Here I am again, my dearies, back with another chapter. Things have been a little crazy around here... some stuff happened at my school (although that was, like one or two weeks ago); a kinda-classmate almost jumped off the school building (four stories) so... yeah. I won't go into detail. I was just a little down for some days and now my mom's been kinda not that good with her mental health and it's been a hell of a week. But I've managed to finish this chapter and... here we are.
I really struggled with the first half -I hope it's come out okay (?)- but the second half kinda just flowed out of me if you know what I mean. I'd love to hear your thoughts on this! (Thanks as always, by the way, for your wonderful, kind reviews. They make my day every single time.)
I haven't started writing chapter 24 yet and I haven't made up my mind what's gonna happen there, so feel free to wish for something or whatever. I hope you're all safe and healthy!
Now... enjoy!

(the title is the same-titled song by Angelica Hale.)

Started writing: 03.09.2020

Finished writing: 20.09.2020

Chapter 23
Overcome

Shelby.

Rachel's birthday just so happens to be on a Friday this year and it awakes some very constricting emotions in Shelby. Because Fridays still marks the day that she found out that they'd basically been living a lie -that her husband had been cheating on her- for three years, and she can't really find it in her to forget about it, even though today's also the same day that her beautiful second daughter was born. It's a weekday and winter break is only starting next week which means Rachel's still the first one up, training on her elliptical, before Santana can even get to open her eyes and Shelby can roll out of bed to get ready. She's never been the typical late riser but also never had a problem with sleeping in. Standing up at 6:30 to get ready for work, finish marking some assignments and then go downstairs to see the girls out is manageable. Standing up at 5:50 to prepare everything for Rachel's birthday before the girl is up and about, isn't. Well, the lengths she'd willingly go to for her children…

It's a beautiful day -at least for Winter-in-Ohio standards- and the cake frosting stays just where it's supposed to be even when Shelby puts in the candles and they even manage to eat a piece each before their departure -although that means that Rachel can't start unwrapping her presents. Though she really tries to hide it, Shelby still catches Rachel glancing at the empty seat to her side several times and the kiss to her daughter's forehead lingers longer as she sees her off at the front door.

"I love you, honey," she says into her ear, holding her closer than any other day. "Have a wonderful day."
She knows it won't make up for the one that's missing but she can at least hope it will make the hurt fade just a little bit.

During her lunch break, Shelby gets a text from Santana (always the attentive big sister); a photo of Rachel and Kurt laughing over something on Kurt's phone—and looking very happy too. It's a relief to Shelby to see her daughter this happy, even under these circumstances. She wouldn't—couldn't—have asked for more and when the door to her office opens to reveal Joshua Parker -a student who skipped her class multiple times this school year- she even manages to conjure up a tight-lipped smile of sorts.

"Mr. Parker," she says, 'offering' him the chair in front of her desk. "I'd been thinking about reporting you missing with the many classes you cut."

She can't say she doesn't enjoy the guilty and slightly scared look on the boy's face.

Hanukkah and Christmas pass by in a blur -which is strange, considering that Shelby's always loved the holiday season. The girls and she bake tons and tons of cookies to send them to either a charity for homeless people -Rachel insists and neither Shelby nor Santana disagree with her caring gesture- or the people in their neighborhood (though only the nicest of them) and they spend multiple evenings on the couch watching corny Christmas movies and the old Disney classics. It's only two days before Christmas that Shelby realizes that the girls have been around much more than last year—or any other year before.

She's sitting on the couch, very fittingly the May issue of fine Gardening opened on her lap and Santana lays on the other end of the couch and braids Rachel's hair who's sitting in front of her on the floor and zapping through different channels.

Shelby watches them for a second; Santana's careful strokes through Rachel's dark brown hair and the way her oldest daughter bites down on her tongue as she focuses on the braiding. There's a plate of cookies on the coffee table that Shelby's sure she didn't put there, and a stack of papers and a few pencils have been tossed carelessly on the floor next to the couch. Usually, her daughters never do anything school or Glee-related in her presence—they need the calm and space to concentrate—or to get the answers by a trustful friend -Shelby's not stupid- but now, they seem to actively seek her presence. And it's not like Shelby's about to complain; she loves having them close, especially in times like this when no one really knows what to expect and when unanswered questions and great uncertainties suddenly seem dangerous.

She watches as Santana disappears in Ms. Jackson's office and gently folds her into her arms when, an hour later, she walks out with tearstained cheeks and bloodshot eyes.

"Christmas is always a hard time," says Ms. Jackson with the hint of a smile on her lips. "It's important to stick together, now more than ever."

Shelby nods swiftly, presses a kiss to Santana's hair. "Of course."

Santana doesn't say a thing on the entire ride back, just sits there quietly in the passenger seat and stares ahead at the road and Shelby's concern rises when her daughter doesn't react to any of her attempts to take her hand. When she drives the car into the parking space in front of her house, she turns, one hand on the seatbelt and looks at her daughter for a second. She's just about to say something when suddenly, Santana opens her mouth to beat her to it.

"Mom, can I get my driving license?"
Shelby blinks, a little taken aback. "I-I… what?"
Slowly, Santana turns to her. "It's just… Ms. Jackson said that I should change my view on life or something like that. She said I should focus on smaller goals, not the whole recovery and all that. So, getting my driving license is my next goal."

Shelby's rendered speechless for a moment. "I- that's a great idea, sweetie."
"Yeah," Santana nods slowly. "I really want my own car, you know."
"Dream on, Santana," Shelby's head goes far back as she laughs, and she pats Santana's leg as the girl pouts. "But yes, you can get your driving license."

And thus comes (and goes) Christmas Eve and Christmas Morning and they unwrap presents and stuff themselves with cookies all day long and the girls dance around the Christmas tree and seem to forget about all the drama going down for two days—and enjoy themselves greatly because of it. They even light the Menorah one last time just because 'it looks so pretty' as Rachel insists and then, Rachel takes a picture of the Menorah next to the tree and posts it on Shelby's official Instagram, saying that it's a great way to show 'inclusion, happiness and diversity'. Shelby doesn't disagree.

(The picture gets 90,000 likes and Rachel is ecstatic.)

In the morning of the 26th December, Shelby rolls out of bed at 6:30, muttering quietly under her breath as she makes some sandwiches for her and the girls and stows the last few bags in the car. Rachel is, strangely enough, still sound asleep when Shelby enters the girl's room and for a brief moment, she considers just laying down beside her and going back to sleep but then, with a firm shake of her head, she pushes away from the door to cross the room and wake her daughter. With Rachel, a gentle shake of the shoulder is enough to wake her. With Santana, though, it's an entirely different story.

"Justfivemoreminutesmom," she murmurs and turns her back to her, fast asleep.

"No, no, no," Shelby gently pokes a finger into her side. "Santana, you have to wake up, sweetie. We're driving to Philadelphia today, remember?"

"I don't care."
Shelby huffs. "Well, and I don't care that you don't care, so get out of bed and get ready, you can sleep in the car."
She tucks at Santana's blanket but the girl only turns further away. "Stop it, Mom."

"No, I won't," she pulls a little harder. "Come on, Santana, I'm too tired for this too."
"Then go back to sleep."
"Santana."
It's a warning—and a usually extremely effective one—that doesn't draw any reaction at all from her oldest daughter and Shelby purses her lips. "Santana, now."
"Leave me alone," is all Santana says and Shelby's patience is close to snapping.

"Santana, I'm not joking here at all. Wake up and get ready now or you'll feel the consequences."

"'Wake up or you'll feel the consequences'," parrots Santana under her breath and Shelby shoots up and yanks the blanket off her daughter with a single pull.

"That's it," she bursts, looking, of course, not at all sorry as Santana begins to shiver in the cold. "Get your butt into that car, Santana Corcoran. You have five minutes and if you're not there, that nine-hour car ride is gonna be hell for you, do you understand?!"

But before her daughter can even open her mouth, Shelby whirls around and bolts from the room. Mornings are not the time of the day to test her and usually, both girls mind that. She could be indulgent to her daughter, of course, and say that she's just extremely tired and a little grumpiness in the morning is okay, but sadly, Shelby's not exactly ecstatic in the morning either and so, she doesn't think about that. Her words are law in this house—at least she likes to pretend they are.

"Morning, Mom," chirps Rachel from the sink as Shelby passes the bathroom and jumps into her mother's arms to hug her. "I'm so excited to see everyone, you too?"
It's really the best way to describe her daughters' mornings; Santana having trouble waking up while Rachel is already up and about.

Both can be extremely draining sometimes. But well, she loves them—and not even unnecessarily overdosed energy and downright annoying grumpiness in the morning could ever change that.

Shelby tilts her head forward to press a kiss to the crown of Rachel's head.

"Very excited," she says with a smile. "But, Rachel, remember that your sister isn't as enthusiastic in the morning—no music and no rants when we're in the car, alright? I don't want a fight this early in the morning."
Rachel rolls her eyes (and thus, earns herself a small swat to her behind and a stern look from Shelby.)
"Sorry," she murmurs, then sighs. "Of course, Mom. I won't do anything fun when we're in the car."

"Good girl," says Shelby, stepping back. "Now, hurry up, I don't want to arrive at Nana's too late today."

She walks away, this time intentionally ignoring her daughter's roll of the eyes. She's not in the mood to dish that many swats in the morning.

Five minutes later, Santana stumbles out of the front door and yanks the door of the car open, slipping into the backseat with a small groan. "I'm here, I'm not late."

Shelby grins at her reflection in the rearview mirror. "No, you're not."
She turns to check if both girls are wearing their seatbelt and then slowly maneuvers the car out of the parking space.
"There're some sandwiches in my bag if you're hungry," she tells them. "And I've downloaded some movies for you to watch. But pick something you both like, okay? I don't want my iPad in two pieces when we're there."

"We're not that bad, Mom," protests Rachel and Santana huffs and turns away, resting her head against the door.

"I'm gonna do something real bad to you if you don't shut up. I'm trying to sleep."
If Shelby could reach that far behind her, she'd absolutely find a way to pinch Santana's leg, but she doesn't want to deal with all the paperwork that'd come along with her crashing into the car in front of theirs. So, she simply shakes her head and debates for the following thirty minutes whether it'd be appropriate to wash a 17-year-old's mouth with soap or not. She doesn't come to a conclusion though because before she can make up her mind, the display of the center console flares up and announces an incoming call from Anna Ferguson.

Without having to think twice about it, she presses the red reject button and lodges her eyes firmly on the street ahead of her. Anna Ferguson has been Shelby's lawyer for 16 years and the conversation the girls would've had to witness wouldn't have been a pleasant one to them.

When later on, they take a short break on a highway rest stop so they all can go to the bathroom and stretch their legs a bit, Shelby receives an email containing a large attachment.

Dear Shelby,
I've completed filling out the documents. If there's anything you want to add or change, you can either call or e-mail me between 9 a.m. and 4 p.m.
Yours sincerely,
A. Ferguson

She downloads the file -it takes almost three minutes- and opens it, only to close it seconds later again. She won't read six pages on ending her almost 20-year-long marriage on a highway rest stop between Somerset and Bedford with the sliding door to the McDonald's opening and closing at second intervals.

"Look at that," exclaims Nana three hours later with a broad smile on her lips. "Nine hours on the road and you still look absolutely stunning."

She steps out of the front door of the house, giving the girls a tight hug and a kiss on the head.

"I hear there's some of Amy's infamous apple strudel upstairs that hasn't been eaten yet by the boys," she tells them with a grin. "If you hurried now-"

But she doesn't even get to finish her sentence because Rachel and Santana gather their bags from the ground and climb up the stairs faster than Shelby thought them capable of after a nine-hour car ride.

Then, she turns to Shelby—who doesn't fail to notice how her mother pauses for a second, examining her closely.

"Oh Shelby."

It's something between a sigh and a murmur and Shelby's eyes close on their own accord as her mother gently folds her into her arms. She can't even control it; it's something that just happens. Everyone, no matter what age, feels like a child again when they're in their mother's arms—at least that's what Shelby assumes.

"It's alright, Mom," says Shelby, though quietly and perhaps even with a slight tremble in her voice. "Let's not ruin the day."

"We are ruining nothing," grits her mother but still, she doesn't say another word. At least not with her mouth. But the look she's giving Shelby is speaking volumes.

"Mom, please just let it go," says Shelby, almost weakly, even. "I'll talk to you and Amy about it later on."

"And Bernard," Nana calls over her shoulders, halfway up the stairs. "Your father said he'd try to be here by noon, but you know how he is. Saying 'noon', meaning 'midnight'."

She's laughing slightly and the suitcase in her hand is shaking a little. If Shelby weren't so sure of her mother's healthiness, she'd probably worry the older woman would fall over and topple down the stairs. But Geraldine Corcoran has never shown even just a single sign of sickness or age-driven unsteadiness. She's 72 and as vital as she could be, and nothing seems to be able to throw her off her course.

As Shelby climbs the four steps to the door of the apartment, the noise behind said door swells and she hears some giggles and ecstatic shouts. In front of her, her mother opens the door and shouts into the apartment, "Parker, Jonathan, leave the girls alone! They're moody and tired and you've already eaten half the apple strudel by yourself!"

There're some giggles sounding from the door to the kitchen, then a blond curly head peaks into the hallway and as he spots Shelby, a grin broadens his lips.
"Auntie Shell!" shouts Parker and a loud bang sounds from the kitchen; the sounds of a chair hitting the floor, clearly. Seconds later, Shelby drops her bag to the floor, just in time for her two nephews to practically jump into her arms. Well, at least Parker attempts to. Jonathan, with his 12 years of age, thinks himself too cool and too mature to do something as childish as that.

"Mom, Mom!" Parker tucks at Shelby's hand, trying to pull her with him towards the living room. "Mom, Auntie Shell is here!"

"Parker," says Shelby, smiling. "Let go of my hand, please, you're squeezing it too tightly."

She turns a little to give Jonathan a somewhat lop-sided grin and gently pats his shoulder. "Well, John, how are you?"
"Fine, Shelby," he says—and definitely tries (and fails) to suppress a smile. "And you?"

"Oh, you know," she waves a hand. "I have my ups and downs."
At that moment, the door to the living room opens and, with a broad -though somewhat wary- smile, Shelby's older sister enters the hallway. "We're definitely going to make this an 'up'."
She laughs, opening her arms to pull Shelby into a hug -one that lingers perhaps a second or two longer than usual. "I've missed you, Shelbs. Both on the TV and in real life."
"Or perhaps on the TV and in real life at the same time?" jokes Shelby and Jonathan purses his lips in a pout.

He's still embarrassed for that one time when he was eight and the London premiere of a movie Shelby had shot the previous year played on TV and he ran into the kitchen, ecstatic and almost in tears of joy, shouting that Auntie Shell could beam herself into the TV. Shelby's sure she'd never laughed so much in her life before that.

"Where's Richard?" Shelby steps back from her sister's embrace, tilting her head to one side.

"We sent him to the grocery store," explains Nana. "Since he forgot half the stuff on the shopping list last time."

The older woman kicks her shoes off and gestures at the kitchen. "Now, come on in, you must be exhausted from that drive. Coffee?"

"Of course."

In the kitchen, Rachel and Santana sit slumped over the plate of apple strudel, practically inhaling the small cake in front of them.

"Make it strong," Shelby sinks into the chair next to Santana, raking her fingers through her hair with a sigh.

"Extra-strong," says Amy. She sends a quick look above her shoulder. "Where have the boys gone now?"

"The living room, I presume," Nana fumbles with the coffee machine for a second. "If they don't get strudel anymore, why would they want to sit in the kitchen with us old, boring ones?"
"Old and boring?" Santana snorts. "Yeah, that goes perhaps for the three of you. Rachel and I are not even half your age."

"Your daughter's extremely rude, Shelbs," says Amy. "I just thought I'd let you know."

But Shelby simply grins and, with a relieved sigh, takes the coffee cup that her mother's handing her.

Nine hours on the road, stuck behind the steering wheel and with millions of cars occupied by not that smart driver's around her drained her immensely.

Her eyes wander through the kitchen and pause at a framed picture on the kitchen counter. It's an old photograph of her and her older sister Amy, huge smiles on their faces and heads surrounded with heaps of puffy, dark curls. Curls that, for Shelby, straightened out over the years, so that they now only curl when she's been out in the rain or didn't blow-dry her hair. Amy's hair has stayed pretty much the same, though.

Which probably is a good thing since, apart from the different hair styles, there's not much to tell one sister from the other. There's a great story -that Amy loves to tell- when she was mistaken for Shelby at the theater and asked to sign someone's playbill.

Amy being Amy, she, of course, didn't tell the poor girls that they were asking the wrong Mrs. Corcoran but instead simply faked Shelby's signature—and did a terrible job at it, too.

It's only twenty minutes after their arrival that Shelby's phone rings and she, foolishly, answers the call without checking first who's calling. Her face pales visibly as she realizes just whose call she just didn't reject. The occupants of the kitchen table grow silent, staring.

"Finally, I've got a hold on you," sounds Jordana Aguilar's voice from the other side of the phone.

Shelby's fingers shake a little as she gestures at the door, squeezes past her daughters and her sister to flee down the hallway and into the guest room. Her mother-in-law doesn't even seem to breathe while she waits for Shelby to answer.

"I- Jordana, how wonderful to hear from you," Shelby finally manages, hoping -praying, even- that the older woman can't hear the slight tremble in her voice.

"I'm gonna cut right to the case," says Jordana firmly. "Because, you see, Shelby, I was very surprised when my son turned up this afternoon without you or either of my granddaughters. And imagine how shocked I was to hear that neither would you arrive a few days after him, no, you wouldn't come at all. Because, unknown to me, the two of you are no longer living together."
Shelby doesn't say a thing. Not only because she doesn't know what to say but also because it feels like her tongue weighs too much for it to form words and her lips seem to have been glued together.

At the other end of the phone, Jordana takes a deep breath. And Shelby closes her eyes, preparing herself for accusations and allegations and blame. She gets neither.

"I'm sorry," says Jordana—and perhaps it's her voice that's shaking, not Shelby's breath. "I'm so sorry to hear that he's done that to you."

There's a breathiness to the woman's words, words toppling over words, voice cracking and breaking—and Shelby wonders for a second if her mother-in-law is crying. She thinks, assumes, she is but then again, she's never seen nor heard Jordana Aguilar cry or even tear up, so how could she be sure?
"I haven't been this angry with anyone in a long time," sounds Jordana's voice. "And he kept saying that it takes two to maintain a working marriage… but you know, it takes only one to destroy it all. And he- oh, Shelby, I just don't know what to say. I don't know what's gotten into him—I don't know how to fix this-"

"You can't," Shelby manages to say, voice cracking. "You can't fix any of this. No one can. It's been done and he's made a decision and- we're done."

"Have the two of you tried to talk about this?" her mother-in-law sounds almost desperate. "Perhaps, if you could just find a compromise, you'd be able to—start new and-"

"No," Shelby shakes her head. "No, Jordana- no. I could never. And even if I did, I wouldn't want it. The girls wouldn't want it."
At the other end of the phone, Jordana gasps. "Oh, the girls! How are they? I hope they're well?"
Shelby's eyes find the closed door of the guest room as if she could see her daughters standing there. Her fingers dance over her left arm. "They're coping. It's hard—f-for all of us."
"Of course, it is," she can almost hear Jordana nod. "Of course." The older woman pauses. "I hear you've been separated for over a month now. No one ever informed me."

Though it certainly isn't meant to be accusing, Shelby's body still tenses, and she squares her shoulders, mouth opening to explain—defend—herself. "I'm sorry, I was just so angry, I didn't want to spare him the—humiliation. Your… disappointment."

"Right," says Jordana. "I don't blame you, Shelby. God, of course, I don't! It wasn't your duty to inform me, it was his. But my son is too much of a coward!"
Shelby winces a little, not having expected such an outburst from her mother-in-law. The woman oftentimes seems unfazed, unbothered—indifferent, even, and Shelby, until now, didn't know her to be capable of uncontrolled emotions like these.

"I just," Jordana takes a deep, calming breath. "I wanted to ask when I was going to see you and the girls again. I miss them terribly, you know, especially now during the holidays. And I hope this won't stand between us, Shelby. You know I don't approve of David's decision, right? I will get to see the girls again, won't I?"

If it wasn't for the seriousness of the situation, Shelby would've laughed. That she'd come to live the day that her stone-faced hag of a mother-in-law would beg her for something… but there's nothing fun about this and so, Shelby's brow sinks into a frown at the older woman's desperate words.

"Of course, Jordana," she says, wrapping an arm around herself as if to hold herself up. "I wouldn't keep the girls from you. I usually would never keep them from their father either but I'm too angry and too hurt with him at the moment -and so are Santana and Rachel."

"I understand," comes Jordana's voice, sounding perhaps a little tired. "Again, Shelby, I really am sorry. I'd never thought David could do something like this."

"Neither had I," murmurs Shelby but Jordana doesn't seem to hear her.

"Please call whenever you feel the need to talk," she says and Shelby's eyes widen a little because—well, she did not expect such an offer from her. "And let the girls know that I miss them very much."

"O-of course," stammers Shelby after a few seconds have passed in silence, ensured that her mother-in-law doesn't have anything else to say.

They exchange off-hand words of goodbye -since neither woman has ever been one to like goodbyes- and then, Shelby's left to stare at the phone in her hand, listening, unable to move, for a second to the steady beep, reminding her once more of the line gone dead.

Then, she tucks the phone back into the pocket of her pants and leaves the guest room, striding into the kitchen where she's greeted by four pairs of curious-looking eyes.

"Who was that?" asks Rachel, ever the most impatient in the room.

"Your grandmother," says Shelby tiredly, sinking into her chair again.

"Oh," Santana and Rachel exchange a quick look. "What did she say?"
"Mostly she said that she was very sorry," Shelby takes a long sip from her -now, almost cold- coffee -if only to avoid having to go into detail. "And she told me to tell you that she misses you a lot."

Neither of the girls say something, though their heads dip low and they look down into their laps for a second. It makes Shelby wonder if perhaps they missed (and still miss) their grandmother too but were deterred by the thought of causing her misery. It makes her wonder if they often hold things in these days in order to disburden her.

Nana, meanwhile, reaches out to take Shelby's hand, squeezing it wordlessly.

"Anna," says Shelby as a way of greeting, directly into the phone and without even trying to hold back and keep up the pretense of everything's fine. Why, she wonders, when the woman at the other end of the phone is practically caught in the middle of this? "I got your mail."

"Hello to you too, Shelby," says Anna and over the phone it's impossible to tell whether she's exhausted or amused—something that bugs Shelby deeply.

"I find it good, sounds very determined and stout, although I don't understand half of it with all those paragraphs and legal register," she thinks she hears Anna say 'thank you' but doesn't pause to question it. "One thing, though."

Another pause—only to hear the lawyer breathe quietly at the other end of the phone. "I think I want full custody. Do you think that's possible?"

I obviously got inspired by Idina Menzel and her sister Cara Mentzel's relationship when I wrote the scenes with Amy -and when I described her. (Don't forget to review;)