Other Fetishes

Matthew listened to Astrid carefully and felt her courage and determination. She offered to him to fight against Phantom Cali, and he was deeply moved by it. Nevertheless, it wasn’t necessary. He didn’t need force, he needed evidence and information. “Miss Astrid,” his voice was deep and quiet, “I appreciate your courage and determination, but your mission will be stealth rather than direct. Phantom Cali will face my mana, and I’m sure it is stronger than hers. Your contribution will be carefully controlled by our bond. You will pretend to be her loyal Pet and try to find out as much information as possible. I have to admire your technological abilities, but using your cube might be an unnecessary risk. I’m sure you will use it later.” As she said about betraying him, he realized she wished to be his Pet indeed, not only to pretend it. That thought hit him, even if he pondered about it before. “You never won’t betray me, miss Astrid. I’m quite aware of the mission and your role there. However, do you consider becoming my Pet? Not only pretend it?” He put his arm over her shoulders covered in the wool sleeper and looked in her eyes, expecting her answer.

Birthdays come and go, but this one leaves a paper trail. As Sally rides the high of quiet celebrations, loyal friendships, and an unexpectedly kind news cycle, the world seems to meet her exactly where she is for once. A glossy feature captures her grace without spectacle. A stray article turns a grocery run into a small legend. None of it rattles her. With her parents beside her and Zurich ahead, Sally feels steady, almost light, counting down the hours to Milan and the reunion she has been carefully, lovingly hiding. Everything is lining up. The timing. The travel. The truths she no longer runs from. And just when it all feels calm, life reminds her that the best chapters often arrive disguised as ordinary days, carrying newsprint, birthday candles, and a train ticket south.   Chapter 141 – The Birthday Diaries SYLVIA EXCLUSIVE Three Musketeers and a Birthday to Remember by Amélie Moreau, Editor-in-Chief   Some friendships are born out of shared interests. Others, out of convenience. But every once in a while, the kind that poets write about—the kind that matures over time without envy, calculation, or drama—appears before your eyes. And for those of us lucky enough to witness it, there’s only one word: magic. This month, that magic wore three colors: black, green, and blue. The occasion? A birthday celebration—or rather, two. The hearts? Katrina Venegas, Clara Burgess, and Sally Weiss. Three girls. One week. One enduring friendship. Let’s begin with Katrina: a head-turner wherever she walks, confident and radiant. The daughter of Colombian-American real estate magnates, Katrina splits her time between Greenwich, CT and the lush hills of Medellín. Her quinceañera—the cherished Latin American tradition celebrating a girl’s fifteenth birthday and her entrance into young womanhood—was every bit as dazzling as her heritage promised. Set in the ballroom of the Delamar in Greenwich, it was a night of sequins, smiles, salsa, and starlight. The guest list read like a who’s who of the Eastern seaboard. Two days later: Clara. Soft-spoken, bookish, and wise beyond her years. Her party was the kind you remember for a lifetime—not because of cameras or columns, but because of closeness. A fireplace. A table of handmade hamburgers. Music from a Bluetooth speaker. Only her favorite people, because that’s all she needed. And in both settings, one constant: Sally. America’s most recognized teenager didn’t arrive in a cloud of fanfare. No red carpet, no choreographed entrance. Just her, in a cornflower-blue dress that matched the ones worn by her two friends—three unique girls in dresses cut from the same pattern, as if to say: we’re not the same, but we belong. “I think Sally’s the reason we’ve stayed so close,” Clara told me quietly over hot cocoa. “Back in third grade, Katrina and I were teased for being the last to turn nine. Silly stuff. But Sally stepped in. She told people to back off. We’ve been the Three Musketeers ever since.” The SYLVIA team had exclusive access to the foyer of Katrina’s celebration, and a personal invitation to Clara’s. We saw the sparkle and the softness, the DJ set and the chessboard. And through it all, we watched as the threads of deep affection wove through the weekend. But even I didn’t expect the moment that set social media alight. During Katrina’s grand event, just as the father-daughter dance began, a spotlight revealed none other than Mayer Delibes, the Colombian pop phenomenon, stepping forward to perform “Enlazados en Amor” live. An audible gasp swept through the crowd. Later, I learned that Sally had arranged it all—quietly, weeks in advance—after the two met through the Pembroke-Weiss Foundation. “She said Katrina had been dreaming of that song since we were eleven,” Clara told me. “And Sally just… made it happen.” That’s Sally. Never the loudest, but always the one pulling strings with heart. The next day was Clara’s. Her house was filled with teens in jeans, hoodies, and unbrushed hair. Sally, of course, wore the most casual of outfits—grey Converse, soft vintage tee, and a messy ponytail that somehow looked straight from a photoshoot. But make no mistake—this was no celebrity cameo. She played board games. She made milkshakes. And at one point, I caught her laughing so hard she fell off a beanbag. “She’s just easy,” said Charlie Selter, a family friend. “You forget she’s, like, her. She’s just Sally.” But she is also the girl I watched browse Aston Martins at a Greenwich dealership, politely telling a stunned salesman she was “just looking.” She drives a 2019 manual Ford Fiesta. But one suspects the upgrade is coming. (And I, for one, am counting the days.) So no, this wasn’t a story about fame. It was a story about fidelity. About loyalty. About teenage girls who don’t compete—but complete each other. And about the kind of wealth that never shows off, because it doesn’t need to. What I witnessed over those two days wasn’t a tale of opulence. It was something far rarer: intimacy, grace, and friendship rooted in real life. In a world rushing to grow up too fast, these girls took a weekend to just be fifteen. And it was perfect.   Photography by Jeffrey Stone.  SYLVIA Magazine – December Feature Edition -- The jet hummed along at altitude, smooth and steady, the kind of flight that barely reminded you that you were moving at all. Sally lay sideways on the long cream sofa, legs tucked beneath her, AirPods in, the glow of the screen reflected faintly in her eyes. The volume was low. She wasn’t really watching. Just letting images pass while her mind drifted. Her mother had gone to bed an hour earlier. Adrian had noticed the signs before Bridget did. The way her shoulders slumped. The pauses between sentences. The quiet stubbornness of someone who didn’t want to admit she was tired. He’d kissed her forehead, taken her hand, and steered her gently toward the bedroom. “Foundation work will still be there in the morning,” he’d said. She hadn’t argued. Now the cabin felt divided into its natural rhythms. Adrian sat in the club seats, jacket off, sleeves rolled, speaking softly with Theresa across from him. They had documents open, charts pulled up, their heads bent together in that familiar, efficient way that meant real work was getting done. Theresa looked stronger every day. Straighter. Focused. Comfortable in her place again. Jana occupied the forward section, laptop open, posture alert even in rest. Nitaya moved quietly, refilling her tea without being asked, the clink of porcelain barely audible. Sally liked watching all of it from a distance. Liked knowing where everyone was. She pulled one AirPod out and reached for her phone. Amélie’s article stared back at her. The headline was restrained. Elegant. Exactly as promised. No hysteria. No spectacle. No miracle-girl nonsense. Just… clarity. Amélie had written about the birthday appearances with warmth and restraint, about the quiet confidence Sally carried now, about the way she smiled at friends instead of cameras. There was a single photograph, carefully chosen. Sally barefoot on the edge of the terrace, hair caught by the wind, laughing at something Katrina had said off-frame, coaxed by Jeffrey, the photographer. Not posed. Not protected. Real. Sally read it slowly, once, then again. She felt a strange distance from the girl in the article. Not dislike. Recognition without ownership. Like seeing an old photograph of yourself and realizing you’d already moved on. She locked her phone and stared at the ceiling. The past week replayed in fragments. Katrina’s laughter. Clara’s quieter joy. The way Hartford smelled in late fall. Church on Sunday, sunlight through stained glass, Patricia’s arm linked through hers, Charlie’s awkward but sincere grin. Leaving early, as planned. No drama. No guilt. Goodbyes without ache. Zurich was next. A few days of order and calm. Family dinners. Walks by the lake. German efficiency and Swiss precision easing her mind. Her father’s world, finally shared without tension. Then Milan. Erika. Sally smiled to herself. Erika’s messages had been increasingly chaotic. Voice notes layered with emotion, half Italian, half English, all heart. She still didn’t know about the surprise. Sally intended to keep it that way. A short visit, she’d said. Nothing special. She knew better. She always did. She tucked her legs closer and let the hum of the jet settle her. This life—this movement between places, between versions of herself—no longer felt disorienting. It felt intentional. She glanced toward the club seats. Adrian caught her eye and smiled, just briefly, then went back to his work. Sally put her AirPod back in, turned the volume down even further, and closed her eyes. Zurich first. Then Milan. Then home. And for the first time, she knew exactly what that meant. -- Jana slid into the seat beside Sally without announcing herself, shoulder brushing lightly against her arm. The jet was quiet again, the soft hum steady, reassuring. “Hey,” Jana said, tone neutral. “You might want to see this.” Sally pulled one AirPod out, blinking. “What now?” Jana turned her phone toward her:   Sally Weiss, a Manual Transmission, and a Selfie in Homestead.   Sally stared at the headline for a second, then groaned softly. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” “Read it,” Jana said. “It’s… not what you think.” Sally took the phone, scrolling. Her brow furrowed, then lifted. She read slower. Then slower still. -- Sally Weiss, a Manual Transmission, and a Selfie in Homestead By Staff Writer | Miami Bureau   It was the kind of sighting that doesn’t make headlines—but maybe should. This week, in the southern reaches of Miami-Dade, a quiet trip to a Walmart Supercenter in Homestead sparked more intrigue than any press release ever could. At the center of it all: Sally Weiss, who, by all accounts, is supposed to be the ultra-private teenage heiress of one of America’s most discreet fortunes. And yet—there she was, in the food section, browsing mineral water and soft drinks. Multiple shoppers noticed her, but hesitated. “She looked familiar,” said one local, “but you don’t really expect that kind of person to be standing next to you in the cereal aisle.” It wasn’t until Gloria, a mother of three, parked her minivan next to a small silver Ford sedan and saw the teen getting in, that someone spoke up. “I said ‘Perdón’ because we almost bumped into each other,” Gloria recounted. “And then I just knew it was her. I asked if she was Sally—and she smiled and said ‘sí, soy yo.’” The resulting selfie, snapped by Gloria’s 10-year-old daughter, shows Sally in the driver’s seat, wearing a faded tee and baseball cap, hand resting confidently on the gear shift of a 2019 Ford Fiesta. Yes, manual transmission. No entourage. No tinted Suburban. No personal driver. Just Sally and her assistant-turned-friend Theresa Hernandez, shopping together like any pair of teens with a to-do list and a car to load.   The Choice of Car: Practical, Precise, and Very Weiss The vehicle in question—a modest but dependable 2019 Ford Fiesta SE sedan—has sparked a minor online frenzy. Automotive forums have erupted with admiration and surprise. Driving instructors weighed in, praising the choice as “a fantastic way to really learn how to drive.” One well-known motorsports coach posted, “This is the kind of training F1 hopefuls used to start with. She’s doing it right.” Some say the understated vehicle is a strategic move, keeping Sally grounded in the basics. Others see it as a subtle nod to her father, Adrian Weiss, known among classic car circles for owning a rare Ferrari F40 in factory black, rumored to be one of the few still driven on European tracks. “Sally has shown a quiet interest in cars for years,” said one family acquaintance. “But it’s never been about flash. It’s about understanding. She wants to feel the machine.” Whether she inherits her father’s love for racing or simply enjoys the solitude of driving a car with a clutch and no paparazzi is unclear. What is clear is that the choice of a small, manual Fiesta says more about her character than any designer handbag ever could.   A Driving Permit—and a Direction At fifteen, Florida law allows for a learner’s permit, and multiple sources confirm that Sally has already passed her required coursework. It’s unclear whether the Fiesta is hers permanently or simply a practice vehicle, but either way, the symbolism is striking. “Sally Weiss is not being chauffeured,” one observer tweeted. “She’s learning to drive stick in Homestead. That’s news.” It’s a sentiment that has quietly gained traction—admiration not for glamor or headlines, but for the discipline, humility, and self-reliance of a girl who, despite extraordinary circumstances, seems determined to earn her place on the road one gear at a time. No official comment has been made by the Weiss family or their representatives. But then again, they rarely speak. They simply live—and let the moments, like this one in a Walmart parking lot, speak for themselves. -- By the time she reached the part about the cereal aisle, her lips twitched. “They really said ‘the cereal aisle,’” she murmured. Jana watched her carefully. “Keep going.” Sally did. Gloria. The minivan. The apology. Sí, soy yo. The selfie. Sally stopped scrolling. “That kid,” she said quietly. “She was so serious about the photo.” “She was proud,” Jana said. “Of you.” Sally leaned back into the sofa, phone resting against her chest now. She exhaled through her nose, a sound caught somewhere between disbelief and reluctant amusement. “They make it sound like I was… discovered in the wild.” Jana smiled faintly. “You kind of were.” Sally scrolled again, reaching the part about the car. Manual transmission. She laughed then, a short, surprised sound. “Automotive forums?” “You broke the internet for people who like clutches,” Jana said dryly. Sally shook her head. “I was buying sparkling water. And those tiny juices. For my fridge.” “I know,” Jana said. “That’s the part people don’t get.” Sally read the final paragraphs more slowly. The tone shifted there. Less curiosity. More respect. Discipline. Humility. Self-reliance. She handed the phone back. For a moment, she didn’t say anything. Then, softly, “They didn’t make fun of me.” “No,” Jana agreed. “They didn’t.” Sally stared ahead at nothing in particular. “I wasn’t trying to make a point.” “That’s why it worked,” Jana said. “You weren’t performing.” Sally swallowed. “It was just… normal.” Jana nodded once. “Exactly.” Across the cabin, Adrian glanced up briefly, sensing the pause, the shift. Sally caught his eye and gave a small shrug. He smiled, trusting, and went back to his screen. Sally tucked her legs up, hugging one knee. “Do you think this will make things harder?” Jana considered it. “Maybe louder. But not worse.” Sally breathed out. “I liked that day.” “I know,” Jana said. “You were relaxed. You even argued with Theresa about mineral water brands. She told me.” Sally smiled at that. A real one. “They didn’t write about that.” “They missed the real scandal,” Jana said. “Italian versus Spanish sparkling water.” Sally laughed quietly, then grew thoughtful again. “It’s weird,” she said. “They didn’t talk about money. Or the crash. Or… anything heavy.” Jana met her gaze. “They talked about who you were when nobody was trying to see you.” Sally nodded, slow and certain. She slipped her AirPod back in but didn’t turn the volume up. She didn’t need it. Outside, the jet carried them steadily toward Zurich. Toward family. Toward winter light and quiet streets. And somewhere far behind them, in a Walmart parking lot in Homestead, a moment she hadn’t thought twice about had become a small, unexpected truth. Sally Weiss, hand on the gear shift. Learning. Moving forward. One gear at a time. -- Zurich announced itself the way it always did—without apology. Sally made a quick trip to the bathroom. She ripped off her wet Goodnite and wiped herself down. She pulled her panties up and rearranged her loose jeans, pulling her hoodie back down. As she left the bathroom, she made sure her mother was actually awake, and coaxed her to the bathroom.  The Gulfstream descended through a ceiling of gray, the city below softened into wet silhouettes and blurred lights. Fog pressed against the windows like a held breath. Sally watched it with quiet attention, spooning the last of her early breakfast yogurt while the cabin lights dimmed to arrival mode. Cold. Real cold. Not the polite chill of Miami mornings. This was December that meant business. She was glad for Connecticut. Those few weeks had toughened her skin just enough. Still, she missed the warmth already. By the time the jet door opened, the damp air wrapped around them instantly, carrying the faint scent of rain, asphalt, and winter leaves. Zurich in the morning was subdued, efficient, awake without being loud. Roberto was waiting exactly where he always was, the black S-Class idling smoothly nearby. The Range Rover stood a little farther back, already loaded and ready for Jana and Theresa. “We’ll see you tomorrow,” Theresa said, leaning in to kiss Sally’s cheek, her voice bright despite the hour. “Sleep,” Jana added, pointing two fingers at her eyes like a command. “I will,” Sally promised, and meant it. The doors closed. Engines purred. Life split neatly into its moving parts. Inside the S-Class, the world quieted again. Sally slid into the back seat beside her mother, instinctively tucking her legs close, shoulder brushing Bridget’s arm. The warmth inside the car was immediate, comforting. Outside, rain streaked across the windows as Zurich slipped past in muted tones of stone and glass. She rested her forehead lightly against the cool pane, watching the drizzle distort the city into watercolor. In the front, Adrian spoke with Roberto in low, familiar rhythms. Cars. Servicing. Winter readiness. The indoor pool had been brought up to temperature. The tennis court lights checked. Everything functioning as it should. Order. Continuity. Sally half-listened, letting the cadence of adult conversation wash over her. She was bone-tired now, the kind of tired that lived behind the eyes. Two hours of sleep, maybe less. But it was the good kind. Her mother leaned slightly into her, head tilted back, eyes closed but not asleep. “I slept six hours,” Bridget murmured quietly, as if it were a small victory. “That’s huge,” Sally whispered back. Bridget smiled without opening her eyes. Zurichberg rose gently ahead, trees bare and dark against the gray sky. The house appeared through the mist like something patient, unchanged, waiting. Inside, warmth greeted them. Familiar footsteps. The quiet hum of a place that knew how to hold people. “You should lie down,” Bridget said, smoothing Sally’s hair back as they climbed the stairs. “Lunch in a few hours.” Sally didn’t argue. Her bedroom was just as she remembered it. Neat. Calm. Swiss to its core. She kicked off her shoes, changed without thinking – a real diaper this time, and slipped beneath the covers. The rain tapped softly against the window. As her eyes closed, Sally felt something settle inside her—not excitement, not relief. Belonging. She slept. -- Sally had known better than to expect rest. Zurich didn’t work that way. Neither did Theresa. Lunch had been calm—soup, something warm and sensible, bread she hadn’t realized she’d missed until the first bite. Coffee followed. Strong. Swiss. Unapologetic. The kind that didn’t ask whether you were ready. Theresa appeared at the dining table not long after, already holding Sally’s tablet like evidence. “Alright,” she said, sliding into the chair across from her. “Let’s see what damage the Atlantic crossing did.” Sally groaned softly and pushed her empty cup away. “I slept two hours.” “And yet,” Theresa replied evenly, tapping the screen, “your brain is still attached to your body. We’ll take advantage of that.” She began scrolling. “Olivia wants the revised financial modeling exercises by Thursday. Not pretty ones—accurate ones.” Sally nodded, resigned. “Otto returned your economics essay. Again.” Sally winced. “Again?” “Again,” Theresa confirmed. “He likes your ideas. He doesn’t like how you hide them. He wants clearer structure. Less… poetic wandering.” “That’s rude,” Sally muttered. “It’s accurate,” Theresa countered. “History test next week. You’re solid on dates, weak on causation. Physics—problem sets due. Chemistry—lab prep.” She looked up. “And you still owe me a clean draft of that reflection piece.” Sally stared at the table for a moment, then sighed. “I hate how you make this sound doable.” Theresa smiled faintly. “That’s because it is.” They relocated to the study. Notebooks appeared. Laptops hummed. Pages filled. Sally worked with her sleeves pushed up, hair tied back, brain grinding steadily through numbers, arguments, formulas. When she faltered, Theresa nudged—not pushing, just steering. “Slow down,” she said once, when Sally rushed a calculation. “You’re tired. Precision over speed.” Sally exhaled and tried again. Hours slipped by unnoticed. Outside, dusk collapsed into night, the windows reflecting warm light and bent-over concentration. Sally’s hand cramped. Her eyes burned. But the work got done—piece by piece, line by line. By the time she leaned back, it was fully dark. A gentle knock sounded at the door. “Miss Sally?” Mia’s voice, soft and warm, carried through. “Your parents are waiting. Dinner is ready.” Sally blinked, surprised. “Already?” Mia smiled at her from the doorway, apron immaculate as ever. “Time is tricky when you work hard.” Sally closed her laptop with a tired click and stood, stretching. “Theresa?” “She left earlier,” Mia said. “Said you did well.” That alone made Sally smile. Downstairs, the table was set simply. Her parents looked up as she entered—Adrian mid-sentence, Bridget already rising to kiss her cheek. “There she is,” Bridget said. “We were about to send a search party.” Sally slid into her chair, exhaustion settling into her bones. “If you’d waited five more minutes, I might have fallen asleep on my keyboard.” Adrian chuckled. “That’s when we know it’s time to stop.” Sally picked up her fork, suddenly aware of how hungry she was. Tired, yes—but grounded. Zurich didn’t let you drift. It held you accountable. -- Sally pushed her plate away and leaned back slightly, folding her arms as if the question had just occurred to her—but really, it had been circling her mind since touchdown. “So,” she said casually, “how do I get to Milano?” In her head, the answer was obvious. Jet. Maybe a hop to Malpensa. Lounge. Espresso. Efficient. Familiar. Adrian dabbed his lips with his napkin and leaned back in his chair, looking far too pleased with himself. “Train.” Sally blinked once. Then again. “Train?” she repeated, carefully, as if testing whether the word would change meaning if she said it out loud. Bridget watched her over the rim of her glass, amusement flickering in her eyes. “EuroCity,” Adrian clarified with a nod. “Three hours. Zürich to Milano Centrale. Direct.” Sally frowned faintly. “Is this… a character-building exercise?” Adrian chuckled. “It’s a realism exercise. You cannot beat it by jet. Taxiing alone would take longer. I’ve tried.” “Wow,” Sally murmured, then tilted her head, curiosity creeping in despite herself. “So I ride with… backpackers?” She grinned. “Should I book a hostel too? Maybe learn to play the guitar and pretend I’m on a gap year?” Bridget cleared her throat with theatrical patience. “I inform you, princess daughter of mine,” she said, voice perfectly composed, “that European trains are not your Chicago L.” Sally smiled, already sensing the lecture. “First-class cabins. Quiet cars. Wide seats. Table service. Lounges. Proper coffee. And scenery,” Bridget added, warming to the subject. “Real scenery. You’ll glide past lakes and mountains and forget you ever thought flying short distances made sense.” She paused, then delivered the final blow. “And you’re staying at the Palazzo Cordusio.” Sally’s eyebrows lifted. “Oh.” “That hostel idea died quickly,” Adrian noted. Sally laughed and nodded, surrendering. “Okay, okay. Train it is. So I just… show up? Buy a ticket?” Adrian shook his head. “Theresa already has your tickets.” “Of course she does,” Sally said fondly. “Friday,” Adrian continued. “Six a.m. departure. Early, but worth it.” “You should arrive with enough time for a second breakfast,” Bridget added, smiling. “And still meet Erika in time for lunch.” Sally sat back, imagining it—steel tracks cutting through the Alps, a window seat, coffee in a real cup, her backpack at her feet. “Alright,” she said softly. “I’m in.” Bridget reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “You’ll love it.” Sally believed her. -- Thursday arrived without ceremony—and immediately demanded everything. Sally woke before her alarm, the room still wrapped in Zurich’s pale blue pre-dawn. For a moment she lay still, listening. Her diaper was wet and cold. It bunched up under her pajamas but she felt safe in it. Even comfortable.  The house was quiet in that deep, expensive way—no footsteps, no voices, just the distant hum of systems keeping warmth where winter would otherwise insist. She smiled to herself and slipped out of bed. Her diaper sagged, but it was coming off. By the time the city was beginning to stir, Sally was already outside, hoodie zipped up to her chin, breath puffing faint clouds into the cold. Zurichberg was hushed at that hour—safe, orderly, almost reverent. The streets curved gently under bare trees, their branches etched against a sky just beginning to lighten. Her legs protested at first, stiff from travel and yesterday’s work, but the rhythm came quickly. Left, right. Breath. Focus. She didn’t run fast. She ran steady. Each step felt deliberate. Chosen. By the time she looped back toward the house, her cheeks were pink, her lungs awake, her thoughts surprisingly quiet. That alone felt like a victory. She showered quickly, steam fogging the mirror as she washed the cold from her skin. Jeans, soft hoodie, hair still damp when she padded downstairs. Breakfast was already laid out—fresh bread, fruit, eggs. Adrian looked up from his coffee, mildly surprised. “You’re up early,” he observed. “Ran,” Sally said simply, reaching for toast. Bridget raised an eyebrow, impressed but trying not to show it. “You didn’t wake anyone.” “I’m learning,” Sally smiled. The conversation was light, ordinary. Weather. Plans. Adrian mentioning a call later. Bridget reminding Sally to eat properly. It felt… normal. Comfortingly so. By midmorning, Sally was deep into schoolwork, laptop open, notebooks spread neatly across the desk. She moved with intention—no drifting, no procrastination. When a concept stalled, she pushed through instead of circling it. By lunch, Jana leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching silently for a moment. “Well,” she said finally, “look at you.” Sally glanced up. “What?” “You’ve cleared half your task list already,” Jana replied. “And it’s not even noon.” Sally shrugged, but her smile betrayed her pride. “I want Milano to feel… earned.” Theresa passed through briefly, files tucked under her arm, pausing just long enough to glance at Sally’s screen. “Good,” she said. “Keep that pace.” Then she was gone again, back into strategy and calls with Adrian—but Sally could feel her presence all the same. A quiet perimeter. A safety net. The afternoon blurred into focused work punctuated by whispers and logistics. Jana slid into the chair beside Sally, lowering her voice. “Okay. Saturday. Private lounge at the hotel. I’ve confirmed it.” Sally’s fingers stilled on the keyboard. “She won’t suspect anything?” “No,” Jana said confidently. “Erika thinks you’re just visiting. Her friends are already in. Parents are in on it. Cake, music, everything.” Sally exhaled slowly. “She canceled her birthday because of me.” “And now she gets one because of you,” Jana replied gently. “Full circle.” Sally nodded, swallowing the emotion that threatened to rise. “The gift?” “Handled,” Jana said. “Wrapped. Delivered discreetly. You’ll give it to her.” Sally smiled, eyes soft. “Thank you.” By evening, her brain was tired but satisfied—the good kind of exhaustion. The kind that comes from effort, not overwhelm. As she closed her laptop, she realized something quietly profound. She wasn’t rushing anymore. She was moving forward. -- The last Thursday evening before departure settled into the house like a long exhale. Sally was sprawled lengthwise on the living-room sofa, one sock dangling off her foot, a half-crumpled bag of chips balanced on her stomach, a cold Coke sweating rings into the coaster beside her. The TV glowed with motion and sound—YouTube autoplay doing what it did best: pulling her gently, aimlessly, along. In the kitchen, she could hear her mother’s voice drifting in and out as she coordinated tomorrow’s details with Mia—lists, timing, small domestic decisions that somehow held the house together. From the study, Adrian’s low voice carried through the open door, measured and calm, Theresa’s sharper cadence occasionally cutting in as they debated presentation structure and phrasing. It was busy. But not loud. The good kind of busy. Jana was gone for the evening. Sally knew why—training sessions with Priya earlier, and then… Markus. Maybe. Jana had been maddeningly vague, all raised eyebrows and noncommittal shrugs, but Sally had caught the faint smile when Jana said they might watch a movie. Might. Sally smiled to herself and turned her attention back to the screen. She told herself she’d read later. Something serious. Something improving. For now, chips. She didn’t notice the time slipping past. Or the quiet shift behind her. “Gotcha,” came a voice over her shoulder, exaggerated and slow, like a bad Western. Sally jumped and smacked pause. “Excuse me?” Adrian grinned, hands on the back of the sofa. “Caught red-handed.” She squinted at him. “You scared me.” “Good,” he said, dropping down beside her and stealing a chip. “You’re watching cars. Alone. Voluntarily.” Sally shrugged, unapologetic. “Research.” “Research,” he echoed solemnly. She nodded. “Trying to decide which Lamborghini I’d get. Maybe a Revuelto.” He raised an eyebrow. “Of course.” “Not orange,” she added quickly. Adrian laughed. “Naturally.” He leaned back, studying the paused image on the screen. “You know, you take after my mother.” Sally turned toward him. “Really?” “She loved cars,” he said. “Not the numbers. The feeling. Design. The way a car made you feel when you walked up to it.” He smiled at the memory. “Citroëns. Fiats. She adored her X1/9.” Sally’s eyes lit up. “That’s a beautiful car.” “It is,” Adrian agreed. “And wildly impractical.” She tilted her head, thoughtful. “I’d like to drive it someday.” “You will,” he said easily, without qualifiers. They watched the screen together for a moment. “So,” he continued, “a Lamborghini?” Sally chuckled. “This magazine named it Car of the Year. Beat the Porsche.” Adrian made a face. “Which Porsche.” “911 GT3.” He shook his head. “Track car. Fantastic, but limited. They should’ve tested the Turbo S. That’s the real experience.” “You sound offended.” “I am,” he said mildly. “Professional pride.” “They didn’t like the AMG GT either,” Sally said, frowning. “Because they didn’t test it properly,” Adrian replied. “Put any car on the wrong road and it’ll disappoint you.” Sally leaned sideways, resting her head against his shoulder. The movement felt instinctive, unguarded. “Someday,” she said softly, “I want to drive to Milano. Not train. Not plane. Just… drive.” He rested his head lightly against hers. “You will. After you’ve earned every mile.” She sighed. “I already miss driving.” Adrian smiled into her hair. “That’s how I know it’s going to stick.” -- Sally was in her pajamas, perched cross-legged at the foot of her parents’ bed, absently picking at a loose thread in the duvet. Being in Zurich felt familiar again—old rhythms, old light—but being in their shared bedroom still carried a soft novelty. Strange, yes. Also wonderful. Adrian was methodically setting his alarm, phone precisely aligned on the nightstand. Bridget moved more slowly, brushing her hair, already half in that quiet end-of-day softness. This had become a small ritual over the last few nights—Sally drifting in, lingering, being tolerated affectionately until someone eventually declared bedtime with authority. Bridget sat down on her side of the bed with a book. “So,” she said, glancing over the top of it, “how was your day? One could almost see smoke coming out of your ears.” “Lots of work,” Sally said, shrugging. “But I’m trying to get all my ducks in a row so I can enjoy Christmas without guilt.” Adrian slid under the covers on his side. “Theresa expressed her mild admiration for your discipline,” he noted, pulling the duvet up with neat precision. Sally scooted back a few inches to give them room. “I resent the word mild,” she said. “If my head actually exploded, she’d glance at it, sigh, and call it collateral damage.” Bridget laughed, lowering her book. “That does sound like Theresa.” Sally tilted her head. “So. When I get back from Milano—Monday—what’s the general plan?” Adrian and Bridget exchanged a look. Not secretive. Just coordinated. “You spend a few days here, then you head home,” Adrian said. “Florida. Olivia wants some time with you before the holidays. Your mom and I will stay here a few days and join you for Christmas.” Sally blinked. “We’re… splitting up?” “Temporarily,” Bridget said gently. “Your mother is exhausted,” Adrian added, matter-of-fact. “And she is terrible at admitting it. So I’m enforcing rest.” Bridget raised an eyebrow. “Enforcing?” “Yes,” he continued calmly. “If she behaves, I will serve fondue for lunch. Fondant for dessert. Possibly a museum. And if she is especially good—” he paused, enjoying himself “—a Christmas market.” Bridget sighed, half-amused, half-caught. “I am tired, sweetheart. Your father is making me see a doctor. One of those thorough ones. Full physical. Full reset. Apparently I’ve been running on fumes.” Sally nodded slowly, absorbing it. “So,” she said, dryly, “I’m being shipped off to Olivia so she can babysit me.” Adrian smiled. “Theresa and Jana will escort you. You will not be unsupervised. And you will be busy.” “You’re not worried about my exhaustion?” Sally asked lightly, eyes shining. Bridget didn’t miss it. She winked. “If you faint from overexertion, we’ll celebrate.” “Mom!” Sally protested, scandalized and laughing at the same time. Adrian raised an eyebrow. “Bedtime.” Sally groaned but slid off the bed. “Tyranny,” she muttered. “Train leaves at six thirty,” he reminded her. She paused at the door, smiling back at them. “Goodnight.” “Goodnight, love,” Bridget said. Adrian nodded. “Sleep.” Sally slipped out, the door closing softly behind her, carrying with her the quiet certainty of being exactly where she was meant to be—even when she was about to leave again. -- Sally climbed the last stairs slowly, the house already quiet beneath her. Her bedroom sat at the top like a small world of its own—studio-style, airy, deliberately calm. A place designed not to impress, but to hold. She closed the door softly behind her and leaned against it for a second, listening. Nothing. Just the low, distant hum of Zurich settling into night. She crossed the room barefoot, past the little kitchenette she rarely used, past the sofa where she sometimes curled up with a book she never finished, and paused by the bed. The queen-size mattress sat centered like an island, dressed in crisp white sheets that smelled faintly of clean cotton and something comforting she couldn’t quite name. She changed with unhurried care. Pajamas. Diaper. Familiar. Safe. She folded her day clothes neatly over the chair—an old habit that stuck even when nobody was watching—and slipped under the covers. The room felt large when she was alone in it. Not lonely. Just honest. Sally reached for her phone on the nightstand. One last thing before sleep. Erika had been waiting.   Sally: Train leaves Zürich HB at 6:33. EuroCity. I’ll be there before noon.   The reply came almost instantly.   Erika: 6:33?? You are insane. I love it.   Sally smiled, sinking deeper into the pillows.   Sally: Hotel is The Glamore Milano Duomo. Apparently I’ll be able to see the cathedral from my room.   There was a pause. Then—   Erika: Wait. The Glamore?   Erika: That’s— That’s where I was going to meet you. That time…   Sally felt it land. She typed slower this time.   Sally: Yeah. I know.   Erika: I stood in that lobby. I remember the chairs. The smell. I kept thinking you were just late.   Sally swallowed, then answered.   Sally: Then we redo it. Same place. Different ending.   A pause.   Erika: I’m coming now. Lunch is not optional.   Sally smiled, phone warm in her hands.   Sally: I’ll be waiting.   Erika: Deal. I’ll follow you anywhere. I’ve missed you. So much. I can’t wait to see you in person.   Sally’s throat tightened—not painfully, just enough to remind her that some things mattered more than logistics and hotels and schedules.   Sally: Me too. I’ll see you tomorrow.   She set the phone down carefully, as if not to disturb the moment, and turned onto her side. The house creaked softly, settling around her like a promise. Tomorrow would be early. Trains. A new city. A friend she loved. But for now, there was only this—clean sheets, quiet air, and the gentle certainty that she was safe, loved, and exactly where she needed to be. Sally closed her eyes and let sleep find her.

There is going to be a glitter shit storm when the news package gets aired. Oh and where is LPS?

Hi I'm searching for a online baby

Elf.  Didn't exactly have a choice at my cousin's house. Could have been worse.