So Francis has more answers regarding who Olivier is/was. I had a friend who found out about a long-lost sister who was the result of rape and now, they're really close and their mother is glad because she was young when it happened. I was confused about that when I was a little girl because it happened when we were so young and her half-sister's own daughter is about four years younger than us but now, I understand fully and I'm glad some stories end up with a good ending.

Warning: Child abuse and mentions of adult abuse.

"So are your anxiety attacks lessening now?" Mary asks Celia in their monthly session. She's been seeing the girl since last October but she's never heard her rape story but Mary's been helping her through her anxiety and panic attacks and how to differentiate them. She still attends the meetings but never says anything, offering supporting hands, hugs and tissues to the other members of their growing groups.

"Yeah," Celia says before meeting Mary's eyes with a tilt of her head. "Can I tell you something?"

Mary smiles. "Celia, you can tell me anything. I'm here to help you."

Celia pulls up her sleeve and swallows hard as Mary's eyes glaze over the bruises on her arms. She even shows Mary the ones on her thighs and hips and Mary places her notebook and pen down, her eyes darkening in anger.

"Celia, who did this to you?"

Celia's eyes water and she covers herself up, making herself comfortable on the sofa. "M-My stepdad."

"Does your mother know?"

"No! And she can't," Celia cries out. "She loves him. After Dad died, she's been heartbroken but he..."

"Celia, this man is abusing you. I think your mother would be more concerned about you than some romantical relationship with a man," Mary tells her.

Celia sniffles. "I say it's my friends who do it. That they bully me. She was going to go there and demand names but I stopped her from doing so."

"Celia, I'm so sorry..."

"H-He also r-rapes me," Celia whispers tearfully. "If I fight back, he hurts me."

"Celia, you need to tell your moth-"

"No!"

"Celia, this is serious," Mary tells her firmly. "You're fifteen-years-old. That is child abuse. He has no place raping and abusing a child!"

Celia eyes her with wide, brown eyes and she shakily nods. "But they'll take me away from Maman-"

"Celia, your mother didn't know about this. They won't split you up. Let me call someone, he'll go home with you and I'll be there and we can talk to your mother together," she tells the girl. "I promise you, everything will be okay and you can still see me regularly if you wish."

Celia swallows hard, her gaze lowering to the ground. She lets out a meek nod and digs her nails into her palms nervously. Mary can see how scared she is and slowly but cautious, she takes a seat beside Celia and brings her into her arms for a hug.

If it was one of her daughters going through such a horrible thing, she'd want to know. She'd kill for her kids, protect them and love them. She feels a flutter in her lower tummy and sighs, stroking Celia's hair. This baby could be another daughter or James can finally get the brother he wants.

But she and Francis are in a terrible position right now...

"I'm going to call my brother-in-law. Kenna's husband," Mary says softly. "And we'll go and see your mother."

...

Thirteen Years Ago

As she serves dinner, Mary sees her brother wince as he takes a seat at the table. The kitchen's quite small, the dining table against the wall with four chairs but it's manageable for the family of three. Turning, Mary places Jim's plate in front of him and hers down before grabbing forks and sitting down.

She hands him one and says, "I know, noodles are boring but I added a kick to this one."

"Sausage pieces?"

"Sausage from a tin," Mary says with a small smile as Jim chuckles.

He sighs. "I'll have enough to do food shopping tomorrow," he promises her. "What do you want to do for your sixteenth? It's a big one."

Mary shakes her head. "Nothing, I'm good. We could stick a movie on."

"How about I take you to see the latest film? A Marvel one's out, I think. You love them," Jim replies, taking a bite and chewing.

"I do but we can't afford it-"

"Uncle Christian sent some money. Made me swear to spend it on whatever you wanted-"

"We're not taking charity-"

"Mary, accept it," Jim says firmly, stroking her hair from her face. "It's your sixteenth."

Tears spring to her eyes and she doesn't miss the bruises around his wrist. "Jesus, who did that to you?"

When Jim doesn't say anything but his eyes quickly dart from the ceiling to his dinner, Mary realises and sighs heavily. She stands and pulls his sleeves up to see the marks and bruises and she pulls his shirt up a little to see the newest bruise on his hip.

"At least we know she's a fighter," Jim says lightly as Mary glares at him.

"This is not funny!"

"Look, Mary. Ma's going through a lot right now. We need to just grin and bear it and be there for her-"

"Why do you even look after her? She's not your biological mother. She shouldn't be hurting you out of frustration regardless!" Mary cries out, about to head upstairs but James stops her.

He glares at her. "How dare you? That woman raised me. Not once did she ever hurt me after Dad died. She brought us both up. Now, I have to do all I can to make sure she's okay. It doesn't matter if I get hurt in the process, I want her to survive because she's all we've got."

She shrugs him off her and storms up the stairs, straight into her mother's bedroom. The woman wakes up from her fitful slumber and Mary looks down at her, her finger pointing towards the door.

"James is not your punching bag, Mum!" She says tearfully. "He's not even your blood yet he stays here and looks after us both. He could have shed all responsibility but he grins and bears it for us. It's unfair to treat him so horribly-"

"I'm sorry."

"That's not good enough. We get it, you're suffering but never take it out on us. We love you," Mary replies before heading back downstairs to finish her dinner in silence as Jim gives her wary looks.

"Mare-"

"Just eat, James," she snaps sadly.

...

Present Day

"Madame Machado?" Mary asks, the older woman warily looking at the adults as she brings Celia to her chest protectively. "I'm Dr Stuart-Valois and this is Lieutenant Valois. May we come in and have a chat about your daughter. please?"

Celia turns to her mother and says something in Spanish before the woman sighs and nods. "Come in," Celia says quietly, her and her mother stepping side.

They lead Mary and Bash to the living room where they take a seat.

"Do you speak English?" Mary asks.

"Yes," Celia's mother replies. "I'm sorry but what are a doctor and a policeman doing in my home? Celia, what did you do?"

Mary shakes her head. "Your daughter has done nothing but she is the reason we're here. Celia, would you like to tell her or should I?"

Celia turns to her mother. "Mama, your husband rapes and abuses me," she says, her voice breaking as her mother's face falls and she clutches at her chest in horror.

"Cecilia..." Mrs Machodo sobs.

It's a hard and difficult conversation and at the end of it, a warrant is out for Celia's mother's husband. Mary's just relieved that the girl can remain with her mother, especially since Bash waited as they changed the locks to their home. It feels very heavy in her heart but she stops thinking about it when she gets to Jim's house.

It's past eight, the situation taking longer than expected but Mary doesn't mind. She finds her dinner in the fridge, a lovely note from her sister-in-law, Lenore. Smiling, she dishes a portion onto a plate and sticks it in the microwave before sitting down at the counter island and finding a pad of lined paper and pens on the side. There's another batch, with colourful notes and Mary smiles when she catches a glance of the title, 'Samantha's Baby Christening!' in rainbow colours and feminine handwriting.

When her dinner is ready, she pulls open a drawer and retrieves a fork and knife before returning to the island and grabbing a piece of lined paper and a black ball-point pen. She eats with one hand as she writes out a note.

'Francis,

Sometimes, I find it difficult to talk to you. Especially since you don't return the same courtesy. But it's not only been the past year or so but there are things I've kept from my childhood, growing up with my sick mother in a struggling household. I never told you this but we were really struggling. We lived in a two-bedroom house on a hill with a bathroom with a toilet that rarely flushed and overflowed and a cramped kitchen. We owned the house, just couldn't afford to beautify it to our desire because of the lack of income. Jim was barely just out of university, working three jobs as I worked two myself by the time I reached seventeen with my first job being a week after I turned sixteen. Most of our meals were noodles with sausage pieces or chicken pieces. When there was a little extra in the pot, we'd have duck and rice. I hate talking about it, I don't know why I suppressed my depression then. School, that was another matter. I wasn't bullied, I just didn't have the social skills to strike up conversations. So, I did my best to study hard so we'd be able to get out of the money troubles we had. Then Maman died. Jim, who used to sleep on the sofa downstairs moved into my small bedroom and let me have Maman's room because it smelt like her. I kept my emotions in, I cursed the world, I woke up every morning and got on with it. Money wasn't as tight as we now only had two mouths to feed but Jim's teaching job was really difficult considering he worked at a school for problematic kids who didn't give two shits before throwing stuff around and threatening their teachers. Jim tried, he tried to get on their level but he could never. He'd come home depressed, eat and then go to work his night job. We've worked until our hands were raw and moving to France was possibly the best thing that could ever happen to me and to Jim. I now worked in a lovely bakery, using my creative juices to make cakes instead of cleaning shit and piss from toilet stalls in grungy restaurants. I met Kenna, who didn't see less of me, who encouraged me to hold conversations and be myself, granting me two other new friends in Greer and Lola. And finally, I met you. Eighteen-year-old Mary didn't know she'll marry you, have your children and live the dream job she always wanted. She was realistic, still is but back then her guards were so high up, you couldn't penetrate them. I've seen a lot of bad shit in the world, I've coached people through the most difficult moments of their lives and especially after hearing a girl confess her trauma, I thought about the baby growing inside me. Our baby. I thought that I'd kill anyone who ever hurt our children, I'd do anything for them. Francis, I want you and I want this baby but you must promise me something... Just talk to me. Be my rock and I'll be yours.

Yours truly and sincerely and lovingly,

Mary x'

Tears are streaming down her cheeks when she gets to the final letter and she palms them away, her food laid untouched as she put her heart into telling her story to him. She's told him snippets but never the full or most of it.

She shakes as she dials a number and leaves a voicemail, "This is Mary Stuart-Valois, I won't be needing the appointment after all. Thank you for your understanding, goodnight."

She hangs up and sighs heavily. Just a few more nights to recover and help Lenore and Jim and she'll go home. She's missed her husband and children and it's only been a day but they both need space and Dr Renier says he's attended another therapy session that lunchtime with determination and promises. She can't know more without Francis's permission but she knows her husband enough to know he's true in his words, whatever they are.

Smiling, she finishes her dinner and busies her fingers with a mobile game.

...

Mary comes back home on Saturday and when she steps into her home, she gasps at how spotless it is. It's only past seven, the kids must be in their quiet time before bed because she can't hear them at all downstairs.

Leaving her suitcase by the stairs, she goes in search of her husband, the letter in her hand. She finds him in their study, working the books of the restaurants, his glasses perched on his nose in such a cute way, Mary does her best to restrict herself from going over and kissing his nose.

"Ahem," she clears her throat, her husband jumping as he looks up.

"Mary!"

"First of all, wow," she starts, smiling a little. "The house is bloody clean. I don't think I've ever seen it this clean so thanks."

Francis smiles a little. "Wasn't all me. Rose even helped me hoover the stairs."

"My darling," Mary awes before sighing heavily and glancing at the letter. "Second of all, this is for you. Read it, please."

Francis takes it from her hand and opens it up. "Is it saying you're leaving me?" He asks lightly but Mary can hear the gravel in his tone.

"Just read it, please," she replies, perching on the edge of his desk.

Francis reads the letter and sighs heavily when he gets to the end. He knows she's had it hard but not this hard. His family were quite comfortable, their fridge was never empty and they could eat when they please, snacking on whatever they found but Mary... His precious wife had a limited choice of what to eat and she worked her fingers off. He always thought her hands weren't as soft as other girls'. They had seen a lot, been through a lot and he doesn't love her any less.

Sniffling, he meets her eyes, tears filling both of their eyes. "Mary, I promise you I'll be better and I'll talk to you. Whatever it is, even if I think it means nothing to you, I'll tell you."

"Even if it's the football scores," she says lightly, wiping her tears.

He laughs. "Even if it's the football scores," he swears, about to bring her into his arms but she shrugs him off and heads to the door before taking a deep breath in and releasing it.

Mary turns and enters the room again, coming to pull him up from his seat as she looks into his blue eyes. "Francis?"

"Yes...?" Francis says nervously.

She smiles widely, bringing his hands to her bump. "Don't freak out but... We're having another baby."

It clicks in Francis's mind as he laughs, lifting her up and spinning her around before putting her back down and kissing her deeply. He hums into the kiss and she inhales deeply, her hands roaming his shoulders and chest before she's trying to undo his belt.

"Hey, hey!" He cries out, laughing as he pulls away. "Can we tell the kids before you jump my bones, you horny woman?"

Mary pouts but she then grins and nods. She pulls his hand and leads him upstairs into Anne's bedroom where Rose is between her legs as they read a storybook and James is playing with his Nintendo Switch.

"Huh," Mary says before the kids gasp and hurry to greet her. "Now, there's the reaction I wanted! Hi, babies!"

"Mama, we missed you," Anne says, hugging her leg tightly as Rose demands to be lifted.

"Up!"

Mary giggles and brings Rose into her arms before pouting at the thought of her baby not being the baby of the family anymore as she turns to Francis, his reaction the same as hers. "Daddy and I have something to tell you all."

"What?" Jamie asks, gasping.

Francis comes up to them, his hand landing on Mary's covered bump. "Mama's having another baby."

"Oh, no!" Rose whines, bursting into tears as her parents laugh and try to console her.

"Can it be a boy!" James asks excitedly. "Please!"

Francis ruffles his hair. "It's not up to us to decide, bubba. But we're hoping too."

"Yes!"

Anne pouts a little and sighs. "I was fine with it being us three," she says, rolling her eyes. "But if we must..."

"You've spent way too much time with Anastasia," Mary mutters with Francis snorting in reply to that.

"When's the baby coming?" Jamie asks, pressing his ear against her bump.

Mary sighs. "I'm going to see the doctor," she replies, meeting Francis's eyes bashfully. She mouths, "Sorry," and he only smiles, kissing the side of her head lovingly. "You're going to be there with me, right?"

"Yeah," he promises her. "I love you."

"I love you too," Mary says before kissing Rose's cheek as the girl continues to wail. "Oh, baby girl, Mama and Papa will still love you."

"No!" Rose wails even more.

Francis scoffs. "I hate how she knows that word..."