The little bell above the diner door jingles as Rue steps inside, Maya balanced on her hip. The two-year-old squirms, her tiny fingers grabbing at the strap of Rue's bag, and Rue smooths down her curls, willing herself to stay calm. The familiar scent of stale coffee and syrup fills the air, pulling her back to late nights with Nate in this very place. She can almost see him across the table, smirking at her, his foot nudging hers beneath the table. But the sweetness of the memory only sharpens the ache in her chest now. She's not here for him—she's here for his family.

She spots Marsha and Aaron sitting in a booth near the back. Marsha's posture is stiff, her expression unreadable but tense, while Aaron gives Rue a small, tentative smile as soon as he sees her. Rue takes a deep breath, steeling herself. She adjusts Maya on her hip, feeling the little girl's warmth, grounding her.

As they approach, Marsha's eyes lock onto Maya. Her gaze is sharp, assessing, lingering on Maya's dark curls, the deep brown eyes that are so different from her own family's blue, but unmistakably Nate's. For a moment, Rue thinks she sees something soften in Marsha's face, a flicker of recognition or even tenderness. But just as quickly, Marsha's expression tightens, her lips pressing into a thin line.

"Rue," Marsha says with a stiff nod. Her voice is formal, almost wary. "Thank you for coming."

Aaron's smile widens a little, genuine. "Hey, Rue. Hi, Maya." He leans over the table, holding out a napkin he's folded into a small flower, his hands careful and open. "For you, little one."

Maya peeks out from her hiding spot against Rue's shoulder, her big brown eyes wide with curiosity. She takes the napkin flower with a shy "Hi," clutching it tightly. Rue's heart tugs. This is Maya's first real interaction with her father's family, and its weight presses on Rue, a mix of hope and hesitation.

Marsha clears her throat, her eyes fixed on Maya. "She… she has his eyes." Her voice is low, as if speaking to herself rather than anyone else, and for a second, Rue catches a flash of pain there—a mother's grief mingling with something Rue can only describe as longing.

Rue nods, her voice soft. "Yeah. She does." She glances at Maya, who's now fiddling with the napkin flower, oblivious to the tension simmering around her.

Marsha's gaze lingers on the little girl, her expression shifting into something Rue can't quite place. There's a flicker of something that almost looks like resentment, or maybe it's just the unresolved hurt of a mother who lost her son and never got the answers she needed. Rue knows Marsha blames her, even if she's never said it outright. It's in the way Marsha looks at her, scrutinizing every part of her as if searching for the pieces of Nate she can't bring herself to see in Rue.

But there's something else there, too—a hesitation, a distance Rue can't ignore. She remembers Marsha's words the last time they'd seen each other, almost two years ago, when Marsha had come to her apartment, furious and grieving. Nate didn't even know you were pregnant! She'd shouted, the pain raw and vicious. Rue had fought back, determined to claim the life she was building for Maya, even if it meant pushing against Marsha's disapproval.

Now, sitting across from her again, Rue can feel that wound between them, a rift that time hasn't healed. But she also sees how Marsha's eyes soften as she watches Maya, a glimmer of vulnerability breaking through the cracks.

Rue shifts Maya on her lap, gently brushing a hand over her daughter's hair. She doesn't want to argue, doesn't want to reopen old wounds. She just wants Maya to know where she came from and to feel connected to the parts of her father that live on in his family.

"I didn't come here to… debate what parts of her look like Nate," Rue says, her voice quiet but steady. "I came because I thought… maybe you'd want to know her. Even if it's just a little." She meets Marsha's gaze, letting her words sink in. "She's a part of him. And she deserves to know where she comes from."

Marsha's face tightens, but something flickers in her eyes—a reluctance, maybe, or a hint of regret. She glances at Maya again, taking in her warm skin, the dark curls that aren't from Nate but hold a life and vibrancy all their own. Rue can feel the tension in Marsha's gaze, a silent acknowledgment of the differences, the ways Maya's heritage doesn't fit neatly into the Jacobs family's image.

"She's a little… tan," Marsha murmurs, her tone guarded, her words edged with something Rue recognizes all too well. The implication cuts deeper than Rue wants to admit, a reminder of the quiet prejudices that have always lingered, unspoken, in this town—and perhaps in this family.

Rue's jaw clenches, but she keeps her voice calm, refusing to give Marsha the satisfaction of a reaction. "She's her father's daughter," Rue replies, steady but with an edge. "In every way that matters."

Aaron's hand reaches out across the table, touching Rue's briefly—a small gesture of solidarity, but one she appreciates more than he knows. He clears his throat, cutting through the tension. "She's beautiful, Ruby. She looks just like Nate," he says gently, his tone genuine. He gives Marsha a look, a silent reminder to let go of the old grievances, to look at Maya as the granddaughter she is, not as a reminder of everything that went wrong.

Marsha glances at him, then looks down at her coffee, stirring it slowly. An uncomfortable silence stretches between them, thick with years of pain and miscommunication. But when she finally looks back up, Rue can see a glimmer of something softer, almost tender in her gaze.

"She's… family," Marsha says at last, her voice barely above a whisper. "And… and Nate was my son."

Rue feels a lump rise in her throat, a surge of emotions she's held back. She's fought so hard to protect Maya and build a life for her that honors Nate's memory without letting it consume her. But sitting here, allowing Marsha and Aaron into their lives, even in this small way, feels like a step toward something that could be healing—for all of them.

Rue nods, barely trusting her voice. "Thank you," she says quietly, looking down at Maya, who's playing with the napkin flower, blissfully unaware of the gravity of the moment. "We can try."

Aaron's smile is warm as he reaches across the table, squeezing Rue's hand in gratitude. "Thank you, Rue. Really."

Marsha's gaze lingers on Maya, and Rue catches the barest hint of a smile on her lips—a small, tentative gesture, but one that feels like the start of something new. For the first time, Rue allows herself to hope that maybe, just maybe, they can find peace in the fragments Nate left behind.

As they sit there, sharing a quiet, fragile moment, Rue feels the weight of Nate's memory settles around them, bittersweet but no longer suffocating. She doesn't know if the scars will ever fully heal, but looking at Maya, she knows there's something worth holding onto, something worth rebuilding.

When they leave the diner, Rue holds Maya close, feeling her daughter's tiny heartbeat steady against her own. She whispers into her curls, a promise she hopes she can keep.