Other Fetishes

The wedding is over, the guests are gone, and for the first time Sally wakes up in a quiet vineyard house where she’s the one keeping watch over a hurting Theresa, while her parents start a long-overdue honeymoon half a world away. Between tearful goodbyes, a backyard “grief barbecue” with Veronica and Milena, a hundred lines written at 40,000 feet, and her first truly solo flight on a Falcon 7X to a goat-filled Texas ranch, Sally is pushed into a softer, more grown-up kind of bravery—one where healing looks like diapers - and back pain for Theresa, foundation meetings and espresso talks, late-night fears and early-morning coffee for the people who stayed to guard her sleep. “Softer Side Of Healing” is Sally moving from being the miracle girl everyone protects… to the young woman quietly learning to protect others.   Chapter 127 – Softer Side Of Healing Sally only had to blink, and she was awake. It was late morning—at least, it felt that way. Her body was completely relaxed, well-rested… but there was a strange, hollow feeling under her ribs. And then she remembered: her parents had left on their honeymoon. Her mother had messaged her late last night from Seattle, where they’d stayed for their first married night, before flying on to Kauai today. Sally took a long breath and sat up in bed. The sheets were still warm. The room was quiet, touched by the golden light of the vineyard outside. From the other room came the sound of footsteps, and then Theresa appeared in the doorway, still in her pajamas. She had commandeered Bridget’s room and made it her own overnight, somehow transforming the space without changing a thing. Sally still wasn’t used to seeing Theresa with a clearly used diaper slightly sagging under her shorts. She tried not to smile. “Morning, kid,” Theresa said, her voice full of that ex-military energy that didn’t believe in slow starts. “Today’s a nothing day. No schedule, no duties, no drama.” She flopped gently onto Sally’s bed and ruffled her hair with a grin. “Hey!” Sally groaned, her voice still a bit thick with sleep. “Still waking up,” she announced, curling into a half-sitting position. Sally’s own wet diaper crinkled under her pajamas as she adjusted her position. “Well,” Theresa said, stretching with theatrical flair, “there’s coffee, and what I’ve been told is the best breakfast west of Paris not too far from here. I say we go crash the party with the rest of the stragglers.” Sally’s eyes twinkled. “Are we going in our pajamas?” Theresa made a face, pretending to weigh the pros and cons. “Tempting. But we should probably look somewhat decent. You’re still the vineyard princess for the day, remember?” “Good idea,” Sally said wisely, stifling a yawn as she reached for her robe. “But only because I plan on eating everything.” “Atta girl,” Theresa said, already heading toward her room. “You recover your strength. That’s an order.” They both peeled themselves out of bed at the same moment, like synchronized swimmers in pajamas and diapers. “I get the main bathroom!” Theresa called out, pointing toward Bridget’s ensuite as she grabbed her toiletries bag like a soldier retrieving a field kit. “You commandeered the master suite. The least you can do is let me get ready in peace,” Sally shot back, already waddling toward her own bathroom. “Also—ladies first.” “I’m literally older, and I’ve seen actual combat.” “I’ve seen middle school,” Sally said without turning around. “We all have our scars.” That earned a loud, unapologetic snort from Theresa. “Touché, cadet.” Doors closed. Diapers ripped off. Faucets ran. Steam rose behind both doors, and for ten blissful minutes, the villa was filled with nothing but the sounds of morning. Fifteen minutes later, both doors creaked open in unison. Each emerged wrapped in a towel—Sally in crisp white cotton, Theresa in an army green one that somehow matched her crutch.  They stood in the shared space between their rooms, dripping slightly, eyes meeting over their matching expressions of “I have nothing to wear.” Theresa raised an eyebrow. “So… are we going for ‘relaxed vineyard glow’ or ‘don’t talk to me, I’m brunching’? Something loose for today”, she said, patting the fresh diaper under her towel. Sally rolled her eyes. “I want something that says: ‘I’m still glowing from yesterday, but I’m humble about it.’” “Ah. Modest radiance. Tricky category.” Sally rifled through the hanging clothes in her closet. “Not the sage dress. Too bridal-adjacent. Not the overalls. Too goat-adjacent. Maybe… this?” She pulled out soft skirt and a light cashmere sweater. Comfortable, light, but with just enough elegance to say I know this vineyard like the back of my hand and I know how to dress. Theresa nodded approvingly. “That’s the one. Flattering, breezy, and most importantly, you might flash anyone if a wind picks up, but just a little bit.” “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Sally teased, and Theresa gave her a look. “You already own the vineyard. Let’s not scandalize the tourists.” Theresa opted for a pair of pressed black wide leg Bermuda shorths and a soft chambray button-up she’d knotted at the waist. Her usual no-nonsense boots had been swapped for minimalist slip-ons. She kept her diaper flaps tucked in. She checked herself in the mirror and she nodded her approval. Sally stood at the mirror, brushing through the last of her damp curls, touching up the hint of gloss on her lips. The light streaming through the window caught the delicate shimmer of her bracelet, and for a moment, she admired how far she’d come—from hospital gowns to sunlit mornings in a vineyard villa. Theresa stepped up behind her, leaning casually against the doorframe, ready for the day. “Alright, kiddo. Quick morning briefing,” she said in mock-serious military cadence. “Today is officially a day off. No alarms, no obligations, no formal church—although I wouldn’t put it past Pastor Dan to sneak in a spontaneous sermon over scrambled eggs.” Sally chuckled, eyes still on her reflection. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing. Could probably use a mini soul scrub,” she murmured, smoothing her lashes. Theresa gave an approving nod. “Jeff and Lillian are heading back to Texas after breakfast. Probably getting everything ready for the arrival of the Pampered Princess” Sally turned slightly. “Wait—I thought I was the goat-herder-in-training.” Theresa smirked. “You are. But sometimes, princesses and goat wranglers share a résumé. You know, modern Cinderella vibes.” Sally rolled her eyes affectionately. “Minus the glass slippers. And the midnight curfew.” “And the evil step-anything,” added Theresa. “You’ve got the deluxe version.” Sally smiled. “So, what’s next?” “Otto flies out after lunch. He’s shuttling back the full circus—Selters, Pastor Dan and Susan, Katrina, Clara and her folks, Janice, Tamara… it’s basically Noah’s Ark with frequent flyer miles.” “That poor man,” Sally muttered. “We should send him a medal.” “You can thank him in person in New York,” Theresa replied smoothly. “Olivia wants you to swing by her office after your Texas adventure, so maybe pencil Otto in for a fancy lunch.” Sally turned around, hands on her hips, giving Theresa a pointed look. “You’re back in full-blown assistant mode, aren’t you?” Theresa smirked, not denying it. “Jana’s distracted... Besides, I can’t help it. Logistics are my love language.” Sally narrowed her eyes, then softened. “You know what? I don’t mind. Because you’re not just my assistant anymore. You’re more like…” She paused, eyes crinkling with affection. “My bossy, semi-bionic sister.” Theresa’s heart tugged just a little. She opened her mouth for a witty comeback—but Sally was already slipping her phone into her pink saddle bag and skipping barefoot toward the front door, calling over her shoulder, “Come on! I smell sourdough and peaches!” Theresa watched her go, momentarily stunned. Skipping. Sally was skipping. Not walking cautiously. Not limping in that subtle, cautious way. Just—joyfully, naturally, freely. It brought a lump to her throat. She leaned back against the doorframe for a second, blinking away the emotion. Then she reached for her crutch, steadying herself as she headed toward the main hall, every step a quiet prayer of gratitude. Her own recovery had a ways to go—slower, harder—but she was upright. Walking. Moving. Healing. Her secret weapon, under her shorts. Keeping her safe – and comfortable. And Sally was skipping. That alone was worth the journey. -- Erika, naturally, was the loudest in the room. “Bellissima!” she exclaimed, flinging her arms wide as she nearly danced toward Sally. “You were perfect yesterday! A queen, una regina! I cried three times—at least!” She rattled off in a flurry of Italian and accented English, sweeping Sally into a dramatic half-embrace that ended with a kiss on each cheek. Sally laughed, still blinking sleep from her eyes. “You’re too much.” “I know,” Erika beamed. “That’s why I’m fabulous.” Katrina hovered nearby, calmer than usual, a soft smile on her lips. She could see Sally’s energy wasn’t fully there. “Tranquila, amiga,” she said gently, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind Sally’s ear. “You’re glowing… but maybe a little lost too, hmm?” Before Sally could answer, Clara slipped in and linked arms with her, her expression quiet and perceptive. “Missing your mom already?” she asked softly, her eyes kind. Sally hesitated, then gave a small shrug. “Sort of, yeah. But I know she’s happy. She called last night from Seattle. Said the hotel has the best view in the city… and even Dad sounded like he was floating.” Her voice cracked just a little on the last word. Clara gave her arm a warm squeeze and then released it, sensing the need for space. “Good,” she said simply, with a small smile. The group slowly dispersed, chattering about the wedding—Katrina recalling the spontaneous speeches, Erika reenacting her reaction to Bridget’s gown (complete with gasps), Trish teasing Sally for not tripping down the aisle. Everyone wanted a piece of Sally. They laughed, reminisced, and teased—but they were also letting go. Sally exhaled and turned to scan the room, eyes skimming past the vineyard’s breakfast spread in search of something very specific—coffee. Her gaze landed on Olivia, sitting in a corner nook with Ken. A full pot of coffee gleamed beside them. Olivia caught her eye, lifted a fresh mug, and beckoned her over with a wink. Sally didn’t hesitate. As she approached, Ken stood, giving her a warm smile. “Morning, sweetheart,” he said, then added with a knowing look to Olivia, “I’ll give you two a moment.” “Thanks, Ken,” Olivia said, watching him go before turning her attention fully to Sally. She poured the coffee slowly, setting the mug in front of her. “So,” she said, eyes twinkling, “how are you holding up, dear?” Sally took a sip before answering. The warmth helped center her. “I’m good. I mean—the big wedding’s over. So now it’s all downhill from here, right?” Olivia arched an eyebrow. “You say that like downhill is easy.” Sally smirked. “Point taken. Still… today’s quiet. Tomorrow it’s just me, Theresa, and a bunch of goats.” “Austin goats,” Olivia said, sipping her own coffee. “Quite the itinerary.” “That’s what I’ve heard,” Sally replied, grinning. “Honestly, it sounds kind of perfect.” Olivia leaned back in her seat, relaxing into the moment. “Well, after Austin,” she said casually, “you’ll need to swing by New York. You and Theresa both.” Sally looked up mid-sip, brow furrowed. “We will?” “Mmhmm. My office. Lunch. A few things to go over.” Sally studied her mentor. Olivia wasn’t just making casual suggestions. Her tone was calm, but Sally could hear the undercurrent. “Is this… important-important?” she asked, trying not to sound too wary. Olivia gave her a sideways smile. “Everything relating to you is important, darling. But yes. Let’s say it’s good-important.” Sally narrowed her eyes, then laughed. “You sound like Theresa when she’s pretending something’s ‘not a big deal’ just so I won’t panic.” “That’s because it’s not a big deal,” Olivia said smoothly. “It’s your deal.” Sally blinked. “Wait—you mean the Pembroke-Weiss Foundation?” Olivia nodded. “Exactly. It’s in motion. You don’t have control yet, but the team’s assembling, and we need your voice at the table. Also, your trust. Your legal status. And… well, your schedule.” “My schedule?” Sally groaned, slumping into the chair. “This sounds suspiciously grown-up.” “Because it is,” Olivia said with a gentle laugh. “But don’t worry. You’re not alone in any of it. You’ve got smart people around you. I just want you to be ready. Not when you turn eighteen. Now. Because you’re already in motion.” Sally tilted her head thoughtfully, then took another slow sip of coffee. “So, business as usual,” she said dryly. Olivia chuckled. “The usual unusual business, yes.” Sally looked out the window for a moment, watching the sun bathe the vineyard in soft morning light. Her mother was on a plane to a tropical island. Her old life had shifted forever. But here—here was the future, already calling her name. And maybe, just maybe, she was ready to answer it. -- Breakfast had slowly merged into lunch, the long tables cluttered with half-empty juice glasses and coffee cups as the bittersweet rhythm of farewells settled over the vineyard. The sun was high, lazy, golden—too beautiful for goodbyes, yet perfect for endings. Guests moved between laughter and hugs, their voices echoing softly under the open beams of the main hall. At one end of the terrace, Otto was deep in conversation with Clara’s parents, both of whom looked visibly delighted. “These two are an asset, really,” he said, grinning broadly when he spotted Sally nearby. “Sharp minds! I’m glad they came.” Clara’s father chuckled modestly, while her mother nodded in agreement. Clara herself blushed, glancing at Sally as if to say, “See? We fit in just fine.” Sally smiled back, relieved. She had worried at first that Clara’s parents—quiet, reserved accountants—might feel overwhelmed by the vineyard’s glamour and its kaleidoscope of personalities. But they’d found their place easily, talking with Otto as if they had known him for years. A few tables away, Jeff checked his watch and sighed. “We really should be heading to the airport,” he said, tapping the face of it lightly. “The captain said it’s busy today. He can slot us in for two o’clock, but we shouldn’t push it.” Sally’s smile faltered. “You’re leaving already?” she asked, scanning the Selter family one by one—Lillian serene, Trish grinning, Matt and Sheila hovering near their plates, clearly reluctant to move. Lillian nodded sympathetically. “The kids have school tomorrow. And you’ll be keeping them distracted this afternoon, no doubt,” she teased. “So they need to get their sleep.” Trish leaned back in her chair with mock seriousness. “Perks of homeschooling,” she said. “Flexible schedule: Math, physics, break, shooting practice… then feeding the goats.” Sally burst out laughing, clutching her side. The others joined in, the sound rippling down the table like sunshine on water. From across the room, Otto raised his voice. “Jana! You’ve got a bus for us?” he called, grinning. “We’ve got half the vineyard heading to the airport.” Jana didn’t even look up from her clipboard. “You’ll be comfortable,” she said dryly, which somehow made everyone laugh harder. “They deserve a presidential motorcade,” Sally said, trying to sound dignified but dissolving into giggles halfway through. “Maybe a helicopter or two,” Katrina called from another table, fanning herself dramatically. “Maybe a bicycle for you,” Sally shot back, laughing. “I’d be happy with a Vespa,” Erika chimed in from nearby, her Italian accent rolling like music. “But my parents said no. Too many suitcases, not enough adventure.” “Ah, priorities,” said Otto, chuckling. “A true tragedy of logistics.” Everyone laughed again. It was a bright, lingering laughter—the kind that comes just before parting, when everyone is pretending it’s not goodbye. -- Sally stood up slowly, brushing her hands on her skirt, her eyes scanning the friendly faces around the lunch table. There was a gentle lull in conversation, the kind that invites something meaningful. She hesitated a second, then took a quiet breath and found her voice. “I know we’ve all had a pretty amazing weekend,” she began, her voice a bit shy but steady. “But today’s Sunday, and… I don’t know. I guess some of us—me, at least—miss being at church. I was wondering, Pastor Dan…” she turned toward him, “would you be willing to say something? Something we can carry with us into the week?” Pastor Dan looked up from his seat, pleasantly surprised. “Of course,” he said without hesitation, smiling warmly. “I’d be honored—if everyone’s okay with that?” Heads nodded around the table. A few murmured their approval, and even those who were unfamiliar with church seemed content to listen. “Well,” Pastor Dan said, stretching a little and accepting his Bible from Susan with a thankful glance, “technically it was my day off.” He grinned at Sally, teasing just enough to lighten the moment. Sally made a face. “Sorry…” He waved her off with a chuckle. “No, no. I’m glad. Truth is, it’s hard to get a pastor to stay quiet for long.” There were a few more chuckles around the table. The tone was casual, but hearts were attentive. “I’m going to borrow a little from the sermon that Mr. Knowles, our deacon, is preaching this morning at Community Church in Hartford,” he said, flipping through the worn pages of his Bible. “It’s a story from after Jesus’ resurrection—something not everyone remembers, but I think it’s perfect for this moment.” He cleared his throat gently and began to read: “‘That very day two of them were going to a village named Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem, and they were talking with each other about all these things that had happened. While they were talking and discussing together, Jesus himself drew near and went with them. But their eyes were kept from recognizing him. And he said to them, “What is this conversation that you are holding with each other as you walk?”’” Pastor Dan closed the Bible slowly, his hand resting on the cover. “These disciples were coming down from something incredible. They’d walked with Jesus, seen miracles, heard his promises. And then it all crashed—at least in their eyes. He was crucified. Gone. Hope… evaporated. And now they’re walking home, tired, confused, let down. Maybe that’s a little how we feel sometimes after a big high—after a wedding, a celebration, a change.” He let the moment breathe. “But here’s the truth. Jesus walked right up beside them. He was there the whole time. And not only did he walk with them—he reminded them of what they already knew. ‘And beginning with Moses and all the Prophets, he interpreted to them in all the Scriptures the things concerning himself.’ He didn’t give them something new. He brought them back to what was already there. To Himself.” Sally sat still, her eyes fixed on Pastor Dan. Her fingers wrapped quietly around her mug. “He is the same,” Pastor Dan said simply. “Yesterday, today, forever. When we’re coming off the mountain, and things start to feel… ordinary again. Or scary. Or uncertain. That’s when He’s walking beside us. We forget so easily. We look around and say, ‘Where is He now?’ But He never left.” He paused and let his gaze settle on Sally for a second longer. “Things have changed. Things will continue to change. But not Him. He’s always there—showing Himself to us in the Word, in love, in each other. And the best part? You don’t have to wait for next Sunday to get more. The table is set every day. Open your Bible, open your heart. He’ll meet you there.” There was a soft stillness as the final words settled over the table. Then, gently, a few people began to clap. It wasn’t thunderous or formal—just a few hands, then more, a warm echo of appreciation. Sally’s eyes shimmered. She looked over at Patricia, who gave her a small smile and mouthed, well done. Sally nodded, a quiet sense of peace resting over her. The weekend wasn’t over. But somehow, something deeper had begun. -- The long black shiny “mafia bus” turned the corner with a slow, deliberate growl, swinging into the courtyard and coming to a halt in front of the main building. It wasn’t your average CTtransit shuttle. This one looked like a black widow had mated with a school bus and added a few feet of intimidation for good measure. Sleek, glossy, all dark tinted windows. Otto looked smugly satisfied as he stepped forward to supervise the loading. Just because it made more logistical sense to bus everyone to the FBO in two groups didn’t mean they were going to skip style. Sally stood by the olive tree line, arms folded, half-wishing she were going with them. Otto gave her a quick but meaningful hug. “Du siehst gut aus, Mädchen,” he murmured, his deep voice warm, his godfatherly eyes scanning her face with quiet pride. She smiled, knowing it was one of his highest compliments. Then came Katrina, dramatic as always, already wiping tears before she even reached Sally. “Adiós, mi princesita! I’m counting the days already. Come visit me in Greenwich, will you?” Her voice cracked with theatrical emotion. She leaned in conspiratorially. “There’s a Lamborghini dealership near my house. I can ask if they have an orange one in stock.” Sally groaned. “Katrina! Not you too!” she said, laughing and pulling away. “You’ve been reading those ridiculous articles!” “I admit it. Purely as research.” Katrina grinned mischievously. “Not that I believed the orange part. But… I did overhear Charlie and Matt talking about Lamborghinis…” Sally gave her an exasperated look, trying not to let her delight show. “Busted,” she muttered. Clara stepped up, serene as always. She didn’t say much—she never did—but her hug was strong and full of quiet warmth. “Thank you for everything, Sally. You’re a saint.” Sally started to shake her head, embarrassed, but then Clara’s parents came over. She shook her father’s hand, formal and respectful, but it was Clara’s mother who pulled her gently aside. “What you did with Clara, and for us… it shook me to the core,” she said, her voice soft but intense. “Thank you—and your parents—for your gracious support. We couldn’t have gone through this without you. I see the change in Clara. She’s calmer. Happier. She wasn’t like that before. She’s right. You’re a saint.” Sally didn’t know what to say. She nodded, murmured a thank you, and accepted the warm embrace. As the woman stepped back, Sally glanced over and caught Jana watching from a short distance, giving her a knowing wink. Sally frowned a little. She didn’t feel like the saint people kept calling her. Just a girl trying to keep up. Tamara and Janice swooped in next, full of New York energy. “Come see us when you’re in town,” Janice said. Tamara elbowed her playfully. “You have to see her house near Central Park. You like books? The New York Times featured her library. It’s basically a cathedral of literature.” Sally laughed. “I might take you up on that. I should be in the city sometime next week… I think. I’ll let you know.” She glanced sideways toward Olivia, who was deep in conversation with Ken, but definitely listening. “Deal,” said Janice with a grin. One by one, they all boarded the bus. Charlie was the last to come forward. There was a sweet awkwardness between them, both a little stiff, both trying not to be. “Well… see ya, I guess,” he said, offering a lopsided smile. Sally mirrored it. “Bye, Charlie. It was great having you here.” He scratched the back of his neck. “So, when you coming home?” “Not sure. I’ll send you tomorrow’s flight info. You can track it if you want.” His face lit up a little. “Cool. Uh… have fun in Texas. Matt’s got a Corvette ZR1, so…” Sally laughed. “If he takes me for a ride, I’ll send you a picture. More fun than feeding goats, maybe.” Charlie gave a small, genuine grin, then turned as Jana’s gentle but unmistakable voice called for him to board. The doors shut with a soft hiss, and the sleek black bus rolled away. Just like that, the courtyard was quiet again. Sally stood watching the space where it had disappeared. Erika appeared beside her, arms folded, eyes following the road. “Now that they’re gone,” she said in her lilting Italian-English, looping her arm through Sally’s, “I have you all to myself.” And with that, she steered her toward the main hall, already plotting their next adventure. -- “Tell me about this boy Charlie,” Erika said bluntly, not bothering with subtlety. She and Sally had curled up on a wide corner sofa by the window, their espresso cups warming their hands while the quiet hum of conversation filled the background. The stragglers—Erika’s parents, Olivia and Ken, along with Jana, Niklas, and Theresa—were gathered near the espresso machine, nibbling at flaky pastries and exchanging stories. But Erika had peeled Sally away with a look that said, we need to talk. Sally smiled into her cup. She’d been expecting this. “He’s a friend,” she said, casually. Erika gave a slow, knowing nod. “Più che amici, non è vero?” Sally’s eyes narrowed. “Erika!” she said, feigning outrage. “He’s Patricia’s brother. We just… get along.” “Lui è il tuo ragazzo!” Erika teased, raising her eyebrows with mischievous flair. Sally groaned and leaned back dramatically. “È una bugia!” she declared, gesturing with her arms like an Italian soap opera star. Erika burst into laughter, delighted by the performance. She looked fierce. “Non è una bugia. I saw you two talking. The way you look at each other… the way he looks at you. It’s like a Verdi opera. Passion! Tension! Destiny!” Sally tried to hide the grin tugging at her mouth. “Okay. I sort of like him. But that’s it.” “Like!” Erika scoffed. “Vi siete baciati? Did you kiss?” Sally’s eyes widened. “No! It’s not like that! We haven’t even— We just… I like him, I guess. I think he likes me. That’s all.” Erika reached over and gently took her hand. “Oh, he does. It was obvious.” Sally hesitated, her smile softening into something more serious. “And you don’t mind that…?” She trailed off. The moment between them in the Flying Fox—the brief closeness—still lingered in her mind, faint but meaningful. Erika flushed just slightly, but her expression stayed clear. She shook her head. “No. I don’t mind. You and Charlie… you make sense. You’re real. I have my friends back in Milano—nothing serious. Just… company.” She shrugged, then grinned. “But you? You could be the lead in the love story.” Sally let out a breath, her shoulders relaxing. “So we’re good?” Erika leaned in and kissed her gently on the lips. “We’re good.” She stood, giving Sally a final smile. Then, with a flick of her dark hair and a wink, she walked back to the others, her eyes twinkling with secrets only best friends ever really understood. -- Sally sat still, a little stunned by Erika’s sudden kiss and the calm finality in her voice. The gesture hadn’t been grand or dramatic, but it landed like a warm hand over her heart. The moment lingered, wrapping itself around her like a soft shawl—unexpected, annoying... but comforting, real. She watched Erika disappear into the main hall with the others, her gait light and effortless, her head tilted slightly like she was already half-laughing at whatever she was about to say. That was Erika—composed, playful, always a little mysterious. Sally let out a slow breath and leaned back into the sofa’s corner, her small espresso cup balanced in her hand. It was still warm. Outside, the sun had reached its golden hour. The hills of Viña Elusía stretched across the view beside her, the vines glowing beneath the late afternoon light, and long amber shadows swayed across the terracotta tiles at her feet. She sat there, quietly aware that something inside her had shifted. Erika’s words hadn’t been flirtatious or coy. They had been tender. Direct. And kind. It wasn’t about Charlie, not really. It was about trust. About understanding. About permission—offered without demand or expectation. Erika had seen her clearly. Had stepped back with grace and honesty, when she could’ve made things complicated. But she didn’t. She made space instead. Space for Sally to feel what she felt, however gently or awkwardly or uncertainly it arrived. Sally took another sip and found herself smiling faintly, not from relief, but from ease. Her heart wasn’t knotted anymore. Not weighed down with guilt or confusion. It was curious. Awake. Open. She didn’t know what Charlie was to her, or what he would be. But she knew that she could figure it out. In her own time, on her own terms. For now, this quiet moment, in a golden corner of the world, was just enough. -- The sun had started to slip behind the vineyard hills when it came time for Erika to leave. The courtyard had grown quieter, guests scattered, the laughter and clinking glasses faded into a gentle hush. But for Sally and Erika, the goodbye felt anything but quiet. Their embrace, long and tight and tear-smeared, might as well have been staged for the grand finale of La Traviata at Teatro alla Scala—dramatic, full-hearted, utterly unfiltered. “You owe me a visit to Milano,” Erika said, gripping Sally’s shoulders and shaking her gently, her voice thick with tears and conviction. “Me l’avevi promesso! You promised…” Sally laughed through her own tears, her eyes red and her voice soft. “I did go,” she said, trying to lighten it. “I just… got a little delayed on the way.” Erika gave a soft, pained laugh, brushing a tear from Sally’s cheek with the back of her hand. “That was the worst phone call of my life. You don’t get to do that to me again.” “I’ll finish the trip. I swear,” Sally said, her tone more serious now. “I owe you that. And I want to.” Erika nodded, stepping back slightly, searching Sally’s face like she was committing it to memory. “And if you stay the weekend, we go to Toscana. We have a villa there. We’ll eat figs from the garden and swim in the stone pool. You’ll fall in love with the hills. Milano, Toscana—ah!” She threw her arms in the air with that signature flourish. “You have to come.” “I will.” Sally smiled. “I will.” Olivia and Ken came next, brief but heartfelt. Olivia kissed Sally on the head. “We’ll talk soon. Don’t disappear.” Then they were off with Jana, who was chauffeuring Niklas to the airport. “Chaperones,” Jana said with a smirk, waving as she climbed into the SUV. “Pray for me.” And then the courtyard was still. Just Sally and Theresa now. The emptiness hit like a soft blow to the chest. Without the noise, the motion, the bright distractions… there was just the quiet. And in that quiet, Sally’s face crumpled. She didn’t sob. It was quieter than that. A slow unraveling. A deep ache rising from somewhere she hadn’t been able to name until now. Theresa reached over without a word and pulled her close, her crutch tucked to the side, her arm strong around Sally’s trembling shoulders. “You’re not alone,” Theresa whispered, brushing Sally’s hair down as tears slipped silently onto her shoulder. “You will never be alone.” And Sally clung to her, nodding, letting it out. A soft whir of wheels against cobblestone broke the silence. Veronica Bauer approached from the direction of the winery, regal as ever in her wheelchair, wearing dark jeans and a wine-colored blouse, a silk scarf tied at her throat. Her tone was dry, her eyes kind. “Well,” she said, pausing near them, “we can either keep crying in the courtyard like opera heroines or… make a party out of it.” Theresa looked up, then looked down at Sally, who blinked, sniffling, mascara slightly smudged. “I vote party,” Theresa said. Sally sniffed again and gave a crooked smile. “Sorry about the drama.” Veronica waved it off like a queen dismissing formalities. “Drama is healthy. Especially after weddings. But I have something better than tissues.” She turned her chair toward the house next to the winery. “The pantry is full. There’s a picanha in the fridge that’s been begging for the barbecue. And I’ve been saving a 2013 Cabernet that tastes like velvet and secrets. You in?” Sally stood slowly, wiping her face with her sleeve, the heaviness giving way to something steadier. She looked at Theresa, who nodded in quiet agreement. Sally exhaled. “Yeah. Let’s raid your pantry.” “Good,” said Veronica, already wheeling forward. “And I hope you like Ella Fitzgerald. Because we’re putting on the blues.” As they walked behind her, the shadows stretched longer, and the air began to cool. But in that moment, wrapped in unexpected comfort and the promise of wine and laughter, Sally felt the ache ease. The night didn’t feel empty anymore. It felt… like healing. -- At the driveway, beside Veronica’s immaculate black station wagon Mercedes, stood Milena, a tall, athletic woman Sally remembered faintly from her earlier visit to Viña Elusía. “Oi, tudo bem? Prazer em vê-la,” Sally said with a nervous smile, her Portuguese clumsy but full of effort. Theresa raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. “I don’t know what you said, but I’m assuming that was legal.” Veronica chuckled from her spot beside the trunk. “Theresa, meet Milena—my right hand, left hand, nurse, assistant, driver, and occasional bodyguard. Straight from Brazil and an absolute menace when it comes to making caipirinhas.” Milena stepped forward and shook Theresa’s hand firmly. “It’s a pleasure to meet Sally’s friend,” she said with a soft accent, her tone warm. “Likewise,” Theresa replied with a grin. “So, is it only caipirinhas, or do you know your way around a barbecue too?” Veronica answered before Milena could. “We’re still teaching her to swirl and spit for the wine tastings. But when it comes to fire and meat, we all follow her lead.” The stone barbecue had been prepped with coal earlier, and now the orange glow of embers cast flickering light against the stone walls of the patio. Milena had it under control, turning the thick slabs of picanha with practiced care, a small bowl of sea salt nearby. Inside, bowls of olives, artisan crackers, and cheese had been set out, along with two bottles of Viña Elusía’s best Cabernet, already breathing. “Only the best for guests,” Veronica said as she poured. “Usually Milena insists on grilled vegetables and protein portions the size of a business card. But tonight, we indulge.” Theresa eased herself into a comfortable armchair beside Veronica, sighing with gratitude. She set her crutch aside and stretched her leg out slightly. Veronica glanced over, concerned. “How’s the recovery? Still getting pain?” Theresa hesitated. “Some. Especially if I’ve been on my feet too long. My toes go tingly every now and then. Nerve bruising, mostly.” “Equine nerve?” Veronica asked gently. “I’ve spent too much time around spine injury cases.” She tapped the edge of her wheelchair. Theresa nodded, her smile dry. “Yup. With all the bonus features.” She tugged her waistband to display her diaper flap. “I’m sorry,” Veronica said softly. “I’m not,” Theresa replied, taking a small sip of her wine. “It reminds me of what I was spared from. It keeps me grateful.” She lifted her glass slightly, as if in salute to the sky. Veronica watched her with an approving expression. “A woman of faith. I like that.” Then she added, “Still, I hope it doesn’t trouble you too much.” Theresa shrugged. “Sally’s the one who puts up with me. She doesn’t tease me… too much.” Across the terrace, Sally, who had been observing the conversation from where Milena poked at the glowing coals, turned and called out, “Excuse me? I don’t tease you enough. If I gave it back half as much as you give me…” The women burst out laughing. Veronica raised an eyebrow. “Tease her? About what?” Sally paused, realizing too late that she might have said more than she meant to. Theresa, ever the protector, smoothly stepped in. “Sally’s struggles weren’t so much physical. More… nocturnal. The mind takes longer to recover, sometimes. But we share supplies, so it’s not so bad.” Veronica sat back, her face softening. “Ah. I see. That’s tough. I’m sorry.” Sally walked over and pulled up a chair beside them. “It’s okay. It was already a thing before the accident, just manageable. The crash made it worse. But it’s under control. I’ve got my gear, and people who care, so I sleep safe. It’s not something I hide. Not anymore.” Veronica looked at her, surprised by the honesty and poise. There was no shame in Sally’s face, only calm strength. A fifteen-year-old girl who’d weathered a storm most adults couldn’t comprehend, and come out not just standing—but walking tall. “Well then,” Veronica said, raising her glass. “Here’s to cozy nights and soggy dreams.” The women laughed again, clinking their glasses, the sound delicate in the fading light. From the patio, the rich, savory scent of picanha on the grill curled toward them. “Almost ready!” Milena called, flipping the meat with a practiced flick of the tongs. -- As the firelight danced off the patio stones and the scent of grilled picanha wafted through the warm air, Sally leaned in close between Theresa, Veronica, and Milena, raising her phone with a grin. “Okay, everyone say… ‘caipirinha!’” Click. The picture captured it all: Theresa mid-laugh with her wine glass raised, Veronica looking serenely regal in her wheelchair, Milena flipping the meat in the background with a proud smirk, and Sally, cheeks slightly flushed from the wine and the firelight, eyes bright with a quiet kind of joy. She tapped a message beneath the photo: “We’re raiding the pantry with Veronica. Milena’s making the best Brazilian picanha. We miss you.” Then she hit send. The phone buzzed two hours later, just as the group was finishing their last bites of grilled pineapple and sipping Milena’s expertly mixed caipirinhas. Sally picked it up and her heart skipped. Bridget Pembroke-Weiss had replied. The photo was beautiful. A wide beach, all sky and golden light. Her parents barefoot, hand in hand, walking just where the tide kissed the sand. Bridget’s sundress floated around her legs, and Adrian’s white shirt was open at the collar. Neither of them looked like the grownups who had carried the weight of a lifetime of hard choices. They looked like teenagers—light, laughing, in love. Sally smiled, holding the image close for a moment before showing it to Theresa, who let out a soft “Aww.” Below the image was a short reply: “Wish you were here. But we know you’re exactly where you’re meant to be. Love you, always. - Mom & Dad” Sally blinked fast, her throat tightening—but she was smiling. Veronica leaned in. “Good news?” Sally nodded. “The best.” Milena handed her another grilled pineapple slice. “To good nights and better mornings,” Veronica toasted. Sally lifted her glass. “And to parents who still know how to be in love.” Sally leaned back in her chair, cheeks still pink from laughter. The sun had dipped below the hills, but the warmth of good food, better company, and full hearts filled the air around them like golden light. -- That evening, the villa was quiet, the hum of the vineyard now a gentle whisper outside the open windows. The night air was cool and sweet with eucalyptus and jasmine. Sally sat cross-legged on her bed, her oversized sleep shirt slouched off one shoulder, diaper visible around her waist. She was brushing through the last messages on her phone when the bathroom door opened. Theresa stepped out, long sleep shirt and a fresh diaper barely showing, toweling off the ends of her hair. Her face was clean, relaxed. She moved slower than usual, her limp more pronounced, but she smiled when she saw Sally sitting there waiting. “I had a great time,” Sally said, her voice quiet and soft, almost dreamy. “I cried a bit, but then it was better.” Theresa crossed to her and sat on the edge of the bed, still drying her hair. “You didn’t just survive it, you shone,” she murmured, reaching out to gently tuck a lock of Sally’s hair behind her ear. “You made it all magic. And I’ll miss you next week, kiddo.” Sally sighed, leaning slightly into her. “I don’t know why you can’t come. What am I supposed to do without my assistant-slash-bodyguard-slash-bossy-big-sister?” “Enjoy your independence,” Theresa teased. “You’ve got me on speed dial, speed message, satellite uplink, and carrier pigeon. And if all else fails, just send a goat.” Sally giggled. “Goats would totally take a message. They just wouldn’t deliver it.” A calm silence settled between them. The kind of silence that didn’t need filling. Theresa shifted slightly and winced. “Sore?” Sally asked, catching the movement. “Not terrible. Just a long day on a healing back,” Theresa said with a slight grimace. “I took something for it earlier, so if I don’t move soon, I’ll pass out right here and you’ll be stuck with me.” Sally grinned. “I don’t mind being stuck with you.” Theresa gave her a slow, grateful smile. She reached behind her and pulled one of the pillows closer, then gently curled onto her side at the foot of the bed, careful not to jostle anything. “Is here okay?” she asked, already half-asleep. Sally nodded, pulling the blanket up over both of them. “Yeah. Stay.” The lamp clicked off, and the room was plunged into the soft blue glow of moonlight. Sally turned onto her side, facing Theresa’s quiet outline. “Good night, Theresa,” she whispered. “Good night, kiddo,” came the warm, muffled reply. Sally closed her eyes, heart steady, wrapped in safety, and drifted off—dreamless, peaceful, not alone. -- When Sally woke, the room was still dark with early morning blue. The vineyard beyond the windows was hushed, blanketed in quiet. The only sound came from the soft, rhythmic breathing beside her. The lack of need to use the bathroom announced her wet diaper before she could check it. Sure enough, she could feel the swollen diaper between her legs as she moved. Theresa was curled up on her side, her back to Sally, still in the same position she had fallen asleep. Her snores were almost endearing, and oddly comforting. Sally smiled, watching her for a moment. It was a rare thing, seeing Theresa asleep like this. Sally reached out and covered Theresa’s lower diapered form, dispensing some dignity to her sleeping companion. Usually, she was up before anyone else, boots on, hair tied back, already planning the day before Sally’s first yawn. Sally considered, for a moment, returning the favor and doing her own mock wake-up call—maybe even bouncing on the bed—but thought better of it. Theresa had taken something for the pain in her back last night, and it seemed to have finally granted her a real, deep sleep. She’d let her have it. As Sally sat up and eased the covers off herself, a second sound reached her ears. A soft, almost delicate snore. She turned her head slowly toward the sofa and stifled a laugh. There, sprawled across the cushions with a blanket half-fallen to the floor, was Jana. Her dark braids spilled out like ink across the pillow, one arm slung over the side as if she’d collapsed there mid-mission. Sally’s heart swelled. Another guardian angel, pulling an unspoken night shift. Jana must’ve come in late and, without a word, settled in to make sure the nest stayed safe and warm. Sally tiptoed past her, the kind of careful, quiet tiptoeing that only comes from living with others and knowing their rhythms. The only sound came from the rustling diaper under her t-shirt. Once in the kitchen, she was surprised and relieved to find a well-stocked coffee bar—a glimmer of grace on an already beautiful morning. The machine was sleek, modern, and blessedly easy to figure out. She pressed the button, and soon the hum of brewing coffee filled the room like a promise. As the first mug filled, Sally cradled it in her hands and inhaled deeply, the steam rising to greet her face. This was the moment. Her last morning at Viña Elusía before flying off to Texas. Austin first, then the hour-long drive to Jeff and Lillian’s ranch. She mentally walked through the checklist: suitcases—packed last night; carry-on—stuffed with her headphones, her notebook, and, yes, the hundred lines her dad had assigned as her “attitude correction.” That thought made her smirk. He hadn’t even reminded her of it. But the fatherly choice of lines was new to Sally. She rolled her eyes fondly at the memory. Sally poured two more cups of coffee and set them on a tray. One for Theresa, one for Jana. Her people. Her strange, wonderful, patchwork family who loved her fiercely and quietly—often at the same time. Today, the road would stretch out again. Planes, cars, new rooms and new routines. But for now, she had this: morning light creeping through stone walls, the aroma of good coffee, and two sleeping women who had stayed through the night just to make sure she didn’t wake up alone. -- “Coffee…” came the groggy voice of Jana, shuffling into the kitchen with sleep still clinging to her features like morning fog. Sally turned, holding her own steaming mug. “Hey,” she said, surprised but pleased. “I didn’t expect you to crash the sleepover.” She let out a low chuckle, watching Jana rub her face with both hands like she was trying to wipe the night off. Jana reached for the mug Sally handed her. She glanced at Sally’s diapered form and pressed her lips, muffling a smile. “Tess messaged me,” she said, voice still rough with sleep. “Said she was taking something strong for the pain and didn’t want to be out cold with you alone. Asked if I could stay over when I got in, just in case. So… here I am.” Sally nodded, glancing toward the hallway that led to the bedrooms. “I made her some coffee too,” she said, gesturing toward the untouched mug on the counter. “Should I take it to her?” Jana shook her head as she sipped. “Nah. Let her sleep. She needs it more than she admits. She’s been pushing herself too hard lately. Just because she can get around with one crutch doesn’t mean her body’s fully up to speed.” Sally frowned, concern settling behind her eyes. “But she’s supposed to be getting better. That’s the whole point. This kind of backslide just makes it harder.” “You’re not wrong,” Jana said gently. “That’s why I’m taking her home after we drop you off at the airport. No arguments. She needs a solid week of rest. I’ll talk to Olivia and cover what needs to be done. You go have fun in Texas. I’ll see to it she’s horizontal in Hartford.” Sally let out a long breath of relief. “Thanks, Jana. Honestly. I wouldn’t know how to get her to stop. She wouldn’t listen to me anyway.” Jana gave her a look. “That’s not true, you know. She listens to you more than you realize. But you’re going to have to start owning that space. Speak to her like you’re her boss when it counts. Same goes for me. We’re your friends—your sisters—but that doesn’t mean we don’t answer to you when it matters.” Sally blinked, caught off guard by the seriousness in Jana’s voice. She looked down at her coffee, thinking. “Sounds weird,” she admitted. “But… I’ll try. It’s just hard to flip that switch.” “It’ll come,” Jana said, watching her with a quiet smile. “You’ve got more strength than you give yourself credit for.” Sally gave a crooked grin, finishing her coffee and setting the mug down. She stretched, her joints clicking in protest. She could feel her diaper sag, but she was too lazy to lift it. “I’ll go get ready,” she said, rubbing her eyes. “Gotta look halfway alive for the goats.” Jana laughed. “Go freshen up. Shower. Get that thing off. I’ll check on Theresa. We’ve got a couple hours before we hit the road.” As Sally waddled back down the hallway, her steps light, Jana watched her go with a small, proud nod. The girl was growing. Even if she sometimes didn’t look like it. -- Sally stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in a thick white towel, her dark hair damp and clinging to her neck. The morning air in the villa was cool and quiet, filled only with the soft hum of the ceiling fan and the occasional creak of the floorboards. She felt rested, grounded, and ready to move. It was travel day. Texas waited—and with it, dusty boots, stubborn goats, and a break from all the pageantry. She moved to the open closet, flipping through the options she had packed for the trip. Nothing fancy. Jeans and a t-shirt felt right. The ranch wasn’t going to be impressed by her chiffon dresses or delicate sandals. She chuckled to herself as she pulled a faded pair of low-rise jeans and a soft t-shirt. On the bed, Jana sat cross-legged with a mug of coffee in hand, scrolling through something on her phone. Theresa, still curled under the comforter, was barely sitting up, bracing herself on one elbow. “Theresa’s down for the count,” Jana said, raising her eyes from the screen. “Looks like it’s me taking you to the airport today.” Theresa made a face, eyes heavy, her voice low. “Sorry, girl. I really wanted to see you off.” Sally frowned, walking over to her side. “You’re doing the right thing. Sleep, rest, get your strength back. I’ll feel a lot better knowing you’re treating your body like it matters. This isn’t some combat op where you need to be the hero. You’re allowed to recover. You’re allowed peace.” Theresa managed a weak grin, her eyes already fluttering closed again. “You’re getting good at that big-sister pep talk.” Sally leaned over and gave her a one-armed hug. “I learned from the best.” Theresa slumped back onto the pillows with a sigh. “Enjoy the goats.” Jana stood and helped Sally zip up her suitcase. Together, they rolled it out to the front porch. As if on cue, the sleek black Mercedes station wagon purred up the driveway and came to a smooth stop in front of the villa. Sally blinked. “Veronica?” “Offered us a ride,” said Jana, smiling. “She said you liked her car.” “I do,” Sally murmured, already running her fingers over the polished metal. “Reminds me of my Mercedes in Switzerland.” The passenger window rolled down and there was Veronica, looking elegant as ever, a pair of oversized sunglasses perched on her nose. “Ready to hit the road?” Milena gave a wave from the driver’s seat. With the tailgate popped open, she and Jana loaded the luggage swiftly, while Sally slid into the back seat. “Theresa’s out cold,” Sally explained. “Her meds knocked her flat. She’s resting.” “I told her to take them,” Veronica said matter-of-factly. “She looked like she was faking her way through pain yesterday. I’m glad she listened. She doesn’t always.” The drive to Napa County Airport was smooth and sun-drenched. The vines rolled past on either side, golden-green under a perfect blue sky. No hurry. No traffic. Just peace. When they pulled up to the private terminal, Veronica gestured toward the tarmac with a smile. “I didn’t bring the chair, so I’m staying in the car. Give me a hug and be on your way. And send me a selfie with those goats.” Sally opened her door and leaned over to hug her. “Thank you. For everything. The place, the food… the wine, too.” “Alina did most of the heavy lifting,” Veronica said modestly. “But I’ll take credit for the vintage. My dad sends his best, by the way. He had to leave on business.” Inside the FBO, a uniformed attendant was already waiting to take Sally’s luggage. Jana accompanied her to the lounge, where large glass windows overlooked the tarmac. And there it was. The unmistakable silhouette. Sleek. Elegant. Familiar. “Falcon 7X,” Sally said under her breath, recognition blooming. “You know your jets, girl,” Jana said, eyebrows lifting. “I think I’ve flown this same one before,” she murmured. “Miss Weiss!” A warm, accented voice rang out. She turned to see a tall, familiar man in a tailored navy uniform approaching. He was grinning. “Captain Boiron?” Sally asked, her face lighting up. “Van Nuys to Marathon, remember?” he nodded, shaking her hand. “And it’s Gustav. It’s wonderful to see you again.” “He flew Theresa and I some time ago,” Sally told Jana, quickly filling her in. Jana shook his hand, then stepped aside. “She’s flying solo today. Someone will be meeting her at the other end.” “You’ll be in good hands,” Gustav assured them. “Whenever you’re ready, Miss Weiss.” Sally turned to hug Jana. “I guess this is it. Off to feed the goats.” “Have fun, Sal. Don’t forget to actually rest.” Gustav motioned toward the door, and together they walked across the tarmac. The jet gleamed under the morning sun. Two crewmembers stood at the stairs, smiling. “I have to say,” Gustav said, more softly now, “when I saw your name on the manifest, I hardly believed it. After what happened… it’s a joy to see you walking up to this plane. My crew is thrilled. I hope you don’t mind.” Sally gave him a small smile. “Not at all. I’m no hero, Captain. But I thank God I’m alive.” “You’re a miracle girl,” he said sincerely. “Shall we?” She looked up at the aircraft—familiar stairs, polished rail, and that quiet thrill of taking off once again. Sally climbed, heart light, ready for what came next. -- Sally stepped onto the Falcon 7X, the aircraft’s polished interior wrapping around her like a familiar blanket. The moment she crossed the threshold, she was greeted by Monica, the flight attendant, who stood just inside the cabin, her smile trembling with restrained emotion. “Miss Weiss…” Monica’s voice wavered. “I am so glad…” She paused, pressing a hand to her chest, then took a small breath, steadying herself. “When your accident happened, I was in shock. I remembered you so clearly from the last flight. You and Theresa—so composed, so lovely. We all followed the news. When we heard you were going to be okay…” her voice broke again, “I cried. I am so, so happy to see you boarding today.” Sally, moved by the sincerity, reached out and gently took Monica’s hand. “I’m glad to be flying with you again.” Captain Boiron appeared beside them, his posture proud and welcoming. “Monica will take wonderful care of you during the flight,” he said warmly, before gesturing to a woman in uniform standing just behind him. “And this is our First Officer, Angelina Méndez.” Sally stepped forward and offered her hand with a poise that surprised even herself. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, First Officer Méndez.” Angelina, tall and confident, took Sally’s hand and grinned, brushing a long braid behind her shoulder, a slight Spanish accent embeleshing her speech. “The pleasure is mine. We meet now, but I’ve followed your story. I’m honored to fly you today. You’ll be in good hands, I promise. Safety and comfort—our specialties.” Sally tilted her head, curious. “De dónde eres?” Angelina chuckled. “Madrid. Though I’ve been living in the States for ten years.” Sally turned slightly, pointing playfully at each in turn. “France,” she said, nodding to Gustav, “Spain,” to Angelina, and then looked back at Monica. “America?” “Born and raised in Cleveland,” Monica smiled. Sally’s grin widened. “International crew. I like it.” Monica stepped aside and gestured toward the aisle. “Make yourself at home, Miss Weiss.” Sally walked forward, her bare legs brushing softly against her travel jeans, towel-dried hair still damp around her shoulders. Her feet felt firm and strong on the carpeted floor. No cane. No limp. No diaper. Just a steady rhythm of steps that reminded her she was healing. Alive. Moving forward.  She slid into a familiar set of club seats, upholstered in aged but elegant dark brown leather. Her eyes immediately caught the green can nestled in the cupholder. Pringles. She picked it up and smiled—deeply. “I love Pringles on a plane,” she murmured as Monica approached. “It’s popular with our younger guests—and some older ones, too,” Monica said with a wink. “Would you like something to drink?” “Sparkling water, please.” “Pellegrino okay?” Sally nodded. “Perfect. Thank you.” She popped open the can and leaned back into her seat, letting the simple joy of the moment wash over her. The hum of the engines, the sparkle of water in a crystal glass, the salty crunch of a starchy snack—it was everything and nothing, all at once. Familiar. Comforting. A reminder that she was still here, still herself. The cabin lights were dimmed and the gentle whir of the air circulation system created a steady backdrop to her thoughts. Sally let her eyes drift to the small window. The sky outside was pale blue, streaked with soft clouds drifting slowly over the vineyards and valleys below. After a while, Captain Boiron leaned into the cabin, his uniform crisp, posture relaxed. “We’re ready to taxi, Miss Weiss,” he said with a warm smile. Sally gave him a little salute and lifted her thumb. “Take us to Austin, Captain.” Boiron dipped his head, clearly pleased. “As you wish.” Monica moved in smoothly behind him, checking that Sally’s glass and Pringles can were cleared and her seatbelt was fastened. Sally felt the familiar nudge of the aircraft beginning to roll. The nose gently turned and aligned with the runway. A moment later, the engines deepened into their full-bodied roar, and Sally was pressed back into the seat as the Falcon accelerated and lifted off. The whole sequence felt both powerful and elegant, like a well-rehearsed ballet in the sky. As the jet leveled out, Monica returned with a discreet smile. “Lunch,” she said, unfolding a small white cloth over the table. “We were briefed to be creative based on what we know. I can offer you a light salad to start, a roasted vegetable medley, and pork ribs with a side of mac and cheese. For drinks, anything you’d like—we have a few fresh juices, sparkling water, the usual soft drinks, or I can offer iced tea.” Sally leaned her head back and laughed softly. “Wow. That sounds perfect. I don’t know if I’ll manage to finish all of it, but I’ll give it my best shot.” Monica gave her a knowing look. “I was instructed to try and convince you to eat it all. A certain Theresa Hernandez—who booked the flight—left very firm notes.” Sally rolled her eyes affectionately. “My assistant. Slash nurse. Slash professional babysitter.” Monica chuckled. “I gathered as much. She traveled with you the last time, didn’t she?” Sally nodded. “The one and only. Unstoppable Theresa.” “Well then,” Monica said, folding her hands, “I don’t want to be the reason she storms the cockpit mid-flight. But I will say, these ribs are worth the effort.” “I’ll do what I can,” Sally promised. “I lost weight after the accident, and between that and the pneumonia, everyone’s been breathing down my neck to ‘nourish myself like a soldier in recovery’.” Monica gave her a kind smile, placing the tray gently before her. “You’ve made remarkable progress. Truly. And don’t worry—I won’t tell Theresa if you leave a rib or two behind.” Sally looked down at the meal. The salad was crisp and bright, the ribs glistened with just the right amount of glaze, and the mac and cheese looked criminally comforting. She smiled. “I won’t leave anything behind,” she said, with newfound determination. “At least not the mac and cheese.” “Wise choice,” Monica said, with a wink, and left her to eat in peace. Sally picked up her fork and took a bite, letting the flavors settle on her tongue. Warmth bloomed in her chest—not just from the food, but from the care. It wasn’t just lunch. It was love, in all its strange and beautiful forms. In Theresa’s notes. In Monica’s gentle tone. In Veronica’s lift to the airport. In every person who had showed up, without ever being asked. She took another bite and smiled to herself. This was healing too. -- Sally resisted the urge to relax too much. She had two hours left before arriving in Austin, and she knew this window of quiet was the best time to get it done. Her fingers itched for a break, but her conscience tugged harder. She reached down, unzipped the front pocket of her backpack, and pulled out a spiral-bound school notebook—creased at the corners, a bit battered, but reliable. The pen she chose was smooth and weighty, black ink, no nonsense. Opening to a clean page, she drew a crisp number one and circled it.   “I’ll never be rude to Mom, even if I’m having a bad day.”   She paused, then drew a number two and wrote the same line again. By the time five minutes had passed, she’d made it to line ten and her hand already ached. Her fingers cramped slightly from holding the pen too tight. She shook them out, sighed, and kept going. Determined. Steady. She was going to finish what her dad had asked—one hundred lines. Not ninety-five, not one hundred and one. One hundred. A promise in ink. The jet hummed beneath her, a steady white-noise cradle. Monica moved quietly in and out of the galley, casting the occasional glance Sally’s way. But seeing her focused, drink still full, plate cleared, she left her be. Sally could feel Monica’s quiet respect—and appreciated it more than she could say. Time passed in the rhythm of ink scratching against paper, and the pages began to stack. She was on her third sheet now, numbering with perfect care, line after line like a mantra. It wasn’t just about fulfilling a promise anymore. It was about centering herself. Reminding herself who she wanted to be, even on the days when things felt tilted or hard. When the final line—number one hundred—was written, she leaned back and let out a long breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Her hand was sore, but her chest felt lighter. She flipped through the filled pages, proud. It was a punishment, despite her father’s assurances to the contrary. But also a lesson. A promise made with ink and time. She snapped photos of each page, checking the lighting to make sure they were clear, and attached them in a message to her dad.   Done. One hundred. As promised. You said not one more, not one less.   A few seconds passed. Then her phone buzzed back.   Perfectly executed. Thank you. You’ve got the makings of a very stubborn but honorable woman. Love you, kid.   Sally smiled. Now, finally, she could relax. She tucked the notebook away, leaned her seat back slightly, and gazed out the window, the sky soft and endless ahead. -- Adrian and Bridget’s honeymoon had been a piece of Heaven—quiet, slow, full of tender surprises. What had once been dreamlike expectations turned into something real, tangible, and alive. Their first night in Seattle had felt like something out of an old song—simple, dim-lit, and deeply comforting. There had been no illusions of magic, only the slow and honest rediscovery of each other. They had made love, yes, but it had been more than that—proof of trust, of healed wounds, of time’s strange mercy. Their arrival in Kauai felt like stepping into another world—one made entirely of sunlight, salt air, and stillness. The beachfront villa waited for them at the edge of a quiet cove, hidden among palms and plumeria, its wide lanai opening to an endless stretch of turquoise sea. It was a house made for silence and laughter in equal measure: a private pool glinting like glass in the morning light, a small kitchen where they cooked barefoot, trading jokes and tasting wine straight from the bottle.  They spent afternoons reading in the shade, their chairs close enough for their hands to find each other without looking. And when night fell, they would skinny dip in the warm water like young lovers, the stars scattered above like an unbroken promise. There was no performance to it—just two souls who had waited long enough to breathe freely, rediscovering not youth, but peace, and in that peace, the kind of passion that comes from truly being home. Adrian, true to his word, had sworn off work. His partners, Jeff and Anastasios, had taken over anything critical, and he had promised Bridget that she would have his full attention. And so far, he’d kept it—until now. The soft light of morning spilled into their beachfront suite. Breakfast trays sat on the floor, cleared. Adrian was still lying in bed, shirtless, holding his phone with an amused expression on his face. Bridget, curled beside him, head resting gently on his chest, could feel the subtle rumble of a chuckle through him. She raised an eyebrow and tilted her head just enough to peer at the phone. “Busy, dear?” Her tone was light, but it carried a mild note of accusation. “Very,” he replied, eyes still on the screen. “Your daughter keeps me on my toes.” Bridget lifted her head with interest. “She should be flying to Austin at this moment. Any updates?” Adrian held the phone up for her. “See for yourself.” Bridget took the phone, squinting at the first photo. It was a picture of notebook paper—her daughter’s handwriting, numbered lines stretching neatly across the page. “I’ll never be rude to Mom, even if I’m having a bad day,” it read. Bridget scrolled. Another page. And another. She stopped at the last photo and counted—one hundred lines. Perfectly numbered. Clear, no scribbles or shortcuts. “You made her write lines?” Bridget looked at Adrian, half amused, half astonished. Adrian shrugged with a soft smile. “We had a talk before we left. After her little… blow-up. She apologized, but I wanted it to stick. So I suggested something a bit old-school. I figured it’d help her remember to check herself before snapping. Especially at you.” Bridget laughed gently, shaking her head. “That’s sweet of you. Defending me like this—from my daughter, no less.” “She didn’t argue,” Adrian said. “Actually, she took it better than I expected. She wrote them now, in the jet. Sent them without me even asking again. She did the work. That’s Sally. Stubborn, but she owns it. She’ll do well in life.” Bridget handed the phone back to him, her heart full. “She will. With God’s help, she really will.” They lay there a while longer, the breeze stirring the curtains, the sound of the ocean whispering from beyond the windows. Two parents in love. Two hearts steady and at peace, thinking of the same girl—half a world away, flying into a life that was just beginning to unfold. -- It felt strange, almost surreal, for Sally to be alone in the cabin of the Falcon 7X. She glanced around at the soft leather seats, the polished wood details, and the golden slant of sunlight seeping through the oval windows. The space felt larger than she remembered—quieter, too. Now, it was just her. She was flying solo, in every sense of the word. A flicker of realization passed through her—this was the first time she’d flown alone. No adult tagging along to double-check if she was doing fine. No last-minute instructions or airport rush. Just her. And a silent, pressurized sky. She stood, restless, and decided to stretch her legs. First stop: the bathroom. She had developed a certain appreciation for jet bathrooms—not for their glamour, necessarily, but for how thoughtfully they were put together. Compact, yes, but deliberate. Sleek fixtures. High-end toiletries. Perfect lighting. It made the experience feel less like a necessity and more like a curated pause. She smiled at her choice of actual underwear. No pull-ups. No diapers. No artificial comfort and security. But that would change tonight, and in a different environment – again. She caught her reflection in the mirror. A quick sweep of the brush, a touch of gloss. Nothing too precise—just enough to feel fresh. She smiled at herself, a little surprised by the steady girl looking back. When she stepped out, she wandered slowly toward the front, curiosity pulling her like a magnet. Monica, prepping something in the galley, gave her an encouraging nod and gestured toward the cockpit. Sally hesitated, then moved forward. Captain Boiron turned as she entered, sliding his seat back slightly and removing his headset. “Ah, welcome to the cockpit, Miss Weiss,” he said with a cheerful formality. Sally’s eyes widened as she stepped in. Screens lit the small space in gentle blues and greens, like some futuristic puzzle always in motion. First Officer Méndez gave her a brief smile before returning to her instruments, one hand resting lightly on the controls. “I hope I’m not bothering you,” Sally said, standing just behind the captain’s seat. “Not at all,” Boiron replied. “It’s nice to have company up here. We’re about to start our descent into Austin. Ever been?” She shook her head. “No, it’s my first time. I’m kind of excited. But also… I don’t know. Everything feels a little big right now.” Boiron nodded, as if he understood more than she’d said. “That’s how it starts—new places, big skies, and a quiet moment to think. It’s a good kind of big, n'est-ce pas?” “Ui”. Sally gave a small smile and watched the horizon shift on the monitor as the plane began its descent. Gravity gently nudged her center of balance, and she braced herself lightly on the back of the chair. First Officer Méndez spoke quietly into her mic, fingers moving across the flight controls with the fluidity of a concert pianist. Boiron murmured something in French, likely to himself, before glancing back at Sally. “About thirty minutes, we’ll be on the ground. You’ve been a lovely passenger,” he said with a warm grin. “Merci for letting me visit,” she replied, offering a small wave to both pilots. “Good luck with the landing.” “Anytime,” Méndez said without turning, her voice light but kind. Back in the cabin, Monica had already anticipated her return. A small tray awaited her: delicate sandwiches stacked like jewels and a tall glass of fresh orange juice. “It’s five o’clock local time,” Monica said, setting the tray gently in front of her. “A little something before we land.” Sally’s stomach grumbled in surprising agreement. She hadn’t felt hungry, but the scent of warm bread and fresh citrus awakened something. She picked up a sandwich, took a bite, and found herself relaxing into the experience. It wasn’t just food—it was care. Quiet, thoughtful care. Monica watched from the galley, pleased as Sally cleared the tray without effort. As the engines hummed their descending tune and the sky outside turned golden-orange, Sally leaned back into her seat, folded her hands on her lap, and took a deep breath. Maybe this wasn’t just flying. Maybe this was her next chapter taking off.  

This is going to be interesting  , can,t wait for the next chapter .  

"Don't worry, sweetheart!" she said to her son, giving him a gentle tap on the nose. Then, she walked him to the door, telling him to wait while she grabbed her handbag. When she returned, she offered him her hand, and they stepped out of the house together. It was a beautiful day; the warm weather of the countryside allowed for frequent outings in short sleeves. Kyla spotted some of her son's peers, clearly in diapers, playing in the neighborhood gardens. A sweet little smile formed on her lips as she imagined her son playing with them, dressed in just a onesie and a diaper. She led her son to her car, placed him in his seat, and buckled him in. "Let's go," she said as she settled into the driver's seat and started the engine.    

Thank you for the comment! It is hard to paint realism into a thirteen-year-old. What is even the best way? Bella is the bright-slightly-geeky-lovable-wise-ass-know-it-all kind of teen.  Actually, it was a chance encounter: [“Hey,” he said, eyes already softening when they met hers. “Didn’t expect to find you in this corner of town.” Melissa blinked. Her voice betrayed her and came out thinner than usual. “I didn’t expect you either.”] Melissa never intended to reveal her informal crush so early on. But circumstances force the meeting and Melissa can dare to be a bit more invested in Jasper. Bella is too smart to create fake encounters. She would have smelled that a mile away. Instead, she realizes her sister's discomfort in having Jasper revealed so early on in their relationship. But thanks for the analysis. it gives me a chance to explain myself better.

I am up this morning in a wet and messy NorthShore Air Active Diaper and pink cotton/lycra diaper covers from Baby Your Doll. I went poopie in my diapie about an hour ago while in the kitchen getting coffee. It's early and my wife won't be up for awhile, so I plan to stay in my wet and potty diaper for awhile, in fact I am going to get my morning exercise wet and with poopies in my pants (diaper).