silence. Every second stretched, elongated, mocking her. Each one marked another moment without Carla, another reminder of the hole carved into her chest.

Sleep never came easy anymore. Every time she closed her eyes, all she saw was the back of the taxi disappearing down the street, carrying Carla further and further away. The sound of suitcase wheels bumping against the floorboards, the hollow slam of the cab door—it replayed in her mind until she thought she’d go mad.

Her chest rose and fell unevenly, shallow, almost panicked breaths. Tears slipped quietly onto the pillow, soaking it until the fabric chilled against her cheek. She whispered into the darkness, words she knew Carla couldn’t hear.

“How could I let Becky get into my head? How could I let her shadow creep into what we had? God, Carla… how could I let you go? I was blind, wasn’t I? Blind to see how much you were hurting. Blind to see that every time you smiled, you were covering the cracks I caused.”

The silence pressed in around her, suffocating. Every creak of the floorboards made her stomach lurch, as if she might hear Carla’s footsteps again—light, decisive, always full of purpose. But nothing came. Just silence. Silence and the faint lingering trace of Carla’s perfume on the pillow.

Lisa pressed her face into the fabric, breathing in what was left of her, desperate for the illusion.

Downstairs, Betsy sat hunched on the sofa, her knees pulled up to her chest. The telly flickered in the background, muted, casting empty shadows across the room. She wasn’t watching. Her eyes were fixed on the photos that lined the wall, each frame a piece of her strange, imperfect, beautiful family.

Her gaze locked on her favourite photo—the four of them outside number 6. Ryan pulling a ridiculous face, mid-laugh, his arm slung casually around her shoulder. Lisa, grinning, her arm wrapped tight around Carla’s waist. And Carla, looking like she always did when she was happiest—her eyes alive, her smile wide, her guard down completely. And Betsy herself, caught off guard by Ryan’s joke, laughing so hard her head was thrown back.

That picture was joy. It was safety. It was home.

She rose from the sofa and walked toward it, her fingers brushing over the glass. Her reflection blurred with the four faces behind it, and her throat tightened. That was her family. Her weird, stitched-together, complicated family. And now it felt like someone had torn it right down the middle.

Carla wasn’t just her mom’s fiancée. She wasn’t just someone new who had come into their lives. Carla had given Betsy something she hadn’t realised she’d needed—another mom. A steady hand, a sharp tongue softened by care, someone who listened to her problems when Lisa was too weighed down by her own. Someone who saw her.

The thought of losing her was unbearable. Like losing air itself.

A sob clawed its way out of her chest before she could stop it. She pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the photo frame, her shoulders shaking.

Upstairs, Lisa sat up suddenly, dragging both hands through her tangled hair. Her heart thudded against her ribs with restless urgency. She couldn’t lie there any longer, drowning in regret. Every breath felt heavier, every beat of her heart like a drum pounding her failures.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stumbled down the stairs. Her steps faltered when she saw Betsy, small and crumpled against the wall of photos. The grief on her daughter’s face mirrored her own, and the guilt twisted sharper in her chest.

Without hesitation, Lisa moved to the kitchen island, dragging her laptop open. The screen glowed harshly in the dim light, but she didn’t care. Her fingers flew across the keys, desperate, searching, needing to do something.

“This will show her, I don't care,” Lisa muttered suddenly, almost to herself. She didn’t even realise she’d spoken until Betsy’s head snapped up.

Betsy frowned, wiping her face with her sleeve. “Mom? What are you doing?”

Lisa didn’t look up. “Booking the first available flight to Ireland.”

Betsy blinked. “Wait—you’re serious?”

Lisa’s chest heaved, her eyes burning with a determination Betsy hadn’t seen in weeks. “I should have gone after her the second she left. Instead, I let my guilt drag me down, let Becky’s ghost take up space in my head. But no more.” Her voice broke, but she carried on, fierce and trembling all at once. “Carla was the one who stitched my heart back together, Bets. Piece by piece. With her kindness, with her love. She held me when I was breaking, she made me believe in happiness again. She stitched me back together when I thought I was nothing but ruins. And I am not going to let that dissolve. Not now. Not ever.”

Her fingers shook as she clicked through flight times.

Betsy swallowed hard. She could feel the tears coming again, but these were different. Not despair. Hope. Fierce, stubborn hope.

“I’m coming too,” she said firmly, dropping onto the stool beside her.

Lisa finally looked up, startled. For a moment, she saw the little girl Betsy used to be, tugging at her sleeve, asking for comfort. But now? Now she saw the woman she was becoming. Strong. Brave. Full of fire.

Lisa’s throat tightened. “Betsy…”

“No,” Betsy cut in, shaking her head. “I’m not staying here while you go after her. She’s my family too. I love her too. And I’m not letting her slip away either.”

Lisa reached across the counter, took her daughter’s hand in both of hers, and squeezed it tight. Their tears mingled, their resolve binding them together.

“Then we’ll go together,” Lisa whispered.

Betsy’s lips trembled, but she smiled through it. “We’ll bring her home, Mom.”

And in that moment, Lisa felt the first stitch tug at her broken heart. Not whole yet—not by a long shot—but no longer unravelling.

A sudden knock rattled the door, making both of them jump. Lisa’s heart leapt wildly into her throat, but she remained stuck to the spot. Betsy ran to the door, flinging it open, hope surging in her chest—please, let it be Carla, coming back to them, realising what a mistake she’d made .

But it wasn’t Carla.

It was Becky.

Betsy’s jaw dropped, her face tightening with fury.

“What do you want?” she spat.

Becky raised her brows, feigning casual. “Nice to see you too, Bets. You haven’t been answering my calls. Just wanted to check if you were okay.”

Betsy couldn’t believe the nerve. This woman—the woman she used to idolise—standing there as if nothing had happened.

“Haven’t you done enough damage?” Betsy’s voice cracked with anger. “It’s bad enough that you abandoned me for four years. Now you’re destroying my family. Mom hasn’t left the house in days.”

“Bets, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I told you why I had to leave, I had no choice. But why hasn’t your mom left the house?”

From behind, Lisa appeared, coming from the kitchen . Her eyes were red-rimmed, her hair damp from tears.

“As if you didn’t know,” Lisa said bitterly. “I hope you’re happy. Carla left for Ireland and may never return—all because I let you back into our lives. All because I listened to your lies.”

“I haven’t lied to you, Lisa,” Becky shot back. “But can’t you see? Now she’s gone, we can all be a family again. Like we used to be.”

Lisa stopped dead, staring at her in disbelief. “Have you completely lost your mind, Rebecca? I don’t want you back in my life. I don’t want my past life. All I want is Carla. Carla is my present. Carla is my future. You lost your right to be part of this family the moment you faked your death.”

Betsy looked at her mom in awe, pride swelling in her chest, before turning her fury back on Becky.

“Where were you when my boyfriend was stabbed by his own brothers? Where were you when I got shot? Where were you when I nearly got hit by a speeding car?” Becky flinched, taking a step back. But Betsy wasn’t finished. “Carla was there for me. She gave me a job at her factory because she thought it would help me with college. She listened when I couldn’t talk to Mom. She was there for me when my boyfriend was killed—even when she was in hospital herself. She gave me a second chance when I didn’t deserve one.”

Becky’s face hardened. “Carla this, Carla that—she’s not your real mom, Betsy. I am. Look, I’m sorry she left, but how is that my fault? She chose to leave. I didn’t make her.”

“That’s just it, Becky,” Lisa cut in, her voice trembling with fury. “It is your fault. You came back. You showed up in our living room. I told you time and time again to leave us alone, but you didn’t. I want you to leave Weatherfield and never come back. I want you out of town by the end of the week.”

“You don’t mean that, Lisa. I get you’re upset, but—”

“Want a bet?” Lisa snapped, and slammed the door in her face.

The sound echoed through the house like finality, like a seal on everything that had been said.

Lisa turned to Betsy, who was shaking, tears streaming silently down her face. They clung to each other, broken but fierce, two hearts determined to fight for the woman they both loved.

And somewhere, far away in Ireland, Carla had no idea she was still the stitch holding them together.

Chapter Text

For the first time in what felt like forever, number 6 wasn’t cloaked in sorrow. The heaviness that had hung over the house like a storm cloud had begun to lift, replaced by something gentler, something warmer—hope. It was fragile and tentative, but it was there, and it was enough to make Lisa’s chest ache in a way that wasn’t entirely painful.

She sat at the kitchen island, laptop open, scrolling through hotel listings in Ireland. It felt strange to plan a trip that wasn’t a holiday but a mission—a mission to put her heart back where it belonged.

But then a thought hit her like a bucket of cold water. “Oh, bloody hell,” she muttered under her breath.

Betsy, sprawled lazily on the sofa, perked up. “What?”

Lisa rubbed her temple, exhaling. “I’ve no idea where Michelle even lives. I don’t even know what part of Ireland Carla’s staying in.”

Betsy frowned. “You could text her.”

“I can’t.” Lisa sighed. “I switched my phone off. Becky wouldn’t stop messaging me, and I couldn’t stand seeing her name pop up anymore.”

Betsy sat up properly now, sensing the seriousness in her mum’s voice. “Want me to do something?”

“Yeah.” Lisa looked over, hopeful. “Can you contact Ryan for me and ask him to come over? Maybe he knows where Michelle’s living these days. If anyone does, it’s him.”

“Sure thing.” Betsy reached for her phone on the coffee table. The screen lit up, revealing five missed calls and a message from Becky. She ignored them both, thumb hovering instead over Ryan’s contact.

She typed out a quick message:

Betsy: Hey Uncle Ry Ry, we need to talk. Mom’s planning to go after Carla, but we need some help first. Can you come over ASAP?

She hit send and turned back to Lisa, her expression softening. “Done. So… what’s the plan once we get there?”

Lisa bit her lip, staring at the map of Dublin on her screen as if it held the answer. “I don’t know yet. Maybe we just—”

She didn’t get to finish.

The front door creaked open and a familiar voice called out, “You two planning a rescue mission without me?”

Ryan stood in the doorway, his usual cheeky grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He stepped inside and shut the door behind him, the faint chill of the outside air following him into the warm kitchen. Ryan looked towards Betsy
"Alright Bets, i got your text to come over, what do you need ?” he asked casually.

Lisa looked over at Ryan and, for a fleeting moment, felt a spark of gratitude that at least he was still talking to them. “Hey Ryan, I asked Betsy to text you to come over… This is going to sound a bit cheeky, but by any chance, Please could i have your Mums number? I need to talk to her.”

Ryan’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Yeah Sure, What do you need to talk to mum for?”

Lisa took a deep breath. “Bets and I are going to get Carla back. But Carla doesn’t know we’re coming, and there’s one slight problem…”

Betsy stood up, folding her arms. “We dunno where they are.”

Lisa joined in, her voice soft but firm. “And I think it’s best I let Michelle know we’re coming—so we can come up with a plan before we just show up.”

Ryan nodded, pulling his phone from his pocket and scrolling for a second before reading the number aloud. “Here. Good on you, Lisa. It’s about time.”

Lisa hesitated, then asked quietly, “Have you heard how Carla is at all?”

Ryan’s face softened, the cheekiness fading. “I spoke to Mum this morning. She’s… not good.”

The words hit her like a punch to the chest. Not good. Of course she wasn’t. Lisa’s heart twisted at the thought of Carla alone and hurting, miles away from home—hurting because of her.

Ryan patted her shoulder gently before slipping back towards the door. “You’ll fix this,” he said softly, and then he was gone.

Silence lingered in his absence. Then Lisa inhaled shakily, renewed determination burning beneath her ribs. “Can I borrow your phone, please, Bets, i don't want to turn my phone on , because god knows how many messages ive received from Becky, and id rather not look at her fake apologies.”

Betsy smiled and handed it over. “I Understand, Of course you can borrow my phone . Just Make it count.”

Lisa took a deep, shaky breath as she dialed Michelle's number and pressed call. The ringtone buzzed in her ear, every second stretching unbearably long. Then, a familiar voice answered — warm but cautious.

“Hello?” Michelle’s voice was steady, but there was a flicker of something beneath it.

“Michelle… it’s Lisa.”

There was a pause — brief, but heavy. “Lisa. I wasn’t expecting this.”

“I know,” Lisa admitted, her voice trembling. “And I wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t important. I just… I need to talk to you about Carla.”

Michelle sighed softly on the other end. “Go on.”

“I made the biggest mistake of my life,” Lisa blurted out before she could stop herself. “I let my ex Becky’s words mess with my head, i didn't realise how manipulative she was, I believe Carla would of told you about her , and how she turned up after being dead for 4 years, I have been so confused about everything and I pushed Carla away when she needed me most. I didn’t fight for her, when i should have, I didn’t show her how much she means to me — and I hate myself for it.” Her voice cracked, the tears she’d been holding back slipping free. “But I love her, Michelle. I love her more than I’ve ever loved anyone. And I cant let this be how it ends.”

There was silence again — not cold, but thoughtful. Michelle’s tone softened when she spoke. “She’s hurting, Lisa. More than she’s letting on. You really have broke her, you know your the first woman she has ever loved, its always been men, and not good men either .”

Lisa’s breath hitched. “I know. And I’ll regret it every day until I make it right. That’s why I’m calling. Betsy and I… we’re going to come to Ireland.”

“You’re coming here?” Michelle sounded surprised, though not displeased.

“Yes. I don’t want to ambush her or make things worse. I just need to see her — to tell her how I feel face-to-face. I need to try.”

Michelle was silent for a few seconds before responding, her voice dropping lower. “All right. I will help you. But I’m not going to tell her you’re coming — she needs to hear this from you.”

“Thank you,” Lisa breathed, relief flooding through her.

“But Lisa,” Michelle added gently, “you have to prepare yourself. Carla’s walls are high right now. Even when she talks about you — and believe me, she still does — it’s through anger and heartbreak. But she does still talk about you.”

That single sentence nearly brought Lisa to her knees. “Then there’s still a chance,” she whispered.

“Maybe there is,” Michelle said. “She goes for a walk by the pier every morning, around eight. If you’re serious about making this right, that’s where you’ll find her.”

Lisa wiped her eyes, a weak smile forming. “I will be there. I swear I will.”

A thought crossed her mind. “Michelle… what area are you in? ”

“ Dublin,” Michelle confirmed. “Not too far from the city centre.”

But then Lisa heard it — faint at first, then clearer — Carla’s voice in the background.

“Chelle? Who are you talking to, are you on that sex line again?”

Michelle froze for a heartbeat, then she sudden realised what Carla had just said. her tone lightened. “you cheeky bitch , i don't do that , Im Just on a work call!” she called back, laughing.

" Would you kiss your mother with that mouth" Carla shouts back at michelle

Lisa’s heart clenched at the sound of Carla’s voice. Even muffled through a phone, it was enough to make her chest ache.

“Michelle…” she whispered. “Please don’t tell her it’s me. Not yet.”

“I won’t,” Michelle said firmly. “Listen, I need to step out — I don’t want her overhearing too much. But when you get to Dublin, message me straight away. I need to know when you’re safely at the hotel. We’ll figure things out from there, all right?”

“Okay,” Lisa whispered, gripping the phone like a lifeline. “Thank you… for everything.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Michelle replied softly. “Just make this right. She deserves the truth. And you — if you’re really serious — deserve a chance to give it.”

“I will,” Lisa promised. “I won’t mess this up again.”

“I hope not,” Michelle said gently. “I’ll see you soon, Lisa.”

“See you soon.”

The call ended with a soft click, but Lisa didn’t move. She just sat there, staring at the phone, the echo of Carla’s voice still ringing in her ears. Her chest was a chaotic storm of emotions — fear, hope, regret, love — but one thing cut through the noise like a steady pulse: she was going to fight for Carla this time.

Her heart was racing, her chest tight — but for the first time in weeks, it wasn’t with grief. It was determination.

Then, with a gentle ping, a new message appeared on the screen. It was from Michelle.

Michelle: “One more thing — the pier Carla walks on is overlooking the harbor. The hotel you want is called Anantara the marker . And safe flight to you and Betsy. — M x”

Lisa read the message three times over, her heart thudding harder with each pass. This was her chance — maybe the only one she’d get — to speak to Carla without warning, without Michelle softening the blow. She needed to make it count.

“Bets,” she called softly. Betsy looked up from the sofa, where she’d been absently scrolling through her phone. “The hotel we need is Anantara the marker "

Betsy frowned. “is that overlooking the pier, where Carla walks in the morning, that Michelle earlier mentioned, by any chance?”

“Michelle messaged, telling me the hotel,” Lisa explained, handing her the phone. “Yes that is the one Carla walks by every morning. If we’re going to do this, I want to be there. I need to be there.”

Without wasting another second, Lisa spun her laptop around and opened a new tab. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, searching Anantara the marker Hotel’.

After a few minutes of searching, she found it — a small boutique hotel perched overlooking the harbor. The photos showed sweeping views of the pier stretching out into the horizon. it was perfect.

“This is beautiful,” she said, clicking Book Now before Betsy could even read the description. “Two rooms, side-by-side.”

“Mom…” Betsy said softly, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “You’re really doing this.”

Lisa exhaled shakily, a mixture of nerves and hope bubbling inside her. “I have to. I can’t sit around and hope fate does the work for me. I need to be where she is — I need to show her that I’m not running anymore.”

The booking confirmation appeared on screen, and for the first time in weeks, Lisa allowed herself to smile. It wasn’t over. Not yet.
The next morning, the plan was set in motion. Lisa and Betsy stood at the departures gate of Manchester Airport, bags slung over their shoulders, tickets clutched in their hands. The atmosphere was tense, electric—like they were standing on the edge of something monumental.

Betsy could sense her mum’s change immediately. Lisa was quieter than usual, her fingers fidgeting with the boarding pass, her eyes unfocused as they moved through security. It wasn’t the typical airport nerves—this was deeper, heavier.

On the escalator down to the gate, Betsy slipped her hand into Lisa’s. “It’ll be okay,” she said softly, giving her mum’s hand a squeeze. “I’m sure of it.

But even Betsy didn’t sound convinced, and Lisa noticed. She forced a smile and opened her mouth to respond, but the announcement of their flight boarding cut her off. Soon, they were walking down the jet bridge, their steps in sync, silent but determined.

The flight itself passed in a blur of nerves and unsaid words. Lisa stared out of the oval window, clouds streaking past beneath them, her mind a storm of what ifs.
What if Carla refused to see her?
What if it was too little, too late?
What if the love they’d built couldn’t survive the damage she’d caused?

Betsy, glancing sideways, could almost hear her mother’s thoughts. She rested her head on Lisa’s shoulder, whispering, “We’re going to fix this. I know we are.”

Three hours later, they stepped into the crisp Irish air outside Dublin Airport. A taxi was waiting for them, the driver holding a small placard with “L. SWAIN” scrawled across it

The drive to the hotel was silent. Lisa stared blankly at the passing streets, nerves clawing at her stomach. Betsy, gazing out the opposite window, bit back tears as her own thoughts ran wild. I can’t lose another mum. Mum wouldn’t cope. I wouldn’t cope.

When they arrived at the hotel, the driver unloaded their bags, and the two of them checked in under the alias Michelle had suggested. Their rooms were adjoining—Lisa’s room soft and understated, with warm cream walls, a small balcony overlooking the cobbled street below, and a bed that looked far too big for one person. Betsy’s was identical, though hers was scattered almost immediately with her things—clothes over the chair, charger tangled on the nightstand.

Lisa sat on the edge of her bed and pulled out her phone. Her hands were trembling as she typed a short message:

Lisa: We’re here. Just checked into the hotel.

The reply came almost instantly:

Michelle: On my way. What’s the room number?

Lisa sent it, and then all they could do was wait.

Thirty minutes later, a soft knock echoed through the quiet hallway. Lisa’s heart lurched into her throat. She took a deep breath, wiped her palms against her jeans, and opened the door.

Standing there was Michelle.

She was taller than Lisa remembered from the photo of her and Carla, her figure slender and graceful. Her dark, shoulder-length hair framed a striking face, and her warm brown eyes—so much like Carla’s—held both caution and kindness. She wore a long camel coat over a black turtleneck, her expression unreadable at first glance.

“Lisa,” she said gently, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Welcome to Dublin.”

Lisa stepped aside, heart pounding in her chest. “Thank you for coming.”

Michelle nodded once, stepping into the room, and for the first time, Lisa felt the reality of it all settle in. They were here. Carla was just a few streets away. And tomorrow morning, everything—everything—would change.

Chapter Text

The sun was slowly setting casting a soft gold light across the city. every time she closed her eyes for a split second , she saw Carla. The way her eyes had shone when she laughed, the way she’d curl up next to her on the sofa, the softness in her voice when she whispered I love you. And then, as quickly as those moments came, the memory of the last time they spoke would crush her chest all over again.

For a moment she forgot where she was or that Michelle was sat in front of her, neither of them spoke for a while. Lisa fiddled with the coffee Michelle had brought her, heart hammering. Finally, Michelle sighed and looked her square in the eye.

“I’m not going to sugarcoat anything,” she began softly. “You hurt her, Lisa. Really hurt her. You made her believe she wasn’t enough. And for someone like Carla — someone who gives her whole heart when she loves — that nearly destroyed her.”

Lisa swallowed hard, tears already pricking at the corners of her eyes. “I know. I know I did. And I hate myself for it every single day. I let Becky’s manipulation cloud my judgment, and I took it out on the person who loved me most. I pushed her away when all she ever did was fight for me.”

Her voice cracked, the words trembling out of her chest as if they had been buried there for far too long. “But the truth is, I’ve never stopped loving her. Not for one single second. Even when we were miles apart, even when the silence between us felt unbearable, she was still there — in every thought, in every breath. I wake up and the first thing I do is reach across the bed, hoping I’ll feel her there. And every morning, the emptiness hits me all over again.”

Tears began streaming down Lisa’s cheeks, but she didn’t wipe them away. “I fall asleep thinking about her laugh — the way it bubbles up and fills a room, how it used to make even my worst days feel bearable. I think about how she’d tuck her feet under me when we watched movies, how she’d make tea even though she hated the taste of it, just because she knew I loved it. I think about the way she looks at the world — like there’s beauty in everything if you just know how to look. God, Michelle, I miss everything about her.”

Her voice grew softer, but it carried a weight that seemed to press on the air around them. “She’s not just someone I love. She’s home. She’s the person I want to share every stupid little moment with — the rainy Sundays and the late-night grocery runs, the birthdays and the boring Tuesdays. I want to hold her hand when we’re old and grey. I want to dance with her in the kitchen when no one’s watching. I want to make her laugh so hard she forgets every reason she ever doubted us.”

Lisa’s chest heaved as she took a shaky breath. “I know I don’t deserve her. I know I broke something precious. But if she gives me even the smallest chance, I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that I see her — really see her — for the extraordinary, beautiful soul she is. And I’ll spend every day showing her just how deeply, how completely, how endlessly I love her.”

Michelle’s expression softened. “Then show her. Don’t just say it — show her. She needs to feel it, not just hear it.”
Lisa nodded, a spark of determination rising in her chest. “I will. Whatever it takes.”

Together, they hatched a plan. Carla always walked along the pier at 8 a.m. — the same place she went to clear her head. That was where Lisa would wait, not empty-handed, but with a symbol of the love she was desperate to mend.

Lisa woke up early, and she pulls back the covers, wraps herself in her soft fluffy dressing gown and walked towards the window and slowly opens the curtains and looked out towards the pier. going over the plan in her head.

The pier was quiet that morning, the tide lapping gently against the wooden posts as a cool breeze swept off the water. Lisa’s heart pounded so hard it felt like it might crack her ribs. Around her, she’d scattered rose petals into the shape of a heart. In her hands, a bouquet of deep red roses trembled slightly as she clutched them.

She took a deep breath and waited.

And then she saw her.

Carla.

Hood pulled up, hands in her pockets, head slightly bowed against the wind. She almost didn’t see Lisa at first — but when she did, she stopped dead.
“Lisa?” she breathed, disbelief etched across her face.

Lisa’s throat felt tight. “Hi.”

Carla glanced at the petals, then back at her. “What… what are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you,” Lisa said quietly. “Hoping you’d give me five minutes to explain.”

Carla hesitated, folding her arms tightly. “I shouldn’t.”

“I know,” Lisa admitted. “But please. Just five minutes.”

She didn’t walk away — and that was all the permission Lisa needed.

“I was a coward,” she started, her voice trembling. “I let someone else’s words twist the truth, and I pushed away the best thing that ever happened to me. And I regret it every single day. You didn’t deserve that — you never deserved that.”
Carla’s eyes glistened, but she said nothing.

“I love you,” Lisa continued, her voice trembling as if every word cost her a piece of her soul. “More than I’ve ever loved anyone. And I know I’ve got no right to ask for anything, but I’m here — right here — ready to fight for you if you’ll let me. Because there’s no life, no version of me, without you in it.”

Carla shook her head slightly, tears slipping free. “Do you have any idea how much you hurt me?”

“Yes,” Lisa whispered, her voice breaking as tears burned hot down her cheeks. “Yes, I do. And I will never, ever do it again. All I want is the chance to show you how much you mean to me. Every single day. For the rest of my life.”

Carla’s breath caught, her eyes glistening. “And what about her?” she asked, her tone trembling with old wounds that hadn’t yet healed. “Is Becky still in the picture? Still calling? Still trying to dig her claws into your life?”

Lisa took a shaky breath, the question slicing straight into her guilt. “No. She’s gone. I told her to leave, Carla. I told her she had no right to be part of our lives anymore. The moment she faked her death; she stopped being part of my story — our story. I was weak once. I let her words seep into my head and poison everything good in my life… but never again. She has no power over me now. None.”

Carla looked away, the wind brushing a tear across her cheek. “But she did this. You let her walk back into your life and I was the one who paid for it. I was the one left wondering if I’d ever been enough for you.”

Lisa stepped closer, every inch between them aching with regret. “I know,” she whispered. “And I’ll carry that mistake with me forever. But Becky is my past. You — you — are my present and my future. You’re the one I want beside me when I wake up. You’re the one I want to grow old with. And I swear, if she ever shows up again, I won’t even open the door.”

Carla’s voice cracked. “I just don’t know if I can go through that again. I don’t know if my heart can take it.”

Lisa’s voice dropped to a trembling whisper, desperate and raw. “I can’t walk back into that house without you. I can’t sit at our table, sleep in our bed, live our life — not if you’re not there. I’ll stay here every day, waiting on that pier if I have to.

Carla’s face crumpled, a sob tearing from her chest before she could stop it. Lisa stepped closer, close enough to feel the tremor in her body, close enough that every heartbeat seemed to whisper the same plea: stay.

“You were never not enough,” Lisa whispered through her tears. “You were everything. And I was too blind to see it. But I see it now — I see you — and I swear I will never stop fighting to make things right. Just… give us another chance. Give me another chance.”

Carla’s eyes met hers — broken, searching, aching — and for the first time since she left, there was a tiny, fragile spark of something that felt like hope.

“I don’t know how I feel right now ” she whispered, her voice shaking.

“That's okay, but know this, I will spend the rest of my life proving to you , just how special you are to me ,” Lisa said, cupping her face tenderly.

The sea breeze carried their tears, the morning sun painting them in gold. And as Carla’s fingers curled around Lisa’s hand, neither of them spoke another word — because in that moment, the silence said everything.

A taxi rolled to a stop beside the pier, breaking the spell. Lisa pulled back slightly, brushing a tear from Carla’s cheek.

“Come with me,” she murmured. “Let’s make a new memory.”

“Where to?” Carla asked.

“Dollymount Strand,” Lisa said to the driver as they climbed in.

The journey was quiet but warm, their fingers entwined. When they stepped onto the sand, the sea breeze wrapped around them, and the world felt new again. They walked barefoot along the beach, talking about everything — the pain, the love, the mistakes, the second chances.

“I missed this,” Carla said softly, leaning into her.

“I missed you,” Lisa replied, pressing a kiss to her temple.

Later, they wandered to Happy Out Café, where Michelle and Betsy waited with smiles that spoke louder than words. The four of them spent the afternoon together — laughing, talking, slowly piecing together what had been broken. After lunch, they found an arcade where Carla beat Lisa at a game of Air hockey, and Lisa accidentally hit Betsy on the head with a basket ball trying to get it into the net, this had them all in fits of laughter

later that evening, Lisa had booked them into a cozy restaurant sharing plates of Carla’s favourite sushi — no pineapple pizza in sight — The Dublin sky had begun to fade into twilight by the time they returned from their walk along Dollymount Strand, after dinner. The salty wind had tousled their hair, and their cheeks were pink from the chill, but neither cared. They had spent hours simply being — talking, laughing quietly, sometimes falling silent and just walking side by side, their fingers laced together as if afraid to let go again.

Michelle and Betsy trading jokes behind them, the four of them laughing like a family stitched back together with golden thread. And for the first time in months, Lisa saw Carla truly smile — not the small, polite smiles she’d been giving lately, but the soft, unguarded kind that reached her eyes.

by the time they returned to the hotel, night had fully draped itself across the city. Streetlights painted the cobbles below in honeyed gold, and a hush had fallen over Dublin. They said their goodbyes to Michelle, when they reached the front of the hotel, Betsy yawned, stretching as they reached the elevator taking them upstairs towards the floor containing their rooms

“Night, Mum. Night Carla,” she murmured with a sleepy smile before disappearing into her room.

Lisa’s heart beat harder as she unlocked the adjoining door to hers — the other room. The one she had booked on purpose. The one she’d dreamed of sharing with Carla again.
Carla followed her in without a word. The room was softly lit, bathed in the glow of the bedside lamp. A single window overlooked the quiet harbour below, the water shimmering under the moonlight. The air between them felt charged — not with tension, but
with something deeper. Hope. Fear. Love.

For a long time, neither spoke. Carla drifted to the window, gazing out over the pier where, only hours ago, her heart had started to heal. Lisa stood by the bed, fingers nervously twisting together.

Finally, Carla spoke — her voice softer than a whisper. “I didn’t think we’d ever get back here. Not like this.”

Lisa’s throat tightened. “Neither did I. But I prayed for it every single day.”

Carla turned, her eyes glistening in the low light. “I’m scared, Lisa. I’m terrified of opening myself up to you again… of trusting you, only for you to walk away.”
Lisa took a step forward, and then another, until they were standing inches apart. “Then don’t trust my words. Trust my actions. Trust me showing up here, trust me fighting for us. I know I broke your heart — and I’ll spend every day of my life mending it if you’ll let me.”

Carla’s breath caught. Her walls — those tall, iron walls she’d built to protect herself — were trembling. Slowly, tentatively, she reached for Lisa’s hand. Their fingers threaded together as naturally as if they’d never been apart.

“I missed you,” she whispered. “God, I missed you so much.”

Lisa’s voice shook with emotion. “I missed us. The silly little routines, the bad jokes, the quiet nights in. I missed waking up next to you and knowing I was home.” She swallowed hard, her next words barely audible. “Please come home, Carla. We’ll figure it all out — together, as a family. I won’t leave Dublin without you. Not now, not ever.”

The words hung heavy and raw in the air, and for a moment Carla just stared at her — eyes shining with tears, chest rising and falling rapidly. Then, slowly, she leaned in until their foreheads touched.

“I want to come home,” she whispered. “I think… I always did.”

Their lips met — softly at first, tentative and trembling, like they were both afraid to shatter the fragile thing growing between them. Then, as if something deep inside them finally exhaled, the kiss deepened. It wasn’t rushed or hungry. It was slow, tender, aching — two souls learning each other all over again.

When they finally broke apart, neither spoke. Carla’s hands slid up to rest against Lisa’s chest, feeling the frantic thrum of her heartbeat beneath her palm. Lisa’s fingers brushed a tear from Carla’s cheek before trailing gently along her jaw.

“Stay tonight,” Lisa whispered. “Stay with me.”

Carla hesitated only a second before nodding. “Okay.”

The rest of the world faded. The room, the city, even time itself seemed to slow as they moved together — shoes kicked off, coats draped over chairs, the space between them shrinking until there was nothing left but warmth and skin and breathless laughter.
They lay down on the bed, still tangled in each other’s arms, lips finding lips again and again — each kiss more certain, more desperate, of everything they’d left unsaid. Words weren’t enough anymore. This was their language now: forgiveness in every touch,
devotion in every breath.

Chapter Text

They lay down on the bed, still tangled in each other’s arms, lips finding lips again and again — each kiss more certain, more desperate, more honest— a language of everything they’d left unsaid.

Lisa’s fingers found the hem of Carla’s sweater, her touch a silent question against the bare skin of Carla’s waist. Carla’s breath hitched, a tiny, sharp inhalation that was all the answer Lisa needed. She pulled the soft fabric up and over Carla’s head, tossing it aside to reveal the pale, familiar curve of her shoulders, the lace of her bra. ”God, I’ve missed this,” Lisa breathed, her mouth finding the frantic pulse at the base of Carla’s throat. ”I’ve missed you.”

Carla’s hands were just as eager, fumbling with the buttons of Lisa’s blouse until it fell open. She pushed it from her shoulders, her palms smoothing over the warm, soft skin of Lisa’s back, pulling her closer until their bodies aligned. The feel of Lisa’s bare breasts against hers, separated only by the thin lace of their bras, sent a jolt of pure electricity straight through Carla. She arched into the contact, a low moan escaping her lips as Lisa’s hands cupped her through the lace, thumbs circling her nipples until they were hard, aching points.

The clasp of her bra gave way under Lisa’s practiced fingers. The air, cool against her heated skin, was a shock that was immediately soothed by the searing heat of Lisa’s mouth. She took one taut nipple between her lips, and Carla’s world narrowed to that single, exquisite point of contact. Lisa’s tongue, flat and hot, laving over the sensitive peak. The gentle suction that made her toes curl into the sheets. Her hips pressed up of their own volition, seeking friction, seeking more.

”You feel so good,” Carla gasped, her fingers tangling in Lisa’s hair. ”Don’t stop. Please.”

Lisa switched her attention to the other breast, her hand replacing her mouth on the first, pinching and rolling the wet nipple with a delicious intensity that bordered on pain. Carla was dissolving, melting into the mattress under the relentless, worshipful attention. Her own hands wandered down, slipping past the waistband of Lisa’s trousers, finding the hot, damp fabric of her panties beneath. She pressed her palm firmly against Lisa’s core, and the groan it elicited was guttural, primal.

They shed the remaining clothes in a frantic, clumsy tangle of limbs, a race to feel skin on skin. When they were finally, completely bare, they stilled for a moment, just looking. Drinking each other in. The past was a ghost in the room, but the present was the heat of their bodies, the love and lust shining in each other’s eyes.

Lisa lowered herself, covering Carla’s body with her own, and their mouths crashed together again, this time with a fierce, desperate hunger. Carla could feel the wet heat between Lisa’s thighs grinding against her own, a slick, intoxicating rhythm that made her head spin. She slid a hand between their sweat-slicked bodies, her fingers seeking and finding Lisa’s center. She was so wet, so ready. Carla’s middle finger slid through her folds, circling her clit once, twice, before slipping inside her with a slow, deliberate thrust.

Lisa cried out, her back arching, her hips bucking against Carla’s hand. ”Yes… Carla… right there…”

Carla built a rhythm, her thumb working tight, feverish circles on Lisa’s clit while her fingers curled inside her, finding that spot that made Lisa’s entire body clench and tremble. The sounds were obscene, wet and perfect, the smell of their arousal thick in the air. Lisa was chanting her name, a broken prayer against her neck, her own hand finding its way between Carla’s legs.

The first touch of Lisa’s fingers on her clit made Carla gasp. It was so much, too much, not enough. Lisa’s touch was sure, knowing her body’s map better than anyone ever had. She mimicked Carla’s rhythm, two fingers plunging deep inside her while her thumb pressed down hard. The dual sensations, of giving and receiving, of being filled and filling Lisa, pushed them both to the edge. Their movements became frantic, a synchronized dance towards a shattering release.
Their breathing was ragged, their moans growing louder, unrestrained, echoing in the small hotel room.

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

A furious banging on the shared wall shattered the moment.

A young, disgusted voice screeched through the plaster. ”EWW, MOM! I CAN HEAR YOU! GROSS!”

Carla and Lisa froze, their bodies still joined, their hearts hammering against each other’s chests. A beat of stunned silence was followed by a choked giggle from Carla, then a full-blown, breathless laugh from Lisa. They collapsed into each other, their laughter mingling, the absurdity of the situation cutting through the intense sexual tension without extinguishing it.

”Shhh,” Lisa giggled, kissing Carla’s shoulder. ”We’ve scandalized the neighbors.”

”I don’t care,” Carla whispered, her hips giving a slow, deliberate roll, her inner muscles clenching around Lisa’s still-buried fingers. Lisa’s laugh died in her throat, replaced by a sharp, wanting gasp.

But then, another sound. A firm, official knock at their own door. Knock. Knock. Knock.

They both went still again, eyes wide. A man’s voice, professional and strained, called through the wood. “Hello? Management. I’ve had a… noise complaint.” Lisa’s eyes went wide, her hand still frozen between Carla’s legs. “Oh my God,” she whispered, her voice barely containing a laugh. “This is not happening.”

Carla, equally stunned, bit her lip to stifle a giggle. “Well,” she murmured, her hips giving one last teasing roll before pulling away, “looks like we’ve officially made it memorable.”
Lisa scrambled off the bed, grabbing the nearest sheet to wrap around herself. “Quick, get dressed!” she hissed, tossing Carla her sweater. “Before they think we’re running some kind of—I don’t know— adult-themed noise festival in here.”

Carla laughed, tugging her sweater over her head. “You think they’ll believe us if we say we were just… rearranging the furniture?”

Lisa snorted. “Yeah, because everyone rearranges furniture at—” She glanced at the clock. “—11:30 PM with that much enthusiasm.”

They both froze when the knock came again, firmer this time. “Hello? Management,” the voice repeated, sounding impatient.

Lisa exhaled, trying to compose herself as she pulled on her blouse, buttoning it haphazardly. “Alright,” she muttered, “let’s face the music.” She opened the door a crack, her cheeks still flushed, her hair hopelessly tousled.

The manager—a middle-aged man with a clipboard and a deeply uncomfortable expression—stood there, avoiding eye contact. “Uh, I’ve received a noise complaint from the room next door,” he said stiffly. “It seems your… activities were… uh, audible.”

Lisa blinked innocently. “Activities?”

“Yes,” the manager said, shifting awkwardly. “The guest next door mentioned… moaning.”

Carla, now fully dressed but still radiating mischief, stepped into view. “Oh, that,” she said breezily. “Sorry about that. We were watching a horror movie. You know how it is—jump scares and all.”

The manager raised an eyebrow skeptically. “A… horror movie.”

“Yep,” Lisa chimed in, nodding solemnly. “Very loud. Lots of screaming. People getting chased by monsters. That sort of thing.”

The manager looked between them, clearly not buying it but too polite to press further. “Right. Well, perhaps you could… keep it down for the rest of the night?”

“Absolutely,” Lisa said, her tone grave. “We’ll turn the volume down.”

As soon as the door closed, they burst into laughter, collapsing against each other. “A horror movie?” Carla wheezed, tears streaming down her face. “That’s the best you could come up with?”

“Hey, it worked!” Lisa defended, grinning. “And now we have a new inside joke for life.”

The golden glow of the evening sun slipping softly through the curtains. Lisa and Carla had spent the night tangled together beneath the warm covers, breathing each other in, whispering apologies and promises until exhaustion carried them into a deep, unbroken sleep. There had been no words needed for hours; just the silent comfort of their bodies pressed close, the warmth of shared skin, the subtle rise and fall of chests in sync. The heartbreak of the past weeks seemed to have faded, replaced by a fragile, shimmering peace.

Morning came gently. Light spilled across the cream-colored walls, illuminating the soft curve of Carla’s hair as she stirred beside Lisa. She slipped quietly out of bed, careful not to disturb the woman who had filled her nights with hope and longing. In the kitchen corner, she set about making coffee, the rich aroma curling through the room like a promise.

Lisa’s eyes opened slowly, the memory of last night wrapping around her heart like a familiar embrace. She turned toward Carla, still busy with the coffee machine, and felt her chest tighten. The sight of her — hair tousled, cheeks flushed, hands moving with quiet grace — made her pulse quicken.

“You’re up early,” Lisa murmured, her voice still thick with sleep.

Carla smiled over her shoulder. “Someone has to make sure the day starts right,” she teased softly. “Coffee’s the answer to everything.”

Lisa chuckled, stretching out on the bed. “I could get used to this,” she whispered. She reached out, brushing her hand against Carla’s back, whilst Carla makes the coffee.

They spent the next hour wrapped in each other, talking quietly, laughing softly, letting their hands explore familiar territory — the brush of a thumb across a knuckle, the gentle tracing of a palm along a forearm, small touches that sent sparks through both of them. They reminisced about last night — the walk along the pier, the feel of each other’s presence, the first kiss that had healed more than words ever could.

Lisa tilted her head, eyes sparkling despite the tear tracks on her cheeks from the morning before. “How are we going to look at Betsy in the eye when we meet her in the hotel lobby ?” she asked, stifling a giggle. “She’ll probably lecture us for hours about the noise.”

Carla laughed, leaning into her. “I think she’ll forgive us — eventually. But maybe a little innocent intimidation won’t hurt.”

Lisa pressed a soft kiss to her temple. “We’ve got to book our flights home too. Michelle said the earliest flight isn’t until the evening, so we’ve got a day to savor this — and maybe not panic about Becky.”

“Yeah,” Carla said quietly, though her eyes flickered with the same unease Lisa had been trying to push down. “We need to enjoy this day, but… I can’t forget how easy it is for her to… appear.”

Lisa squeezed her hand, brushing a thumb over her knuckles. “We’ll be careful. I promise.”

For a few more minutes, they simply held each other, sharing the silence, the warmth, and the unspoken reassurance. When they finally sat up, Carla reached over to the bedside table for Lisa's coffee and handed it to her. The mug was warm between her fingers, and the faint scent of the beans mingled with the comforting familiarity of Carla’s perfume.

Lisa let out a small laugh. “I can already feel myself making dad jokes this morning.”

“Oh really?” Carla raised an eyebrow, smiling. “Do tell.”

“Why did the coffee file a police report?” Lisa grinned, taking a sip. “Because it got mugged.”

Betsy met Lisa and Carla in the hotel lobby, looking tired but smiling nonetheless. “I really couldn’t sleep after… uh… all your shenanigans last night,” she admitted, rolling her eyes in mock exasperation. Carla and Lisa exchanged a glance, both trying not to burst out laughing. Not exactly the praise they were hoping for.

Lisa grinned, nudging Carla gently. “Well, you know what they say — coffee before chaos… or maybe it’s chaos before coffee? Either way, it worked.”
Carla laughed softly, shaking her head. “You’re hopeless.”

Lisa leaned close, smirking. “What did one coffee say to the other coffee? You mocha me crazy.”

Betsy groaned, pretending to be annoyed, but couldn’t hide a small smile.

The day passed with quiet moments of intimacy and careful planning. Lisa and Carla wandered along the pier once more, holding hands, laughing softly at inside jokes, and stealing gentle kisses that still carried the fire and forgiveness of last night. They called Michelle together to say goodbye properly, grateful for her guidance and support.

Later, they went to a cozy restaurant for a bite to eat. Betsy sat between Lisa and Carla, but her eyes flickered nervously around the room. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw a familiar figure — someone watching from across the restaurant.

“Mom…” Betsy whispered, her voice low, tense. “I think… I saw Becky.”

Lisa froze mid-laugh, a breadstick halfway to her mouth. “Becky? Here?” Her heart started hammering. “Are you sure?”

“I swear I saw her,” Betsy said, eyes wide, scanning the room. “She was… just standing there for a second. And now Shes gone.”

Carla’s hand found Lisa’s under the table, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Maybe it was someone else. But stay alert,” she murmured, her voice steady but tinged with unease.

Lisa shook her head, trying to regain her composure. “Well, that’s just perfect.” She forced a grin and muttered changing the subject, “Hey, did you hear about the guy who invented Lifesavers? He made a mint.”

Betsy groaned again, but this time her lips twitched in a nervous smile. Even amidst the creeping tension, Lisa’s jokes — terrible as they were — brought a little light into the heavy atmosphere.

Despite their laughter, a chill lingered. Every reflection in the glass, every shadow along the walls of the restaurant seemed to pull at the edges of their calm. Becky’s presence — or the feeling of it — was patient, silent, and suffocatingly close.

Lisa felt her chest tighten. She squeezed Carla’s hand, their fingers entwined. “We’ll face it,” she said, her voice low but determined.

Carla leaned in, resting her forehead against Lisa’s. “Together,” she replied, and for a moment, the world outside melted away, leaving only the two of them and the fragile bubble of love and safety they had rebuilt.

The restaurant lights dimmed as Lisa, Carla, and Betsy gathered their things. Lisa excused herself to use the toilet, then met carla and betsy outside, the evening air outside was cool, crisp, carrying the faint scent of salt from the nearby harbour. Lisa wrapped her coat tighter, Carla’s hand snug in hers, a lifeline against the sudden tightness in her chest.

“Are you okay?” Carla asked, her voice soft but steady, eyes searching Lisa’s.

Lisa forced a smile, trying to push down the unease. “Yeah… just tired, I think. Lots of love and laughter to process.” She leaned closer, pressing her cheek briefly to Carla’s. Carla returned the gesture, a warmth that made Lisa’s pulse slow — momentarily.

Betsy lingered behind slightly, her eyes darting around the street as they stepped into the dim glow of the lampposts. “I swear… I saw her again,” she muttered, her voice barely audible over the clink of the taxi doors opening.

Lisa’s stomach tightened. “Betsy…” she said, tone low. “It’s probably… I don’t know. Someone else. A trick of the light. But we’ll stay alert, okay?”

Betsy nodded, though the tension didn’t leave her posture.

They climbed into the taxi, the hum of the engine a quiet background to their nerves. Lisa leaned slightly against Carla, her shoulder brushing hers, a small comfort in a suddenly threatening world. Carla rested her hand over Lisa’s, giving it a gentle squeeze.

The city passed in blurred streaks of amber and silver, streetlights flickering across their faces. Lisa’s eyes darted to every figure along the sidewalk. Every pedestrian seemed to linger too long in her vision. Every shadow looked like it might belong to Becky.

“Lisa?” Carla’s voice was quiet, cautious.

“I… I thought I saw her at the restaurant when I went to the toilet before we left ,” Lisa admitted, gripping Carla’s hand a little tighter. “But it’s probably nothing. I just… my mind is playing tricks on me.”

Betsy’s voice trembled from the back seat. “I’m not imagining it. I saw her. I swear.”

A shiver ran down Lisa’s spine, but she pressed her lips to Carla’s temple, drawing strength from the warmth of her presence. “Then we stick together. No one — not her, not anyone — can break what we’ve got.”

Carla leaned into her, and for a moment, the world outside the taxi didn’t exist. The fear, the tension, the shadows on the street — all of it faded against the heartbeat of their closeness.

The taxi slowed, approaching Dublin Airport, and Lisa’s stomach knotted with anticipation. Every passerby seemed to linger too long in her gaze. Every movement outside the glass windows seemed deliberate, too measured. She could almost imagine Becky standing there, silent, waiting.

“Lisa, look at me,” Carla whispered, tilting her head. Her eyes were calm, grounding, fierce in the way that made Lisa’s chest ache. “We’re okay. We’ve got each other. Always.”

Lisa exhaled shakily, her forehead pressing briefly against Carla’s. “I hope you’re right. I can’t lose you again , not ever.”

The airport entrance loomed ahead, crowds of travellers moving in waves. Lisa’s pulse quickened with every figure she passed, every shadow that flickered across the terminal floor.

As they walked toward the check-in desks, Lisa’s hand tightened around Carla’s. Her eyes flicked behind them — a sudden figure in the distance, pale, fleeting, disappearing before she could make sense of it.

“Did you see that?” Lisa whispered, voice low and tense.

“What?” Carla asked, but she trusted Lisa enough not to let panic spread.

“I… I thought… nothing,” Lisa murmured, swallowing hard. The glimpse of the figure sent a cold spike of adrenaline through her veins.

Betsy trailed just a step behind, biting her lip. “I saw it too, I think. But poof. Just vanished.”

Lisa pressed a finger to Carla’s lips, and they shared a quiet, intense look — the kind that said they would face this together. No fear would come between them. Not now, not ever.

Once checked in, the terminal buzzed with travellers, but Lisa’s senses were alert to every shadow, every movement that felt too deliberate. She leaned close to Carla in a protective instinct, their hands intertwined, their closeness a shield against the creeping dread.

They found a small corner to sit while waiting for their flight. Carla rested her head on Lisa’s shoulder, their legs brushing, their bodies pressed together. Lisa whispered jokes under her breath — the terrible, groan-worthy kind she knew would make Carla chuckle and take the edge off their tension.

“Why don’t skeletons fight each other?” Lisa murmured. “They don’t have the guts.”
Carla laughed softly, the sound like a balm against the anxious hum in Lisa’s chest. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I know,” Lisa said, nuzzling her temple against Carla’s. “But you love it.”

Carla pressed closer, her lips brushing Lisa’s hairline. “I do.”

Betsy shifted uneasily in the seat across from them, still scanning the terminal with a sharp eye. “I don’t like this,” she muttered. “I really don’t. She’s here somewhere. I just know it.”

Lisa’s jaw tightened, but she kept her composure. “Then we stay close. We stick together. Nothing’s going to break us again. Not her. Not anything.”

The airport lights reflected in Carla’s eyes, fierce and unwavering, and Lisa felt the same fire ignite in her own chest. Whatever was coming, whatever shadow lingered just out of reach — they would face it. Together.
And as the boarding call echoed through the terminal, Lisa drew Carla closer, letting the warmth of their closeness push back the creeping fear. Tonight, they had each other. Tomorrow, they would step into whatever came next — and nothing would pull them apart.

Chapter Text

Becky’s obsession didn’t start in Ireland. It had begun the moment Lisa and Betsy left Number 6 — their mission to win back Carla unfolding like a betrayal written in real time.

Becky had watched from the shadows of the street, clutching her phone like a lifeline, her mind twisting each gesture into proof that she had been replaced, abandoned, erased.

Becky remembered every detail of that morning with unnerving clarity. Desperation had driven her to do something reckless — she had crept into Number 6 through an open window that led into the hallway, silent as a shadow. The house smelled the same as it always had — lavender and laundry detergent — a cruel reminder of the life she once believed was hers.

Careful not to make a sound, she padded up the stairs and slipped into the small towel cupboard on the landing, pulling the door almost closed but leaving a tiny crack so she could see. Her heart pounded in her throat, every beat a drum of rage and obsession.

From her hiding place, Becky watched Lisa move around the bedroom with quiet determination, folding clothes into a suitcase with steady, deliberate hands. Becky’s chest burned as she stared — she needed to know where Lisa was going. She needed to understand what was happening.

Then Betsy bounded into the room, suitcase bumping against the doorframe as she entered.

Becky’s fingers fumbled for her phone, and she typed frantically, desperate for a response that never came.

“Lisa… you’re making a mistake. Listen to me. You don’t understand. Please.”

Nothing. No replies.

She called — once, twice, five times. Each ring went unanswered. Messages to Betsy were met with the same cold silence. Every ignored attempt fed the slow-burning fury inside her. No one — no one — would take Lisa away from her. No one would rewrite their history without Becky in it.

Moments later, Lisa’s voice floated down the hallway as she called a taxi, Betsy following behind with their bags. Becky’s pulse quickened. This was it. They were leaving. She pressed her ear to the crack of the door, listening as they headed downstairs, completely unaware of the intruder hiding in their home.

She slipped out of the cupboard the moment their footsteps faded and crept down the stairs, stopping just before the kitchen doorway. She crouched low, every muscle tense, listening.

“What’s the plan once we get to Dublin, Mum?” Betsy asked, tugging at the strap of her backpack.

Becky’s breath caught. Dublin.

Lisa sighed, her voice steady but laced with emotion. “We find Carla. We talk to her. And this time, we don’t leave until she understands how much she means to us.”

“And if she doesn’t want to see you?” Betsy’s voice was quieter now, unsure.

“She will,” Lisa said firmly. “Because I’m not leaving Dublin without her.”

every word from Lisa slammed into Becky’s chest, heavy and crushing — a reminder of just how far she’d fallen from the centre of Lisa’s world.. Her pulse quickened. They were leaving the country to chase Carla — to start a life that didn’t include her.

The thought burned through her chest, searing and electric. A cold, rational voice in the back of her mind whispered that she could walk away, that she could let them go. But another voice — louder, darker — snarled that she had every right to be part of that life. That she had been there first.

And so, Becky made a decision. Her pulse racing, she jumped back out the window she came in, and darted back to the shabby hotel room she’d been calling home, tossing open drawers and shoving what she needed into a worn backpack.

Essentials only — phone, charger, wallet, and the small knife she kept hidden in her boot, a cold comfort and a reminder that she was still in control.

There was no time to waste. Within minutes she was back on the streets, breathless but determined, and she hurried through the twisting back lanes toward Number 6. She arrived just in time to see Lisa and Betsy stepping out the front door, bags in hand, laughter carrying faintly on the morning air.

Becky melted into the shadows, heart pounding as she watched them head for the taxi rank. Every movement, every glance between them, fuelled the storm building inside her. She slipped into the crowd, keeping her distance but never losing sight of them — watching, memorising, plotting her next move.

From the moment Lisa and Betsy left Number 6, Becky shadowed them from a careful distance. She followed them on foot to the taxi rank, blending into the morning crowds, her hood pulled up and sunglasses disguising her eyes.

Minutes later, the taxi came. Becky hesitated only a heartbeat before spotting a rusty push bike chained to a nearby lamppost. She ripped it free, hopped on, and fell into the rhythm of the traffic, keeping them in view. Her heart hammered. Every stop, every turn, every laugh between mother and daughter was a spike in her chest.

She thought about Carla. Every soft laugh, every gentle touch she’d seen from afar, every small, fleeting moment of vulnerability. It should have been her. It should have always been me. Her fantasies darkened — what it would feel like to remove Carla from this picture forever. Not just control. Not just jealousy. Obliteration.

Her thoughts were a storm. She imagined confronting Carla at underworld, on the beach, anywhere — and making her understand that she was untouchable. She imagined Lisa broken, crying for a love that could never return. It made her pulse race.

At Manchester Airport, she lingered by the cafés and seating areas, careful to stay just out of sight. When Lisa and Betsy checked in, Becky purchased a standby ticket for the same flight, luckily for her they still had seats — a spur-of-the-moment decision that sealed her descent deeper into obsession. From then on, there was no turning back.

By the time the plane touched down in Dublin, Becky had already booked a budget hostel near the city centre and memorised the layout of the airport. She followed them from a distance as they collected their bags and hailed a taxi. And though she was careful — ducking behind pillars, lingering at bus stops — every glimpse of Lisa’s smile or Betsy’s laughter drove the knife deeper into her heart.

Ireland was no different. Every hotel check-in, every stroll along the pier, every whispered conversation — Becky remained out of sight, always calculating, always patient. Yet, the closer she got, the more reckless she became. She allowed herself near visibility sometimes, just enough to thrill in the tension of almost being discovered. Betsy had glimpsed her once in the restaurant, across the courtyard. Lisa almost caught her slipping into the bathroom. Every near-discovery was an adrenaline spike, every second of invisibility a reward.

She scrolled her phone obsessively, trying again. Texts to Lisa, texts to Betsy, calls, nothing worked. Lisa’s phone was off. Betsy didn’t reply. Each failed attempt twisted her nerves tighter. They think they’re safe.

And yet, the city didn’t feel big enough, and she wanted, needed, to be closer. Every shadow on the street, every passing taxi, every reflective window became a potential vantage point.

Becky leaned against the hotel window of where Lisa and Betsy were staying, eyes sharp and unblinking. Her heartbeat was a drum in her chest. She thought about Carla again, and her mind darkened further. If I can’t have Lisa, Carla can't have her either. She can’t take what’s mine. No one can.

The deeper Becky delved into their lives, the more her thoughts spiralled. How could she remove Carla from the picture? How could she reclaim Lisa? She watched, waited, plotted. The obsession was no longer just about love — it was about control, about rewriting the story and erasing anyone who dared to take her place.

At night, Becky returned to the small, dingy budget hotel she’d rented under a false name. She pinned photos and screenshots to the walls — Lisa and Betsy leaving cafés, Carla walking along the pier, the three of them laughing together. Every detail
mattered: which streets they walked, where they ate, how long they lingered. She replayed their laughter and intimacy over and over, turning joy into envy, tenderness into fuel for rage.

Suddenly, her phone buzzed. Unknown number. Fear made her stiffen. Hesitation, a fraction of second too long. Then she answered.

“Hello?”

A distorted, mechanical voice replied. “Becky… we need to talk.”

Her throat went dry. “Who is this?”

“You’ve been sloppy. Too obvious. Playing with fire.”

“I’m careful,” she whispered, voice trembling. “I’m in control.”

“Control isn’t enough,” the voice warned. “Act. Now.”

The line went dead. Panic and exhilaration churned together, leaving her breathless. Someone was watching her as closely as she had been watching them.

She sank to the sofa in the hostel, staring at the maps of Dublin spread across the table. Routes to the hotel. The pier by the harbor, The café. Every movement of Lisa, Carla, and Betsy tracked and logged in her mind.

Her thoughts turned to Underworld, the safe, the money. The leverage. The power. A plan formed, jagged and sharp, precise and terrifying.

Becky’s fingers trembled as she opened a new note on her phone:

rob Underworld. should be a lot of money in the safe. I’ll find out and let them know how much soon…

Her breath hitched. She could almost taste the control, the chaos, the triumph.

Obsession had many faces — and she wore them all. Anger, fear, desire, envy, and the thrill of impending chaos. She had followed them across cities, across countries, and now she was closer than ever.

Outside, the streets were quiet. The city slept, unaware of the storm coiling within one apartment. Becky did not.

She rose, pacing the room, calculating, obsessed, eyes darting to every reflective surface. The faintest shadow, the slightest noise — everything set her nerves alight.

She had tracked them from the very first step. She would not stop.

Tomorrow, she promised herself, everything would change.

Becky’s eyes followed every movement from the shadows outside the café where Lisa, Carla, and Betsy had paused for a late lunch. She crouched behind a parked van, her chest tight, every nerve alert. Through the glass, she could see them laughing together, Lisa’s hand brushing against Carla’s, Betsy’s small chuckle at a joke only Lisa seemed to find funny.

Her jaw clenched. They think they’re safe. They’re so happy… so blind.

Becky ducked lower as a delivery van rattled past. When she looked again, Carla’s gaze swept past her hiding spot, and for a heartbeat, Becky froze. Did Carla see her? No. Carla’s attention was set on Lisa, my Lisa. Relief surged through her — but it was fleeting.

She followed them as they left the café, keeping a careful distance. Her heart thumped violently when they approached the taxi rank, each step seemingly synchronized with her pulse. The streets were alive with evening traffic, the city lights flickering against puddles from a light drizzle.

Becky abandoned the van and spotted a push bike propped against the side of a shop. Without a second thought, she swung her leg over the seat and mounted it, weaving through the crowded streets with the sharp, calculating precision of a predator on the hunt. Every time they paused to check a message or laugh, her eyes darted around, ensuring she remained unseen.

Later, at the restaurant where they met Michelle , Becky lingered across the courtyard, blending into the shadows. She watched as Lisa cracked one of her infamous dad jokes, Carla groaning but smiling nonetheless. Each laugh was a knife in Becky’s chest. She had to get closer, but careful — too close, and she’d be discovered.

Then she saw it: Betsy’s uneasy glance across the table. Becky ducked instinctively, melting into a shadowy alcove near the entrance. Too obvious. Patience, she whispered to herself.

Inside, Lisa excused herself, heading toward the restroom. Becky followed, heart hammering so fiercely it felt like it might burst through her chest. Each step was deliberate, measured, as she closed the distance.

Through the mirror, she caught sight of Lisa, brushing her hair back, a soft smile touching her lips, completely unaware.

Becky's stomach churned, obsession coiling tighter with every second — she had to act, had to reclaim control. Then Lisa’s eyes flicked toward her reflection, and Becky froze. This was it. Her moment. She would confront her.

But then Lisa turned away , she walked away from her, and Becky was forced back into hiding, swallowed by the crowded restaurant. The near-encounter left her trembling, heart pounding, adrenaline sharp as knives. So close… so close to being seen.

Outside, the evening streets stretched long and wet, taxi lights reflecting on asphalt. Becky followed them from a safe distance, crouched behind parked cars, eyes never leaving them. Every reflection, every shadow, every flicker of movement made her pulse spike.

She replayed the last few hours in her mind. Betsy’s uneasy glances, Lisa’s laughter, Carla’s subtle touches — every interaction fuel for her plan, every small moment another reason to escalate.

Becky stopped in the alley across from a dimly lit café. She crouched, chest heaving. Soon, she whispered. Soon, they’ll see. Soon, nothing will be untouchable.

Pulling her phone from her pocket, she reread her note:
rob underworld. There should be lots of money in the safe. Ill find out and I’ll let them know how much soon, then i'll be safe, I can escape their clutches.

Her fingers trembled. She pressed her palm to her forehead, staring at the darkened city street. The night was quiet, almost serene, but underneath the calm lurked a storm. Becky’s mind raced with possibilities, with fear and anticipation intertwining.

She had followed them across cities, across borders. She had almost been seen. But she was patient. She was careful. Every step calculated.

And now, with the first whispers of night settling over Dublin, she allowed herself a small, satisfied smile. Tomorrow, she murmured. Everything will change.

The city lights glimmered in her eyes. A predator’s patience. A shadow watching, always waiting. The obsession had many faces — and Becky wore them all.

Chapter Text

The flight back to Manchester was cloaked in silence, heavy with everything that had been said — and everything that still lingered unsaid. The hum of the engines was the only sound that filled the air as the three of them sat side by side, each lost in their own thoughts.

Carla sat by the window, her gaze fixed on the clouds that rolled endlessly beneath them. She traced invisible shapes in the mist, her mind a storm of questions. Have I done the right thing? Will things really be different this time? Can I trust Lisa again — trust us again? Every answer seemed to slip through her fingers like water, leaving her both hopeful and terrified.

Beside her, Betsy squeezed Carla’s hand tightly in one of hers and Lisa’s in the other, as if trying to anchor herself to both. But even the warmth of their touch couldn’t quiet the frantic thoughts racing through her mind. What if Becky’s here? What if she followed us? What if she’s hiding just a few rows back, waiting for the right moment? The idea gripped her chest like a vice.

Lisa, meanwhile, sat on the aisle, eyes darting to the faces around them. Her heart beat just a little too fast every time someone got up from their seat. Every creak of the cabin felt suspicious. Years of betrayal had carved a deep canyon of distrust in her — not just for Becky, but for almost everyone. Costello her boss, Especially him. But one thing burned fiercely in the chaos of her thoughts: I will protect them. No matter the cost.

“Bets?” Carla’s soft voice broke through the silence. Betsy had been trembling, her knuckles white as she clutched their hands. Carla leaned in close. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

Betsy swallowed hard, her voice barely a whisper. “I’m scared, Carla. What if Becky’s on the plane? What if we can’t get away?”

Lisa turned to face her daughter, her eyes calm but steady. “Then we deal with her,” she said firmly.

Betsy blinked at her, tears threatening to spill. “You keep saying that, Mom… but how?”

Lisa paused, exhaling slowly. “I don’t know yet. But I do know we’ll face her together. All of us. That’s a promise.”

The rest of the flight passed in uneasy quiet; hands still locked together like a chain none of them were willing to break. And when the wheels finally touched down on Manchester soil, there was a collective sigh — not of relief, exactly, but of resolve.

Whatever was waiting for them back home, they’d face it side by side.

The taxi ride from the airport was warmer than the flight, though the silence that lingered between them still hummed with unspoken fears. They piled into the back seat, the driver cheerfully chatting about the weather and the traffic as if nothing in the world were wrong. Lisa answered politely at first, then drifted into thought again, her fingers brushing absent-minded circles on Carla’s knee.

Carla stared out the window, the city lights of Manchester streaking past like memories — some she longed for, others she wished she could erase. Every familiar street tugged at her heart in a different way. Betsy leaned against her shoulder, watching the glow of the streetlamps blur into gold.

Then, after what felt like forever, Betsy suddenly piped up: “Hey, Mom?”

“Yeah?” Lisa murmured, half-distracted.

“If Becky is following us, do you think she’s hiding in the boot?”

Carla choked on a laugh. “Betsy!”

“What?!” Betsy grinned, her eyes sparkling mischievously. “It’s the perfect place to hide. Warm, dark… probably smells like old McDonald’s chips.”

Even Lisa couldn’t help it — she burst out laughing, the tension cracking for the first time in days. The driver glanced at them in the rear-view mirror, smiling as their laughter filled the car. It wasn’t much, but it was a moment of peace — a reminder that even in the middle of chaos, they still had each other.

Number 6 looked different when they finally stepped over the threshold. Maybe it was the soft glow of the hallway light, or maybe it was just the feeling that, after everything, this house still held space for them. Carla lingered just inside the doorway, a

swirl of emotions colliding in her chest. Happiness. Nostalgia. Fear. And hope — fragile, trembling, but real.

Lisa carried the suitcases in, setting them gently by the stairs. Betsy followed behind, eyes darting around as if expecting Becky to leap out from the shadows at any moment. But the house remained still. Quiet. Safe.

“Home,” Carla whispered, almost to herself. “I never thought I’d say that again.”

Lisa glanced at the clock on the wall. It was late — and she’d promised herself she’d get to work early in the morning to start digging for answers. But for tonight, they needed comfort.

“How about a hot chocolate before bed?” Lisa suggested, locking the front door with a soft click.

“Only if we can have whipped cream,” Betsy called, already heading for the kitchen.

“I’ll make them,” Carla offered, slipping off her coat. “You two take the cases upstairs. We’ll unpack tomorrow.”

“Mom can take the cases up; I’ll help with the hot chocolate !” Betsy said, eager to keep busy. “I’m on marshmallow duty.”

Lisa shook her head but smiled as she climbed the stairs with the suitcases, listening to the sound of Carla and Betsy laughing in the kitchen. For a moment, it almost felt normal — like the storm they’d been weathering might finally be easing.

But deep down, beneath the warmth and the laughter, a shadow still stirred. Becky’s name hovered unspoken in the air, an ever-present threat they couldn’t quite outrun.

Steam curled from their mugs as the rain tapped gently against the windows, the house wrapped in a rare, tender stillness. Carla was just wiping the last streak of milk foam from the counter when Betsy’s voice broke the silence.

“Carla… can we talk?” she asked softly, walking into the living room with her hot chocolate clutched in both hands, a half-open bag of marshmallows tucked under her arm.

Carla turned, instantly sensing the weight in Betsy’s tone. “Of course,” she said gently, drying her hands and following her to the sofa.

Betsy didn’t sit at first. Instead, her eyes were drawn to the framed photograph hanging on the living room wall — her favourite. The four of them stood on the front step of Number 6, arms linked and grinning, the future looking so much brighter than
it had any right to. She walked over and gently lifted it down, cradling it in her hands as if it were something fragile and precious.

“Remember when this was taken?” she asked softly, holding it out to Carla.

Carla’s lips curved into a bittersweet smile. “Of course I do. It was the day we officially moved in. It felt like a new start.”

Betsy stared at the picture a moment longer, her voice trembling as old wounds surfaced. “When Mum told me you’d left… that you said she needed to figure out what she wanted… I was so angry. Not at you — at her. For letting you walk away. For letting Becky crawl back into our lives and into her head.”

Lisa had just finished carrying the last of the cases upstairs and was heading back down when Betsy’s words floated up to her. She froze halfway down the staircase, her hand tightening on the banister. She hadn’t meant to listen — but she couldn’t bring herself to move.

“Then,” Betsy continued, her voice breaking, “I was angry at myself. For not doing more. For letting it happen. For making you feel unwanted… unloved.”

Carla’s eyes softened, her heart aching. She didn’t interrupt. She just waited.

“This picture will always be my favourite,” Betsy whispered, tracing a finger over the glass, “because we were happy. Really happy. It was the first time in years I felt like I had a home.”

Her breath hitched, and she turned to Carla, her eyes glistening. “Carla… you gave me so many second chances — ones I didn’t deserve. After the robbery, when you should have hated me. After Mason died, when you should have focused on yourself.

When I was shot, when I was impossible, when I was breaking apart — you stayed. You held me up when I was falling apart.”

Carla felt the tears burn before they fell. Betsy’s voice was trembling now, each word heavier than the last.

“You comforted me after I nearly got run over. You never once turned your back on me. And I know I don’t say this enough, but…” She took a deep breath, steadying herself. “You mean so much to me, Carla. You’ve been more of a mum to me in less

than a year than Becky was in four. You listen. You treat me like a person, not a problem.”

Lisa’s hand crept to her mouth, tears slipping silently down her cheeks. When did she become so grown up?

“Becky might’ve given birth to me eighteen years ago,” Betsy whispered, her voice breaking completely now, “but she’s not you. You’re my mum. I love you, Carla. Please… please don’t ever leave again.”

Carla couldn’t speak. She didn’t try to. The tears spilled freely now as she set the photo aside and pulled Betsy into her arms, holding her as if she’d never let go again.

“Oh, Bets,” she murmured into her hair. “I’m so sorry you ever felt that way. I thought giving your mum space would help her see things clearly. I thought you needed space too. But I never stopped loving you. And I never will. I’m not going anywhere.

You’re stuck with me, kiddo.”

Betsy’s tears soaked into Carla’s jumper, and Carla’s into Betsy’s hair. They stayed like that — the three of them, tangled in an embrace — until their hot chocolates had gone cold and the marshmallows had melted into sweet, forgotten puddles. And for

the first time in days, maybe weeks, there was peace. The dark cloud that had hung over Number 6 finally began to lift.

For Lisa, that moment was everything. This is family, she thought, and no one — not Becky, not fear, not the past — is going to take this away from us again.

Chapter Text

The morning sun crept through the curtains of Number 6, painting soft golden streaks across the bedroom walls. Lisa stirred before her alarm could sound, the events of the past few days flooding her mind — the bittersweet family moments in Ireland,

the constant fear of Becky lurking in the background, the flight home, and Betsy’s heart-wrenching conversation with Carla.

She rolled over to face Carla, who was still asleep beside her. Gently, she brushed a strand of hair from her face, fingertips lingering against her cheek as if to confirm this wasn’t just another dream.

Carla’s eyelids fluttered open, a sleepy smile spreading across her face. “Morning…”

“Morning,” Lisa whispered back. “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”

Carla stretched slightly, her smile widening. “Feels strange… like I’m dreaming. Can’t believe I’m back here, in our bed… with you.”

Lisa’s alarm buzzed then, shattering the quiet. She silenced it quickly with a groan. Carla said sleepily “Well, the factory isn’t going to run itself. Best see what kind of chaos it’s in.”

The two slipped into the comforting rhythm of their morning routine — showers, getting dressed, the hum of the kettle and the sizzle of breakfast on the stove. Carla brewed their coffee while Lisa worked her magic with her famous shakshuka.

“I’ll go wake Betsy,” Carla said, placing two steaming mugs on the kitchen island.

“Nearly done down here!” Lisa called back.

“Wake-up call, Betsy Swain!” Carla shouted up the stairs. “You’d better hurry — your mum’s made shakshuka!”

“Be down in a minute!” came the muffled reply.

Breakfast was warm and easy — full of Lisa’s terrible dad jokes, steady conversation, and not a single mention of Becky. For a little while, they were just a family again.

The laughter only grew when Ryan returned from his workout. He had stayed with a friend while Carla was away — the house had felt too empty without her.

“God, I’ve missed this,” he said as he stepped through the front door.

“Morning, Ryan!” they all chorused in unison, and then burst into laughter.

Lisa kissed Carla softly and hugged Betsy goodbye before they all went their separate ways. She climbed into her car and headed for work, determination sharpening her focus. Today, she wasn’t just Lisa. Today, she was DS Swain — and she was done

with unanswered questions. Why had Becky really come back? And why fake her death?

At the station, she switched on her computer, ready to dive into the case files when a familiar voice pulled her back.

“Lisa, got a minute?”

She looked up to see Kit hovering by her desk, concern etched on his face. She still hadn’t forgiven Carla for telling him about Becky’s return — but right now, she needed all the help she could get.

“What is it?” she asked quietly.

“I think I found something on Becky.”

Lisa’s pulse jumped. “Keep your voice down,” she whispered. “Not here. Come to mine on lunch — we’ll talk there.”

“Got it,” Kit nodded. “I’ll dig up as much as I can before then.”

At Underworld, things were running smoothly for once. Machines hummed steadily, conversations buzzed quietly, and no disasters loomed. Sarah seemed to have learned from her previous mistakes, and Carla — back in her rightful place — felt the
familiar weight of responsibility settle comfortably on her shoulders.

Betsy appeared in her office mid-morning, clutching a folder. “Here are the designs you asked for,” she said proudly, laying them on the desk.

Carla flipped through them, her face lighting up. “These are brilliant, Bets. Exactly what the client wanted.”

By lunchtime, the day had settled into a satisfying rhythm. Carla messaged Lisa, asking if she was joining them at the Bistro, but the reply came almost immediately: Can’t make it. Kit and I found something on Becky — need to compare notes.

Carla’s stomach knotted slightly. Be careful, she texted back. Then she turned to Betsy.

“Is Mum joining us?” Betsy asked.

“Afraid not,” Carla said softly. “It’s… to do with you-know-who.”

Betsy’s face tightened, but she nodded. Together, they left for lunch.

Meanwhile, back at Number 6, Lisa let Kit inside. They settled in the conservatory, case files spread between them as they pieced together what they knew — fragments of Becky’s movements, sightings that didn’t add up, phone records that hinted at

something bigger. And a name — one Lisa didn’t recognise — kept appearing in connection to Becky. Whoever this person was, they were helping her. And that meant Becky wasn’t working alone.

By the time evening rolled around, the whole family was exhausted. Carla and Betsy worked together in the kitchen, preparing a homemade lasagna for dinner. When Lisa came through the door, the smell wrapped around her like a warm hug. She hung

up her jacket, kicked off her boots, and joined them at the table.

Dinner was filled with conversation — work updates, little jokes, and finally, Lisa sharing what she and Kit had uncovered. Becky had been moving money. Large amounts. Quietly and often. And someone had been helping her.

After dinner, Betsy retreated upstairs to binge-watch MAFS on her tablet. Ryan texted to say he’d be home late, leaving Lisa and Carla alone on the sofa. Lisa slipped her arm around her, and Carla rested her head on Lisa’s shoulder. The television

flickered, but neither of them was paying attention.

“Why don’t we go on a date tomorrow night?” Lisa asked suddenly, her voice low.

Carla tilted her head up to look at her. “What did you have in mind?”

“I don’t know,” Lisa said with a small smile. “A meal somewhere. Away from Weatherfield. Just us.”

“Sounds perfect,” Carla whispered, her smile softening.

They sat there in peaceful silence, wrapped in the comfort of each other’s presence — blissfully unaware that peace was an illusion.

Because outside, watching from across the street with cold, calculating eyes, was Becky.

Chapter Text

Lisa woke to the insistent buzz of her alarm, the soft early morning light filtering through the curtains of Number 6. For a moment, she lay still, letting the warmth of the bed and the steady rhythm of Carla’s breathing beside her ground her. Slowly, she

turned, catching sight of the faint curve of Carla’s lips in sleep. And then reality hit her: the engagement ring.

Her own finger still bore the glistening diamonds, but Carla’s was bare. Lisa felt a pang in her chest—not of resentment, but of hesitation. They had only been back together for a week, a week since Carla had walked away, needing space to decide what

she wanted. Lisa knew tonight, on their date, was the right moment to bring it up. She had to make this right, to mend the cracks she had left in the life they shared.

Carla stretched beside her, rolling over and yawning. She attempted to get up, but Lisa’s hand shot out, gripping her wrist gently.

“You’re not getting up without a proper good morning kiss,” Lisa said, a mischievous smirk tugging at her lips.

"Absolutely not, but that's all your getting this morning." Carla laughed, warm and melodious, and leaned down to brush a soft, fleeting kiss across Lisa’s lips.

It was tender, a reminder of what they’d been through and what they still had. Pulling back, Lisa cupped Carla’s cheek.

“Shame,” she murmured, though the hint of a smile betrayed her.

They rose together, moving through their morning routine in quiet synchrony. Toast was buttered, coffee poured, and soon Betsy bounded downstairs, already dressed for college.

“Morning, moms!” she called cheerfully.

Carla smiled, her warmth filling the room. “Morning, lovey. Got college this morning, haven’t you?”

Betsy let out a small sigh. “Unfortunately…”

Lisa pulled her into a quick hug. “Do you want me to drive you?”

“Yes, please! I’m so glad I don’t have to take the bus,” Betsy said, her relief evident in her smile.

“I best be off,” Carla said, grabbing her bag. “I’ve got a meeting in Liverpool—a fashion showcase with the design team. We’re pitching new ideas for the autumn line. Fingers crossed they like the proposals I’ve been working on.”

Lisa sprinted after Carla, her voice urgent. “Wait—don’t leave without saying goodbye!”

Carla kissed Lisa’s cheek. “Have a good day, love,” she said, her voice soft but full of affection.

“You too,” Lisa replied, watching her fiancée leave, the familiar ache of longing lingering even as Carla stepped out into the day.

Once the house was quiet, Lisa walked back into the kitchen and picked up her coffee then turned to Betsy. “When do you think the right time is to talk to Carla about putting her engagement ring back on?”

“She hasn’t put it back on?” Betsy asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No. I don’t know if I should ask her tonight at the restaurant or wait. I don’t want to seem too keen or indifferent, you know?” Lisa’s fingers traced the rim of her coffee mug absentmindedly.

“Maybe just give it to her,” Betsy suggested. “Tell her there’s no rush. Let her put it back on when she’s ready.”

Lisa considered this for a long moment, letting the words sink in. “That’s actually perfect, Bets.”

After dropping Betsy at college, Lisa sent Carla a message with the name of the restaurant they’d chosen for the evening—a small, intimate spot just outside Weatherfield. Then, she drove to the station for her shift at Weatherfield Police Station.

The day at the station was tense. Reports of petty burglaries in the area were ordinary enough, but Lisa’s mind kept drifting to Becky. She couldn’t shake the feeling that Becky was closer than anyone realized. She had Calls that she had not answered,

texts she ignored, yet Lisa sensed that shadow lingering just beyond the edges of her awareness, lurking, waiting. Every reflection in a car window, every figure passing by outside the station set her nerves on edge.

Kit arrived mid-morning, his expression tight, eyes darting nervously around the office before settling on Lisa. “Lisa… something’s come up. About Becky.”

Lisa’s stomach dropped. “What is it?”

Kit leaned closer, lowering his voice to a whisper. “She was seen. Talking to someone… someone nobody can identify. No one knows who it was, but they were close, intimate almost, like they were planning something. And it wasn’t in Weatherfield—it

was near the docks yesterday. I’ve cross-checked the CCTV, and it’s definitely her.”

Lisa’s pulse quickened, a chill sliding down her spine. “And… you’re sure it’s her?”

Kit nodded grimly. “There’s no mistake. But the stranger? I can’t trace them. It’s like they exist only to help her. We need to be careful. She’s not just playing games anymore—this is calculated.”

Lisa swallowed hard, gripping the edge of her desk. The room felt smaller, the air heavier. Every sense was on high alert. “Keep it quiet,” she whispered. “We’ll talk properly at lunch. If she suspects we know, it could get dangerous.”

Kit’s eyes met hers, equally tense. “Understood. But Lisa… she’s escalating. Whatever she’s planning, it’s coming, and soon.”

Lisa nodded, heart hammering. The danger she’d feared was no longer theoretical. Becky wasn’t just stalking them—she was coordinating, preparing, and Lisa had to be ready before it was too late.

Meanwhile, in Liverpool, Carla’s fashion meeting went brilliantly. Her ideas for the new autumn line were bold, innovative—geometric patterns with vintage touches, layered textures in unexpected colours. She dazzled the team, earning nods of approval

and excited chatter. Yet even as she smiled, her thoughts drifted to Lisa, wondering if she’d managed to keep the police station in one piece, if Betsy was okay, and if Becky had made any moves in her absence.

The hours dragged for Lisa. Between filing reports, tracking suspicious activity, and making follow-up calls, she barely had time to breathe. Every passing minute, she imagined Becky somewhere in Weatherfield—or worse, shadowing Carla in Liverpool,

tracking her routines. The dread was almost physical.

By late afternoon, Carla returned, exhausted but glowing from her successful meeting. Lisa arrived home shortly after, and the trio—Lisa, Carla, and Betsy—started their evening preparations for the date night. Carla slipped on a dress Lisa had picked

out, a soft, flowing fabric that made her eyes sparkle. Lisa smoothed her fiancé’s hair back, her hands lingering a moment longer than necessary, a silent apology and promise in every touch.

“Ready for tonight?” Lisa asked softly.

“Absolutely,” Carla replied, eyes full of affection and trust.

Betsy waved them off, teasing, “Don’t forget to text me if you get kidnapped or something!”

Lisa chuckled. “ Be good for Ryan , Any problems, give one of us a call.”

“We’ve got our whole night planned, haven’t we, Betsy?” Ryan chimed in, his cheeky grin making Lisa laugh.

“Too right. Take away, movies, all sorted. Have a good night,” Betsy said.

The taxi pulled up, and soon Lisa and Carla were on the road. The hum of the engine, the glow of streetlights passing by, and the city alive around them created a cocoon, a space where the rest of the world could wait. Their hands found each other,

fingers entwining, the simple contact enough to remind them that despite everything, they had survived, together.

At the restaurant, the table was intimate, a corner by the window that allowed the soft flicker of candlelight to dance across their faces. Lisa watched Carla laugh at something small, something insignificant, and felt her chest swell. She realized how

profoundly she had missed this—the sound, the presence, the warmth.

Between bites of perfectly cooked food, Lisa nervously toyed with the engagement ring in her pocket. It was time. After dinner, when the dessert had been cleared, Lisa reached across the table.

“Carla,” she began, voice low, eyes searching. “I’ve been thinking about… everything. About us. About your engagement ring.”

Carla’s eyes softened, a mixture of anticipation and anxiety.

“I want you to have it back,” Lisa said, producing the ring and placing it gently in Carla’s palm. “There’s no rush. Put it on when you’re ready. No pressure. Just… whenever you feel right about it.”

Carla’s lips trembled. “Lisa… I… thank you. I think… I need a moment.” Her thumb brushed over the ring, and Lisa reached across the table, covering Carla’s hand with her own.

“Take all the time you need,” she whispered. “I just… I want you to know, I’ll be here. Always.”

They leaned closer, foreheads touching briefly, hearts synchronized, and for a moment, the world narrowed to them alone. Every mistake, every heartbreak, every terrifying moment with Becky—they were behind them tonight. For this moment, all that

mattered was love reclaimed, trust rebuilt.

The drive home was quiet at first. Soft music played on the radio, the kind that filled spaces without words. Lisa stole glances at Carla, who leaned against the headrest, her eyes half-closed, smiling softly.

After a few minutes, the tension of the day melting away. Lisa smiled and at that moment she knew that Carla, Betsy and Ryan were complete , family wrapped in warmth, laughter, and the simple magic of shared life.

By the time they returned home, the kids were in bed. Lisa and Carla shed coats and shoes and sank onto the sofa, side by side, hands still entwined.

“Thanks for tonight,” Carla murmured, leaning into Lisa’s shoulder.

“Well, you’re worth it,” Lisa replied, brushing a lock of hair from her face.

Their conversation drifted from the restaurant to small daily things, memories of Ireland, the light teasing of each other, the rebuilding of routines once fractured by fear and absence. For the first time in days, Lisa felt that fragile peace settle over them
like a balm.

Then, a sudden rustle at the letterbox broke the calm. Lisa tensed, glancing at the shadowed opening, her pulse spiking. She slipped on gloves and pulled the paper from the slot.

Carla came over, concern etched across her face. “What is it, love?”

Lisa’s hands shook slightly as she unfolded the paper. Her eyes went wide. The words scrawled there were unmistakable, chilling in their clarity:

“The game begins. Tick-tock.”

“It’s Becky’s handwriting,” Lisa whispered, dread settling in her chest.

Chapter Text

Lisa’s pulse raced. Every instinct screamed danger. She could almost feel Becky’s gaze pressing through the walls, a cold, calculating presence. The way the words were written—deliberate, taunting—made her stomach twist. This wasn’t just a warning; it was a challenge.

Grabbing her phone, Lisa’s hands shook as she dialled Kit’s number. The line rang twice before he picked up, his voice low and urgent.

“Lisa?” Kit said.

“Kit… it’s Becky,” she whispered, glancing at Carla, who had risen from the sofa beside her. “She… she’s outside the house. And she’s playing games with us.”

There was a pause on the other end, a tension thick enough to cut through the air. “What do you mean? Lisa… what’s happened?”

Lisa’s voice dropped lower, almost a hiss. “A note. It slipped through our letterbox. Her handwriting. Her words… she’s warning us. I can feel it, Kit. She’s close. Too close. I don’t know how she got here, but she’s here, she’s watching, and she’s not alone.”

“Calm down,” Kit said, though the undertone of worry was unmistakable. “Where are you right now?”

Lisa moved toward the window, peering out into the shadowed street. “At home. Every door and window is locked, but… it’s that feeling, Kit. That presence. I know she’s out there, maybe closer than we think. And it’s not just her this time—someone else. Someone unknown.”

Kit’s voice hardened. “I’ll drive around the neighbourhood, Don’t let her see anything, Lisa. Stay inside, stay calm, and don’t make a sound if you sense her nearby. We’ll secure the area and figure out her angle.”

Lisa exhaled sharply, gripping the letter tightly. “I… I have a bad feeling about this, playing with us, testing us. And the more she does, the more dangerous she becomes. I don’t want to think about what she might do next.”

“I know,” Kit replied, his voice steady, reassuring. “But you’re not facing her alone. Stay with Carla, keep each other close. Remember, Lisa—she thrives on fear. Don’t give it to her.”

Lisa looked at Carla, who had drawn closer, her hand finding Lisa’s in a tight, protective clasp. They exchanged a look heavy with unspoken words, their hearts beating in tandem, a fragile shield against the storm that Becky was about to unleash.

The note lay on the kitchen counter between them like a ticking bomb. The game had begun. Tick-tock.

The low hum of the radiator and the faint ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece were the only sounds, but Lisa’s mind was anything but calm. The rustling letter, the stark, deliberate handwriting, the chilling words — “The game begins. Tick-tock.” —

played over and over in her head.

Carla sat close beside her on the sofa, shoulder brushing against hers, hand clasped tightly in hers. “We’re okay,” Carla whispered, voice soft but steady. “Whatever she’s doing, we’ll handle it. Together.”

Lisa swallowed hard, feeling the mix of warmth from Carla’s closeness and the icy dread creeping through her veins. Her heart wanted to melt into the safety of the living room, the aroma of their dinner still lingering, the glow of the lamp casting gentle

shadows across the walls. But her instincts screamed danger. Becky was here — somewhere, watching, calculating, waiting.

Lisa leaned back, letting herself breathe for a moment, then murmured, “I can’t shake the feeling she’s closer than we think. Kit said she’s been seen, talking to someone — someone unknown. And she’s planning something. I don’t know what, but it

won’t be good.”

Carla’s eyes, soft and worried, met hers. “Do you think… she’s inside the neighbourhood, hiding?”

Lisa hesitated. “I don’t know. But I feel her, Carla. I feel her presence.” She reached for Carla’s hand, squeezing it tightly. “And this time, I won’t let her hurt us. Not you. Not Betsy. Not me.”

The shadows outside the window seemed to deepen as if echoing her fears. Outside, the night was unnaturally still. No rustling leaves, no distant car horns — only the occasional flicker of streetlights illuminating empty pavements.

The next morning had been a blur of normality, a tense cover over the fear Lisa couldn’t shake. She had arrived at Weatherfield Police Station before dawn; she was sat in her car trying to gather her thoughts and hiding the tight knot building in her

stomach. Kit had come rushing over to her , sliding into the passenger seat like someone trying to contain a storm.

“Lisa,” he said immediately, voice low, Someone matching Becky’s description was seen leaving Roy's — she wasn’t alone. I am still looking into that person she was seen with , but they were meeting her secretly. And get this… the surveillance shows her

making multiple calls, all encrypted.

Lisa’s hands had gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles whitened. “Roy's, as in Roy's rolls?

Kit nodded. “Yeah. But that’s the problem, Shes in plain sight, it's like she wants to be seen, She’s unpredictable. She’s fast, smart, and dangerous. I don’t think she’s bluffing anymore.”

Every siren, every phone notification, every footstep outside the station felt like it could be her. Lisa worked her shift with a precision born from years on the force, but inside, adrenaline surged like a storm. Her mind kept drifting — Carla, Betsy, their

laughter, their date night yesterday — and then the letter, the handwriting. Tick-tock.

By the time Lisa returned, Carla had already planned their evening: a quiet dinner at home, a chance to reconnect without prying eyes, to let the love between them flow freely again. Carla had been excited to show her the designs from the meeting with

the client in Liverpool yesterday, Lisa's thoughts were distracted on potential threats, tactical exits, and what Kit had said earlier.

The night outside Number 6 was thick and heavy, draping itself over the quiet street like a velvet cloak. Inside, the soft glow of the living room lamp cast long shadows, the flicker of candlelight from earlier still lingering faintly on the walls. Lisa and Carla

sat entwined on the sofa, blankets draped around them, hands locked in a desperate, protective grip.

“I can’t stop thinking about that letter,” Lisa murmured, her voice low, almost swallowed by the tension in the room. “It’s not just a game to her. She’s… planning something.”

Carla rested her head against Lisa’s shoulder, drawing strength from the warmth, the steady rhythm of her heart beneath her ear. “Whatever she’s planning,” she whispered, “we face it together. I don’t care how twisted or dangerous she thinks she is.

We’re stronger than this.”

Lisa’s fingers tightened around hers. “Me too, but if it’s Becky, and she tries to scare us, or worse… then we have to be ready. We have something she doesn’t. Strength in numbers—you, me, Ryan, Kit.”

Carla hesitated. “And Betsy?”

“We don’t want her involved in this,” Lisa said firmly, jaw set. “My main priority right now is keeping her safe, as far away from Becky as possible.”

Outside, Becky’s silhouette blended into the darkness, crouched behind a parked car. Every flicker of movement inside the house, every shadow, every laugh or whisper, fed her obsession. She had been this close to being caught in Ireland; here, though,

she had the upper hand. No one knew she was alive except the family she had fixated on. Roy from Roy’s Rolls had recognized her once—but no one else could connect the dots. DI Costello had helped orchestrate her disappearance, manipulating the

world around her so she could vanish without trace. Even using Tia Wardley’s body had been a stroke of macabre genius.

Becky allowed herself a thin, cruel smile. Almost being discovered, the danger—it only sharpened her senses, fuelled her resolve. She had been patient, careful, stalking them across towns, across countries. Every day she spent hidden, watching their

routines, memorizing their movements, imagining the perfect moment to strike.

Tick-tock.

Inside, Lisa’s mind raced despite the attempt at normality. The shadows that flickered across the walls seemed almost alive, taunting her. Every creak of the floorboards, the distant hum of a car, the soft whisper of wind against the windows—her nerves

were frayed, taut like a drawn bow. And yet, here in the centre of her fear, Carla’s warmth anchored her, reminding her why she had to fight.

Hours passed in tense quiet. Every small noise made Lisa’s pulse spike. Carla, sensing the storm beneath her partner’s calm exterior, leaned closer, murmuring reminders of laughter, of Ireland, of stolen kisses under the fading sun. It was a thin thread

of normality, fragile but essential, pulling Lisa from the edge of her panic.

From the street, Becky observed Lisa and Carla's body language that she can see through the smallest gap in the curtain —the way Lisa’s fingers twitched when she sensed a shadow; the subtle way Carla scanned the window when a car door slammed in

the distance; the tight grip of their hands clasped together, their tether against her creeping presence. Her own hands itched to touch, to control, to erase the threat of Carla from the equation. Each heartbeat, each whispered word between them, stoked

the fire in her chest.

She shifted her position, moving along the perimeter, careful to avoid the streetlights. Every step, every calculated pause, was precise. A figure darted across an alley; a cat startled into the darkness. Becky’s heart thumped, not from fear—but from the

intoxicating thrill of being close. So close.

Inside, Lisa’s phone buzzed. Kit. Her fingers shook slightly as she answered, voice low.

“Lisa,” Kit whispered urgently. “I’ve tracked someone matching Becky’s description moving in the neighbourhood. I can’t be sure—it’s dark… you need to be careful.”

“I know,” Lisa whispered back, her teeth clenched. “She is here, I've seen her, She’s outside. She’s testing us.”

Carla’s hand found hers again, squeezing. “we are in this. Together.”

Minutes stretched into hours. The night became a symphony of tension: the tick-tock of the clock, the whispered reassurances, and the faint, ever-present awareness of Becky circling outside.

Lisa decided to check the perimeter. Carla followed, silently, holding her hand. Through the curtains, they scanned the shadows, catching movements that were likely only tricks of the light—though Lisa’s instincts screamed otherwise. Every parked car,

every flicker of a figure in a doorway, set her nerves alight.

Meanwhile, Becky paused near the fence, watching Lisa move across the room. She almost let herself be seen, just enough to feel the rush of adrenaline, but then melted back into the shadows before Carla could detect her. Her obsession had become

methodical, surgical—every moment, every observation, a puzzle piece in the plan she was constructing.

Back inside, Lisa whispered, “Carla… I can feel her. She’s too close.”

Carla leaned into her, voice barely audible. “We have each other. That’s all that matters. We can survive this. We will survive this.”

Tick-tock.

Chapter Text

Sunlight spilled through the gaps in the curtains like liquid gold, painting the bedroom walls in warm morning tones. The birds outside were already in full chorus, and for the first time in weeks, Lisa awoke without that cold knot of dread tightening in her chest. She lay there for a moment, blinking into the light, letting the steady hum of a new day sink into her bones.

It was Friday.

And today, she decided, Becky would not win.

Kit’s words replayed softly in her mind as she stretched and turned toward Carla, still tangled in the duvet beside her. “She thrives on fear. Don’t give it to her.”

No Shes not getting into her head, not today.

“Wake up, sleepyhead,” Lisa murmured, pressing a quick kiss to Carla’s cheek. “We’re taking the day off.” Carla mumbled something sleepy but smiled, nestling closer for a moment before groaning.

Lisa laughed and sat up. “Right, that’s it. No work today. None of us. Not me, not you, not Betsy. We’re all having the day off.”

Carla cracked open one eye. “What are you plotting, Swain?”

“I mean…” Lisa grinned, hopping out of bed and pulling open the curtains wide, flooding the room with sunlight. “No police station. No fashion meetings. No college lectures. Just us. A girls’ day. Spa, shopping, lunch — the works.”

Carla propped herself up on her elbows, a slow smile spreading across her face. “Are you serious?”

“Completely,” Lisa said, tugging on her dressing gown. “I’m tired of letting Becky dictate how we feel. Today, we laugh. We live. We enjoy ourselves.”

By the time Betsy came downstairs, her hair tied in a messy bun, Lisa was already brewing coffee and Carla was half awake on toast duty.

“No college today, kiddo,” Lisa announced.

Betsy paused mid-step. “What? Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Lisa confirmed. “Spa, then shopping. Day of fun.”

Betsy beamed and launched herself at her mum, hugging her tight. “Best day ever.”

By mid-morning, Number 6 was alive with a rare kind of energy — light, carefree, and brimming with excitement. Betsy shot upstairs like a whirlwind, rummaging through drawers and rifling through hangers, determined to find the perfect outfit for their big day out.

A few minutes later, she thundered back down the stairs, two outfits clutched in her hands and a gleam of determination in her eyes.

“If we’re going shopping,” she announced dramatically, “I’m going full fashion.”

She held the options up like a stylist presenting couture, angling them towards Carla for inspection.

“You’ll outshine us all no matter what you wear,” Carla teased, slipping on a pair of oversized sunglasses and striking a mock-model pose.

“And that’s exactly the point,” Betsy quipped with a mischievous grin.

Then she turned to Lisa, eyebrows raised in mock desperation. “Mum, help a girl out here — which one?”

Lisa chuckled, eyeing the options thoughtfully. “As much as I love the leather look, you’ll regret trying to peel yourself back into it after we’ve been swimming. I’d say go with the white top and the star-print jacket with the jeans. Chic but still practical.”

Betsy beamed, clutching the chosen outfit to her chest. “Perfect. I knew you’d have good taste, Mum.”

The spa was the first stop — warm steam, soft music, and the scent of lavender melting the tension out of their bodies. Lisa lay back on the lounger next to Carla, cucumber slices over her eyes, and let out a deep, satisfied sigh.

“Remind me again why we don’t do this every Friday?” she said.

“Because someone usually arrests people on Fridays,” Carla teased.

“Shh. Today, I’m arresting stress and putting it behind bars,” Lisa replied, making Betsy snort from across the room.

After an hour, the three of them were in swimsuits, padding across warm tiles to the poolside. The air smelled of chlorine and eucalyptus, water jets bubbling in the corner.

Betsy surprised them by doing a backflip and landed gracefully in the pool

Carla was a bit of a chicken and used the stairs and climbed down into the pool and walked towards where Betsy was relaxing

Lisa sat down and slid in from the side of the pool.

Lisa, never one to miss an opportunity, crept up behind Carla and leapt onto her back, sending a splash that rippled across the pool. Carla shrieked and laughed, staggering under Lisa’s weight.

“Lisa! Get off, you’ll drown me!”

Betsy was in stitches, splashing them both mercilessly. “ You both look ridiculous!”

Lisa wrapped her arms around Carla’s shoulders. “I’m not letting go! You’re mine!”

“God help me,” Carla laughed, but she was grinning, cheeks flushed with joy.

Betsy swam closer, wicked glint in her eye. “Oi, you two, I’ll sort this out.” She reached up and pulled her mom off Carla's back and then tried to dunk Lisa’s head beneath the surface by the water jets. Lisa shrieked and splashed back, the three of them

dissolving into uncontrollable laughter.

The sound of it echoed across the pool — bright, free, untouchable. For a moment, nothing else existed.

After a round of massages, facials, and lounging in fluffy white robes, they left the spa glowing, hair damp, cheeks pink from laughter. Shopping came next — racks of clothes, the three of them trying on everything from chic dresses to ridiculous oversized

hats. Carla strutted down the aisle like a catwalk model, hands on her hips.

“Work it, Connor!” Lisa whooped, clapping dramatically.

Betsy nearly collapsed laughing when Lisa attempted the same, tripping over a pair of too-long trousers and nearly face-planting.

“Style icon!” Betsy teased.

"Come on Betsy your turn", Carla smiled

Betsy comes out in a floor length blue sparkly dress

“Ten out of ten,” Lisa called out. “Victoria Beckham could never.”

“Oh, please,” Betsy said, posing with her hands on her hips. “This is runway ready.”

Carla emerged again next, wrapped in a bright red dress that hugged every curve. Lisa wolf-whistled. “Well, damn. If I wasn’t already marrying you…”

“Behave,” Carla laughed, tossing her hair. “Your turn.”

Lisa stepped out of the changing room wearing a ridiculous feathered coat and sunglasses far too big for her face. “I’m calling this look: undercover detective in Milan.”

The three of them dissolved into hysterics. They filmed each other doing mock catwalks, complete with fake commentary, and nearly got thrown out of one boutique when Lisa leapt onto Carla’s back mid-walk, shouting, “Supermodel showdown!” Betsy

squealed with laughter and retaliated by flicking water from her drink all over them as they collapsed onto a bench outside.

It was pure, unfiltered joy — the kind of day that wrapped itself around your heart and reminded you why life was worth fighting for.

By evening, they were back home, bags piled on the sofa, slippers on their feet. Ryan had joined them, sprawling comfortably as Lisa pulled out her phone.

“Alright,” Lisa said, perching on the arm of the chair. “Order time. What Pizza is everyone having?”

“Anything without pineapple,” Carla said immediately, shuddering.

Ryan groaned. “Here we go…”

“Pineapple on pizza is wrong, Ryan” Carla continued, warming to her rant. “It’s a fruit! It belongs in fruit salad. Not with cheese.”

“Not True!” Ryan said, “you are missing out.”

Lisa rolled her eyes. “You two are hilarious. Pineapple is delicious.”

“Delicious?” Carla gasped. “It’s culinary blasphemy.”

“Blasphemy?” Betsy repeated, giggling. “Carla, you sound eighty.”

Dinner was chaotic — laughter bouncing off the walls, tomato sauce on their hands, a bottle of wine slowly disappearing between Carla and Lisa. The tension that had haunted Number 6 for weeks seemed to evaporate in that room, replaced by the warmth of
family and the intoxicating lightness of being together.

Later, Betsy and Ryan excused themselves with sleepy smiles, heading upstairs to bed. The house grew quieter, but the laughter didn’t stop. Lisa and Carla polished off the last of the wine, giggling uncontrollably as they tried — and failed — to climb the stairs.

“Come on,” Lisa hiccuped, clutching the Bannister. “It’s not that hard.”

“Speak for yourself,” Carla slurred, attempting the first step… and missing entirely. She slipped backward, landing flat on her stomach with a dramatic thud, sliding halfway down the stairs like a penguin on ice.

Lisa doubled over, tears streaming down her face from laughing. “Oh my God — are you okay?”

Carla lifted her head, grinning sheepishly. “I think the stairs attacked me.”

Still laughing, Lisa knelt down and tried — unsuccessfully — to haul her back up. “Alright, come on, supermodel. Up we go.”

“You’re drunk,” Carla accused.

“So are you.”

Together, they stumbled, crawled, and dragged themselves the rest of the way to bed, collapsing into a tangle of giggles and kisses beneath the covers. For the first time in a long time, the house felt untouched by fear.

But outside, the night had other plans.

Across the street, half-hidden in the shadow of an old oak tree, Becky watched. Her eyes narrowed as she took in the scene — the warm glow spilling from the windows, the faint sound of laughter still drifting into the night.

How dare they be happy. How dare they laugh.

Her fingernails dug into her palms, fury bubbling up like acid in her chest. She had planned to wait, to bide her time. But watching them — their joy, their closeness, their defiance — made her blood boil.

With a growl of frustration, Becky stooped, grabbed a small rock from the garden path, and hurled it at the window.

CRACK!

The stone hit the glass with a sharp, angry snap before clattering onto the patio below. Inside, the lights flickered, a sudden silence falling over the house. Becky stepped back into the darkness, heart hammering, adrenaline singing in her veins.

And then she was gone.

Or was she?

No one saw where she ran, and no one knew if she’d be back. But as the laughter faded into uneasy silence, one thing was certain — Becky wasn’t finished. The game wasn’t over.

Chapter Text

The rain hadn’t stopped for seven days. It fell in thin, persistent sheets over Weatherfield, turning pavements slick and alleyways treacherous. But DC Kit Green barely noticed. His world had narrowed to one mission — find out who the man was. The man who never left Becky’s side.

The one who lingered just beyond the edges of CCTV frames, whose face always seemed turned away from the camera. The one who felt like a ghost.

Kit had been hunting ghosts his whole career. But this one was different. This one breathed, schemed, and — he suspected — killed.

For a week, Kit lived in the shadows.

It started on a grey Monday morning. He parked an unmarked car two streets down from an abandoned café near the docks — the same one where Becky had been spotted days before. From the window of his vehicle, through rain-streaked glass, he watched.

At first, it was always the same: Becky emerging from the shadows in a hooded jacket, head low, hands buried in her pockets. And always, a man would follow. Tall, lean, with a heavy gait that suggested old injuries. He never spoke, never laughed. Just watched. Always watching.

Kit followed them at a distance, blending into crowds, slipping through side streets, and ducking into doorways whenever Becky glanced over her shoulder. She was sharp — sharper than most criminals he tailed — and she had a sixth sense for danger.

Twice, he nearly lost them. Once, he thought she had spotted him, and his heart hammered so hard he thought it would give him away.

Day after day, night after night, the same dance. Becky would meet the man, they’d exchange a few words, then vanish into the maze of backstreets.

But on Day Seven, everything changed.

It was just past 11 p.m. when Kit crouched behind a row of rusted shipping containers, rain dripping steadily from the hood of his jacket. He’d followed them down to an industrial estate on the outskirts of town — a place so forgotten even the rats avoided it.

A flickering security light illuminated the two figures just metres ahead. They were standing close, their voices muffled by the hiss of the rain. Kit edged nearer, careful not to make a sound. And then, through the static of the downpour, a name cut through the darkness like a blade.

“Trevor.”

Kit froze. Finally.

He leaned closer, heart hammering as he strained to catch their words. Most of it was lost to the storm — fragments of argument, half-whispered threats — but the tone was unmistakable: tension, anger, and something darker beneath.

“…owe me…”

“…two hundred grand…”

“…I will get it…”

Then Becky’s voice rose, clear enough to chill Kit to the bone.

“I’ll get the money, Trevor. And if it means hurting Lisa's Little Bitch on the side in the process, I couldn’t care less.”

Kit frowned. He knew exactly who Becky was talking about

Trevor’s reply was low, almost amused. “Who’s that then?”

Becky’s tone hardened, venomous and cold. “A woman who stole my wife.”

The words hung in the night air, thick and hateful. Kit felt his stomach knot. It wasn’t just obsession anymore — it was vengeance. And whatever Becky was planning, it wasn’t just about money. It was personal.

But before he could get closer, before he could catch the rest, the pair melted back into the darkness. The conversation — and the opportunity — was gone.

Kit’s tyres screeched against wet tarmac as he sped back to the precinct, windshield wipers thrashing against the storm. His hands trembled slightly on the wheel. He hadn’t heard everything. He didn’t have the plan. But he had a name.
Trevor.

He stormed into the empty operations room, water dripping onto the tiled floor as he logged into the system. His fingers flew across the keyboard, searching through every known record, every database entry connected to the Viper's Gang.

Come on. Come on…

And then, BINGO.

Trevor McIntyre.
Age: 42.
Known affiliations: Viper's Gang.
Armed and dangerous. Multiple counts of extortion, aggravated assault, and suspected murder. Wanted in three counties.

Kit’s pulse surged. This was no petty criminal. Trevor was a heavy hitter — the kind of man who left bodies in his wake and never looked back. And Becky… Becky was in league with him.

Kit grabbed his phone, still dripping from the rain, and hit Lisa’s number. It rang once. Twice. Then she answered, groggy but alert.

“Kit? It’s nearly midnight. What’s happened?”

“Lisa, listen carefully,” he said, breathless. “I’ve got a name. The man she’s been meeting — it’s Trevor McIntyre. He’s in the Viper's Gang. And he’s dangerous. I overheard them talking tonight.”

“Tell me everything,” Lisa demanded, sitting up in bed.

“She owes him 200 grand,” Kit explained, pacing the length of the empty corridor. “Says she’s got a plan to get it — and that she doesn’t care if she has to hurt Carla to do it.”

There was silence on the other end. Then Lisa’s voice came, quieter, colder. “How did you know she was talking about Carla.”

Kit stopped dead in his tracks and gulped. “I Heard Becky say Lisa's little bitch on the side.”

“She’s escalating, Kit,” Lisa whispered. “This isn’t about money. It’s revenge. It’s obsession.”

“I know,” Kit replied. “And now that Trevor’s involved, it’s more dangerous than ever. He’s not the type to wait around. If she doesn’t get him what he wants , he’ll make her pay — and he might make you pay too, .”

Lisa exhaled shakily. “What do we do?”

“First, I’m going to dig deeper into Trevor — his movements, his network, his finances. If he’s back in Weatherfield, we’ll find out why. And Lisa…” Kit paused, voice grave. “You need to stay alert. Lock down the house. Keep Carla and Betsy close.

Whatever’s coming… it’s bigger than Becky.”

When Kit hung up, the precinct was silent once more. But he couldn’t shake the chill creeping through his chest.

A name. A plan. A vendetta.

Becky’s game wasn’t just about torment anymore — it was about destruction. And with Trevor McIntyre in the picture, that destruction could be catastrophic.

Out there, somewhere in the rain-soaked darkness, two predators were plotting their next move.

And the clock was still ticking.

Tick-tock.

Chapter Text

Morning light was starting to peek through the curtains of Number 6, a pale golden glow pushing back the darkness. For Lisa, it couldn’t come quick enough. Ever since the phone call she’d had from Kit in the early hours, she hadn’t been back to sleep. Her

heart had been pounding since 12 a.m., every second ticking by heavier than the last.

The house was silent except for the low hum of the boiler and the occasional creak of settling wood. Lisa sat on the sofa, elbows on her knees, staring at the same patch on the far wall as if it held answers. She replayed Kit’s words over and over — Trevor.

Vipers gang. Debt. Danger. None of it sat right, and all of it terrified her.

She heard movement upstairs. Footsteps. A sleepy groan. Moments later, Carla padded down the stairs, hair tousled, still wearing one of Lisa’s old shirts.

“Morning… how long you been awake?” Carla mumbled, rubbing her eyes.

“Since about midnight,” Lisa said quietly. “Kit phoned me. About Becky.”

Carla blinked, now more awake. “What was so important it couldn’t wait until morning?” She came to sit beside Lisa. That’s when she noticed the redness around Lisa’s eyes, the streaks on her cheeks. “Darling… what’s wrong?”

Lisa swallowed, the words bitter in her mouth. “We got a name. The bloke Becky’s been hanging around with. He’s involved with the Vipers gang. From what Kit overheard, Becky owes a lot of money — about £200,000.”

Carla’s brows knitted together. “Okay, but what’s that got to do with us? She’s only got herself to blame for that.”

Lisa’s breath hitched. Tears welled up again, spilling down her face before she could stop them. “It’s not that…” she whispered. “Kit said Becky told him she has a plan to get the money — and she doesn’t care if she hurts you in the process.”

The words hung in the air like smoke.

Carla sat back against the cushions, her heartbeat suddenly loud in her ears. The realisation slammed into her — this wasn’t just Becky being obsessive anymore. She had put their entire family in danger.

“What do we do now, Lis?” Carla whispered, voice trembling slightly.

“I don’t know, love. I really don’t know.” A sob escaped Lisa’s chest, raw and desperate. “I can’t lose you, Carla. I just can’t.”

Carla wrapped her arms around her, holding her close, their bodies pressed together as if proximity could keep the danger out. But then she stiffened, pulling back slightly, her brow furrowed in thought.

“Hang on a minute,” Carla said slowly. “£200,000? She seriously thinks we’ve got that kind of money? I don’t even keep that much in the safe at the factory.”

Lisa’s eyes flickered to hers. “Do you keep any money in the safe?”

“No. It all goes into the business account.” Carla’s expression darkened. “Do you think she’s going to rob the factory?”

“That,” Lisa murmured, “or take you hostage to try and get the money out of me.”

A heavy silence fell between them. The thought of Becky holding Carla at gunpoint — or worse — was unbearable. It was then that Lisa shifted forward, jaw tightening. “We need a plan. Something that protects you, protects Underworld, and keeps Betsy out of this entirely.”

Carla nodded. “Right. Let’s think this through logically. If Becky’s desperate for money, she’ll look for the easiest source — which could be the factory. We need to make it look like there’s nothing worth taking.”

“And we need to make sure if she does try something,” Lisa added, “we’re one step ahead.”

The conversation that followed was a strange mix of deadly serious and absurdly comedic — the kind of gallows humor they’d become good at over the years.

“Okay,” Carla said, pacing now, “first thing — I’ll have the CCTV upgraded. I want cameras on every angle of that building. Inside, outside, even the bloody toilet corridor if I have to.”

“Good,” Lisa said. “I’ll speak to Kit about having a surveillance team discreetly parked nearby. If Becky or this Trevor tries anything, we’ll have eyes on them before they even step through the gates.”

Carla smirked. “And maybe we make a decoy safe. Leave it where she expects it — in the office — and fill it with something that’ll make her think she’s hit the jackpot.”

“Like what?” Lisa asked, half serious.

“Monopoly money,” Carla said without missing a beat.

Lisa stared at her for a moment before bursting out laughing. “You’re joking.”

Carla shrugged, grinning. “Well, imagine her face when she cracks the safe and finds a few grand worth of play money. Maybe a note, too: ‘Better luck next time, Becky.’”

The image was ridiculous and hilarious — and it broke through the tension just enough for Lisa to breathe again. “God, I love you,” she said, wiping her eyes.

“Course you do,” Carla teased, “I’m bloody brilliant.”

Once the laughter faded, they got back to work. The plan, while partly tongue-in-cheek, took shape into something real: decoy cash, upgraded security, a panic button installed in the office, and an agreement that neither Carla nor Betsy would ever be alone near the factory for the foreseeable future.

“Right,” Carla said finally, taking a deep breath. “I’ll phone Sarah and tell her to be careful — no late nights, no deliveries without someone else there.”

“And I’ll ring Kit,” Lisa added, reaching for her phone. “We need full police support now, not just surveillance. If Becky’s serious about this… we need to be ready.”

As Lisa waited for Kit to pick up, she glanced out the window. The street looked calm. Peaceful. But she knew better. Somewhere out there, Becky was plotting, desperate, dangerous — and now with a motive stronger than obsession.

This wasn’t about love anymore.

It was about £200,000. And Becky was willing to burn the world down to get it.

Chapter Text

The days following their plan had been a whirlwind of strategy and vigilance. Every detail was checked, every angle considered. The CCTV system at Underworld had been overhauled, with new high-definition cameras installed across the building —

inside corridors, loading bays, stairwells, even the alley behind the factory that most people didn’t know existed. The safe in Carla’s office had been emptied of anything valuable and replaced with bundles of neatly stacked Monopoly money, each pile

bound with elastic bands to look convincingly real.

Lisa had also coordinated with Kit, who arranged a small, discreet surveillance team to watch the premises overnight. They stayed in unmarked vans and rotated shifts, logging every face and movement within a hundred metres of the factory gates.

For days, everything was silent. Too silent.

By the start of the following week, there was still no sign of Becky — no strange sightings, no suspicious activity, no calls, no threats. It was as if she had vanished from the face of the earth. The Vipers were equally quiet. Surveillance yielded nothing but

the usual delivery drivers, lorries, and bored teenagers cutting through the alley as a shortcut home. After a week of nothing, Kit reluctantly decided to pull the team back.

But Lisa’s guard never dropped.

Every morning before heading to Weatherfield Police Station, she would watch from her car until she saw Carla and Betsy walk safely into the factory. If Betsy had college, Lisa would pick her up from Underworld and drive her directly to the main entrance
of the campus — no exceptions.

Betsy started to notice the heightened caution.

“Mum,” she said one morning as Lisa was driving her to college, “you don’t need to keep doing this. I can get the bus, you know.”

Lisa tightened her grip on the steering wheel. She had rehearsed excuses a hundred times, but none of them felt right. With a sigh, she decided the truth was better.

“Listen, Bets,” she said, eyes fixed on the road ahead. “There’s something you need to know.”

Betsy’s brow furrowed. “What is it?”

“It turns out Becky is more dangerous than we thought. She owes a gang a lot of money — about two hundred grand — and we think she might try to rob the factory or… or take Carla hostage to get money from me.”

Betsy’s eyes widened.

Lisa glanced briefly at her daughter before focusing back on the road. “And they might come for you too. That’s why I don’t let you or Carla go anywhere alone. If anyone stays behind at the factory, someone else has to be with them. Always.”

Betsy sat in silence, staring out of the window, trying to process it all. “Has she… been seen?” she asked finally, her voice small.

“No,” Lisa admitted. “She hasn’t been spotted since Kit saw her last week. But we can’t take any chances. We have to stay alert.”

When they reached the college, Betsy hugged her mum a little tighter before stepping out. Lisa watched her walk inside before driving off — her gut still heavy with unease.

Later that day, as the grey October skies began to darken, Lisa’s phone rang. Carla.

“Hey, love,” Carla said, her voice brisk. “Just a heads-up — Sarah and I are staying late tonight to go over some figures for the Francesca Mill contract. I’ll probably be here a few hours.”

“I’ll come down,” Lisa replied immediately.

“Lis, you don’t need to—”

“I do,” Lisa interrupted, firmer now. “Humour me. I’ll feel better being there.”

Carla sighed softly. “Alright. I’ll see you soon.”

By 8:30 p.m., the factory was almost deserted. The hum of the sewing machines had long since faded, replaced by the clicking of a keyboard in Carla’s office and the low murmur of her and Sarah’s discussion about client invoices. Kit had stopped by
earlier to check in but had left around eight.

Lisa leaned against the break room counter with a cup of lukewarm coffee in hand, watching the clock tick past 9 p.m. Carla joined her moments later, stretching her arms over her head.

“Nearly done,” she said with a tired smile. “One more spreadsheet and I’m calling it a night.”

“Good,” Lisa replied. “The sooner we’re home, the better.”

That’s when she heard it.

Click. Scrape. Tap.

It was faint — so faint she might have missed it if the room hadn’t been so still. Lisa froze, every muscle in her body tensing. Carla frowned, noticing the sudden change in her posture.

“What is it?” she whispered.

“Shh.” Lisa held up a hand. There it was again — a subtle fumbling sound, metal against metal. And it was coming from the back door.

“Stay here,” Lisa whispered, reaching instinctively for her sidearm.

Carla’s breath caught, but she didn’t argue.

Lisa crept down the corridor, footsteps light and measured. The sound was clearer now — someone was trying to pick the lock. Her heart pounded, adrenaline surging.

Three… two… one.

The door gave a soft click as the lock disengaged. It swung open slowly. A figure slipped inside, dressed head-to-toe in black, face obscured by a balaclava. The intruder moved with eerie confidence, like they knew exactly where they were going.

Lisa stepped from the shadows, weapon drawn. “POLICE! Don’t move!”

The figure froze mid-step — but only for a second. Then, with shocking speed, they darted towards the corridor. Lisa lunged, grabbing the back of their jacket. They struggled, throwing an elbow into her side, but Lisa held firm, slamming them against
the wall.

Carla came running, eyes wide. “Lisa!”

“You aren't going anywhere,” Lisa hissed, pinning the intruder’s hands behind her back.

The shock struck Lisa the moment she yanked the balaclava off. The person wasn’t a man at all — she was a woman. Early thirties, maybe, with sharp eyes and a calm, calculating expression even as she was forced to the floor.

“Who the hell are you?” Lisa demanded.

The woman smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Carla stared, her stomach turning cold. “It’s not Becky. It’s not Trevor. So who the bloody hell is she?”

The woman said nothing, but the glint in her eyes told Lisa everything she needed to know — she wasn’t some amateur thief. She was trained. Experienced. And she knew exactly what she was doing.

Kit arrived minutes later, breathless from the call Lisa had made the second the woman was in cuffs. Officers swarmed the factory, searching for evidence, collecting fingerprints, combing through the CCTV footage.

“She’s not in our system,” Kit said grimly after checking with dispatch. “No priors. No ID. Whoever she is, she’s gone to great lengths to stay invisible.”

Lisa stared at the woman through the glass of the interrogation room. Even cuffed, even surrounded by police, she looked unbothered. Almost amused.

“She’s connected to Becky,” Lisa murmured. “I can feel it.”

Kit nodded. “Yeah. And if she is, then this wasn’t just a break-in. It was a test run.”

Carla shivered, arms wrapped around herself. “If this is a test, what’s the real thing going to look like?”

No one answered. But deep down, they all knew the truth — the game Becky was playing had just escalated. And this time, it wasn’t just about money.

It was about control.

And she wasn’t finished yet.

Chapter Text

The room was almost too quiet for Lisa. The only sound was the soft, constant hum from the lone light in the adjoining interview room — a low, almost mocking buzz that seemed to match the tension in her chest. Across from her, Kit leaned back in his

chair, arms folded, watching the silent figure behind the one-way glass.

“Why don’t you both go home,” he finally said, breaking the silence. “The duty solicitor won’t be here until the morning anyway. We’re going to leave her in a cell for the night. Either way, she’ll be charged with breaking and entering.”

Neither Lisa nor Carla replied. They both just nodded, exhausted and wired all at once. The events of the night had left their nerves frayed and hearts pounding.

The drive home was silent. Neither woman knew what to say, or even if they had the words to begin with. Carla’s hands were trembling in her lap, her mind replaying every second of the break-in — the muffled noise at the door, the stranger’s silhouette

in the hallway, Lisa’s body lunging forward without hesitation.

What if she hadn’t been there?

The thought looped in Carla’s mind over and over again. What if she’d been alone? What if the intruder had found the safe? What if they’d believed the fake money was real and hurt her for it? And Lisa… what if Lisa had been the one to get hurt worse
than she already had?

She glanced sideways as the car turned onto their street. The sodium glow of the streetlights washed over Lisa’s face — pale with exhaustion, jaw tight with focus. A small cut still split her bottom lip, and every bump in the road made her wince, her hand

occasionally brushing her side where she’d been elbowed.

By the time they pulled up outside Number 6, the weight of it all had sunk in. Carla’s breath was shaky as they stepped inside.

“Let’s just… lock up and rest,” Lisa murmured.

Carla nodded silently, twisting the lock until it clicked. She sank down onto the sofa, her body heavy with adrenaline and fear. Across the room, Lisa quietly disappeared upstairs to clean her lip and change.

The moment Lisa was out of sight, Carla’s composure crumbled. Hot tears spilled down her cheeks before she could stop them. It wasn’t just fear — it was the enormity of how close they’d come to losing everything. Lisa could have been killed tonight.

She could have been killed. Sarah might have been alone in that room. Betsy could have lost them both.

A sob escaped her chest, deep and aching. She pressed her hands to her face, but it didn’t stop the tears.

Upstairs, Lisa stared at herself in the mirror. A purplish bruise had already begun to bloom across her ribs, and her lip stung when she dabbed at it. But none of that hurt as much as the what ifs playing in her mind.

What if I hadn’t been there?

She pulled on her pyjamas and padded softly back downstairs, drawn by the faint sound of Carla crying. Her heart clenched. In two strides she was across the room, kneeling beside the sofa and wrapping her arms around Carla from behind.

“Hey… hey, it’s okay,” Lisa whispered into her hair, her voice trembling despite her best efforts.

Carla turned and clung to her, burying her face against Lisa’s chest. “You could’ve died,” she whispered hoarsely. “You could’ve died, Lisa.”

“But I didn’t,” Lisa murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

They stayed like that for a long time, their bodies tangled together on the sofa, tears slowly giving way to silence. Eventually, Carla’s sobs softened into sniffles, and when she lifted her head, their faces were only inches apart.

“Don’t you ever scare me like that again,” Carla whispered, her breath ghosting across Lisa’s lips.

“I’ll try not to,” Lisa whispered back, brushing a strand of hair from Carla’s face. “But I’d do it again. Every time. For you.”

Something shifted in that moment — the fear and adrenaline melting into something deeper, something that had always lived between them but now burned brighter for having nearly been lost. Carla’s lips found Lisa’s gently, hesitantly at first, a kiss

soaked in gratitude and love and the raw relief of survival.

The kiss deepened slowly, a slow burn that made the world fall away. It wasn’t about desire alone — it was about knowing each other, about clinging to the only thing that made sense when everything else felt dangerous and fragile.

Lisa’s hands cupped Carla’s face, thumbs brushing away the last of her tears. “I love you,” she whispered against her lips.

“I love you too,” Carla breathed, pressing closer, needing to feel every heartbeat, every breath, every ounce of life in Lisa’s body.

They moved together like that for what felt like forever — tender, lingering touches, whispered promises that tomorrow would come and they’d face it together.

Eventually, Lisa pulled Carla into her lap, holding her tightly as they leaned back against the sofa. Carla’s eyes were heavy, but the tension in her body had finally begun to ease.

“We’re going to be okay,” Lisa whispered into the quiet. “No matter what she tries next, we’ll be ready. We’ll protect each other.”

Carla nodded against her shoulder. “Together.”

And for the first time in weeks, despite the shadows still lurking at the edges of their lives, Lisa believed it.

They stayed like that for a long time, wrapped in each other’s warmth, whispering reassurances in the hush of their living room. Eventually, Carla’s eyes fluttered shut against Lisa’s shoulder, exhaustion and relief finally overtaking her. Lisa brushed a

kiss against her hair, holding her tighter than ever before.

“We’re going to be okay,” she murmured into the dark. “No matter what she tries next, we’ll be ready. We’ll protect each other.”

Carla’s reply was soft, almost a sigh. “Together.”

And for the first time in weeks, despite the shadows that had crept so close, Lisa believed it.

But across town, the night was far from over.

Beneath the flickering orange glow of a broken streetlight, Becky stood leaning against a rusted lamppost, her hood pulled low over her face. The cold bit at her skin, but she barely noticed it — the rage boiling under her skin was far hotter than the
October wind.

“Idiots,” she hissed under her breath, watching the police van disappear around the corner. “Couldn’t even open a bloody door.”

The woman she’d sent to do the job had failed — captured before she’d even reached the safe. And yet, Becky’s fury wasn’t about the failed break-in. It was about them. About the laughter that still echoed from that damned house. About the fact that

even after everything, Lisa and Carla were still breathing, still smiling, still together.

Her fists clenched until her knuckles turned white.

“They think they’ve won,” she whispered, a smile creeping across her lips — small, sinister, and utterly joyless. “They think they’re safe.”

From the shadows, a figure emerged — Trevor, his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, cigarette dangling from his lips. “This little stunt of yours got us nothing,” he muttered. “You’re running out of time, Becky. You owe me.”

“I told you,” she snapped, shoving him back a step. “I will get your money.”

“And how, exactly?” he asked, voice dripping with doubt.

Becky’s smile widened — cold and unnervingly calm now. “They’re protecting themselves. That means they’re scared. And scared people make mistakes. One wrong move, and everything they love becomes leverage.”

Trevor raised an eyebrow. “And if that doesn’t work?”

Becky turned her gaze toward the soft glow of Number 6 in the distance, eyes narrowing with hatred. “Then I’ll burn everything they love to the ground. And I’ll start with her.”

She stepped off the curb and vanished into the darkness, the echo of her boots fading into the night — but her words hung heavy in the air, a chilling promise that this wasn’t over.

Not by a long shot.

Chapter Text

The rain fell in steady sheets across Greater Manchester, blurring the city into streaks of silver and shadow. It was the kind of rain that clung to skin and bone, the kind that made even the bravest detectives feel the weight of the night. Inside the

interview room at Weatherfield Police Station, that weight pressed heavily on DC Kit's shoulders.

He’d been here before — too many times — sitting beneath the harsh buzz of the interrogation light, watching suspects squirm and deny until they broke. But tonight felt different. Tonight, it wasn’t just about the break-in at Underworld. It was about

the storm circling Lisa and her family. About Becky. And whoever the woman on the other side of the table was, she was one step closer to the heart of it.

she sat hunched forward, damp hair sticking to her face, arms folded tightly across her chest as if she could shield herself from Kit’s gaze. For the past forty-five minutes, she’d said nothing. No lawyer. No explanation. Just silence and a glare that didn’t
quite meet his eyes.

Kit leaned back in his chair, his voice deliberately calm. “You’re not a professional,” he said quietly, watching her carefully. “I’ve dealt with professionals before. They don’t freeze when the alarm goes off. They don’t panic when they’re cornered. And they

sure as hell don’t elbow a detective in the ribs and then apologise while trying to escape.”

A flicker — barely there — crossed her face. A tightening of the jaw. Kit had her.

“You’re scared,” he continued. “And not just of me. Whoever sent you — whoever’s pulling the strings — they’re the one you’re afraid of.”

she shifted uncomfortably, but remained silent. Kit let the pause stretch, the silence becoming heavier by the second. Then he leaned forward, his voice dropping to a low, deliberate whisper.

“Here’s the thing,” he said. “You’re not facing a simple breaking and entering charge anymore. That safe you tried to open? That’s connected to an ongoing organised crime investigation. You think the Vipers are going to protect you? They won’t even

remember your name when they’re done with you. But I can help you. If you give me something — anything — that leads me to the real players here, I can make sure you don’t go down with them.”

her knuckles whitened as she gripped the edge of the table. For a moment, Kit thought she might still hold out. Then her shoulders slumped, the tension draining out of her like air from a balloon.

“I' m nothing to do with the Vipers,” she muttered, so softly Kit almost missed it.

He sat forward. “What did you say?”

“I'm not part of that Gang, Im Just an outsider, ,” she said again, louder this time. “I don’t even know who they are. All I know is… Becky offered me money. Said it’d be easy. In and out. Grab what’s in the safe, bring it to her. No names. No questions.”

“and who are you?,” Kit asked curiously. “Nicola” She sighed

Nicola stared down at her trembling hands. “I didn’t want to do it. I swear. But she knew things about me — my debt, my mum’s health. She made it sound like I didn’t have a choice.”

Kit’s heartbeat quickened. This wasn’t a hardened criminal. This was a desperate woman caught in Becky’s web — and that was far more dangerous. Becky wasn’t recruiting soldiers; she was manipulating pawns.

“Did she tell you anything else?” he asked gently. “Where she is staying ? Who her big boss is that she is working with?”

Nicola shook her head. “Nothing. She said if I did this right, she’d disappear. That I’d never hear from her again.” She let out a shaky breath. “I don’t even know why she wanted the money. She just… she just looked at me with those eyes, like she’d
already won.”

Kit sat back, the weight of her words settling over him like the rain outside. Becky wasn’t just dangerous — she was meticulous. Careful. Calculating. And worst of all, patient.

After another hour of questioning — confirming timelines, locations, the drop point for the stolen cash — Kit finally had enough to move forward. Nicola would still face charges, but with a full statement and cooperation, she might avoid a long sentence.

Still, none of it brought them any closer to Becky herself. If anything, it made the hunt harder.

She was two steps ahead — and she knew it.

It was well after midnight when Kit finally stepped out into the car park, rain still pelting the tarmac under the flicker of sodium lights. He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialled Lisa’s number.

She answered on the second ring, her voice groggy but sharp. “Kit? What’s going on?”

“I just finished with our mystery woman,” he said, leaning against the side of his car. “Name’s Nicola Harper. Early thirties. No gang ties, no criminal record, nothing to do with the Vipers.”

Silence. Then Lisa’s voice came, quiet and tight. “Then why was she there?”

“Because Becky paid her,” Kit replied. “Promised her a cut of whatever was in the safe. She targeted someone desperate — someone easy to control. Nicola cracked after an hour. She’s terrified, Lisa. And if Becky has people like her on a leash, it means

she’s not recruiting professionals. She’s picking people no one would ever suspect.”

Lisa exhaled slowly on the other end, the sound heavy with frustration. “So we’re back to square one.”

“Not quite,” Kit said. “Now we know Becky’s not working through the gang — at least not directly. That means her network is smaller than we thought. It also means what she is planning is because she is in deep trouble with the vipers.”

There was a pause, and then Lisa’s voice wavered, just slightly. “Kit… I’m scared. I hate admitting it, but I am. It’s like she’s playing with us — moving pieces on a board we can’t even see.”

“I know,” Kit said softly. “But this is how she operates. She thrives on fear, remember? That’s why you keep living your life. You protect your family, stay alert — but you don’t let her win.”

Lisa was quiet for a long time, the weight of his words sinking in. Then, softly: “Thank you, Kit. For not giving up.”

“Never,” he said. “We’ll get her, Lisa. One way or another.”

Long after he ended the call, Kit remained in the car park, staring at the rain-slicked streets beyond. Somewhere out there, Becky was still moving — still plotting. And if Nicola’s terrified eyes were any indication, her next move would be far more
calculated.

But what unsettled him most wasn’t what Nicola had said — it was what she hadn’t.

She didn’t know where Becky was. She didn’t know what the next step was. Because Becky hadn’t told her.

That meant Becky was already planning something bigger. Something she didn’t need pawns for.

And as the night stretched on, a single thought refused to leave Kit’s mind — a whisper of dread that echoed louder with each passing hour:

The real game hadn’t even started yet.

Chapter Text

The night had drawn in soft and slow, rain pattering gently against the windows of Number 6. The hum of the boiler, the faint glow of the fire, and the warm weight of a shared blanket cocooned Lisa and Carla in a peace they hadn’t felt in weeks —

maybe months. For once, the air wasn’t charged with tension or fear. It was calm.

They sat together on the sofa, legs tangled beneath them, wine glasses half-empty on the coffee table, a film playing quietly in the background but long forgotten. Their conversation — slow, winding, and heavy with emotion — was what held them.

“It’s mad, isn’t it?” Carla said softly, staring into the flames. “Everything we’ve been through. The break-ins, the threats… Becky.”

Lisa leaned her head on Carla’s shoulder, sighing deeply. “Mad doesn’t even cover it. It’s been hell. And yet…” She lifted her head, meeting Carla’s gaze. “I wouldn’t have survived any of it without you.”

Carla’s eyes softened. “You would have. Because you’re strong, Lisa. Stronger than you think. But I’ll tell you this — I’m never letting anything happen to you. Ever. Not while I’m breathing.”

Lisa smiled faintly. “You already protect me.”

Carla shook her head, her voice firm but full of love. “Not enough. I want you to know, Lis… I’ll fight for you. With everything I’ve got. You, Betsy — this life we’re building — it’s all I care about. And I’m done letting her or anyone else try to tear that
apart.”

The room was quiet for a moment, save for the crackle of the fire. Then Lisa reached for Carla’s hand and laced their fingers together. “I love you. More than I’ve ever loved anyone.”

Carla’s lips curved into a soft smile. “And I love you, too. Tomorrow…” — she hesitated, a playful glint lighting her eyes — “tomorrow’s going to be the start of something new. You’ll see.”

Lisa arched a brow. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing,” Carla teased, feigning innocence. “Just… trust me.”

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The Next Morning

Sunlight streamed through the curtains, painting golden streaks across the bedroom walls. For the first time in what felt like forever, Lisa woke with a smile on her face. The weight in her chest had lifted, replaced by a gentle hum of something she

hadn’t dared feel in weeks — hope.

Downstairs, the smell of toasted bagels and fresh coffee greeted her. Carla was in the kitchen, humming tunelessly as she spread soft cheese over a toasted bagel and layered it with silky slices of smoked salmon.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Carla said, glancing up with a grin. “I took the liberty of playing chef today.”

Lisa laughed, tying her robe tighter around her waist. “Look at you. Domestic goddess.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Carla shot back. “Toast is about the extent of my culinary skills.”

At that moment, Betsy bounded down the stairs, hair half-brushed, phone in hand. “Please tell me there’s none of that fishy stuff for me.”

Carla chuckled and handed her a plate of simple buttered toast. “For the salmon hater.”

“Thank you,” Betsy said dramatically, plonking herself at the table. “See, Mum, Carla gets me.”

Lisa smirked. “Of course she does. She’s the fun one.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Carla said with mock pride. “I’m the cool one.”

Betsy rolled her eyes but giggled, and just like that, the tension of the past weeks melted away. They joked about who made the best cup of tea (Lisa claimed victory), who could eat more toast in one sitting (Betsy insisted she’d win), and how utterly

hopeless Carla was with the family group chat (she still hadn’t figured out how to send a GIF).

After breakfast, Lisa kissed Carla goodbye at the door, lingering in the doorway a moment longer than usual. “Love you,” she murmured.

“Love you more,” Carla replied, brushing her thumb gently over Lisa’s cheek before heading to work.
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Underworld – Mid-Morning

The familiar clatter and chatter of the factory floor greeted Carla the moment she walked through the doors. Kirk was waiting for her, holding out a large takeaway coffee cup like an offering.

“For the queen of lingerie,” he announced with a grin.

“Ah, my hero,” Carla said, taking the cup gratefully. “I don’t know how you always remember my order.”

“Secret talent,” he winked.

She chuckled and made her way upstairs to her office. As soon as the door clicked shut behind her, Carla slipped a hand into her coat pocket and pulled out the engagement ring she’d tucked there earlier.

It glittered softly in the morning light, a perfect symbol of everything they’d been through — and everything still to come. She turned it over in her fingers, smiling as she slid it back where it belonged, onto her ring finger.

“This time,” she whispered to herself, “we do it right.”

Sitting at her desk, she powered on her computer and, for the first time in weeks, her search history wasn’t full of police updates or security reports. Instead, she typed:

“Local wedding fayres Manchester 2025.”

Pages of results filled the screen. Elegant venues. Bridal expos. Family-run showcases. Carla clicked on two and booked tickets for both — for her, Lisa, and Betsy. She wanted them all there. Not just because this was about her and Lisa, but because

Betsy was part of this love story too. She wasn’t just Lisa’s daughter anymore — she was theirs.

“Family,” Carla murmured, smiling to herself. “That’s what this is.”

The afternoon passed in a flurry of fittings, fabric samples, and client calls, but nothing could shake the warmth blooming in Carla’s chest. Every glance at the ring on her finger sent a thrill of joy through her. It wasn’t just a piece of jewellery — it was a
promise.

And for the first time in a long time, the future didn’t look like a battlefield. It looked like a home. A wedding. A family walking forward — together.

Outside, the clouds parted and sunlight broke through, flooding the streets of Weatherfield in gold. Life, in all its messy, chaotic beauty, was moving forward. And for Lisa, Carla, and Betsy, it was finally beginning to look bright again.

But in the distance, far from the warm laughter of Number 6 and the hum of Underworld’s sewing machines, another figure watched. Hidden in the shifting crowd, eyes cold and calculating, she traced the outline of a plan that was still forming.

It wasn’t time yet. But soon.

For now, she let them have their joy. Let them believe the worst was behind them.

Because when she struck next, Becky intended to make sure it was a blow they would never forget.

Chapter Text

The golden hues of late afternoon poured over Weatherfield as Carla stepped out of Underworld and into the crisp air, a buoyant energy in her chest she hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever. The engagement ring on her finger — warm now from her skin,

heavy with meaning — felt like a new heartbeat. A pulse that reminded her of everything she had fought for, everything she was still building with Lisa.

The day had been a whirlwind of appointments and sketches, calls and emails, but through it all, she had floated — light and happy, a smile tugging at her lips every time she caught the glint of that diamond. It wasn’t just a ring. It was forgiveness. It was hope.
It was home.

By the time she reached Number 6, the sun was dipping low, painting the sky in streaks of coral and violet. The second she pushed open the door, she was greeted by the warm, rich aroma of garlic, basil, and slow-simmered tomato sauce. It was homely, comforting — and utterly perfect.

“Something smells incredible,” Carla called out, kicking off her heels by the door.

“In here,” Lisa’s voice floated from the kitchen, bright and content.

Carla followed it, smiling before she even stepped into the room. There, by the stove, Lisa was plating up a dish that looked like it belonged in a restaurant — pepperoni pasta, glistening with a glossy tomato and chilli sauce, topped with parmesan and fresh

basil leaves. The candles flickered on the table, soft music played from the speaker, and the sight of Lisa — hair loose, sleeves rolled up, cheeks flushed from the heat of the kitchen — made Carla’s heart stutter.

“Dinner is served,” Lisa said with mock grandeur, turning to her. “And before you ask — yes, I made it. And no, I didn’t burn anything.”

Carla laughed, setting her bag aside. “Well, that’s already a win.”

But before she could say anything else, she crossed the room in a few quick steps and kissed Lisa — long and hard, the kind of kiss that wasn’t just affection but thank you. It was gratitude, love, and longing all in one breathless embrace. Lisa melted into it,

hands finding Carla’s waist, deepening the kiss until the rest of the world faded away.

When they finally broke apart, Lisa’s smile was lazy and radiant. “Not that I’m complaining, but what was that for?”

“For everything,” Carla whispered. “For this. For us.”

Lisa was about to answer when her gaze drifted down — and then she froze. Her breath hitched, eyes widening. There, glinting in the warm kitchen light, sat the engagement ring on Carla’s left hand.

“You…” she started, voice trembling slightly. Then louder, more breathless, “You put it back on!”

Carla’s lips curved into a soft, knowing smile. “I did.”

A huge grin spread across Lisa’s face, one that made her whole body seem lighter. “Carla… you have no idea how happy that makes me.”

“Oh, I think I do,” Carla teased gently. Then, with a little twinkle in her eye, she added, “And that’s not all.”

Lisa’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Tomorrow,” Carla said, stepping closer, slipping her hands into Lisa’s. “Tomorrow, you, me, and Betsy are going to two wedding fayres.”

For a moment, Lisa just stared at her, words caught in her throat. And then, slowly, tears welled in her eyes — happy, disbelieving tears that made her laugh through the emotion.

“You’re serious?” she whispered.

“Deadly,” Carla said. “I booked them this morning. I want Betsy to be part of everything — from the dress or suit , to the flowers to the cake tastings. Because she’s part of us. She’s part of this family.”

Lisa let out a breath that trembled as it left her. “You don’t know how much that means to me. All of this — the ring, the fayres, us. It feels like… like we’re getting a second chance.”

Carla cupped Lisa’s face in her hands, brushing a stray tear away with her thumb. “We are getting a second chance. And this time, we’re not letting anything — not Becky, not the past, nothing — ruin it.”

Dinner was a blur of laughter and teasing, of stories told over glasses of red wine and soft kisses shared between courses. They fed each other bites of pasta, argued playfully about whether pineapple belonged on pizza (it didn’t, according to Carla), and

reminisced about their first date — that awkward, perfect evening that had started everything.

Afterwards, they curled up on the sofa with a bottle of wine and a blanket, watching an old rom-com they’d seen a hundred times but still laughed at as though it were new. Carla’s head rested on Lisa’s shoulder, Lisa’s fingers tracing lazy circles on Carla’s

hand where the ring now sat proudly.

It was simple. It was peaceful. And it was everything they had fought so hard to have.

“I don’t care what tomorrow brings,” Lisa murmured softly, half-drowsy from wine and warmth. “As long as you’re by my side.”

“Always,” Carla whispered back. “Always and forever.”
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Next Morning

The day dawned with a soft autumn glow, sunlight creeping through the curtains and spilling over the bed where Lisa and Carla lay entwined. Betsy’s laughter echoed faintly from downstairs — she was clearly excited for the day ahead, and truthfully, so were they.

Breakfast was a cheerful affair: bagels with poached egg , salmon and hollandaise sauce for the adults, toast and jam for Betsy (who had wrinkled her nose at the idea of fish first thing in the morning). There were jokes about who would cry first when trying on dresses or suits, bets placed on who would eat the most free samples, and even a small debate over whether their wedding cake should have three tiers or five.

By the time they piled into the car, the mood was electric — all laughter, anticipation, and new beginnings.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Wedding Fayre #1 – The Regency Hotel

The moment they stepped into the grand ballroom of the Regency, Betsy’s eyes widened. “Wow. It’s like stepping into a princess movie.”

It was magical. Rows of stalls lined the space — florists displaying cascades of roses and wildflowers, cake makers offering slices of lemon sponge and red velvet, photographers showcasing dreamy wedding albums. Everywhere, couples milled about hand-in-hand, but none of them looked as giddy as Lisa and Carla.

Lisa was in her element, darting from table to table. She sampled champagne, sniffed bouquets, and even tried on a tiara “just for fun,” which made Carla laugh until she cried. Betsy, meanwhile, was in charge of cake tasting — and took the job very seriously.

“I vote for this one,” Betsy declared, holding up a forkful of chocolate fudge cake. “It’s the most wedding-y.”

“Wedding-y?” Carla teased. “Is that an actual word?”

“It is now,” Betsy said firmly, her face smeared with frosting.

But the highlight came when they reached the designer’s stand. The consultant, with a mischievous little smile, convinced Lisa to try on something “just to get a feel for the look.” It wasn’t a gown at all — instead, she emerged from behind the curtain in a

beautifully tailored white suit, the fabric soft and luminous under the lights. The blazer cinched perfectly at her waist, the trousers elongating her legs, and the simple silk camisole beneath added just a hint of softness to the sharp, confident silhouette.

Carla’s breath caught the second she saw her. Lisa stood there, radiant and poised, a shy smile tugging at her lips — and in that moment, Carla wasn’t just looking at the woman she loved. She was looking at her future.

“You look…” Carla’s voice trailed off. “You look like the rest of my life.”

Lisa blushed, swatting her gently. “Stop it, you’ll make me cry.”
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Wedding Fayre #2 – Weatherfield Hall

The air in the convention hall was thick with the cloying scent of vanilla-scented candles and the low, excited hum of a hundred wedding-planning conversations. Lisa’s hand was a feverish clamp around Carla’s wrist, her eyes glittering with a manic energy that

had been building for the last hour.

“Another cake sample?” Carla laughed, trying to keep up as Lisa weaved through a display of outrageously ornate centerpieces. “I think I’m going to be sick on sugar.”

“No, no more cake,” Lisa murmured, her voice a low, thrilling vibration. Her gaze wasn’t on the floral arrangements or the calligraphed place settings anymore. It was locked on Carla, dark and hungry. “I need… I need something else.”

They rounded a corner into a quieter section of the hall, a maze of fabric swatches and curtained-off changing stalls for trying on veils and sample gowns. Lisa’s head snapped towards one, its floral-printed curtain slightly ajar. In a single, fluid motion, she

fished a twenty from her purse and pressed it into the hand of Betsy, who was trailing behind them looking bewildered.

“Bets, angel, could you be a love and grab us some of those mini quiches? And two glasses of Rose prosecco? We’ll be right here.” Lisa’s smile was brilliant, practiced, and utterly dismissive.

Betsy blinked. “Right here? But there’s nothing–”

“Right here,” Lisa repeated, her tone leaving no room for argument. She didn’t wait for a reply. The moment Betsy turned towards the food stalls, Lisa yanked Carla through the curtain and into the small, dimly lit cubicle, pulling it shut with a sharp zip of the fastener.

The space was close, filled with the faint smell of new fabric and dust. A full-length mirror leaned against one wall, reflecting their startled expressions back at them in the muted light.

“Lisa, what in the world–” Carla started, but her protest was smothered by Lisa’s mouth crashing onto hers.

It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was a claim. Lisa’s tongue plunged between Carla’s lips, tasting of champagne and desperation. Her hands came up to frame Carla’s face, holding her there, not that Carla had any intention of pulling away. A low, surprised moan

escaped Carla’s throat, swallowed whole by the ferocity of Lisa’s kiss. The frantic energy of the day, the endless talk of lace and bouquets, it all just melted, burned away by the sheer, shocking heat of this.

When Lisa finally broke for air, they were both panting. “I’ve been watching you all day,” Lisa breathed, her words hot against Carla’s cheek. “The way you bite your lip when you’re thinking. The way your dress wraps around your hips. It’s been driving me

insane.” Her hands slid down from Carla’s face, over her shoulders, coming to rest on her waist. Her thumbs pressed into the softness there, a firm, possessive pressure that made Carla’s stomach clench with need.

“We’re in a changing stall,” Carla gasped, even as she arched into Lisa’s touch.

“I know.” Lisa’s smile was a wicked, beautiful thing. She leaned in again, this time to bury her face in Carla’s neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin there. A mark, Carla thought dizzily, she’s going to leave a mark. The idea sent a jolt straight to her

core, a hot, pooling ache that demanded attention.

Lisa’s hands didn’t stay still. One slid around to the small of Carla’s back, pulling their bodies flush together, while the other roamed lower, cupping Carla’s ass through the thin fabric of her summer dress. She squeezed, a deliberate, groaning pressure that lifted Carla onto her toes.

“All those people out there,” Lisa whispered, her voice husky with want, “talking about forever. And all I can think about is right now. About you.” Her hand slipped from Carla’s ass, sliding around her hip and down the front of her thigh. She gathered the hem of the dress, her knuckles brushing against Carla’s bare skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

Carla’s head fell back against a rack of hanging veils, a soft cloud of tulle enveloping her. Her own hands were fisted in the back of Lisa’s blouse, holding on as the world narrowed to this tiny, illicit space. Lisa’s fingers found the soaked lace of her panties, and

a sharp, broken sound tore from Carla’s throat.

“So wet for me,” Lisa hummed, the words a dark, satisfied purr. “All this, for me.” She didn’t tease. She pushed the lace aside, and her fingers, clever and demanding, found the slick, heated core of her. Carla jerked against her, a helpless thrust of her hips
against Lisa’s hand.

“Lisa… someone will hear…”

“Then you’ll have to be quiet,” Lisa murmured, her mouth back on Carla’s, swallowing her next moan.

Her touch was relentless. Two fingers slid inside her, a perfect, stretching fullness that made Carla’s vision blur. Lisa’s palm pressed firmly against her, the heel of her hand providing a delicious, circling pressure on her clit with every thrust. The rhythm was brutal and perfect, each movement punctuated by the soft, wet sound of their bodies and their ragged, shared breaths.

Carla was unraveling, the carefully constructed composure of the day shredding under Lisa’s expert touch. The ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ from the crowd outside faded into a distant murmur, completely overshadowed by the roaring pulse in her ears. Her hips began to

move of their own accord, meeting each of Lisa’s thrusts, chasing the coiling, tightening pleasure building deep within her.

Lisa watched her, eyes dark with lust, drinking in every twitch of her face, every shudder that wracked her body. “That’s it,” she encouraged, her voice rough. “Let go. I want to feel you come. I want to feel you lose control because of me.”

It was the command in her voice that tipped Carla over the edge. A wave of pure, white-hot ecstasy crashed through her, so intense it was almost painful. Her body went rigid, her back arching off the mirror as a silent, open-mouthed scream was torn from her.

The pulses were endless, wracking shudders that clenched tightly around Lisa’s fingers, milking the sensation for every last drop.

Slowly, gently, Lisa withdrew her hand, and Carla sagged against her, boneless and trembling. Lisa held her up, peppering soft, kisses across her forehead, her cheeks, her swollen lips.

“See?” Lisa whispered, her own breathing still uneven. “Better than cake.”

Before Carla could even form a coherent thought, before the aftershocks had even fully subsided, Lisa was dropping to her knees on the thin carpet. The look in her eyes was feral, triumphant. She pushed Carla’s dress up to her waist, her hands gripping her hips, holding her in place against the mirror.

“I Want to taste you now,” she said, her voice thick with anticipation. “And don’t you dare be quiet.”

And then her mouth was on her, hot and hungry and knowing, and Carla’s head cracked back against the mirror with a thud as a whole new, sharper wave of sensation ripped through her…

…the curtain of the stall rustled.

Not the main entrance, a distant, rational part of Carla’s brain noted. The side, where it connected to the next stall.

A sliver of light cut through the dimness, and a woman’s voice, muffled but clear, spoke from the other side of the thin fabric wall. “Hello? Is someone in there? I think my clip-on veil fell through the gap.”

Lisa froze, her lips a breath away from Carla’s throbbing core. Carla’s eyes, wide with a fresh wave of panic and adrenaline, met Lisa’s startled gaze.

A jagged bolt of pure panic shot through Carla. Her hips jerked involuntarily, but Lisa’s grip on her thighs was like iron, holding her firmly in place against the wall. The voice from the other side of the fabric wall was unmistakable. It was Betsy.

Oh god. Betsy. Her sweet, trusting friend who was probably holding two fizzy drinks and a bag of pastries right now, completely oblivious to the storm of lust raging just inches away from her.

Lisa’s dark, intense eyes locked onto Carla’s, and a slow, wicked smile spread across her lips. The initial shock had vanished, replaced by a terrifying, thrilling resolve. She lowered her head again, her breath a hot promise against Carla’s soaking wet flesh.

“I’m not stopping,” Lisa whispered, her voice a husky, barely audible vibration that Carla felt more than heard. “You’ll have to be quiet.”

The command was absolute. It was a dare. It was a challenge that ignited something primal deep within Carla’s core, a part of her that was finally, gloriously awake and screaming for more. Her conservative upbringing, her years of neatly folded desires,

evaporated in the humid, charged air of the stall. All that was left was the pounding of her heart, the scent of their shared arousal, and the devastatingly skilled mouth that was about to claim her.

“Hello?” Betsy’s voice came again, closer now, tinged with mild confusion. “Is anyone there? I can hear breathing.”

Lisa didn’t hesitate. Her tongue, flat and firm, swept through Carla’s soaked folds in one long, languid stroke.

Carla’s head slammed back against the partition with a soft thud. A strangled gasp, half-pleasure, half-terror, caught in her throat. Her eyes squeezed shut, every neuron in her body firing at once, wholly focused on the point of contact between Lisa’s mouth

and her clit. Oh, god. Oh, fuck. The sensation was electric, a live wire of pure pleasure directly connected to her spine.

Lisa’s hands slid from Carla’s thighs to her hips, her fingers digging in possessively, holding her steady as she began to feast. She licked and sucked with a focused intensity, her motions slow and deliberate, savoring every taste, every tiny, quivering reaction she elicited from Carla.

“Must be the air conditioning,” Betsy murmured to herself on the other side of the wall. Carla could hear the rustle of her clothes as she presumably bent down to look for her lost veil.

The sound of Betsy's proximity, so normal and mundane, was the most potent aphrodisiac Carla had ever experienced. The risk was insane. The danger was palpable. And it made every flick of Lisa’s tongue feel a thousand times more intense. Her entire

world had shrunk to this impossible contradiction: the innocent chatter of her friend and the sinfully expert ministrations of her lover.

Lisa’s tongue circled her clit, a slow, torturous orbit that made Carla’s toes curl inside her shoes. She was building a rhythm, a slow, pulsing pressure that was already coiling a tight spring of pleasure deep in Carla’s belly. Carla bit down on her own fist,

muffling a desperate moan into her knuckles. The fabric of her dress was clenched in her other hand, her knuckles white with the effort of staying silent, of staying still.

Lisa moaned softly against her, the vibration shooting through Carla like a shockwave. She was enjoying this. The clandestine nature of it, the control, the sheer audacity—it was fueling her just as much as Carla’s taste was.

“So sweet,” Lisa breathed against her, her words hot and wet. “You’re dripping for me, aren’t you? Even with her right there.”

Carla could only nod frantically, a silent, desperate affirmation. She was past coherent thought, lost in a sea of sensation and fear and overwhelming need.

Lisa increased the pressure, her tongue moving faster now, a relentless, perfect friction on the most sensitive part of her. She slid two fingers inside Carla, and Carla’s internal muscles clenched around them instantly, a silken, wet fist gripping her, pulling her

deeper. Lisa crooned her approval, the sound vibrating through Carla’s very bones.

“Found it!” Betsy’s triumphant voice was jarringly loud. “It was stuck under the wheel of the clothing rack. Silly thing.”

No, no, don’t go. Stay. Please, just a little longer. The traitorous thought erupted from the deepest, most secret part of Carla’s psyche. She was balanced on the very edge, teetering, the climax a tangible presence just beyond her reach. The combination of

Lisa’s masterful mouth and the terrifying proximity of discovery was a drug, and she was its willing addict.

Lisa felt her impending release. She sucked Carla’s clit into her mouth, applying a firm, steady pressure while her fingers curled inside her, finding that perfect, magical spot.

It was too much. The coil snapped.

A silent, seismic wave of pleasure erupted from Carla’s core. Her body bowed against the wall, every muscle locking in a rigid arc of ecstasy. A scream built in her lungs, a primal, raw thing that she forced out through clenched teeth as a long, shuddering,

soundless exhalation. Her vision whited out, the world dissolving into pure, pulsing sensation as she convulsed around Lisa’s fingers, her orgasm utterly consuming her.

She rode the waves, her body trembling violently, her muffled cries the only sound in her own ears aside from the thunderous rush of her own blood.

On the other side of the wall, Betsy hummed a cheerful tune. “Right, drinks are probably getting warm. Better find the girls.”

The sound of her footsteps began to fade away.

Lisa gentled her mouth, lapping softly, tenderly, drawing out the last few shudders from Carla’s spent body until she was so sensitive it was almost painful. Only then did she slowly pull away, resting her forehead against Carla’s trembling thigh.

Carla slid down the wall, her legs completely useless. She landed in a heap on the small stool, her breathing ragged, her entire body slick with a fine sheen of sweat. She stared at Lisa, her eyes wide with a mixture of awe, terror, and satiated lust.

Lisa rose to her knees, her own breathing heavy. Her lips were glistening, her dark eyes blazing with triumphant fire. She didn’t wipe her mouth. She just looked at Carla, a conqueror surveying her thoroughly vanquished territory.

A slow, wicked smile touched her lips as she heard Betsy’s footsteps disappear completely. She leaned forward, her voice a low, provocative whisper in the sudden silence.

A low, throaty chuckle escaped Lisa’s lips as she watched Carla try to compose herself. The sound vibrated through the small, fabric-walled space, charged with a new kind of electricity. Her dark eyes, still burning with that triumphant fire, scanned Carla’s

disheveled form—the flushed skin, the heaving chest, the legs that were still visibly trembling.

“I don’t think you’re done sitting down just yet, sweetheart,” Lisa murmured, her voice a velvet promise. In one fluid, powerful motion, she closed the distance between them. Her hands, strong and sure, grasped Carla’s wrists and pulled her up from the stool.

Carla’s knees buckled instantly, a soft cry of surprise and weakness escaping her. But Lisa was ready, holding her firmly, her own body a solid pillar against Carla’s softness.

Lisa’s strength was breathtaking. She effortlessly spun Carla around, pressing her front against the cool, stark white of the partition wall. The rough texture of the fabric sample stapled to it scratched against Carla’s cheek, a stark contrast to the smooth heat of

Lisa’s body molding against her back.

“Shhh,” Lisa whispered into her ear, her breath hot and sending another violent shiver down Carla’s spine. One hand splayed across Carla’s stomach, anchoring her, pulling her hips back into the cradle of Lisa’s own. The other hand, the one still slick with

Carla’s own arousal, drifted down. Fingers trailed through the delicate, damp curls, a teasing, torturous promise.

Carla’s head fell back against Lisa’s shoulder, a moan trapped in her throat. Her entire world had narrowed to this stall, to the distant hum of the convention, to the scent of their mingled passion, and to the expert, knowing hands on her body. This is insane, a

distant part of her mind whispered, the ghost of her conservative past. But the thought was immediately vaporized by a surge of pure, unadulterated need. Lisa’s touch was erasing everything else.

Lisa’s mouth found the sensitive skin just below Carla’s ear, her teeth grazing lightly before her tongue soothed the spot. Her hips pressed forward, a slow, grinding rhythm that made Carla whimper. Carla's fingers were slowly reaching down to lisa's panties, stroking, circling, but

not yet giving her what she craved.

“You’re so wet for me ,” Carla breathed, the words laced with dark satisfaction. “So ready. You can’t hide it. I can feel it.” Her fingers slid lower, tracing her entrance, gathering the evidence of her words. Lisa bucked against her hand, a silent, desperate plea.

“Please,” Lisa finally gasped, the word torn from her. It was all the invitation Carla needed.

With a low growl of approval, Carla’s middle finger pushed into her. It was not a gentle entry; it was a claiming. A single, deep, perfect stroke that filled her exactly right. Lisa cried out, the sound muffled by her own arm pressed against her mouth. Her inner

muscles clenched around the intrusion, welcoming it, pulling it deeper.

Carla began to move, a slow, deliberate piston of her hand. Her palm rubbed against Lisa’s most sensitive spot with every inward thrust, creating a dual sensation that was quickly driving Carla back toward the edge. In… and out. In… and out. The rhythm was

hypnotic, maddening. Each movement was a masterclass in pleasure, hitting a spot deep inside that made stars dance behind Carla’s closed eyelids.

“That’s it,” Cara coaxed, her voice ragged with her own rising desire. Her teeth nipped at Lisa’s shoulder. “Let go for me. Come on my hand. I want to feel you come .”

Her words were a catalyst. The coil of tension in Lisa’s belly tightened unbearably. Carla’s free hand slid up from her stomach to cup her breast, pinching a hardened nipple through the fabric of her t-shirt. The world fractured.

Lisa’s climax ripped through her with a silent, seismic force. Her body went rigid against the wall, her mouth open in a soundless scream as wave after wave of pure, ecstatic pleasure convulsed through her. Her vision whited out, her knees finally giving way

completely, only Carla’s strong arms keeping her upright as she rode out the shattering release.

Carla held her through it, her fingers working her through the last pulses, whispering filthy, beautiful praises into her ear. When the last tremor subsided, lisa was boneless, held up solely by Carla’s embrace, her breath coming in ragged, sobbing gasps.

Slowly, gently, Carla withdrew her hand, Lisa’s eyes were glazed, unfocused. Carla brought her slick fingers to her own mouth, her intense dark eyes locked on Lisa’s, and slowly, deliberately, sucked them clean. The blatant, predatory act made a fresh, weak

thrill shoot through Lisa’s spent body.

Carla leaned forward, capturing Lisa’s lips in a deep, possessive kiss, letting her taste herself. It was primal and utterly intoxicating.

When they finally broke apart, Carla smoothed Lisa’s hair back from her damp forehead, a surprisingly tender gesture amidst the frenzy. She helped Lisa straighten her clothes as her t-shirt had ridden up slightly , her touch now soft and caring. The transformation from ruthless conqueror to attentive lover was as dizzying as the orgasm itself.

From outside, the muffled sound of the crowd and a faint call of “Lisa? Carla? Where did you two go?” drifted into the stall. Betsy was back.

Carla took a deep, shuddering breath, her body humming with a deep, sated glow. She looked at Lisa, at this beautiful, bold woman who had unlocked a part of her she’d kept buried for so long. A slow, blissful smile spread across her face, her voice barely a

whisper as she leaned her forehead against Lisa’s.

“Today was perfect."
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That night, after Betsy had been tucked into bed, they sat together on the sofa — exhausted but blissfully happy. The house was quiet, the world felt far away, and in that soft cocoon of peace, everything finally felt right.

“Do you think we deserve this?” Lisa asked softly, almost to herself.

Carla turned to her, eyes full of warmth. “More than anyone I know.”

They kissed then — slow and tender, a promise sealed once more. And as the night wrapped around them, their future no longer felt like a distant dream.

It was here. It was real. And it was waiting.

For the first time in so long, there was no fear. No shadows. No running.

Only love. Only forever.

Chapter Text

The rain fell heavy on the cobbles, enough to dampen anyone's mood. But at Number 6, the atmosphere was anything but miserable. The grey sky outside only made the inside feel warmer — a cocoon of love, laughter, and dreams taking shape. Still on a

high from yesterday’s wedding fayres, Lisa sat curled on the sofa, leafing through stacks of wedding magazines, the pages brimming with lace gowns, suits destined for women, pastel bouquets, and table settings she never imagined she’d one day care

about. Across the room, Carla was perched at the kitchen island, laptop open, scrolling through honeymoon destinations.

They had already made some decisions — big ones. The wedding cake would be three tiers: a rich carrot cake for the base (Carla’s absolute favourite), a light and fluffy Victoria sponge for the middle (Lisa’s pick), and a decadent chocolate fudge top tier

chosen by Betsy. The meal and finer details could come later, but right now, they were basking in the sweet anticipation of planning the day they’d been waiting for — the day that would finally make them forever.

Lisa set her magazine aside and padded into the kitchen, leaning against the island with a soft, almost shy smile. “Carla… where should we have the wedding? Any thoughts?”

Carla looked up from her screen, brow furrowed as she considered their options. “Well, we could go abroad,” she mused. “But I don’t fancy paying for everyone to fly halfway across the world, so that’s a no. The Bistro’s an option, but after what

happened with Dev and Bernie’s wedding…” — she pulled a face — “yeah, definitely a no. That leaves us with the Chariot Square Hotel. What do you think?”

Lisa’s eyes lit up. “I love that idea. It’s perfect. Should we go speak to Debbie and get a date sorted?”

Carla grinned, already grabbing her coat. “Yeah, let’s do it now. And yes, we’re having the reception there too — might as well keep everything in one place. It’ll be easier, more elegant… and less stress for us.”

They arrived at the Chariot Square Hotel on a mission. The rain hadn’t stopped, but even soaked in drizzle, Carla had that unstoppable determination that Lisa had fallen in love with. As soon as they stepped inside, they spotted Ryan manning the
reception desk.

He clocked them immediately, a cheeky grin spreading across his face. “Well, well, well. Lisa, Auntie Koala. I can guess why you’re here — although Betsy’s not with you, so I assume you’re not here to traumatise the guests.”

Lisa blushed furiously. Carla rolled her eyes. “Actually, Ryan, we’re here to speak to Debbie. Is she around?”

“Afraid not,” Ryan said, still smirking. “She’s out doing wedding planning — ironically enough. But I can help. What do you need?”

Carla exchanged a glance with Lisa and then stepped forward. “We’re ready to book our wedding and reception here. We’d love the main ballroom for the ceremony — something classic but intimate. Maybe around eighty guests?”

Ryan’s smirk softened into something warmer. “Eighty guests, main ballroom, reception after — got it. And do we have a date in mind?”

Lisa squeezed Carla’s hand. They had talked about this, quietly and secretly, for weeks. Now it felt real. “12th October 2027,” she said, voice trembling just slightly.

Ryan tapped at his screen, then looked up with a broad grin. “Booked. Congratulations, ladies. You’re officially on the calendar.”

Lisa laughed, a wave of emotion crashing over her. Carla slipped her arm around Lisa’s waist and kissed her temple. This was happening.

Back at Number 6, the house was filled with the comforting scent of béchamel, rich tomato sauce, and garlic. Carla was in her element, humming softly as she layered lasagne sheets in a baking dish, while Lisa set the table and poured two glasses of red
wine.

They tossed honeymoon ideas back and forth as the lasagne bubbled in the oven.

“Paris?” Lisa suggested.

“Too cliché,” Carla replied.

“Greece?”

“Too hot.”

“Ibiza?” Lisa grinned.

Carla turned, her eyes sparkling. “Now you’re talking. Sunshine, sea, cocktails… and you in a bikini. Yes, please.”

They were laughing when Betsy walked in from college, soaked from the rain but beaming at the delicious smells wafting through the kitchen. “That smells amazing,” she said, dropping her bag. “I’m starving. What’s for tea?”

“Lasagne and garlic bread,” Carla replied, pulling the dish from the oven. “And we’ve got some news for you too — but we’ll wait until we’re sat down.”

Over dinner, Betsy eagerly showed Carla some new designs she’d drawn for her fashion course. Carla offered thoughtful feedback, scribbling ideas and tips in the margins. It was a perfect, ordinary family moment — and yet, the news waiting to be

shared made the air fizz with excitement.

“So,” Betsy said at last, Scooping a bit of lasagne up onto her fork, “what did you two do today? And please — please keep it clean. I want to keep my food down.”

Lisa nearly choked on her wine. “Cheeky,” she laughed. “We actually decided on a wedding venue — and a date.”

Betsy’s fork clattered onto her plate. “Really? That’s amazing! Where?”

“Chariot Square Hotel,” Carla said, eyes shining. “And the big day is the 12th of October, 2027.”

Betsy gasped, her face lighting up like a Christmas tree. “That’s perfect! Oh my God, I can’t wait!”

Lisa reached across the table and squeezed Carla’s hand, their fingers intertwining. Rain lashed against the windows, but inside, everything was warm — laughter echoing through the kitchen, plans taking shape, hearts growing fuller.

Later that night, when Betsy had gone to bed, Lisa and Carla curled up on the sofa with mugs of tea and a blanket draped over their laps. The storm outside had eased to a soft drizzle. Carla rested her head on Lisa’s shoulder, tracing absent circles on
her fiancée’s palm.

“Can you believe we’re actually doing this?” she whispered.

Lisa kissed the top of her head. “I can. And I’ve never been happier.”

They stayed like that for a long time — two women who had survived chaos, heartbreak, fear, and danger. And now, they were finally planning the life they’d fought so hard for.

The rain still fell on the cobbles. But inside Number 6, love was winning. And nothing — not Becky, not the past, not even the darkest storm — could take that away.

Chapter Text

Today was back to business as usual. The morning sunlight crept through the kitchen blinds, painting soft golden lines across the breakfast table. Conversation flowed easily between them — a blend of wedding plans, honeymoon ideas, and mundane chatter

about work. For all the excitement swirling around them lately, it was mornings like this — simple, warm, and ordinary — that Lisa cherished most.

Carla was halfway through a bite of toast when something clicked in her mind. She froze mid-chew, eyes widening as the thought surfaced. “We haven’t told Michelle we’ve set a date,” she said, lowering the toast onto her plate. “Do you think we should give her a call?”

Lisa looked up from the magazine she’d been idly flipping through. “Well, do you want to call her now, whilst i go and get ready for work?”

Carla nodded, already reaching for her phone. Lisa excused her self and went upstairs to shower and get ready for work , in the meantime Carla tapped in Michelle’s contact, waited a few moments, and then smiled as the familiar voice answered.

“’Bout time you called,” Michelle teased. “I was starting to think you’d eloped without me.”

“What and face your wrath , no thanks ,” Carla laughed. “But we have set a date. 12th October 2027. Chariot Square Hotel. Ceremony and reception both.”

Michelle let out a squeal so loud Lisa could hear it from across the table. “Oh my God, Carla! That’s perfect! I’m so happy for you both. Honestly, I’m just so relieved you’re doing it properly — none of this registry office nonsense.”

Carla smirked. “You didn’t think I’d go all out for this?”

“Of course I did,” Michelle said warmly. “I wouldn’t expect anything less. And listen — whatever you need, I’m there. Maid of honour duties, hen night planning, calming you down when you inevitably lose it two days before — all covered.”

Carla’s heart softened. “Thanks, Shell. It means a lot.”

“Now go,” Michelle chuckled. “You’ve got a wedding to plan.”

Lisa hugged her daughter goodbye and kissed Carla, lingering just a second longer before they both stepped out into the crisp morning air. Together they walked partway — Betsy towards college, Carla towards Underworld — before Lisa peeled off towards her

car, heading to the station.

Sitting at her desk, Lisa switched on her computer. The engagement ring on her finger glistened in the morning light, catching her eye. She stroked it gently with her thumb, a small, private smile tugging at her lips.

“This is really happening, isn’t it…” she murmured to herself, still gazing at the ring.

Kit walked in, coffee in hand, catching her dreamy expression. “You set a date for the wedding yet?” he smirked.

“We have, yes — 12th October 2027,” Lisa said, unable to hide her grin. “Any more news on Becky’s whereabouts?”

Kit sighed. “She hasn’t been seen for a while, but I’ve given every PC her description. They know if they spot her, they’re not to engage — just call for backup.”

Lisa nodded, the warmth in her chest cooling slightly at the mention of Becky. “Good. I’ve got a feeling she’s not done yet.”

Meanwhile, Underworld was buzzing with the steady rhythm of sewing machines and quiet chatter. Carla was deep in conversation with Sarah, reviewing a contract for a potential new client.

“Let’s make sure the delivery schedule’s realistic,” Carla said, scanning the final page. “I don’t want us over committing.”

With the meeting an hour away, Carla asked Sarah to prep the boardroom, then called out as she was leaving, “Can you get Betsy for me? I think it’s time she sat in on one of these meetings.”

Betsy appeared a few minutes later, looking slightly nervous. “You wanted to see me, boss? I haven’t messed up an order, have I?”

Carla chuckled, shaking her head. “No, love. Nothing like that. I’ve got a client meeting shortly, and I’d like you to sit in. It’s time you started learning more about the business.”

Betsy’s eyes widened. “Are you serious? I’d love to sit in!”

“Good. And if you’ve got any ideas while we’re in there, don’t be afraid to speak up.”

The meeting began promptly at eleven. The client, a representative from a major boutique chain, outlined their interest in launching a new eco-conscious line. Carla handled most of the negotiation — pricing, timelines, delivery logistics — while Betsy listened
intently, taking notes.

Halfway through, Betsy raised her hand slightly. “If I may,” she began, heart racing. “Have you considered using recycled thread for the embroidery? It’d keep costs down and strengthen the eco angle. We could even market the stitching as ‘sustainably sourced detail.’”

The client paused, impressed. “That’s… actually a brilliant idea. It gives the product an extra layer of credibility.”

Carla’s chest swelled with pride. Betsy had done it — her first real contribution.

By lunchtime, Lisa popped by Underworld with Four bacon sandwiches from Roy’s — with far too much ketchup on Carla’s, of course — plus a custard slice for herself and Three carrot cakes for Carla, Ryan and Betsy. Betsy brewed four mugs of tea, and they all

settled in Carla’s office for lunch.

Betsy was practically bouncing with excitement. “Mum, you’ll never guess — Carla let me sit in on the client meeting today!”

Lisa’s eyes widened. “Really? That’s brilliant!”

“She even pitched an idea,” Carla added proudly. “And they loved it. They’re seriously considering it for the launch.”

Lisa reached over and squeezed her daughter’s hand. “I’m so proud of you, Bets. This is just the beginning.”

“Speaking of beginnings,” Carla said between bites of carrot cake, I forgot to tell you about this morning, when i called Michelle . I Told her about the date.”

Ryan smiled " i can just imagine moms reaction now"

Lisa laughed. “let me guess she screamed?”

“Yes, she did. Loud enough to wake the neighbors.”

Ryan laughed out loud almost falling off the chair " Yep that's my mom"

They decided, to celebrate by clinking their mugs of coffee together .

"To our future, all of our futures" They all said in unison

The Bistro was lively that evening, filled with the clinking of glasses and soft laughter. They snagged a table near the window, they decided to come to the Bistro to celebrate their new beginnings , the rain still pattering softly against the glass.

The conversation flowed easily — Lisa told them about her latest case (though carefully skirting sensitive details), Ryan shared a story about a rowdy party of twelve who had practically destroyed the diner the night before, and Carla and Betsy discussed plans

for the new sustainable fashion line Betsy was now unofficially spearheading.

It was one of those nights that felt like a snapshot — one they’d remember for years.

But outside, hidden in the shadows just beyond the Bistro’s warm glow, Becky stood silently. Her hood was pulled low, her eyes fixed on the laughing trio inside.

“Soon,” she hissed under her breath, jaw tightening. “Your happiness will come to an end.”

Later, back at Number 6, the laughter continued. The three of them curled up on the sofa with a film playing softly in the background, glasses of wine in hand. Betsy, exhausted from her day, fell asleep against Carla’s shoulder, her head nestled comfortably

against her step-mum to be .

Carla wrapped her arm gently around her, pulling her closer. Betsy stirred but didn’t wake, snuggling deeper into her embrace.

Lisa watched them, her heart swelling almost painfully in her chest. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them away.

Four years ago, this had felt like a dream too far — a family, a home, a life filled with love instead of fear. They’d faced kidney transplants, being held hostage, trauma that could have torn them apart. But here they were — stronger, closer, happier.

And Lisa knew, with every fibre of her being, that she would do anything to protect them. Whatever it took. Whatever the cost.

Because this — this — was worth fighting for.

Chapter Text

The full moon was high above the night sky, round and watchful, casting a pale glow over Weatherfield’s cobbled streets. Most of the town was still and silent — curtains drawn, lamps extinguished, the gentle rhythm of sleep settling over the houses. All except one.

In the narrow, litter-strewn alley behind the Rovers Return, a lone figure lingered in the shadows, her breath visible in the cool night air. The harsh blue glare of a phone screen illuminated her face — sharp, gaunt, and burning with hatred.

Becky scrolled with trembling fingers through social media posts, each one twisting the knife a little deeper. There was Lisa, arm wrapped around Carla at the Bistro, laughing. Another photo: Betsy showing off a design project, tagged proudly by Lisa , Becky

couldn't look anymore she was insanely jealous that she wasn't involved in Betsy's life. Becky tried to search for Carla, but Carla has no social media, what a bore. She clicks back onto Betsy's Facebook page scrolling down and comes across a post about the

wedding date — October 12th, 2027 , Venue - Chariot Square Hotel — with a photo of the engagement ring sparkling on Lisa’s hand.

Perfect. Happy. Whole.

Becky’s lip curled. “What a shame Carla won’t make it to the wedding,” she muttered under her breath, venom coating every word.

The sound of footsteps echoed against the damp brick walls. Heavy, deliberate. Becky didn’t look up from the screen. “You’re late,” she hissed.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” a voice replied, low and gravelly. A tall silhouette emerged from the shadows — broad-shouldered, wearing a dark hoodie pulled over their head. “So, what’s this so-called plan of yours? My patience is wearing thin, Becky. I told you what

would happen if I don’t get my money.”

Becky finally looked up, a cruel smile tugging at her lips. “Relax. You’ll get your money — and then some.” She tucked her phone into her pocket and stepped closer, the moonlight glinting in her eyes. “There’s a safe at Underworld. It’s full of cash — they don’t

even know how much they’ve got sitting in there. Maybe you get one of the workers to open it for you. And then…”

She paused, her grin widening into something darker. “Do whatever you like with them. Kidnap them. Kill them. I don’t care. All I want in return is to see that factory burn. I want to see flames licking up those walls until there’s nothing left but ash.”

The figure shifted uncomfortably. “And what good is that going to do?”

Becky’s voice dropped to a whisper, her words dripping with hatred. “Carla Connor will run to that factory — she always does. It’s her life, her heart, her soul. I want to see her face when she sees it reduced to rubble. I want her to suffer. I want her to lose —

everything — just as I have.”

Her breath quickened, years of anger bubbling to the surface. “She thinks she’s untouchable. That she can ruin people’s lives and walk away smiling. But she’s not strong. She always runs when things get too tough. Burn her world to the ground, and she’ll leave

Weatherfield for good. Then…” — she inhaled deeply, almost dreamily — “then I can finally get my life back.”

The man stepped closer, so close now that Becky could smell the cigarettes on his breath. “You’re playing with fire, Becky. You cross this line — there’s no going back. The police won’t stop looking. They’ll find you.”

Becky’s grin didn’t falter. “Let them look. They’ll never prove a thing. And by the time they realise what’s happened, Carla will be gone, and everything she loves will be in ashes.”

For a moment, silence fell between them, the only sound the distant hum of a passing car and the faint rattle of a pub door in the wind.

“Fine,” the man said finally. “I’ll get a team together. But I want double what you promised.”

“Deal,” Becky said without hesitation. “Just make sure it’s done before the wedding.”

The man nodded and melted back into the darkness, his footsteps fading until only silence remained. Becky stayed where she was, leaning against the cold brick wall, heart racing with twisted satisfaction.

She closed her eyes and pictured it — flames devouring the factory, smoke choking the air, Carla standing amidst the wreckage with nothing left to hold on to. It was almost beautiful.

But as she stood there, a gust of wind swept through the alley, scattering a discarded flyer against her leg. Becky bent down and glanced at it absently — a poster for Chariot Square Hotel. The wedding venue.

A new idea flickered in her mind. Something even more devastating. More personal. More final.

“Maybe,” she whispered to herself, “I’ve been thinking too small.”

And with that chilling thought, Becky disappeared into the night — a ghost slipping back into the darkness, plotting a storm that no one could see coming.

Somewhere across town, in a quiet house on Coronation Street, Lisa stirred in her sleep and tightened her arm around Carla, unaware of the danger drawing closer with every heartbeat.

The night was calm. But a reckoning was coming. And Becky had only just begun.

Chapter Text

Morning light spilled softly through the kitchen window of Number 6, filling the room with a golden warmth that made everything feel a little safer — even if it wasn’t. The smell of scrambled eggs and toast hung in the air as the kettle clicked off, and Ryan

poured tea into mismatched mugs while Carla plated up breakfast.

It was one of those mornings that almost felt normal — the four of them together, laughing, teasing, and clinging to the little moments of peace that still existed. But under that domestic calm was a tension they were all pretending not to feel. Becky hadn’t

been seen since the night in the alley. Too quiet. Too still. And that was almost worse.

Betsy sat at the table swinging her legs, watching her mom with a mischievous smile. “Mum,” she said, breaking the silence. “I’ve been thinking… maybe I should get the bus to college today.”

Lisa nearly dropped the toast she was buttering. “Absolutely not,” she replied without looking up. “We’ve talked about this. I’m driving you until—”

“Mum,” Betsy interrupted, her tone soft but firm. “I’ll be fine. You’ve got work, Carla’s got the factory, and I’m not a kid anymore. I know karate, remember?”

Carla snorted into her tea. “Oh, here we go…”

“No, seriously!” Betsy said, leaping up from her chair and planting her feet firmly on the kitchen floor. “If Becky tries anything, I’ll just—”

She twisted her hips and threw a dramatic chop at the air, followed by a clumsy kick that nearly made her lose her balance.

“—HIYAH!”

Ryan almost spat his tea out laughing. “Wow, remind me never to mess with you.”

Carla was crying with laughter, clutching her stomach. “Oh, Bets, you’d terrify her with that fierce stance.”

Even Lisa, trying to stay serious, cracked a smile. “Alright, Jackie Chan,” she said, shaking her head. “Fine. You can get the bus. But only if you text me the second you get there.”

“Deal.” Betsy grinned, triumph written all over her face. She kissed her mom on the cheek, hugged Carla tight, and with toast still in hand, dashed out the door.

The laughter lingered in the kitchen, but none of them noticed the pair of eyes watching from the alley across the street. Becky. Hood pulled low, jaw clenched, a look of pure determination etched across her face.

Betsy hopped on the bus with the same confidence she’d shown in the kitchen, plugging in her headphones and humming to herself as the familiar streets rolled by. But a few yards behind, weaving silently through traffic, Becky followed on a rusted bicycle

she’d stolen weeks before.

She watched Betsy step off the bus and jog over to her group of friends, laughing and chatting. Becky’s chest tightened — her daughter, happy and grown-up, and she’d missed all of it.

But the bitterness hardened her again. That’s Carla’s fault. Carla stole her from me.

Becky parked the bike behind a row of bins and waited, crouched behind the college building. The moment Betsy waved goodbye to her friends and started towards the entrance, Becky made her move.

She darted out from behind the corner, grabbed Betsy by the arm and yanked her into the side alley. Her hand clamped over the girl’s mouth before she could scream.

Betsy’s eyes widened — then narrowed in fury when she saw who it was.

“What the hell are you doing here, Becky?” she hissed the moment she could speak.

“I want to talk to you, Betsy,” Becky said, breathless, desperate. “I am your mum, after all. I’d prefer you call me that.”

“You lost the right to be called that when you pretended to be dead,” Betsy spat, ripping her arm from Becky’s grip.

“Please. Just talk to me,” Becky begged. “Five minutes. That’s all I ask.”

“Fine. But just this once,” Betsy snapped. “There’s a café five minutes from here. Meet me there at lunch.”

She stormed off towards the building without another word. Becky exhaled shakily. It’s something, she told herself. It’s a start.

The café was small and cosy, the kind of place with handwritten menus and steaming mugs on every table. Becky was already there when Betsy arrived, sitting by the window with trembling hands around a cup of tea.

Betsy walked in without a word, threw her bag on the floor and dropped into the chair opposite. “So. What do you want?”

“I just want to talk,” Becky said carefully. “I want to see how you are.”

“I’m fine. Can I go now?” Betsy folded her arms, her voice like ice.

“I’ve seen your social media,” Becky continued, trying to sound light. “You’re doing so well with fashion.”

“So you’re stalking me now?” Betsy shot back. “Like you were when we went to get Carla from Ireland?”

“I was just making sure you were safe.”

“I’m always safe when I’m with Mum and Carla.”

The words stung, and Becky’s temper snapped. “Yeah, well, Carla will be out of the picture soon enough. She isn’t right for Lisa!” she shouted, her voice rising enough to make the café go silent.

Betsy pushed back her chair and stood, anger burning in her chest. “How would you know? You haven’t been here! Who never gave up on me when I messed up? Who was there when my boyfriend was killed? When I was chased and terrified? When I was shot?”

Her voice cracked, but she didn’t stop. “Carla was. She is. And she always will be a better mother than you.”

She turned and stormed towards the door — but Becky grabbed her arm.

“Betsy, please—”

Without thinking, Betsy grabbed a drink from a nearby table and threw it at her. Becky gasped as the liquid soaked her shirt, loosening her grip just long enough for Betsy to wrench herself free.

She ran. Out the door. Down the street. She didn’t stop running, not even when her lungs burned and her legs ached. All she wanted was home. All she wanted was her mum.

Lisa had come home for lunch, still in her work blazer, when the front door burst open. Betsy stumbled in, breathless, cheeks wet with tears.

“Betsy? What—”

But before she could finish, Betsy threw herself into her arms, sobbing uncontrollably. Lisa wrapped her daughter in a tight embrace, her own heart breaking at the sight.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” she whispered, stroking her hair. “It’s okay. You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

Betsy clung to her like she was six years old again, like the world had turned on its head and the only solid ground left was her mother’s arms, she was trembling, her chest heaving with sobs that made it hard for her to breathe. Lisa pulled back just enough to

look into her daughter’s tear-streaked face. “Talk to me, love,” she urged gently. “What happened?”

Betsy hiccupped through the tears, words tumbling out in jagged fragments. “S-she was there… at college… Becky. She grabbed me — pulled me behind the building and wouldn’t let go.” Her voice cracked again, and Lisa felt her own heart squeeze painfully.

“She said… infact she had the audacity to say she was my mum.” The bitterness in her voice was sharp, even as the tears kept falling. “I told her she wasn’t. Not anymore. And she… she begged me to talk to her, so I said we could meet in a café at lunch.”

Lisa’s blood ran cold, but she stayed quiet, stroking Betsy’s hair to encourage her to keep going.

“When I got there, she started acting all nice at first — talking about how she’d seen my social media and how proud she was.” Betsy let out a broken laugh, one that sounded more like a sob. “But then she changed. She said Carla isn’t right for you. That Carla’s

going to be ‘out of the picture.’ She shouted it, Mum. In front of everyone.”

Lisa felt the rage rising in her chest, but she bit it back and focused on Betsy’s shaking hands.

“I told her… I told her Carla was there when no one else was. That she was there when I was scared, when I was shot, when everything went wrong. That she’s a better mum than Becky could ever be.” Her voice faltered. “I tried to leave, but she grabbed my arm,

and I panicked, so I threw a drink at her and ran.”

The last words came out as a whisper, barely audible through the tears. “I just wanted to come home… I just wanted you.”

Lisa felt her own tears spilling now, silent and hot against her cheeks. She pressed a trembling kiss to Betsy’s temple, holding her as close as she possibly could.

“Oh, my darling girl,” she whispered. “You did nothing wrong. Not a single thing. She doesn’t get to hurt you anymore — not physically, not emotionally, not ever. You’re safe here, with me. I promise.”

Betsy clung to her tighter, the last of her strength crumbling in Lisa’s arms. And in that moment, Lisa swore silently to herself — Becky had crossed a line that could never be uncrossed. She would burn the earth itself before she ever let that woman near her

daughter again.

Lisa kissed the top of Betsy’s head and gently rubbed her back, trying to slow the sobs still shuddering through her body. “Alright, sweetheart,” she whispered softly. “You’ve been through enough for one day. Why don’t you go upstairs, run yourself a nice warm

bath and try to relax, hmm? I’ll take care of everything else, I'll call Carla.”

Betsy shook her head immediately, panic flashing across her tearful eyes. “No, Mum… you can’t. Please don’t call Carla. She’s at work — she’s busy. I don’t want her to worry.”

Lisa cupped her daughter’s face in her hands, her own eyes glistening. “Darling, she will want to know. This isn’t something we keep from her. She loves you, and she’d never forgive me if I didn’t tell her what happened. We’re in this together, all of us.”

For a moment, Betsy just stared at her, trembling and scared, but then she gave a small, reluctant nod. “O-okay…” she whispered. “I’ll go run a bath.”

“Good girl,” Lisa said gently, brushing a strand of hair from Betsy’s damp cheek. “Go on now. Take your time. I’ll be right here.”

Betsy climbed the stairs slowly, wiping at her face with the sleeve of her hoodie, and soon Lisa heard the faint sound of running water upstairs. As soon as she was sure Betsy was out of earshot, Lisa grabbed her phone from the kitchen counter and dialed

Carla’s number with trembling fingers.

Carla picked up almost immediately. “Hey, love — everything alright?”

“No,” Lisa breathed, her voice shaking despite her best efforts to stay calm. “Carla, Becky was at the college. She grabbed Betsy. They met at a café, and Becky shouted at her — said you were going to be ‘out of the picture.’ Betsy threw a drink at her and ran all

the way home. She’s upstairs now, in bits.”

There was silence for half a second — then Carla’s tone hardened. “I’m coming home.”

“Carla, you don’t have to—”

“Yes, I do,” Carla interrupted firmly. “We’re not letting this go on. We need to make a plan, Lisa. This ends now.”

Lisa closed her eyes and exhaled shakily, a strange mix of relief and fear swirling inside her chest. “Okay. Just be safe, she is probably out there somewhere. I'll be waiting for you.”

As she ended the call, Lisa glanced up the stairs, hearing the faint splash of water from the bathroom and wishing she could wash away every trace of fear from her daughter’s heart. But one thing was certain now — Becky had crossed a line. And this time, Carla

and Lisa were going to make sure she never came near their family again.