Wendy had struggled to believe it then. She struggles still to believe it now. But once upon a time, she had believed she wouldn’t survive leaving St. Bernadette’s and not seeing Mary every single day. She had survived that, and their relationship had only grown stronger. She will survive this too, and it will be the same. Living apart from them, working apart from them, living her own life fully—it is what Mary deserves. And Wendy trusts that Mary will still choose them, they will choose each other, as they always have. The love that binds them all now will keep them together, always. “Actually,” Mary says, looking down at her hands, “I’ve had the money for a while, but I’ve been a coward.”

If Mary has been a coward, then Wendy has been a bigger one. She’s leaned on Mary for too long, and if Mary leaned back, it was never as heavily.

“You’ll be brilliant.” The words come too fast, and Wendy feels tears wanting to rise. “I mean, you taught me to cook, after all. If you can do that, you can do anything.”

She laughs, or tries, and the sound breaks her. She wipes her eyes.

“I’m sorry. I’m happy for you, I really am. It’s what you’ve always wanted.”

Mary sets her cup down, still untouched, and shifts closer, resting her forehead against Wendy’s.

“This doesn’t change us,” Mary says.

“No.” Wendy shakes her head slightly. There are tears in Mary’s eyes too. “It doesn’t.”

That’s what happens when you grow up. Wendy hears her own words to Peter come back to her, mockingly, and she almost laughs again, a bitter, broken sound.

“Hey.” Mary’s voice is soft; she nudges Wendy’s forehead with her own.

The years drop away and they’re back at St. Bernadette’s. Everything is still in front of Wendy, and for a moment, she almost wishes she could go back. How was she to know that motherhood, that loving someone as much as she loves Jane, Mary, Ned, would be far worse than anything the asylum could ever offer?

“What if she hates me forever?” Wendy asks. It isn’t where she meant to begin, but the words come out anyway.

“You’re her mother,” Mary answers, no answer at all.

When Wendy doesn’t respond, Mary draws back, rolling her eyes.

“You keep on loving her and you keep on fighting for her, because that’s what mothers do.”