Disclaimer: This absolutely isn't mine.

Chapter Summary: Lynette gets some perspective. Missing scene in "Where Do I Belong?" This falls after Tom apologizes to Lynette in their bedroom.

Coda: Season Seven

A story by Ryeloza

Twelve: I Belong

"Mom?"

Lynette started at the sound of Penny's voice, letting out a startled, "Yeah?" as she glanced up from her book. When Penny didn't respond, she quickly wiped her eyes, upset that the action couldn't go unnoticed by her daughter, and put on a strained smile in an attempt to cover it up. She could tell from the look on Penny's face that she wasn't remotely convincing; in fact, she'd never seen her daughter stare at her in quite that way before. Worry and sadness (and what looked like but couldn't possibly be pity) strained her eyes, and after a minute, Penny turned and closed the door. Lynette shut her book and set it on the nightstand, carefully watching her daughter as she crossed the room and climbed into bed next to her.

Words stuck in the back of her throat like glue—wanting to ask Penny if she was okay; dying to offer reassurances; aching to be strong enough to act like everything was okay. Because somehow, somehow she knew, even before Penny spoke, exactly what her daughter was going to say.

"I heard you and Dad fighting earlier."

Lynette felt as though she was physically struck, even having known that these words were going to come out of Penny's mouth the moment she saw her appear in the doorway. Her anger, which had been growing steadily for days despite her claims that petty revenge was soothing, had blown up this afternoon, and at the time, she hadn't been thinking about how her daughter had literally just left the room. There hadn't been a thought of another soul in the world aside from Tom. Not for the first time, she wondered why she always had to be so damn rash. So damn emotional.

"Mom?"

"I—" Lynette swallowed hard, determined not to make this worse by bursting into tears. It seemed to take forever for her to pull herself together, but Penny didn't say a word, didn't even move. "I'm sorry you had to hear that, baby."

"Are you and Dad going to get a divorce?"

"No." It was an instinctive response; something she didn't even have to think about. She'd known from the start, even through her pain and rage and heartache, that she wasn't going to leave Tom over this. She reached out and took Penny's hand, squeezing it gently. "No, we're not."

Penny looked down at their entwined hands, and then put her other hand on top. Her finger ran over Lynette's wedding ring, tracing the gold band back and forth beneath her delicate skin. "Did Dad…" She took a deep breath, still not looking Lynette in the eye. "Did he really cheat on you?"

The ache that had been building in her chest for days now suddenly seemed unbearable. She had put this burden on her child. She had changed her perception of the world the same way Renee had changed hers days earlier. It wasn't fair; it wasn't right. It was excruciating, and no matter what else happened, Lynette had to make this better for her somehow.

"Penny? Penny, sweetie, look at me." Her daughter's eyes rose reluctantly, a streak of hurt so vulnerable in them that it was like looking in a mirror. Lynette took a steadying breath, reaching out and tucking a strand of Penny's hair behind her ear. "Your dad made a mistake. One phenomenally stupid mistake. But—"

Penny shook her head violently. "He's supposed to love you."

She softened; it was impossible not to when faced with such an innocent view of the world. She wondered if things had ever been so black and white for her—maybe they had before she met Tom. Before she realized that real love was much more forgiving than any fairy tale would lead one to believe. "He does love me, honey. You don't ever have to worry about that. I don't ever have to worry about that."

"But—"

"What happened," said Lynette firmly, "was over twenty years ago. Your dad and I were trying to work some stuff out, and we both made mistakes. But we got through it, and we got married. And we had you five wonderful, amazing kids."

"Then why are you so mad at him? Why is he sleeping downstairs on the couch?"

"Because…" Lynette shrugged, giving her daughter a slight, but genuine smile that warred with the tears in her eyes. "Because sometimes it hurts when you find out you've been lied to by someone you love. But that doesn't mean I'm going to be mad at him forever."

"So you still love him?"

"Of course…" She sighed and laughed at the same time, reaching out to pull Penny toward her. "Come here," she groaned, hugging her daughter tight. "Of course I still love your dad. There is nothing he could do to make me stop loving him."

"Really?"

"Really. And I don't want you to be upset with him either because he is a great man. He'd do anything for you kids, and he'd do anything for me. This whole thing…This is just one fight. We're going to get past it."

Penny nodded, but Lynette pulled back for a second to look at her directly. There was no hesitation in her expression, no doubt in her eyes, and Lynette felt relief course through her veins. It was borne of more than just reassuring her daughter, though. Admitting the truth like that felt like an instantaneous freedom, as though she had shed a façade composed purely of righteous fury only to find something much better beneath.

Maybe, she realized slowly, it really was time to let go. Time to let go of her anger and sense of betrayal and indignation; time to remember that none of this was about forgiving him or not (because she really already had); time to move on.

Tom was right. Their life was more than one mistake. Bigger; more beautiful; more meaningful.

With a tentative smile, she bent and kissed Penny's forehead. "Everything is going to be okay," she said, as much to herself as to her daughter. A soft reminder that the world hadn't shattered irreparably. She and Tom were right where they belonged.