Rue stares out the window, watching the rain patter against the glass. The apartment is quiet except for the soft, steady breathing of her nine-month-old daughter, Maya, asleep in the crib beside her. It's the first quiet moment Rue's had in what feels like days, maybe weeks. She's exhausted—her whole body aches with the kind of fatigue that goes beyond physical exhaustion, sinking deep into her bones. She rests her head against the cold window, feeling the chill seep into her skin.
It's been nearly a year since they buried Nate, and the wounds are still fresh, raw, and throbbing just below the surface. There are days when she still can't believe he's gone, when she expects to look up and see him leaning against the doorframe, smirking like he always did. But he's not coming back. All she has left of him now is the weight of his absence, the memories they made, and Maya—this little piece of him, with his dark eyes and solemn expressions, a piece of him that's both a comfort and a constant, aching reminder.
And now, after months of fighting, she finally has the money.
It had been a long, brutal process, dragging her through courtrooms and meetings, through questions that felt like accusations and looks that felt like condemnation. Marsha Jacobs had fought her every step of the way, contesting every claim and refusing to believe that Rue had any right to Nate's inheritance, to the life insurance policies that Cal had taken out on his family years ago. " Nate didn't even know you were pregnant! " Marsha had screamed at her once, her voice raw with anger and grief. " How dare you try to take his money after everything you did to him? "
Rue had wanted to scream back, to throw Marsha's words right back in her face, to tell her that Nate had never been hers to begin with. But she couldn't. She had to hold herself together, stay calm, and keep fighting for the life she was trying to build for Maya. She's endured Marsha's venom, her cruel accusations, and her scornful looks because she's had no other choice. She needs that money for her daughter. For the future she's determined to provide for her daughter.
And now it's here, sitting in her bank account, a number on a screen that represents the closest thing to security Rue has ever known. But she feels no relief, only exhaustion and the lingering bitterness of everything it cost her to get here.
Maya stirs in her crib, a soft, sleepy sound that brings a small, weary smile to Rue's face. She walks over, brushing her fingers gently over her daughter's cheek. Maya's dark eyes flutter open, fixing on Rue with a quiet, steady gaze that's so much like Nate's that it makes Rue's heart clench. She picks Maya up, cradling her close, feeling the warmth of her small, solid body against her chest. Moments like this remind her why she fought so hard and kept pushing even when it felt like the world was stacked against her.
"I did it for you, papaya," Rue whispers, kissing the top of Maya's head. "Everything."
She walks around the small apartment, rocking Maya gently in her arms. It's not much—just a one-bedroom in a run-down building with thin walls and creaky floors. But it's theirs. It's a space where Rue can finally breathe, where she can close the door on the world and feel a little bit of peace. She's planning to find a better place, somewhere with a yard where Maya can play, a safe neighborhood where they won't have to worry about the neighbors screaming at all hours of the night. But that will come later.
She stands in the middle of the room, looking around at the mismatched furniture, the thrift-store finds, and the hand-me-downs from her mom. It's not what she dreamed of, not the life she imagined when she was younger, and foolish enough to believe that love could fix anything. But it's something real. It's a life she's building piece by piece, even if it's not the life she wanted.
A knock on the door pulls her out of her thoughts, and her heart skips a beat. She isn't expecting anyone, and she's learned to be wary of unannounced visitors. She shifts Maya to one arm, walking cautiously to the door and peeking through the peephole. Her stomach twists when she sees Marsha standing on the other side, her expression as cold and hard as ever.
Rue takes a deep breath, her hand tightening around the doorknob. She doesn't want to do this, doesn't want to face Marsha's judgment, her resentment. But she knows she can't avoid it forever. She opens the door, bracing herself.
"Marsha," she says, keeping her voice steady.
Marsha's eyes drop to Maya, and for a moment, there's a flicker of something—something almost tender, almost soft—in her gaze. But it's gone in an instant, replaced by the familiar bitterness, the barely concealed contempt that has defined every interaction they've had since Nate's death.
"You got the money," Marsha says, her voice sharp and clipped. It's not a question.
Rue nods. "Yeah. I did."
Marsha's lips press into a thin line, her gaze hardening. "I hope you know that you're nothing but a leech," she says, her voice low and venomous. "Nate would have hated you for this. Taking his money, using his death to get a free ride."
Rue's heart pounds, but she forces herself to stay calm. She holds Maya a little closer, grounding herself in the warmth and weight of her daughter. "I'm not using anything, Marsha. This is for Maya. Your granddaughter. The only piece of Nate that's left."
Marsha's face twists, a bitter, twisted smile curling at the edges of her lips. "He didn't even know about her," she spit. "If he had, he would have run as far away from you as he could. You were nothing but a phase, Rue. A mistake he would have regretted."
Rue feels the words like a slap, but she doesn't let Marsha see her cringe. She's heard worse and endured worse. And she knows that Marsha's anger isn't really about her. It's about Nate, about the son she lost, the son she never really knew, the son who slipped away from her long before he died.
"I don't care what you think," Rue says, her voice calm and steady. "I loved him, Marsha. And he loved me, whether you wanna believe it or not. And I'm gonna do right by him. By raising Maya the best way I know how."
Marsha scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest. "You think you can give her a good life? In this dump?" She gestures around the small apartment, her expression filled with disdain. "You think this is what Nate would have wanted for his daughter?"
Rue's jaw clenches, but she keeps her voice even. "I think Nate woulda wanted her to be safe. To be loved. And that's what I'm giving her. It's not about money, or status, or any of the things you think matter. This is about giving her a life where she doesn't have to grow up like Nate did. I'm not putting that on her."
Marsha's face goes pale, her eyes flashing with something like anger but also with a trace of something else—something Rue almost wants to call regret. She opens her mouth, as if to say something, but then she closes it, her expression hardening once again.
"Fine," Marsha says, her voice cold and dismissive. "Do whatever you want. But don't think for a second that you're part of this family. You're not . And neither is she ."
Rue takes a deep breath, feeling the weight of those words settles over her, pressing down on her chest. But she doesn't let it break her. She stands tall, her gaze steady, refusing to back down.
"Maybe that's a good thing," she says quietly. "Maybe Maya doesn't need this family. Maybe she's better off without it." Maybe Nate would still be better, too.
Marsha's mouth twists, but she says nothing. She just turns and walks away, her heels clicking against the worn floorboards, leaving Rue standing in the doorway, watching her disappear down the hall.
When Marsha is gone, Rue closes the door, her hands trembling. She leans against it, closing her eyes, letting the tension drain out of her. She feels a tear slip down her cheek but brushes it away quickly, refusing to let it linger even as she worries her lip that she said the wrong thing. That Nate would hate her. Did she break a promise?
"She doesn't love you," Rue blurts. And it's cruel, idiotic—also a lie. But it gets to him. And she can see it. Here in this school, he can't do anything about his rage.
He pulls her by the hair, guiding her mouth to his in a fierce, angry kiss. She moans in surprise, her lips parting the way he wants. When he's ravaged her, leaving her lips sore red, bottom lip split from his teeth, he smiles at her. "Neither do you."
"I don't want to own you," Rue says. "I don't think I would ever want to—not the way she wants to."
He quirks a brow, pulling back as he regards her. "I didn't think you did the whole I'm better than her thing."
"I don't," Rue says, "That's not what I'm doing. I'm just saying. I don't want to change you or make you different. I don't want gifts or your money or your name…"
She looks down at Maya, who's watching her with wide, curious eyes. She smiles, brushing a gentle finger across her daughter's cheek.
"We're gonna be okay," Rue whispers, more to herself than to Maya. "I don't care what she says. We're gonna be okay."
She holds Maya close, swaying gently, letting the weight of the moment pass. She knows there will be more battles to fight, more days when everything feels too hard, too heavy. But she also knows that she has something stronger than Marsha's bitterness, stronger than the pain of Nate's absence.
She has her daughter, and so she has a little bit of Nate too.
Rue walks back to the window, watching the rain fall outside, feeling the quiet, steady rhythm soothe her. She's tired, and she's scared, and she doesn't know what the future holds. But she's here. She's standing. And for now, that's enough.