Ever since Wednesday had finally left the house, Jane Green had taken it upon herself to make her daughter leave the house as much as possible in the week following. If she was popping to the shops, she'd invite her along for the journey. If she was going to grab a coffee, she'd tell Wednesday to come with. And on one particular day when she was going to a yoga class, she'd insisted that Wednesday join her because it would be fun for them and a nice bonding activity.

Though, that class had ended with Wednesday moaning about her knees like a 67-year-old with arthritis as she dramatically hobbled back out into the carpark.

Despite the initial resistance to going out every day though, Wednesday had secretly grown to enjoy their daily excursions. In fact, she'd even go as far as to say she looked forward to whatever they would be doing each day. And though they'd had their squabbles over the week, usually regarding snacking before dinner, it had been the best they'd gotten along in years. Wednesday couldn't remember a time she'd ever felt quite as close to her mum.

Her happy mood had been steadily increasing with every passing day, and alongside it, her determination too. She'd still not quite accepted the part of the solution that insisted she needed to look beyond her past and focus on her future without Harry—she'd carefully compartmentalised that in a part of her mind where the unwanted thoughts went, to be faced at a later date.

But she had begun to work on the 'getting better' part of the plan.

One day, she'd sat down with a wad of paper and a range of pens and highlighters to make a literal plan. Something visceral to refer to as a guide to help her. Not to mention, the colouring in made it look pretty and less like a mental health 'get better' instruction manual. She'd decided it made it more tangible, easier to visually digest and less sad than it actually was. It was sort of like throwing glitter on dog poo—it was still dog poo, but at least it was jazzed up a bit.

She'd settled on a spider diagram, with endless suggestions and subheadings and colourised categories. It made her feel 15 all over again, sat at the kitchen counter, scribbling and colouring furiously like she was filling in her homework for the next day. Her mum had watched her silently with a slightly concerned gaze that her 26-year-old daughter was spending an afternoon drawing fancy swirls and flourishes in her notepad.

But by the end of it, Wednesday had a comprehensive plan that made more sense than just 'get better'. It offered actual solutions, suggestions—a plan. Which was far easier than just winging it and seeing where that got you. She'd categorised every point into things she needed to do, and things she could do as a suggestion.

In the need to do list was: continue therapy with Sade (duh), come to a decision regarding social media (delete??), start giving herself compliments every day (fake it till you make it scenario and all that), sort out house and throw away old items (clean house—clean mind), go for a run or walk every day (no explanation needed).

On the suggestions to do list was: start meditating (Harry said it was helpful before), download a gratitude app (embarrassing but could work??), haircut (kinda necessary breakup ritual), read up more on negative core beliefs and combatting them (maybe), research up alternative career paths (last resort, in case things went tits up), throw eggs at Patrick's flat (he's a cunt).

She'd looked down at the list proudly, feeling a sense of motivation now that she knew everything she was going to try if she was going to actively fix herself. And though there were some things she couldn't do until she was back in London, she'd already started with a few of the things on the list.

For example, she'd downloaded an app that was essentially a gratitude journal, and every day it prompted her to input three things she was grateful for on that day. Most days had been the same answers; Mum, Pongo, sunny weather. Occasionally she'd wrote down a song that had made her smile that particular day, or a food she'd eaten, just to spice things up. But it had been something nice to look forward to every day, to spend a bit of time appreciating what she already had. Appreciating the things that contributed to her growing state of contentment.

She'd also begun to give herself compliments, despite the fact it felt very fucking weird and uncomfortable. On the first day, she'd planted herself in front of the bathroom mirror and forced herself to stare at her own reflection, willing away all the negative thoughts that instinctively popped up. Wagging her finger at herself threateningly, she made it through approximately one and a half compliments before feeling so icky she gave up for the day.

But she'd continued. Despite the hugely uncomfortable feeling it gave her to pay herself a compliment, she'd managed to build up to three a day, which seemed like enough. And every day, she tried to find something different. Something pertaining to the parts of her that she was especially self-conscious of. Sometimes, she would say simple sentences, hoping that one day they would stick. Sentences such as "you are worthy, you are enough."

She didn't feel any better for it yet, but she hoped that soon it would take a hold. Or at the very least, feel less uncomfortable. It was odd, how being purposefully kind to herself felt so strange. Her belief had spent so long tearing her down and destroying any sort of confidence, that paying herself compliments, speaking them out into the universe, was a weirdly foreign feeling. It reminded her of buying new shoes; the first time you put them on, they're stiff and uncomfortable—they only start to feel more comfy the more you wear them, the more they get used.

Lastly from the list, she'd stuck to her promise of going out for a walk every day. Usually she'd taken Pongo, and they'd walk around the country lanes, occasionally going down by the stream. The sun was like a free boost of serotonin, happiness shooting straight through her body as soon as the rays hit her skin.

Being at home had been an unknowing, but welcome remedy. Maybe there was something about leaving the bustle of the city for the quiet of the country, taking away an unnecessary distraction for her to completely focus on herself. And as she was approaching her second week of being at home, she felt stronger every day with the view of returning back to London. Refreshed and replenished.

Wednesday closed the gate behind her as she looked down the street, used to the routine of her and Pongo's daily walk now. She walked right instinctively, her stance determined, the sunshine spurring her on. Only when she reached the street Anne's house was on, she didn't carry on walking past. Instead, she crossed the road, swallowing back her anxiety as she walked up the path to the front door.

She'd been willing up the courage to visit ever since she'd returned. Each day, she felt herself get closer and closer to visiting, until finally that morning, she couldn't find any more valid reasons to keep putting it off. It was scary, but personal growth came from tackling scary situations.

Raising her hand, she knocked before she could talk herself out of it.

After a few seconds, footsteps shuffled behind the door and the sound of the lock being undone radiated out to where she stood. Until the door finally swung open to reveal a smiley Anne looking down at her.

Wednesday bit her lip, smiling nervously.

"Hi Anne."

"Wednesday," she said with a surprised stone. Wednesday unconsciously held her breath as she stood staring at her, but it was quickly knocked from her as she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her in a motherly fashion. "What a lovely surprise. I didn't know you were back home?!"

"Yeah, I...I came back up for a bit to see mum. And Pongo," she said as they parted, looking down to the dog sat idly staring at the cars rolling past.

"Oh, I bet your mum has been loving having you back for a bit," she smiled, rubbing her arm. "How have you been my love?"

Wednesday smiled nervously, clearing her throat. "I've, uh...I've been alright yeah. Just taking some time away from the city and...everything else."

She didn't want to explicitly mention what they were avoiding, but Anne seemed to grasp the insinuation by the way she smiled apologetically at her. Like she knew exactly why she needed to get away. For a second, Wednesday wondered how much she knew about hers and Harry's situation. So far, she'd told her mum the bare minimum, not quite ready yet to lay everything out in the open. But Harry and Anne had a much more open and easy-going type of relationship—he was a mummy's boy, through and through.

"I don't blame you." A pause. "I'm sorry about everything that's happened Wednesday. You're a wonderful person and you don't deserve any of it."

She looked down to the leash in her hand, fidgeting on her feet anxiously.

"Thanks. It's definitely been a bit of a weird time."

Understatement of the year.

A thought flicked through Wednesday's mind, and though she knew she shouldn't ask, it was much too tempting to not. Forbidden fruit that she couldn't help but take a bite out of.

"Have you, uh...have you spoken to Harry recently?"

She wanted to appear like her mind wasn't burning with anticipation for her answer, to hear any sort of update about him. It had been weeks since they'd last spoken and though she assumed having no contact would get easier as time went on, it was in fact proving to be the opposite. He was an itch that just grew in size, the only relief coming from second-hand accounts of him from others.

Anne sensed her trepidation at mentioning him, her gaze softening.

"He called me this morning actually. Was telling me they arrived in Vienna safe and sound yesterday. Just getting ready for the show tonight."

The small titbit of knowledge was like crack—and that one small hit just didn't seem like enough. She wanted more, needed more. She wanted to know if he was sleeping okay, eating enough. If he was enjoying tour, enjoying the freedom it brought. She wanted to know whether he thought about her as much as she thought about him. Whether he also went to bed with silent tears rolling down his cheeks because the absence of another person's body was so loud.

But she couldn't ask any of that. So instead, she nodded and forced a smile.

"Good, that's—I'm glad he's okay."

She didn't know what else to say, rocking back and forth on her heels. Looking down to Pongo, she was almost ready to excuse herself and say that she needed to get away, when Anne spoke again.

"He misses you."

Wednesday stiffened, meeting her eyes apprehensively. For a moment, she wondered if she'd spoken her thoughts about wondering whether he thought about her out loud instead of just in her mind. But when she was sure she'd not, she realised that maybe she didn't need to vocalise anything—maybe her expression had told Anne exactly what she was thinking without the need for words. She'd noticed the want for further confirmation of how he was dealing with everything, seeing the pain merged in with the darkened flecks of her eyes.

"He, um...he said that?" Wednesday asked, biting her inner cheek. She tried to sound nonchalant, but it failed miserably, her words instead laced with pure despondency.

Anne smiled, shaking her head.

"He didn't say it, but he didn't need to. I'm his mum, it's in my nature to know everything without him needing to say anything. And I know when I speak to him that he doesn't sound as happy as usual at the moment. He sounds...well, he sounds a bit like how you sound at the moment."

She paused, waiting for the word to fill that gap. Sad? Dreadful? Pathetic?

"Heartbroken."

That one word cut through her skin like a shard of glass, wounding her in the most painful way. He was heartbroken.

Suddenly, she wished she'd never made it so apparent that she wanted to learn more. Because knowing he was in pain and there was nothing she could do to fix it was causing an ache in her heart that she couldn't shift.

Her eyes scanned the floor, searching for words to say as a mixture of shame and guilt engulfed her, especially before the mother of the man she'd caused so much pain to.

"It's a difficult situation," she said quietly, not quite sure how else to describe it.

"You don't need to explain yourself to me love. I know that relationships and life are—well, they're not as straightforward as they're made out to be." She rubbed her arm comfortingly, making her look up to her. "No matter what, you know you're like a daughter to me. And that you're welcome here any time you want."

A warmth spread throughout her belly, not quite enough to extinguish the shame ruminating deep within her, but enough to dampen it for a short while. She smiled thankfully, gathering Pongo's lead tighter in her hand.

"Thanks Anne. That really does mean a lot," she said timidly.

"No problem dear. You know, I was planning on having dinner tomorrow outside in the garden—just me and the cats, what with the sunny weather. But I could make some dinner for you and your mum too if you fancy it?" Anne asked with a kind tone.

Wednesday's eyes widened, a small smile growing on her lips. Once again, further proof that kindness was a genetic trait in the Styles family. "Oh yeah. Yeah, that sounds lovely. Mum would love that. I'll ask her when I get back, but I'm sure she'll say yes."

"Perfect. Right, well I'll see you both tomorrow then," Anne said, smiling cheerfully.

"Yeah, see you tomorrow. Bye Anne," Wednesday replied.

She turned and walked with Pongo in hand, hearing the door shut behind her. She felt lighter and heavier all at the same time. Lighter for the relief of speaking to Anne and seeing that there was no reason to be afraid she'd suddenly begun to hate her with everything that had happened. Heavier for the knowledge that Harry was in pain. Because if it was anything like hers, it sometimes felt so crushing that she was left breathless, fighting to pump oxygen into her lungs.

Hours later, after returning to the house and showering, Wednesday made dinner for her and her mum to eat outside whilst the temperature was still comfortably warm. For whatever reason, her mum decided that whilst they were in the garden, sat under the lowering sun, they needed some wine to go alongside their meals too.

They were still drinking it long after they'd finished, swirling the liquid around their glasses as they sat in contented silence, staring out at the garden. It was the moments like that that Wednesday couldn't help but reflect on things. Reflect on who she was now, who she'd been, what had happened. Think about the people she loved, the people she missed. Maybe it was the wine running through her blood that forced a sense of calmness upon her. Her nerves were non-existent, and her mind felt clearer. She wasn't drunk, but the alcohol had lowered her inhibitions. Maybe that was the reason why she suddenly opened her mouth to say the words she said.

"I love him."

The sentence entered the air and dissolved just as quickly as smoke, floating away in the breeze to leave nothing but the sound of leaves rustling. She felt her mum's head turn in her direction quickly, her gaze burning into the side of her skull as she continued to stare blankly at Pongo in the grass, chewing his toy unaffectedly.

Though her mum's eyes were on her, she didn't say anything in return for a while. Maybe because she thought Wednesday might elaborate further, or maybe it was because she just didn't know how to respond to it that she remained silent for what felt like the longest time.

Eventually, her mum's voice cut across the air in a calm tone.

"I know."

Wednesday dragged her gaze away from Pongo to her mum, seeing her smiling weakly over at her.

"You do?"

"Mhm. I've always known."

Her brows furrowed at the sudden revelation, shifting on her seat to angle her body towards her as a million questions began to form in her brain.

"What do you mean?"

Her mum smiled, that type of all-knowing smile that is only achieved by a parent with a superior knowledge to that of their child.

"I mean, I've always known that you've been in love with him, ever since you were teenagers. I just wasn't sure if you'd ever realise that too. For a while, I was starting to believe that maybe it never would happen. But then it did," she said, taking a sip of her drink.

"How could you know that when I didn't even know that?" Wednesday asked confusedly.

Jane breathed out a laugh, looking over at her.

"A mother tends to know these things." Wednesday felt the déjà vu from the conversation with Anne earlier sitting strangely in her chest whilst her mum continued. "Your dad might have always been better at the advice side of things, but I've always been a better observer. And when I saw how you looked at him, like he was the only person you could see, I knew it was something deeper than friendship for you."

Wednesday thought about Zara in that moment, how she'd said something similar months before when they were on holiday. That it was in the way she looked at him that gave her away. She wondered then how long she'd been looking at him like he was a piece of art that had captured her soul in wonderment; an exquisite creation that she desperately wanted to reach out and touch.

"I think that was why finding out about you two that day had such a negative effect on me," her mum continued, looking down to her lap with a hint of shame in her voice. "For me, it had never been a question of 'if' but always 'when' with you two. And I'd always just assumed I'd be there to see your friendship blossom into something more first-hand. So when I found out, I felt like I'd missed out in a way, I guess. I know that doesn't excuse the things I said though."

She looked up to Wednesday, her lips raising into a tight, sad smile.

"I am sorry Nessie, for how I handled everything that day. It wasn't fair to you. I should have put aside everything that I was feeling and been there for you. Like a mum should be."

Wednesday had long since forgiven her mum for her reaction those weeks beforehand. But she could see the shame in her eyes, even from where she was sat, and knew that this apology was what she needed to clear her conscience. After all, she'd done the exact same thing at the start of the year with Harry. Sometimes, we aren't seeking the forgiveness from others with our apologies. We're seeking it from ourselves, dressing it up in different jargon.

"I know you regret it Mum. You don't need to apologise again," she said, nodding. "But thank you anyway."