Grace McCord had known her son was seeing someone before he had ever seen fit to mention it to his family.

He'd been more eager than usual to return to school after every visit home. The phone line had been busy late into the night. He'd been smiling more, brooding less.

"So," she ventured one evening in the kitchen as she washed and her oldest son dried, "who is she?"

He starts, nearly breaking his neck as he turns to look at her. "Huh?" he answers dumbly.

Grace fixes him with a withering look. "Henry, I'm your mother. You aren't hard to read, son. You don't have to tell me, but it's obvious you're seeing someone."

"Does Dad know?" he questions quickly, and his urgency makes regret swell up in her. Patrick and Henry are often at odds, and she knows her husband would immediately begin teasing their quieter, more introspective son for what he views as a less manly approach to life if he knew that Henry was dating someone.

"No," Grace reassures him. "I love your father, but he isn't known for his emotional intelligence, sweetheart."

Henry's shoulders visibly relax, and he glances briefly behind them. The Stealer's game is on in the next room, being intensely studied by Patrick and Shane. Erin is upstairs "studying," and Maureen is out. It's just the two of them, for now. Grace loves her other children and her husband dearly, but she's glad of the reprieve. She relishes this time with Henry; it almost makes her grateful that a dishwasher was out of their budget.

Henry puts the serving spoons away and moves on to the plates. "We're not dating, exactly," he begins. "We're just…spending time together."

"What's her name?" she asks carefully. Henry is different from her other children. If she pushes him too hard, he shuts down. When Patrick does it, Henry snaps.

To her relief, he smiles. Grace is relatively sure that he doesn't know he's doing it. "Elizabeth," he mumbles.

"And you like her," she deduces. "What's she like?"

"I–yeah, I do. She's brilliant. She reads. She knows all kinds of things. She's funny and beautiful. And I like spending time with her."

"She sounds wonderful, Henry. But you aren't dating?"

"No. Well, I don't think so. I don't think she thinks so, at least."

Grace fights the urge to laugh. "Well, you might have to ask her, son."

Henry had asked her, apparently, because when he goes back to school soon after Christmas Grace can hear him smiling during every phone call.

When he calls in November of the next year and asks if he can bring Elizabeth home for Thanksgiving, she is thrilled. She cleans Henry's room thoroughly and makes him a pallet in Shane's room. She makes Patrick swear not to embarrass Henry, and she tells the rest of her kids to make their brother's girlfriend feel welcome. Maureen grumbles.

Elizabeth really is lovely, blonde and clever with a beautiful smile, and a little bit on the quieter side, for the time being. Grace likes her immediately as she watches her son gaze at her like she's the only person in the world.

The big dinner is an affair, to say the least.

"So you're not working?" Patrick asks as if the matter is truly confusing. Grace rolls her eyes.

"I'm a full-time student," Elizabeth explains, "and I'm paid part-time as a research fellow."

"Sounds cushy," he grumbles.

"Dad—" Henry begins, but Grace sees Elizabeth's arm twitch as if her hand has shot out under the table.

"It's nice," Elizabeth agrees. "I'm very fortunate."

Patrick snorts with no small amount of derision. "That's for sure. How are you paying for school then, young lady?"

"Patrick, I'm sure that's private," Grace snaps.

He hums at her. "Yes, Grace, I just thought we might want to know if Henry's decided to stoop so low as to date a trust fund girl, as if we haven't always provided—"

"Our relationship has nothing to do with—" Henry starts, but this time Grace cuts him off.

"Henry," she says, shooting him a look. "Let's move on."

But Maureen is seated across from Grace, to Patrick's right, and she turns to smirk at her father over a forkful of stuffing. "No wonder she's got no parents to go home to on Thanksgiving. They're probably on a first class cruise of the world." And to Grace's chagrin, Patrick actually has the nerve to laugh.

"Maureen!" Henry snaps, but Elizabeth's hand moves again and he falls silent.

"It's fine," Elizabeth murmurs to him before offering the rest of the table a tight smile. "My parents passed away a while back, actually." Grace doesn't miss the way the girl is biting down on the inside of her cheek, and judging by the look on Henry's face, he doesn't either.

Maureen flushes, but only mumbles a "sorry," when Grace clears her throat pointedly.

"That's alright," Elizabeth answers graciously.

There's an awkward silence for a moment before Erin chimes in. "Do you have any brothers and sisters?"

Elizabeth smiles at her. "I do, I have a younger brother. He's a senior in high school."

"Ugh," Erin groans, "is he as annoying as my brothers?"

"Hey!" Henry and Shane exclaim indignantly, and Elizabeth laughs.

"They can be so irritating, can't they? Will is a lot to handle."

And just like that they've moved on.

—-

That night, Grace is almost ready for bed when she hears footsteps in the hall and Henry's bedroom door clicking open and shut. She rolls her eyes. He ought to know better. She shrugs her robe back on and makes her way down the hall, pausing when she hears Elizabeth's voice.

"I don't want to upset your parents when they've just met me."

"I won't stay," Henry is promising her. "I just wanted to check on you. I know they can be a lot."

"I like them," Elizabeth murmurs, and Grace smiles. She hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but— "They're loud. They have opinions. I–I think I've missed that."

"I'm still sorry my dad brought up money stuff and I'm so sorry Maureen brought up your parents," Henry replies, the apologies coming out of him all in a rush. Truth be told, Grace is sorry for that too.

"Henry," Elizabeth nearly whispers, "it's really alright. The class difference you warned me about, and the other thing…well, as much as I wish it hadn't, it was bound to come up."

"It's not fair for him to bring your money up like it isn't inheritance. Like he has any idea what he's talking about, actually."

"Not to be glib, but lots of things aren't fair, babe," Elizabeth replies, "and as far as unfair goes, that was almost mild. Your dad is certainly a character, though, you were right."

Feeling guilty for listening and satisfied that her son wasn't planning on having sex with his girlfriend in his childhood bedroom, she began to creep back down the hall. Just as she was about to step back into the master, Henry slipped out of his room and turned towards Shane's. When that door closed, a blonde head peaked out of Henry's and smiled right in her direction. "Goodnight, Mrs. McCord."

Grace couldn't help but smile back despite the embarrassment of Elizabeth knowing she'd overheard at least part of that. "Goodnight, dear. Sleep well."

She shuts her own bedroom door behind her and wastes no time. "Patrick, she's a guest, and a child, at that. It wasn't appropriate to interrogate her like that."

"She's not a child, Grace! What is she, twenty? When I was her age I was—"

"Working in the steel mill, so I've heard repeatedly. But Elizabeth deserves to be treated with respect. She's our guest and our son's girlfriend, and she's obviously had difficulties in life."

He scoffs. "Yeah, I'm sure it's been so difficult for her. A trust fund and free college. And she won't be our son's girlfriend for long, mark my words. Now that she knows we're not loaded like she is, she'll find a boy at that stuck up school who's got her kind of money. Count on it."

Grace resists the urge to snap back at him, tell him what she's just overheard. Inheritance money. It was a private conversation she should never have been privy to in the first place. "You accuse people 'of her social class' of judging people like us for having less," she utters evenly, "But you barely know Elizabeth, and look at how you've treated her when she was nothing but polite. You're the judgemental one, Patrick."

And with that she flips her light out and rolls over.

A few weeks later, when Henry's speaking to them again, she finds the right moment and asks, wresting the story out of him with a promise not to share it with anyone else. A car crash. Fifteen and thirteen year old orphans.

—-

He'd called her a month later to ask frantically what he should do. Elizabeth was sick, he said, coughing awfully. Fever was high. She'd stopped being able to tell who he was, what was going on. Grace had heard bits and pieces of his end of the line, of the hacking cough and the devastation, and had instructed Henry to take her to the emergency room. She would be in Charlottesville in five hours. Elizabeth would have a mother there, her own or not.

She doubted Elizabeth remembered most of that. It had been a bad bout of double pneumonia. The poor girl had seemed to think there was no one to care for her, had holed up in her room alone until Henry had finegled his girlfriend's roommate into letting him into the apartment. He'd found her too sick to move. She'd been planning to just ride it out, apparently. That seemed to be what she was accustomed to.

Grace had taken one look at her son in the emergency room waiting area, looking positively out of his mind with worry, and known then and there that when she marched up to the front desk she'd be asking after her future daughter-in-law.

"Go and take a shower," she had ordered Henry an hour later after he'd finally been able to look in on Elizabeth, "she doesn't need to wake up and get a whiff of you, sweetheart."

He had gone, grudgingly, after she'd promised to sit with her. "I don't want her to be alone," her son had admitted in answer to her raised eyebrow.

The girl was small and pale in her sleep, breathing raspily. Freshly twenty, just a baby. Grace remembered the background noise of the earlier phone call.

I want— a break for painful sounding coughing— my Mom. Please.

I know, babe, I'm sorry, she'd heard her son murmur desperately. I'm here, I can help you. What do you need? What hurts?

I just want my Mom.

Grace McCord would never be the mother that Elizabeth Adams wanted beside her when she was sick, but she was a mother. One of those couldn't hurt.

The girl finally stirs in bed, blinking once before shutting her eyes against the fluorescents above them, then squinting around the room. When her eyes landed on Grace she did a double take.

"Hello, dear. How are you feeling?"

"Mrs. McCord? I don't—" the coughing cut her off, rattling deep in her chest as Grace winces in sympathy.

"Easy," she murmurs, bracing Elizabeth to help her sit up. "Here, have some water."

She managed two sips from the cup Grace pressed into her hand. "What's going on? Where's Henry?" she asked, voice thin and rough.

"You have pneumonia, dear. Henry brought you in and they admitted you. He was here until about half an hour ago. I had to practically threaten him to get him to go and take a shower and eat something."

"Oh."

She recognized the look of upset and remaining confusion, and rushed to reassure Elizabeth, "he'll be back in another hour or so."

There was a moment of stilted silence following the girl's nod. "Henry didn't tell me you were in town," Elizabeth rasps.

"He called me asking how to help you. I know you're both adults, but I hoped it would be helpful to have a more experienced one here."

Elizabeth stares at her until she's about to ask if she has something on her face. "You drove all the way from Pittsburgh?"

Grace does her the decency of pretending the outright disbelief doesn't make her want to cry.

"Of course I did, dear. You sounded awful on the phone."

"I don't remember," Elizabeth whispers.

"That's alright. You had a high fever. Now, you need to get your rest, you must be exhausted. Lay back," Grace instructs. "Henry will be here when you wake up."

Her eyelids flutter shut. Grace takes the girl's hand and doesn't let go.

—-

Elizabeth shook hands with the Dean and crossed the stage right at the beginning of the ceremony, by virtue of her alphabetic placement, and so she spent most of the B's scanning what she could see of the audience from her foldable chair on the green. She didn't know why. Will hadn't been able to make it, so it was just Henry somewhere in the crowd for her.

She loved her boyfriend—soon to be fiance, though she didn't know it yet—but it was days like this one, milestone days, when she missed having a family.

The graduation progressed until finally, finally, they're asked to stand and turn their tassels, and the ceremony is concluded. Elizabeth can't help but smile as she hugs her friends. She's a college graduate, degree in hand, and she wants someone else to share it with, so she sets off to the edge of the green to find Henry.

She finds more than Henry. He's coming down to meet her almost immediately, sweeping her up into his arms with a wide grin. "Babe! Congratulations!"

"Thank you!" she replies, gripping onto his arm for balance in her heels when he pulls back. She'll never get used to walking around in these things, she thinks. "Oh! Mrs. McCord!"

Henry's mother has appeared behind him and is tugging her into a hug of her own with a smile much like her son's. "Congratulations, dear! And summa cum laude! What an achievement!"

"Thank you! I had no idea you were here."

"I wouldn't miss your graduation, Elizabeth," she answers. "And remember, we've talked about this. You're to call me Grace," his mother chides, continuing, "Patrick is here too, and Shane and Erin. They're coming down now. We're all very proud of you, and we have a surprise for you."

"Thank you," Elizabeth answers sincerely, clutching her degree in one hand and giving her a smile. "I–I really appreciate you being here. Truly."

But before she can make sure her gratitude has come across, an unkempt figure appears at her side. "Will!" she cries in surprise, "you have finals! What are you—"

"Took my last one yesterday," he grins, "wouldn't have missed your graduation, sis. Congrats."

"Thank you for being here," she murmurs, casting her eye over him carefully as she pulls him into a quick hug. She hasn't seen him in months. "You need a haircut."

Will pulls back to raise an eyebrow incredulously. "You're ridiculous, you know that? I drive six hours to see you be handed a piece of paper and all you have to say is that my hair's too long?"

"I said thank you!"

She hears Henry sigh as her brother opens his mouth again to retort, a surefire sign that the bickering is commencing, but others are joining their little group.

Henry's brother and sister greet and congratulate her and even Patrick has no insult for her. "Math, hm?" he asks her gruffly, patting her rather awkwardly on the shoulder.

"Yes sir."

He nods somewhat approvingly, glancing at Henry beside her rather smugly. "Respectable degree. Practical." Unlike theology goes unsaid.

She squeezes Henry's hand and doesn't engage.

Grace pulls a camera out of her purse and Henry puts his arm around her while she holds up her leather bound degree to appease his mother.

"Alright, now one of just Elizabeth," she orders, ushering Henry out of the shot.

"Oh, you don't have to–" Elizabeth starts. Don't have to what exactly, she isn't sure. Treat her like she's actually a part of their family?

But Henry interrupts her, slipping away with a "yes ma'am." When she catches his eye as he stands next to his mother, he just winks at her.

As the group makes their way off of the quad, Henry and Elizabeth bring up the rear, arms wound together. In front of them, Grace gives Will's hair a scathing glance. "She's right, you know," she tells him pointedly. "I'll find some kitchen scissors somewhere."

Will looks over his shoulder at Elizabeth in bewilderment. She just smiles back at him broadly. Henry laughs.

When she and Henry spend a weekend in Pittsburgh that summer before he ships off and she throws herself into the lengthy CIA training, the solo picture of her in her cap and gown will be on the McCord mantle. It will make her smile, once the urge to cry passes.

—-

"So, I'll be on leave for Christmas," Henry's tinny voice echoes down the line. "I'll meet you in Charlottesville the 20th, and then we'll head to Pittsburgh on the 23rd. That sound okay?"

Elizabeth hums her agreement from where she sits thousands of miles from him on the couch in their apartment, focused more on the sound of his voice than his words. She's had a long week. "I can't wait to see you."

"Same here, babe. I miss you so much."

"Sixty seconds," a deep voice booms in the background.

"I love you," he whispers, trying to keep the break out of his voice around the others.

"I love you too," Elizabeth responds. "I'll see you in two weeks, yeah?"

"Yeah," he confirms. "Oh, and I spoke to my mom. She wants you to invite Will."

"Thirty seconds," the voice yells.

Elizabeth loses at least three of them trying to make sense of Henry's words. "She wants me to invite Will…to your family Christmas?"

"Yeah, babe. Of course. She wants you to be able to see him for the holidays, I think. Listen, I have to go. I'm sure she'll call you to confirm. I love you so much. I'll see you soon!"

"I can't wait," she repeats, hanging up the phone in a bit of a daze once his end goes dead.

"I want you on your best behavior," Elizabeth warns the nineteen year old in the backseat two weeks later, finding his rolling eyes in the rearview mirror. "Don't roll your eyes at me! I'm serious, Will."

"Aren't you always?" he asks sarcastically.

"Don't be a child. We're going to be guests of Henry's parents, alright? Will you please be polite?"

"What do you care? They don't even like you, right?"

Henry takes her hand on the center console. "They like her," he tells Will, and when Elizabeth glances at him doubtfully, "they like you, babe," he promises. "My mom adores you, Erin and Shane think you're great, Maureen is the worst anyway, and my dad doesn't like me either, so we're in the same boat. You have the majority. Please don't be nervous."

But her nerves only really settle with Grace's warm hug at the doorstep before it releases and the woman turns to Will, hugging him as well. "Good to see you again, Will. Please come in. It's freezing out."

Elizabeth finds his eyes over Henry's mother's shoulder. He shrugs at her before smiling at Grace. "Yes ma'am. It's good to see you too."

The fight doesn't start until dinner that night, when Elizabeth has to explain that she's officially through training with the CIA and formally an analyst now.

"So you're going through with all that, then?" Patrick asks.

"Dad," Henry warns.

"Yes, sir," Elizabeth answers calmly.

"And what exactly do you do there?"

"Like I said, I'm an analyst."

"Analyst of what?" Patrick questions. "What people do in private?"

"I'm not an operative," she replies evenly, "and most of my work is sealed. I can't really go into detail."

"Makes sense," Maureen interjects. "She would enjoy keeping secrets, right?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Will asks with no small amount of indignation in his voice.

"Swanning around her with her privilege and her money and her national secrets. Thinking she's better than everyone else. You know what we call her."

"Queen Elizabeth," Elizabeth whispers.

"Queen Elizabeth," Henry nearly yells, "like there's any reason for that, Maureen! Knock it off, for God's sake. You too, Dad."

"Don't speak to me like that, son," Patrick warns darkly.

Will scoffs. "Then don't speak about my sister like that. You have no right to—"

"Stop it! All of you," Grace announces. "It's too close to Christmas. Maureen, Patrick, don't speak to Elizabeth that way. Henry, don't take the Lord's name in vain. Eat your food before it gets cold." And when nobody moves— "now!"

Forks clatter back to life as Henry and Maureen glare at each other across the table. Will stands abruptly, turning to Elizabeth. "I need to talk to you outside."

"Will, please," Elizabeth starts, but when he turns on his heel and leaves the table, she excuses herself and follows him. The front door clicks shut behind her.

Grace's oldest son lasts approximately five minutes, glaring at his sister all the while, before he shoves his chair back and heads for the door.

"Choosing sides already, huh?" Patrick mutters.

She has a straight view to the entryway where, at Patrick's words, Henry grabs three coats from the hook, two blankets from the basket, and lets the door slam behind him.

They never come back in. When the football game has been put on, the dishes have been done, and the children have dispersed, Grace goes to check on them and finds the three of them out on the porch with Erin and Shane, frozen fingers, and a deck of cards.

She makes five mugs of hot chocolate and prays for peace on earth.

"She's beautiful, Elizabeth. Just beautiful. She looks just like you." Elizabeth beams as Grace stands at the foot of the hospital bed, cradling her brand new granddaughter in her arms.

"Don't you want to know her name, Mom?" Henry questions slyly, glancing down at Elizabeth.

"Oh! I'd almost forgotten! Of course!" his mother exclaims.

He looks down at Elizabeth in deferment. "Stephanie Grace McCord," Elizabeth tells her. Grace bursts into happy tears on the spot.

Four years later, Alison Suzanne McCord will give them quite a scare.

Henry's mother is the only person they let in for quite some time. She holds their tiny infant while Henry clings to Elizabeth's hand like she could slip away any moment, even though the doctors have assured them that she and the baby are both out of the woods now. She is pale and exhausted, but the sight of Henry, and later Grace, holding their new baby brings a smile to her face.

Finally, Elizabeth encourages Henry, who still hasn't stopped shaking, to take a walk to clear his head, and Grace gives her a nod of understanding before she follows him out into the hall.

"Mom," he cries, "Elizabeth almost died." Grace takes him into her arms until the sobs begin to taper off. "They said she was bleeding and then she passed out and—"

"Shh, shh. I know, sweetheart. She's alright now. They're both alright. It's all going to be okay."

Later, Henry swears to Elizabeth that he won't leave Alison alone and goes with the nurses for the newborn checks.

Grace takes Henry's chair and Elizabeth's hand, smiling gently but conspiratorially at her daughter-in-law. "You know, I think this one looks a little more like Henry. I'll have to have a word with her about that. After all, you did all the work."

—-

Elizabeth doesn't know why this Mother's Day is hitting her so hard. Maybe because it's the first one since their little family has been completed by the arrival of Jason, or maybe it's because she and Will had fought so viciously so recently, but she's been fighting back tears all day.

She feels guilty, too, because they've made it so perfect for her. She'd woken later than usual to the pitter patter of little feet bearing breakfast and homemade cards as their father begged them to be careful with the tray. Henry'd brought her lovely flowers. Grace is staying with them for the weekend for a visit, and her devotion to her grandchildren had given Elizabeth and Henry some time alone together after breakfast. She doesn't even have to go to work, for once.

Maybe it's the way when they finally come downstairs Henry has the chance to hug his own mother tightly, wishing her a Happy Mother's Day. Elizabeth wishes her the same, but her heart hurts all the while. When she reenters the kitchen a few hours later she is frozen in her tracks by what greets her. Jason in his high chair, squealing with joy, and Stevie and Ali with their little hands in the dough and sprinkles around their mouths, and Grace smiling broadly, giving instruction here and there but mostly doing her duty: spoiling her grandchildren.

It's so sweet, the sight of them all around the counter. Her two little girls and her baby boy and their grandmother, baking cookies together. Elizabeth can't explain why she is suddenly bursting into tears.

Henry starts toward her immediately as she buries her face in her hands, his expression all worry, but his mother cuts him off at the pass. "I've got her," she murmurs. Grace wraps her up in a hug and whispers words of comfort, and she melts into the warmth of it.

"I'm sorry–" Elizabeth tries as the tears begin to slow, but her mother-in-law shakes her head.

"It's okay to miss your mom, dear, today of all days. And it's okay to wish she were here to do these things with your beautiful children."

—-

"You're up awfully late," Grace says quietly, pulling her robe tighter around her as she steps into her own kitchen.

Elizabeth starts, barely preventing her tea from spilling.

"Sorry, dear, I thought you heard me coming."

"No, no, I'm sorry, Grace. I guess I was lost in thought. Did I wake you?"

The older woman smiles gently and pours herself a cup of tea, taking the seat opposite. "Do you want to talk about what's bothering you?"

Elizabeth shrugs, biting her lip and fiddling with her wedding ring.

"Henry seems to be bothered by something as well," Grace ventures. "I love my son very much, but he's moped in the exact same way since he was a toddler, and he's done it every time you two have had an argument since you were in college."

Elizabeth snorts. "It's all in his eyebrows, right?"

"Exactly," Grace smirks, "and he thinks he doesn't make a face."

Elizabeth grins lovingly for a second until her expression drops.

"You make a face when something's bothering you too, dear. Would you like to talk about it?"

She fiddles with the handle of her mug for long moments. "I quit my job last week."

Grace raises her eyebrows. "Henry didn't mention that."

"I asked him not to. I'm just trying to—to process, I guess."

"You always seemed to be very invested in your work with the CIA, dear," Grace says curiously.

"I…was. But it was—well, they asked more of me. I had proposed a policy change, and they wanted me to implement it."

"That's wonderful then, dear. So why did you—"

"Overseas. For a year."

"Oh."

"Yeah," Elizabeth shrugs, eyes fixed on her mug.

"So you didn't—"

"Henry and I argued. I mean, it's not like I wanted to leave him and the kids for a year, but I just—well, I could have made real change, and now I feel a little…" but she trails off, looking ashamed.

"Lost?" Grace asks gently.

Elizabeth nods. "Was I wrong?" she looks up at Grace with a hint of desperation, "to want to follow through on what I started, to really improve the system?"

"No, dear. It doesn't seem to me you were wrong at all. And it certainly doesn't make you a lesser wife or mother, if that's part of what has you up in the middle of the night."

"I love Henry," Elizabeth murmurs firmly, "and I don't want to miss out on time with our kids, but a part of me still feels like…like I missed my chance to really help people. And I won't get that back."

"Have you told Henry this?"

Elizabeth shakes her head. "We fought about it. I don't want to make it worse."

"You won't, dear. Henry would listen to you talk about anything in the world, and that's the only way you're going to resolve this."

"I know," she whispers, "and I'll figure out what I'm going to do. I think I just need some time."

"Then I'll give you that," Grace replies easily, rising with her mug. "But hear me on this: you have done great things, Elizabeth, and now you've done a very difficult thing. I'm proud of you, and I'm certain you'll do more great things in your life, whatever the scale. Goodnight, my dear."

"Wait, you never said whether or not I woke you up. I'm sorry if–"

"Don't be sorry. I've always woken up when one of my kids needs me."

—-

"Hello, dear. Your turn on watch?"

Elizabeth jolts, looking up from her book to Grace McCord's face at the head of the hospital bed. "You're awake! I'll get—"

"Not yet. I want to talk to just you first." She gathers herself, squeezing Elizabeth's hand. "I think it's nearly time."

"Grace, I–-I don't know what to say."

"Say you'll promise me something."

Elizabeth nods. "I promise I'll look after Henry."

Grace snorts in response. "Please, there was never a doubt in my mind as to that. And I seem to recall you promising that twenty years ago in a courthouse, regardless."

"Okay," Elizabeth laughs, "what can I promise you then?"

"That you'll look after yourself, and let Henry look after you."

"I'll try. I promise you that."

"I know you don't really believe in this sort of thing, Elizabeth, but I think I'll be watching over you and Henry and the kids."

"I don't quite know what I believe, you know, but that's comforting nonetheless," Elizabeth whispers.

They lapse into comfortable silence for a moment.

Finally— "Grace, they don't know you're awake. You–you could be spending this time with Patrick, Henry, your kids, I should—" and she starts to rise from the bedside.

The older woman chuckles, holding onto her hand to signal to her to stay. Elizabeth doesn't have the heart to pull away and leave her. "It's about time you got it through your head that I consider you one of my children, Elizabeth. I have since that first Thanksgiving. I love you and take pride in you just like I do my flesh and blood."

"I love you too, Grace," she whispers past the lump in her throat. "You don't know how grateful I am for having you in my life." Elizabeth can feel the end of the moment nearing, and she braces herself.

"One more thing, dear. I was born a Catholic and I'm dying a Catholic. If I'm right about the afterlife, I'm going to tell Suzanne and Benjamin just how beautifully their daughter turned out. As for their son…we'll discuss." Elizabeth lets out a half sob, half laugh and Grace smiles until the worst of it begins again and she grits her teeth against the surge.

"Grace," Elizabeth murmurs, tears sliding down her face at last, "let me get the doctor. You're in pain."

"Of course I'm in pain, dear, I'm dying. I've been dying for days. But the Lord is coming to get me any hour now, and then I'll be cancer-free. Do you want to know why I asked Him not to take me quite yet?"

Elizabeth wipes her cheeks with the back of a shaky hand. "Why?"

"Because I refused to leave without letting you say goodbye this time, my dear."

—-