Chapter 34 Holly
HOLLY
It was weird how a single piece of paper could change your whole life.
One month before, a judge signed an official document that turned Holly Bennett from a temporary arrangement into a permanent reality.
Sometimes I still caught myself staring at the framed adoption certificate on my bedroom wall, right next to my first prize ribbon from the school photography contest and the staff photo from Jenna's Bakery.
The first day of school at Clearwater High was terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure.
I stood frozen at the entrance, my new camera bag (a gift from Mom and Dad) clutched to my chest like armor, certain everyone would stare at the new girl with purple-pink hair.
Instead, Zoe from my photography class at the college spotted me and waved me over to her friends, and just like that, I wasn't alone anymore.
Four weeks later, I had a regular lunch table, a spot on the photography club, and people who texted me about homework and weekend plans. Normal teenage stuff that I always watched other people have from the outside.
"Earth to Holly!"
I blinked, realizing I was staring into space while absently stirring the same bowl of macaron batter for probably way too long. Jenna watched me with amusement from her spot at the industrial mixer.
"Sorry," I said, feeling my cheeks warm. "Got distracted."
"Thinking about that photography assignment?" Jenna asked, expertly folding almond flour into her own batter.
"Sort of. Just... everything, I guess."
Jenna nodded like this made perfect sense. That was what I loved about her; she never made me feel weird for the way my mind worked.
"Well, that batter's probably ready for the piping bag now," she said with a gentle smile. "Unless you're going for some kind of avant-garde deconstructed macaron."
I laughed and grabbed a piping bag from the rack. "Maybe next time. I promised Noah I'd bring him regular ones today."
It was Friday, which meant after my shift at the bakery, I was heading home to babysit Noah while Allison took a night class at the community college. Sarah was the one to suggest it. Since I already had a connection with him, it made perfect sense.
What Sarah didn't realize was how much I came to love those Friday nights with Noah. His endless dinosaur facts. His insistence that we build increasingly elaborate blanket forts. The way he always asked for "one more story, please Holly" with those big brown eyes that made it impossible to say no.
How's Allison doing?" Jenna asked casually as we piped perfect circles onto the silicone mats.
I hesitated, remembering another hushed conversation I overheard between Mom and Cat the week before. Something about notes on Allison's car again. I wanted to ask about it, but something in Mom's expression stopped me.
"She seems okay," I said finally. "Tired. But excited about her classes."
Jenna nodded, her expression thoughtful. "It's hard, doing everything on your own."
I thought about that as I finished piping my tray.
Allison reminded me a little of my biological mom in the early days, before things got really bad.
Always running, always trying to keep too many plates spinning.
But unlike Rachel, Allison had the Sensational Six in her corner.
And she was fighting to build something, not escape everything.
"Noah's excited about the Halloween party at Sarah's next weekend," I said, changing the subject to something lighter. "He's going as a stegosaurus."
"Of course he is," Jenna laughed. "And what about you? Decided on a costume yet?"
"I'm going as Diane Arbus," I announced proudly.
Jenna blinked. "The photographer?"
"Yep. Mom's helping me put together the outfit. Nobody will know who I am, but I don't care."
"That's the spirit," Jenna said with a grin.
Three hours later, I sat cross-legged on our living room floor, helping Noah arrange his dinosaur collection by species while he solemnly explained the difference between herbivores and carnivores for approximately the hundredth time.
"T-Rex possessed the strongest bite of any dinosaur ever," he informed me, making his plastic T-Rex chomp dramatically in the air. "Even stronger than a crocodile!"
"Wow," I said, with appropriate awe. "That's pretty impressive."
"Yeah. But stegosaurus carried those cool plates on their backs for protection," he continued, picking up his favorite toy. "That's why I'm being one for Halloween. For protection."
Something about the way he said it made me pause. "Protection from what, buddy?"
Noah shrugged, suddenly fascinated with his dinosaur's tail spikes. "Bad dreams. Monsters. Grandma."
I tried to keep my expression neutral despite the alarm bells ringing in my head. "You have bad dreams about your grandma?"
He nodded, still not looking at me. "She says mean things about Mommy. And sometimes she says I have to go live with her because Mommy doesn't know how to take care of me right."
My stomach twisted into knots. No wonder Allison was looking so stressed lately.
"That sounds scary," I said carefully. "Have you told your mom about these dreams?"
Noah shook his head vigorously. "It makes Mommy sad when I talk about Grandma. I don't want Mommy to be sad."
God, I knew that feeling. How many times did I protect Rachel from her own actions by keeping quiet? How many times did I shoulder burdens no kid should carry?
"You know what?" I said, making sure my voice stayed light. "It's really nice that you want to protect your mom's feelings. But part of her job as your mom is to help you with scary things. Even if it makes her a little sad sometimes."
Noah considered this, his forehead scrunched in thought. "Like how you tell your mom stuff even when it's hard?"
I blinked, surprised. "Yeah, exactly like that."
"I heard her on the phone," Noah explained. "She said you're really brave because you talk about hard things in therapy."
Now it was my turn to study the dinosaurs with sudden fascination. Dr. Sharma would probably say this was a good opening to practice the communication skills we were working on, but it still felt weird to talk about therapy with a four-year-old.
"Therapy helps me a lot," I said finally. "It's like... having a special person whose only job is to listen and help you figure stuff out. Even the really confusing feelings."
"Like when you miss someone but you're also mad at them?" Noah asked with unexpected insight.
I looked at him, really looked at him, and saw the wisdom in his young face. "Exactly like that."
"I miss my daddy sometimes," he said, making his stegosaurus walk across the carpet. "Even though I don't remember him. Is that weird?"
"Not weird at all," I told him. "I miss my first mom sometimes too, even though things weren't always good."
"Where is she?"
I took a deep breath. "I don't know. She had problems that made it hard for her to be a mom. Kind of like being sick, but a different kind of sick."
"And now you have a new mom and dad," Noah said, with the matter-of-fact way kids stated enormous truths.
"I do. And they're really great." I smiled, realizing how easily those words came. How true they felt. "But that doesn't mean I stopped loving my first mom."
Noah nodded sagely, like this all made perfect sense to him. "Maybe I'll have a new Daddy someday, too. Hearts are really big," he declared. "Mrs. Jenkins at preschool says they have lots and lots of room."
"Mrs. Jenkins is very smart," I told him, blinking back unexpected tears.
Later, after Noah was tucked into bed and I tidied up the living room, I sat on our couch and pulled out my phone.
There were texts from Zoe about the next day's trip to the beach for a photography assignment, from Mom asking if I needed anything from the store, and from Jenna with a picture of the finished macarons we made that afternoon.
I answered them all, then hesitated before opening my photo gallery. I scrolled past recent shots—my new friends at lunch, Eden chasing waves at the dog beach, Dad trying and failing to flip pancakes—until I found the one I was looking for.
It was one of the only good photos I had of Rachel, taken three years before during one of her better periods.
She was laughing at something off-camera, her face open and beautiful in a way it rarely was.
I showed it to Dr. Sharma, trying to explain the contradiction of loving someone who repeatedly abandoned you.
"It's okay to hold space for both realities," she told me. "The mother who loved you the best she could, and the mother whose addiction made her unable to be what you needed. Both are true."
I was doing a lot of that lately—holding space for contradictory truths. I could miss Rachel while embracing my new family. I could be angry at her choices while understanding her disease. I could move forward without erasing the past.
I closed the photo app and texted Mom.
Allison will be here at 9.
The response came almost immediately.
Mom: Perfect! Dad's making his famous Saturday morning waffles tomorrow so I'm picking up what he needs for those! I love you
Three simple words that I spent years rarely hearing, now casually offered multiple times a day. I still wasn't completely used to it.
Love you too
I was no longer hesitant about saying it.
When Allison came home back an hour later, exhaustion evident in the dark circles under her eyes, I made a split-second decision.
"Noah told me something I think you should know," I said, as gently as I could.
Allison froze, her expression instantly alert. "Is he okay?"
"He's fine," I reassured her quickly. "But he mentioned some stuff about his grandmother that sounded... concerning."
I watched her face carefully as I relayed Noah's comments, recognizing the flash of fear followed by resignation. It was an expression I saw in the mirror too many times.
"I've been meaning to talk to you all about this," Allison said finally, sinking onto the couch.
"Noah's grandparents—my in-laws—they've been.
.. difficult. Especially his grandmother.
She's been pressuring me to let them have more influence in his life, and when I pushed back. .." She trailed off, looking uncertain.
"The notes on your car," I said, the pieces clicking into place.
Allison's eyes widened. "How did you—"
"I overheard Cat and my mom talking," I admitted. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop."
To my surprise, Allison didn't seem upset. Instead, she looked almost relieved. "I should have said something sooner. It's just... I didn't want to burden anyone."
"My mom says that's what the Sensational Six are for," I told her. "Sharing burdens."
She gave me a tired smile. "Your mom is very wise."
"She is," I agreed, feeling a rush of pride. "And she'd want to help. They all would."
Allison nodded slowly. "Maybe you're right. Maybe it's time I stopped trying to handle this alone."
Mom returned from running errands about fifteen minutes after Allison left with Noah. She came through the back door with her arms laden with grocery bags.
"Hey, you're back!" I said, jumping up to help.
Over the armload of shopping bags, I saw Mom's face light up like she was gone for weeks instead of hours. "How was Noah?"
I flopped into the armchair beside them. "Good. I think... I think Allison might call you tomorrow. About those notes."
Mom and Dad exchanged a look I couldn't quite decipher.
"Thank you for telling us," Dad said carefully. "That took courage."
"I just want her and Noah to be okay," I said with a shrug. "They deserve a happy ending too."
Mom reached over to squeeze my hand. "That's my girl. Always looking out for others."
My girl. Two words that still made my heart do a little flip.
"How was your day?" I asked, kicking off my shoes and tucking my feet under me. "Did you finish that big order for the resort, Dad?"
As Dad launched into a story about a client mishap that made Mom laugh so hard she snorted, I felt that now-familiar warmth spread through my chest. That was what family was supposed to feel like; coming home to people who were genuinely interested in my day, who made space for me in every sense of the word, who loved me not in spite of my jagged edges but because they helped make me who I was.
The adoption certificate on my wall might be just a piece of paper, but what it represented was as real and solid as the house around us. As real as the family I found here.
Not picture perfect. Not a happily-ever-after with all problems magically solved. But real and lasting and worth every step of the journey that brought me there.
And for then—maybe for always—that was more than enough.
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