A/N: So this was originally intended to be a one-shot, but I got some inspiration as well as some people asking me to continue. So here I am, continuing!

Disclaimer: Believe it or not, I don't own them. I know, it's a difficult concept to grasp.

Preparing For Flight

You stand in your yard. That's right. Your yard. So maybe you don't actually own the house or the yard, but you will eventually. In the meantime, just living here is good enough.

Ever since you ran away from your parents you've wanted a better life for your daughter. You want her to have everything you didn't get and some things you did. You want her to know what it feels like to be loved and to be the center of someone's life. But you want to give her a nice home. You don't want her to be ashamed of you or anything in her life.

"Mommy?" You hear her little voice ask timidly.

"Yeah hon?" You inquire stopping your frantic cleaning to look down at her.

"Why don't we live in a house?" You freeze, startled by her question. You had hoped that you would never have to answer that, but now you have to say something. What do you tell her?

"Well," You start. "We don't have enough money to buy a house."

"Why?"

"Because I don't earn enough money from doing my job to buy a house."

"Why?" You sigh.

"Because being a maid isn't important as some other jobs and the people who do important jobs get more money." You pray that she accepts that and just moves on. You don't want to try to explain that you can't buy her everything; no matter how much you want to. You feel tears prick at your eyes.

"Oh," She says. "Okay." You feel grateful that she isn't asking more questions. Quickly, you take your daughter into the kitchen and ask the staff to watch her as you race to the bathroom and collapse against the wall of one of the stalls. You sink down into a sitting position and bury your face in your knees. All alone, you cry for your daughter. She deserves so much more than this.

You watch that same little girl, seven years later, as she runs around the yard and the house. She finally has a house. You love watching her plan out where everything will go in her room. Where all her books will fit. It's adorable, but you almost feel bad that she would get so excited over living in a house. You walk inside quietly and stand observing her as she runs around her room. She is unpacking the boxes and putting everything where it will remain until that room is packed up. It truly amazes you how organized she is. Your complete opposite in that area. You were the essence of disorderly when you were her age. Your mother hated it so much. When was the last time you saw her? Oh yes, Christmas dinner. The only function you happily attend and she ruined it for you. Attacked you.

"Lorelai Gilmore you stop right there!" You stop and groan, knowing that you've been caught.

"Yes mom?" You ask.

"Where did that girl just say she lives?"

"That girl is my daughter mother!"

"Where did she say you live?" She demands again, louder.

"In the potting shed." You mumble.

"Where?"

"The potting shed at the inn. Where I work." You say more loudly this time looking her directly in the eye.

"How could you?"

"How could I what?"

"How could you let that girl grow up in such poverty when she could have grown up here; with everything she needs!"

"Stop calling her 'that girl'. She has a name."

"Here you go. Always ignoring other people's attempts to help you."

"Hey!" You yell. "I do not ignore people when they try to help me, but you aren't trying to help me! You are trying to control me!"

"I am not trying to control you. I'm mad, and I have a right to be!"

"You what?" You stammer.

"You dragged that girl away from us. You would rather have her life in a shed than have her near us. You are depriving her of so much that she could have; should have."

You hold her head up high and walk out of the party. You are determined to keep your mother from seeing how she hurts you. She can't see the tears that welled up in your eyes at her words. No one can.

You walk slowly out of the room and begin to wander around. You take in all the sights of the house. The kitchen where the coffee maker goes. The living room for watching movies. Up the stairs, into your bedroom. You sit down on the floor and let some tears fall down your face. You can't decide if they are happy tears or sad tears. You finally figure that they are a combination of both.

You walk over to one of the boxes and open it. There sitting on top is the card that Rory gave you for your birthday when she was five. She was so proud of it then. It was messy, sloppy, it looked like a five year old had made it, but she had made it for you. It was the most heartfelt present you ever received.

"Here Mommy, I made this for you!"

You open it and read the words she so carefully printed out on the red construction paper heart.

"Dear Mommy,

Happy berthday! I love you so much!

Love,

Rory"

You start to tear up and pull your daughter into a tight hug. You bury your face in her hair and whisper a thank you. Her little arms wrap around your waist and hug you back.

You walk down the stairs and see your daughter in the living room.

"Hey," She says. You smile at her and walk over pulling her into an embrace.

"We made it." You whisper.