A/N: Wow, words cant explain how much I love the reviews I have received over the course of the past few chapters. I would definitely say that reviews are a huge part of the motivation that I get for writing (as well as a nice playlist, always takes me a long way). I'm surprised that I even have the motivation to update anything today considering I've spent the past two weeks doing non stop university coursework without a single break. I'm exhausted, but somehow highly motivated.
Thank you thank you thank you for all the kind words you've all given me for this story, I hope that you still continue to enjoy it while we get down to the nitty gritty. The next few chapters are angsty and sad and necessary because you can't write about something like this without being completely honest about the problems that come with it.
So, here we go...
Enjoy and please please please review – I mean, it's not like I wont update it if you don't, but It's like the equivalent of a normal author being paid money, makes me all happy and giddy!
I'm really proud of this chapter...is that okay to say?
Have a wonderful day :)
Lena
When you wake up, with your arms wrapped around a sleeping stef, you feel blissfully unaware of the world outside of your bedroom. You feel so calm that you think for a moment that you can fall back asleep, but Stef rolls over to face you and the gleam in her eyes makes you shiver.
You are Mrs Lena Adams-Foster. Married. You are married to the most wonderful woman on the planet.
You couldn't be happier.
After an hour of alone time with your new wife, you both sit up and put on some comfortable clothes and the smile doesn't leave your lips the entire time.
You've waited an entire lifetime for this, even when you didn't know it was what you really wanted, you were waiting. You can tell, by the calmness in Stefs voice, that she feels the same.
Like you never knew you were lost, but you somehow seem to have been found.
Then, quite suddenly, you think of Callie.
You think of the tears you had witnessed, of the way she fell asleep on your lap, of the impossible lightness of her body when you lifted her and placed her under the covers.
You think of Callie and guilt is like a kick in the stomach.
You look around at stef, who is putting on pyjamas and humming a happy sounding tune with a huge grin on her face and you feel a little bit more guilty.
Because this conversation can't wait.
And you're about to put a downer on your first day of being married.
"I'm worried about Callie." You say, and your voice is smaller than you'd wanted it to be, like a croak, like you're scared of how this might end.
Like you don't ever want to lose your daughter. Because she is your daughter.
Stef glances at you mid hum and her voice dies down, like the end of a song. Then she moves across the room and sits down next to you, clearly sensing that something is bothering you. And you know that it has been bothering her, too. You have seen it in her eyes for the past week, when she looks at Callie like the girl might break, when you find her close to tears leaning over the pile of dishes. She feels guilty, just as guilty as you, and there's nothing either of you can do about it.
Except maybe try to help your daughter.
Because she is your daughter.
Stef reaches over and her fingers trace your hands, she keeps her head ducked low and you catch a glimpse of the start of tears welling in her eyes, but she shakes it off and takes a raggedy breath. "I am, too." She whispers.
The truth floats heavy in the room for a few moments as you both stare into a void, thinking about the same thing and yet avoiding talking about the same thing. You think it's funny that you are now Mrs Lena Adams-Foster and you seemed to have inherited her inability to communicate when there is something pressing down on her mind.
The hardest part of this isn't that you've discovered that your daughter is sick. The hardest part isn't the fact that her body could continue to shut down if a plan of action isn't in place in the next day or two. That's not the hardest part of it.
The cold truth is that the hardest part of this whole thing...
It's that you're scared of your daughters demons.
You're scared of what they'll do to her, of what they'll take away from you.
You're scared you're daughter might end up ruining herself.
You're scared that it's already happened.
"I carried her to bed last night," you mumble, and you look at stef for a brief moment. "and I could feel her bones under her dress. She was so light, Stef. Lighter than Jude. She fainted yesterday afternoon and I forced her to eat a few pancakes and the fear in her face...she's sick."
Stef sighs and takes her gaze away from your hands to look into your eyes. "We'll fix this, love."
But neither of you can really believe it.
And neither of you say.
. . .
You decide that it might be best to talk to her right away. Despite the worry induced nausea bubbling at the pit of your stomach, you know this is something that cannot be put off. Not for another day.
Both of you sneak across the hall, hand in hand, and push the girls' door open quietly, to find Mariana still sound asleep and Callie's bed empty.
You think nothing of it. She's always up before everyone else these days, she barely ever sleeps these days in the first place, and so you expect her to be down in the kitchen, haunched over a cup of coffee.
But there's only Stef's mom.
And you look around, confused for a moment. It's 7am, it's a saturday morning, and Callie doesn't take guitar lessons anymore. Could she be out for a run?
Stef gives you a look that says it all, she's pissed at the girl for leaving the house, and she's worried about where she has gone.
"I'll call her." You say, grabbing your cell off of the table and dialling her number.
It rings out and then Hello, you've reached Callie Jacob. I'm not available at the moment but if you leave a message I will try and get back to you.
And the nausea gets worse. The guilt deepens.
Your hands shake.
Both of you walk back up to her room, hand in hand, as though it might bring some comfort.
Her drawers and wardrobe are empty, and there is a note hidden underneath her pillow that you see peaking out of the bottom.
I'm sorry.
Parents are supposed to know what to do in these situations. Call it maternal instinct, like your motherly brain chemistry should kick right into action. But, the real truth is that sometimes it's hard to really know how to deal with situations you never think you'll deal with.
Like when Jesus got pneumonia.
Like when Mariana sold drugs for her birth mother.
Like when Brandon fell off his bike and broke his arm in three places and passed out from the pain.
There's some things that shake you to the core.
This is something you'd never seen coming. The sickness brought on by her own demons in her own mind. The depression that's been drowning the whole family, even though none of you have really talked about it.
Callie is gone.
She's gone and you just don't understand why.
Because she's your daughter.
And she has been for a long time, even when you hadn't planned on it. The moment you looked into her tearful eyes when you'd first met her, you'd felt something deep inside you just as you had when you'd met Mariana and Jesus. You felt something good, and strong, and sort of scary.
People say you are mother to the child you hold in your stomach.
They don't tell you that it feels the same way when you meet a kid for the first time who's never really had a good family and a good home and they don't explain that, the second you wrap your arms around them and offer them a place to sleep, they become your family, too.
You couldn't imagine your life without these kids, even though there was a time that you had a life without these kids.
Was it ever really a life at all?
. . .
"When was the last time any of you seen her?"
Everyone looks around the table at each other, looking for answers in each others eyes, and you know that it takes everyone by surprise as much as it did you and Stef.
They're all scared.
Jude is staring down at the floor, he hasn't said a word since you'd brought them all down to tell them.
Stef worries that she will need to tell Callie's parole officer.
Everyone worries that Callie might get sicker.
You hate it, but you worry that you might not ever see her again.
Jude looks terrified.
"Jude? Sweetie? It's going to be okay." And you know that it might be a lie, just hopeful wishing.
He looks up at you and you hate the tears in his eyes.
"what if she doesn't come back?" He asks.
Your heart breaks.
"She will, honey."
You say it because you want to believe it.
"We'll get her back, baby."
You say it because she is your daughter.
And you need to see her again.