Okay so this is not the final part! I decided to make this a 3-parter. :) Please keep reviewing, I'm loving all the feedback!

…

"Mommy. Your braid you put in Mermaid Barbie's hair came out. Can you do it again for her? She says pretty, pretty please, mommy."

I look over my shoulder to where Chelsea is playing under a desk in the corner office, her clan of Barbies a mess of hair and Velcro beside her. She's holding up a one-armed doll with a pink, scaled tail, whose hair looks like it definitely needs work. But I have rubber gloves on my hands as I scrub the windows, not available to play salon. "Not right now, babe," I say, turning back to the view in front of me.

"But Mommy…" she whines, sighing in defeat. "She looks all messy."

"Who was the one who undid her braid, huh?" I ask playfully.

"She did. She said she wanted her hair to be flowy in the bath. Remember, last night?" I do. That doll had been doing high dives from the faucet and then splashing into the water - my jeans had splatter-marks to prove it. "But then it dried all crazy, and she really needs you to fix it."

"Chels, I'm busy."

"You're always busy."

"I'm-" I take a breath, about to argue before I stop myself. It's not worth getting into it. "We're at work right now. I have to do my job."

"It's not my work," she grumbles. "It would just take a tiny second."

"Not right now, Chels," I say, casting one more look at her. I give a small shake of the head and she crosses her arms in a huff, pouting that lower lip out at me.

"Meanie," she grouches.

"Meanie?" I hear, then Jesse appears in the doorway like he's been known to do. We clean this office once a week, and have been for the last month or so. Maybe a little more. I can't be fooled to think that he works late every single Tuesday; it just doesn't track. I have a feeling he stays on purpose, but I haven't worked up the gall to say it aloud yet. I don't necessarily want him to stop, and I'm afraid that voicing it might make him do just that. "Who's the meanie?"

"I am, apparently," I say, and smile just a little. "Hey. Working late again?"

"You know me," he says. "Where's Chelsea?"

I make eye contact with my daughter where she sits under the desk and she puts a finger to her lips. "No idea," I fib, then turn around and continue with the windows.

"Huh," he says. "Too bad. Because I've been looking to show off my braiding skills and it's a shame I won't get to."

"What?" Chelsea says, blowing her cover by crawling out from underneath the desk with Mermaid Barbie in tow. "You can braid? Can you do Barbie hair?"

"Yeah," he says, shrugging like it's no big deal. "Of course."

She juts her arm out straight and shows him her doll. "Can you braid it really pretty?"

He takes it from her while I watch quietly, waiting to see what unfolds. "I can do you one better than pretty," he says, situation the doll between his knees. "I'll give you gorgeous."

"Gorgeous!" Chelsea titters. "Like Taylor Swift."

"You're so gorgeous… I can't say anything to your face…" Jesse sings under his breath.

"'Cause look at your face!" Chelsea finishes, shouting the lyric.

Jesse laughs and smiles at his hands while he works Barbie's hair into a neat, quick braid. "You like Taylor?" he asks.

"I love her!" Chelsea answers. "Like so, so, so, so much." Jesse's eyes flit over to me and we share a conspiratorial smile. It's not that I have anything against Taylor, but he knows that she's not my style. It's just my luck that I have a daughter obsessed with her and her candy pop vibe.

"That's a lot of love," Jesse says.

"Yeah."

He finishes up Barbie's hair, then presents her to Chelsea with grandeur. "May I present to you, the most beautiful braid you've ever seen," he says.

"Yay!" my daughter cheers. She takes the doll and runs her short fingers over the shiny braid, made new from his hands. "You did it so good. Do you practice at home? Does your kid have dolls that I can play with?" she asks hopefully.

Jesse laughs softly. "I don't have kids," he tells her.

"How did you get so good at braids?" Chelsea asks, then studies his head. "Your hair is way too short."

"Had a little sister growing up," he tells her, like they're sharing a secret. "She made me braid her hair all the time, 'cause I'm pretty sure she wished she had a big sister instead of a brother. She wouldn't take no for an answer, so I had to learn."

"You learned 'cause of your little sister?"

"Yeah," he says. "And then, in college, I would do your mom's hair sometimes."

I hear Chelsea gasp and giggle. "She asked you to?" she prompts.

"Nah," he says. "I'd only do it when she'd let me. I'd be the one asking her."

"'Cause she has really pretty hair," she says.

"Very pretty," he agrees.

"Mommy, Jesse thinks you have pretty hair," Chelsea says, and I hear the grin in her voice.

"You have a big mouth," he tells her.

"She gets that from Chloe," I say, stepping down from the stool I had been using.

"Auntie Chloe!" Chelsea says, gathering up her Barbies. "I'm gonna go make a craft for Auntie Chloe. Can I use the papers on your desk again, Jesse?"

"Sure," he says. "The pens and highlighters are all yours, too. Go wild."

"Go wild!" she repeats.

I snort as my daughter stampedes out of the room. "You're gonna regret saying that," I tell him.

He watches her go, then turns back to me. "She's so cute," he says.

"She is," I say, then kneel to gather the trash from the small bin near the wall.

"You want some help?" Jesse asks, standing. "While you do the trash, I could… polish something. Or something."

"Oh, god. No way," I say.

"Why not?" he asks. "It'd give me some purpose. I'm just sitting here taking up space, watching you work. It feels wrong."

"It's my job," I say, tying the trash bag and setting it on the bottom tray of my cart. "And you just happen to be here."

"Well, you're cleaning my workplace. So, I should help."

"This isn't your office," I say, a playful glint in my eye. "You're no bigwig."

"True," he says. "Even more reason as to why I should help. I'm earning my keep, if you think about it."

"If I think about it," I say, then sigh. "Jesse, no. Seriously. It's… embarrassing."

"Why?" he asks.

"Because I'm a cleaning lady," I say, eyes wide like he should understand. It's clear he doesn't, though.

"And?" he says. "You get to spend time with your kid. You're making money to pay the bills and keep her fed. And it means I get to hang out with you, too. What's so wrong with being a cleaning lady?"

I sigh. "We could've figured out some way to run into each other without this happening," I say.

"Oh, yeah?" he says, ignoring my wishes and wiping down the display case on the other side of the office. I don't bother telling him to stop; I know better than to think he'll listen. "I don't think so. We've lived in the same city for like, five years, and never even texted."

I say, "Phone works both ways." He shrugs one shoulder, now unable to look my way. It doesn't go unnoticed. "What?" I say.

He shakes his head. "I mean, I heard you got married. I didn't know to who… I didn't want to know. I figured texting you would just make things weird. That's why I didn't. It's not that I didn't want to."

"Oh," I say.

"And with the way things were with…" he trails off. "It probably wasn't possible for you to reach out to me."

"What do you mean?"

He turns around and we make eye contact - he's holding a rag, I'm holding a trash bag. There's so much space between us that I wish wasn't there, but I shouldn't allow myself to wish for that. That's crazy. "Because of him," he says. "Luke."

"Oh," I say, feeling my demeanor change. "Yeah."

"Beca," Jesse says. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. But what… what Chelsea said the other day. I know it was bad timing then and I would never… not in front of her. But what went on between you and him? What did he do to you?"

I let out a long breath and set down the trash, bracing my hands on the desk in front of me. "I… it…" I say, then look towards the ceiling with a smile that holds anything but joy. It's to fill the space, more than anything. "It was never good?" I say, voice raising at the end like a question. "He was a drunk. That was basically it. And it wasn't like he came home every night and hit me. It was just… just a few times. He was always wasted. He never did it when he was sober, he would never…" My voice breaks, but I clear my throat to keep going. "What Chels was talking about, that was the last night. The fact that she saw it, I knew… I just knew that it was over. I couldn't let it go any longer." I shrug and blink hard, wanting to get those images out of my head. "We're not together anymore, obviously. Or maybe not obviously, I don't know. But we're divorced."

"And you're safe?" he asks. "Both of you?"

I nod. "Yeah," I say. "I don't think he'd like, come after us, or anything. But even so, he doesn't know where we live now."

"Good." Jesse shakes his head then presses his lips together, creases appearing on his forehead. "I'm sorry," he says finally. "I'm really sorry that happened to you. I… I don't know what to say other than that."

"Nothing," I say. "There's… I don't want you to say anything else."

"Does anyone know?" he asks. "Did you ever call the police? He could go to jail, Beca."

"You and I both know that wouldn't happen," I say, brushing him off. "Only Chloe knows. And now, you." I look at him with alarm, a new thought dawning on me. "You're not gonna try to get the police involved, are you?" I ask.

"No," he says. "No, I would never do something like that if you didn't ask me to."

"Okay."

There's a long pause as I dig through my cleaning cart without meaning, not looking for anything in particular. I just need something to do with my hands. "You don't have to be ashamed," Jesse finally says.

"What?" I say, picking my head up.

"About what he did, how he treated you," he clarifies. "You don't have to be embarrassed or ashamed. Or guilty, or anything."

I shrug a little. "It's hard not to feel like that. It's not so easy as just… not feeling like that."

"I know," he says. "But that's how he wants you to feel. And I just hope you know that… I don't know, you're not in the wrong. You got yourself and Chelsea out. You did a good thing."

That's the first time someone has said something like that to me in a long time. So, I meet his eyes deftly and say, "Thank you."

…

A few weeks later, I'm standing outside Chelsea's school and watching her come down the stairs with the rest of the kids. She shuffles over in a pair of jeans and a purple t-shirt, hair in a messy ponytail as I wave excitedly at her. "Hi, beautiful!" I exclaim, then kneel to give her a big hug. "How was your day?"

"Okay."

"Just okay?" I ask. "Do you wanna play for a little bit? I don't have to work this afternoon."

"No," she says, then flinches and glances over her shoulder as a pair of siblings comes screaming past us. "I wanna go home."

"Home?" I say, raising my eyebrows. "You don't wanna go to the playground?" She shakes her head. "Alright," I say, a bit crestfallen. I was excited about making her happy with a free afternoon to play at the park, but now I can't figure out her mood. This has happened more than once, and to say it's bothering me would be an understatement. She's becoming too much like me already, and she's only in kindergarten. I didn't think this would start until middle school.

We walk down the sidewalk towards the parking lot, and I reach for her hand when it comes time to weave through the cars. I look down as she lifts her arm, then do a double take as I see her normally unblemished skin covered in small, circular bruises.

"Chels," I say, stopping in my tracks and holding her arm up to the light so I can see it better. "Chelsea, what are these marks?"

She doesn't answer. She just stares up at me with her big blue eyes and blinks. For the first time, I have no idea what's going on inside her head and I hate it. I'm terrified of that blankness.

"Chels!" I say, though I know I let my voice get too hysterical. It's hard not to. "Is someone hurting you?" I kneel down and look right into her eyes, holding one tiny hand with both of mine. "Chelsea. Is someone hurting you at school?"

"No," she finally answers, trying to sound earnest. She takes her arm back slowly and shakes her head. "No, mommy."

"What are the bruises from?" I ask. "Chels, tell me where the bruises are from. What happened for you to get these marks all over your arm?"

"I don't know," she whimpers.

"I think you do know," I say, trying to keep calm. "Just tell me, babe. Nothing is bad is gonna happen, I just need you to tell me."

"I don't know, mommy," she insists. "I don't know." Then, she starts to cry.

"Okay," I say, then scoop her up and hold her in my arms on the way to the car. "Alright."

I put her in her car seat and try to convince myself that everything is okay. Maybe nothing happened and she's telling the truth; the fact that I got so worked up is what made her cry. I'm lost in my thoughts as she gathers herself in the back seat, and when we're about halfway home she's completely composed and back to her normal self. "Remember the braid that Jesse did in Mermaid Barbie's hair?" she asks, the subject surfacing out of nowhere.

"Yeah," I say.

"It's still in there after a hundred hours and days passed. It's that good a braid."

"Wow," I say halfheartedly.

"I want him to do braids in all my Barbies," she says. "When are we gonna see him again?"

"I'm not sure, baby."

"When we go clean his work again?" she asks.

"Yeah. Probably."

"I can't wait 'til then, then!" she says excitedly. "I'm gonna bring all my Barbies and- Auntie Chloe!"

"What?" I say, squinting in the rearview. "You're gonna bring…?"

"At our house!" Chelsea says, pointing madly towards the windshield. "Standing outside our 'partment! Auntie Chloe!"

After seeing the shock of red hair and excited waving, I notice that my daughter is right. There's Chloe, standing in front of our apartment complex, smiling as we approach. "Wonder what she's doing here," I muse, then pull into our usual parking spot.

"Auntie Chloe!" Chelsea screams for the thousandth time after she unbuckles and rockets out of her booster seat. She throws open the car door and careens into Chloe's arms, then gets lifted from the ground and swung in a circle.

"Well hello, my most favorite niece!" Chloe says, still hugging my daughter as I lock the car. I shoot her a terse smile and she gives me an unbridled one in return. "And my favorite working woman. Hey, Becs."

"Hey," I say, hitching Chelsea's backpack higher on my shoulder as I lead the way up the stairs. "What're you up to on this side of town?"

She shrugs and kicks her shoes off, instantly getting comfortable even though Chelsea is still hanging off of her. "Coming to visit my faves," she says. "No reason, really. It's not a bad time, is it? I don't have to stay, if it is."

"No, stay!" Chelsea insists. "Stay, stay, stay!"

"Yeah," I say, sighing and pasting on a smile while trying to force Chelsea's bruises out of my mind for the time being. "No, it's fine. I can order a pizza, or something."

"Pizza!" my daughter and Chloe chorus at once.

They sit on the couch in front of the TV while I stand in the kitchen space, looking for the pizza place's phone number. As I'm scrolling, I see Chelsea introducing Chloe to her new Barbies - AKA the ones I picked up at a garage sale this past weekend. She still brags about them, though, and brags about the braid in Mermaid Barbie's hair, too.

"Did Mommy do that?" Chloe asks, just as I'm about to dial the number.

Shit, I think. Shit, shit, shit.

"No," Chelsea answers. "Jesse did."

"Jessie?" Chloe questions. "Is she a friend at school?"

"No, silly!" Chelsea says, doubling over with laughter. "Mommy's friend Jesse whose office we clean. We see him on Tuesdays! Right, mommy?"

Chloe turns around and her face morphs as she sees the expression on mine. I gave myself away; that much is clear. "You're kidding," Chloe says, eyes wide. "That Jesse?"

I nod minutely, then prevent any further questioning by calling the pizza place and raising the phone to my ear. As I order, I half-listen-half-watch Chloe and my daughter talk, and if I had any doubts about Chloe's big mouth before, they're gone now. She spills everything - in a child's terms, of course - about mine and Jesse's past to my little girl. And by the time I hang up the phone, Chelsea is enraptured with her eyebrows raised to the ceiling.

"You and Jesse love each other!" she shrieks, pointing like she's accusing me of something. "Wait," she stops mid-thought. "Were you married in college together?"

"No," I say, eyes wide. "And it's not… we don't love each other anymore, Chels. Not like that. It was a long time ago. He was my boyfriend for a while-"

"Were you his girlfriend?"

"Yes," I answer with a deep inhale. "But it was back then. Not now. Now, we're just friends. Just like you guys are friends."

Chelsea's forehead wrinkles as she thinks some more. She's quiet for a long moment and Chloe looks at me with an apologetic smile, mouthing 'sorry' behind my daughter's head. Then, Chelsea gasps. "He should come to Friendsgiving!" she announces, one finger in the air.

"Chels, no…"

"Chels, yes!" she says, bouncing now. "He's our friend. You just said. And Friendsgiving is a Thanksgiving for friends, like we always do every single year! He has to come. Please, mommy? Please, can he come?"

"I don't know," I say, suddenly feeling very overwhelmed. "He probably has his own plans. He doesn't wanna come hang out with all of us on a holiday."

"But maybe he doesn't have plans!" she says, still hopeful. "Can we please just please ask him, mommy?"

"Doesn't hurt to ask," Chloe adds.

"Yeah," Chelsea says.

"You're not helping," I tell my friend.

"Please, mommy?" Chelsea asks. "I'll do the asking. I'll talk. Please, I just really want him to come."

Then, because I know I won't win this fight with someone somehow more stubborn than me, I give in. "Fine, okay," I say. "But don't get sad when he says no."

…

Chelsea doesn't have to get sad. He says yes.

The next time we go to his office, asking him is the first thing Chelsea does. "Jesse!" she shouts, charging ahead of me, her little feet with the light-up sneakers stomping the ground.

"Chels!" he shouts back, playfully.

"I have a question," she says, talking loud enough that I can hear her from a good distance away. She's breathless from running, but still manages to get the words out. "Every year we always do a Friendsgiving instead of a Thanksgiving at my Auntie Chloe's. Can you come?"

"Can I come?" he echoes. "Whose idea was this? Is it alright with your mom?"

"Yeah," she says. "Please, can you come?"

"I mean…" he says, stumbling over his words a bit. "If it's cool with everyone, I'd love to be there."

"It's cool!" she says with a scream. "It's super cool! Mommy!" She turns around and shrieks my name. "He said he can come! I told you!"

Jesse and I share a look and I can't help but smile. He's always been able to get one out of me. "She told you," Jesse says.

"Guess so," I say, then raise my eyebrows at my daughter. "I have to clean the sound booths and my boss asked that you stay out, little miss. So, don't get into too much trouble while I'm gone."

"I'll keep an eye on her," Jesse says.

I look over to him. "Oh, you don't have to," I say, somewhat concerned. "Shouldn't you be doing… your own work?"

The apples of his cheeks flush a bit, hearing that. "Don't know what you're talking about," he says jokingly. "Work? What's that?"

"Yeah, what's that?" Chelsea says, giggling as she takes Jesse by the hand - the size difference is adorable. "Come on, Jesse. I have to show you my new Barbies."

"Be good!" I shout after them, getting a good grip on my cleaning cart as I take it inside the booths.

It takes me a while to finish everything that needs to be done - there are a lot of intricate areas to be perfected, and my hands are sore by the time I'm done. And when I'm finally back out, the main office is eerily quiet. "Chels?" I call out, dragging the cart as usual. "Chelsea-bear?"

I come around the corner to find Jesse sitting on the floor in a conference room, an array of Barbies surrounding him. "Shh," he says. "She fell asleep."

"Oh," I say, stopping in my tracks as I see Chelsea curled up under the long table. "Oh, good."

He smiles gently, then looks up at me before standing. He brushes himself off and lingers between the two of us, wondering what to do with himself. "Tired herself out with all the Barbie talk, I guess," he says, chuckling.

"Yeah. Once she gets going, it's hard to get her to stop," I say fondly. "She's my chatterbox. It surprises people."

"Why's that?" he asks.

I laugh breathily and make a face like he should find it obvious. "Because she's so open and chatty and I'm so… me? I guess?"

The corners of his mouth turn down as he shakes his head. "Nah," he says. "Those people just don't know you well enough, then. Get you talking about the right thing, with the right people? Jesus, good luck ever getting a word in edgewise."

I can't help but grin. "Whatever," I say.

"Those tangents you used to go on when you were tipsy? Wish I would've recorded them," he says, continuing. "I could get you started on anything and you'd just go. And go. And go."

"Shut up," I say. "You're such a liar."

"No," he says, egging me on. "One time you talked for a full 45 whole minutes about the difference between butter and margarine. I'm not kidding."

"I did not," I say, sitting in a rolling chair that's far enough away from Chelsea so my voice won't wake her. It won't anyway; she's like me in the respect that she's a very heavy sleeper. Once she's out, there's no going back.

Luckily, Jesse picks up the hint and sits in the chair adjacent, facing me. "You so did," he says, and our knees bump each other ever-so-slightly. Neither of us do anything to change our position, either. I like the contact. Back when we were together, we were the type of couple that was always touching. Before him, I hated seeing that in people. I always wondered what was so wrong with having a little personal space. But when Jesse came into my life, personal space stopped existing. I caught on pretty fast to the fact that physical contact was how he expressed his love, and at first it was a lot for me to handle. I was never someone who enjoyed being touched. But he changed that, along with many other things, about me. Whether it was holding hands while we watched a movie with our friends, one of us rifling fingers through the other's hair, or simply leaning against his side, we always found a way to link. Right now, I can't help but be reminded of it.

We're quiet for a moment as our kneecaps rest against each other, and though he's looking at me, I can't look back. It's too intense; I feel laid bare under his eyes. He's always had that ability - to be able to look right through me. It's disarming, that's for sure.

"I wanna tell you something Chelsea said," he whispers a bit later. "But I don't want you to freak out."

Instantly, my calm demeanor changes and I'm on alert. I sit up straighter and lean in, saying, "Was it about Luke?"

"No," he says, running his top teeth over his lower lip. "I don't really remember how the subject came up. It was kinda out of nowhere. I just listened and let her talk because I didn't want her to shut down or anything." He's always been good at that - listening with no other motives. He used to be the only person I would open up to because I knew he wouldn't judge me. Chelsea clearly had the same gut feeling that I always did; that Jesse can be trusted.

"Okay…"

"She's having issues with a boy at school," he says slowly, maintaining eye contact the entire time. "It sounds like it started with the run-of-the-mill teasing, normal stuff. But she told me about times where he's purposefully excluded her from people who she thought were her friends. Called her names, pushed her down. Pinched her."

I feel the color drain from my face as realization sinks in. "The bruises," I say, my throat clogging. I can't remember the last time I cried, but tears are imminent. It was happening right there in front of me, and I did nothing to stop it. What happened to mother's intuition? Where was mine when I needed it? Chelsea was being hurt and I allowed it. What does that say about me as a mother? As a person in general? "Fuck." My voice breaks and the first tear falls, and as I close my eyes, Jesse reaches and takes one of my hands, holding just tight enough. "I asked," I croak, sniffling. "But she wouldn't tell me."

He strokes my knuckles with his thumb as I cry. I don't look up, but I let the tears fall. I know there's no stopping them, anyway. "She didn't tell you because she didn't want you to feel any more afraid," he says. "Those were her words. I think she thought she could handle it on her own." He smiles sadly. "Sound familiar?"

I let my head hang lower. Have I taught my daughter to be an island? "I can't believe I didn't just... know," I say.

"You would've figured it out eventually," he says.

"But would it have been too late?" I ask. "This little shit has already made her not want to go to school. She's so depressed when I pick her up. He probably tortures her all day. Did you get a name?" He shakes his head. "I'll figure it out. I'll…" I stand up from the chair and my hand slips from his. "I'm gonna figure it out."

"Bec," he says, stopping me in my tracks. "It's past 9."

"And?"

"It can wait 'til tomorrow," he says, voice soothing.

I take a look at my daughter, still sleeping soundly under the table surrounded by a myriad of dolls - everyone's hair braided. Even her own. I let out an errant sob and press my back against the wall, sliding down until my knees are drawn up and I can wrap my arms around them. Without waiting, Jesse comes to join me, sitting beside me so our legs touch. "It kills me," I whimper, chin resting atop one knee as I still look at her. I shake my head and press my eyes shut tight, feeling tears leak out. "I can't stand the thought. That last night with Luke… she saw what happened. She saw him lay hands on me. And now someone is doing it to her."

"It's not the same."

"But it basically is," I say. "Abuse is a cycle. By seeing it, she thinks it's normal."

"Have you talked to her about what happened? What she saw?"

"Yeah," I say truthfully. "Although I never know what to say about Luke. He's her dad… and it always killed me when my parents would shit talk each other. He's a bad guy. I know that. He's a drunk and he's violent but when he was sober and actually around, he was good to her." My chin wobbles and I start to cry harder, then feel Jesse slowly wrap an arm around my shoulders. It's comforting and makes me feel safe, so I lean into him. He smells the same as he always did. Woodsy and clean. "I know she misses him. She talks to the dolls about him sometimes, but always stops when I come in the room, like she thinks she'll get in trouble. And… it's just all…" I take a deep breath and let it out, deflating. "I don't know."

He rubs my back and I lean closer, resting my full weight against him. He rests his cheek against the top of my head and doesn't say anything because he doesn't have to. His presence is enough.

"Everything is just so hard," I say.

"I know."

"It was so much easier with you."

I think the statement takes him by surprise, because a beat passes before he answers. But he does. He presses a soft kiss to the top of my hair, then says, "I know."

…

There's only one day left until Thanksgiving break, so I surprise Chelsea and keep her home from school. We work on preparing what we've been assigned for Friendsgiving dinner, and crank up the music loud. Even though I'm not the biggest fan of Christmas music before Thanksgiving, I can't help but smile as she sings along - completely off-key - to Frosty the Snowman.

I watch my daughter closely and soak in her happiness, allowing her to eat the batter and become covered in flour. I don't police our mess, I just let it happen. My mood is only dampened when it comes time to mix the batter with our hands. Hers are already messy, so I go to roll up her sleeves and come across the same bruises I saw before. She watches me notice them and I take a deep breath, trying to piece together the words I want to use. I don't want to scare her, ruin the mood, or betray she and Jesse's trust, but I do want to let her know that I'll always protect her, no matter what.

"I'm gonna do something about this," I assure her, holding both of her hands. I look to the bruises first, then meet her eyes. I know she knows what I mean.

It's enough. After that small moment, our day is back to business as usual. We finish the pumpkin pie, the green bean casserole (which is only a little burnt) and the chocolate chip cookies. Chelsea is stuffed full with batter and once everything is wrapped up and ready to take to Chloe's, we can relax. We fall asleep on the couch watching A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving, and it feels like everything might be finally, slowly coming together.

…

The next day, we show up at Chloe's toting everything we worked so hard making yesterday. "My faves are here!" Chloe sings, opening the door to present her exquisitely-decorated house. It looks like she pulled the inside straight from Pinterest. Every inch is covered in subtle Thanksgiving decorations, and it looks amazing. "Happy Friendsgiving!"

"Friendsgiving!" Chelsea repeats, then steps inside with her black Mary-Jane shoes. On top, she's wearing a brown dress with a white collar, which was a gift from my dad. I told him it looked like something a pilgrim would wear, but she loves it. So, it got worn. I French braided her hair, and though she said Jesse could probably do better, she deemed it acceptable at the very least.

"You both look adorable," Chloe says, taking the food as we enter the kitchen. "And you're the first ones here."

"I thought you said 3," I say, looking around at her still-empty house. I can hear her husband upstairs, probably getting ready, as she turns around with a wide smile.

"Well, you're always late. We're gonna start at 4… so, I maybe told you a little early?"

"Chloe."

"You got here at 3:34!" she says. "So, excuse me for being right."

I shake my head and sigh, but Chelsea and I soon busy ourselves with helping her get set up. By the time 4pm rolls around, everyone else starts arriving - all of the Bellas, who happen to be obsessed with my child. Of course, she feels the same way about them and absolutely loves the attention, soaking it up whenever they're around. I lose track of her by the time they all arrive because she's too busy working the room, but that's fine with me.

"So, how've you two been?" Chloe asks as we put the final touches on the dining room.

"Fine," I say.

"Just fine?"

"Yeah," I say. "Chels has been having some problems at school, and-"

"Jesse!" Chelsea shouts from a couple rooms away.

I pick up my head and look Chloe in the eyes to find hers glinting. She nods towards the door wearing a smirk, then says, "Go say hi."

"I hate you," I grumble, but don't waste time. I walk out of the dining room and into the foyer, where Jesse is just coming through the door and taking off his coat. Chelsea has already taken the dish he brought, which looks like some sort of dessert.

"Everybody's already here!" Chelsea says. "You're the last one. We waited for you!"

"Well, geez, I didn't mean to be late," he says. "I thought the time was sort of a loose thing."

"With Chloe, never," I say, then smile. "Hey."

"Hey," he says, returning the grin. "You look nice."

"Thanks. So do you." It's not just a pleasantry, it's true. Dressed in dark jeans and a crisp, blue flannel, he looks every bit festive and attractive. I haven't felt the pull that I feel towards him in years and years. I used to love it when he wore blue. I can't help but wonder if he did it on purpose.

"Mommy braided my hair today," Chelsea says, cutting through our shared moment. "But you can probably do it better. Right? Will you?"

"It looks nice, Chels," Jesse says, smoothing his hand over the top of the braid. "Your mom did a good job."

"Yeah, but you're the most awesome braider," she says. "I want you to do it."

"Chels," I say. "Let him get in the door." He smiles and I smile back, seemingly unable to stop. "Wanna bring that into the kitchen? Me and Chloe were just finishing up."

"Sure."

I lead the way there and Chloe is waiting for us with a Cheshire-cat-esque grin. "Hi, Jesse," she says, giving him a big hug. "It's been forever! You haven't changed a bit."

"You haven't, either," he says lightly. "Thanks for having me, by the way. Where should I put this?"

"Anywhere," she says. "And this is your spot right here." She pats the back of a wooden chair at the table. "Right next to Beca! I can't wait. This is gonna be so fun."

When everyone is gathered around the table with enough food on our plates to feed an army, there's a pleasant rise and fall of voices in the room. There's a lot of people shoved in a small space, so mine and Jesse's elbows bump every so often. We catch each other's eye when it happens, but neither of us mind. If I were a little bolder, I might even take his hand under the table. But not only am I certain that all the Bellas would overreact, I don't know if I'm ready for something like that. My heart tells me that yes, I am, but my brain says otherwise. My brain says run.

Chelsea finishes eating first, of course, because all she does is pick around the mashed potatoes. She gets down from the table and goes to find her Barbies, and I can hear the rise and fall of her voice from the front room. It's a comfort, a backdrop to all the important people in my life in one place.

But then, the air changes as the front door comes open. Chloe doesn't hear it, but I do. "Is someone else coming?" I ask curiously, and Chloe breaks from her conversation with Aubrey to tell me that she's not expecting anyone.

Then, everything shatters. Chelsea's voice cuts through the din and instead of comforting me like before, the word she shouts makes my gut twist and Jesse plant his hand protectively on my knee.

"Daddy!"