The car ride home was fairly quiet besides Lena's constant babble from the front seat, talking about everything or nothing; I couldn't bring myself to listen although I know I probably should have, considering they were only replaying the events that have been going on in the Foster household for my benefit. Instead, I sat quietly in the back seat, staring out the open window and letting the fresh air brush against my face. I merely shrugged when Stef warned me that I could catch a chill, and thought to myself that maybe, like back at the hospital, being out in the open could cleanse me of my pessimistic thoughts (or at least implant some slightly less negative ones into my mind, anyway). Nevertheless, I knew I'd have to adjust my attitude in some kind of way by the time we got back to the house.

Now, Lena has pulled into the driveway, and all three of us are sitting in silence. No one has moved a muscle, and I wonder if maybe they're waiting on me to make the first move before they continue with their day. I don't know what they are expecting me to do, but I know that I'd find it a lot easier and far less exhausting if they'd just tell me what to do – and what not to do – and get on with it.

The car engine ticks frantically as it cools down, a sound that seems almost rambunctious in the deadest quiet of the car, and eventually, I can't take it any longer.

"Are, uh…are the other kids home?"

Stef's head snaps back to look at me, and I know my voice has startled her. "No. No, they're still at school," She says, offering me a weak smile.

Right. School. I let my eyes stray from Stef to focus on the clock on the dash. It's only a little past noon – of course they're still at school.

For some reason, I'm almost disappointed that the house is empty. It isn't like I had expected a welcome home party or anything like that, no, that's not it at all. I guess it just would have been nice to blend in again – to go unnoticed. Without the other kids here, I know I'll have Stef and Lena's full attention.

When I don't reply, I can sense Stef's apprehension, and for the first time it dawns on me that perhaps she is lost for words. That maybe, she's nervous – scared, even – about having me back in her house and under her watch. It's funny, I always thought of Lena as the sensitive one, as the 'worrier' of the two, but maybe I don't have it all figured out just like I thought I did. Maybe there's a whole side to Stef that I've never really seen before now.

I look into her eyes and see her in a different way, a way that almost sends a shiver up my spine at the recognition.

Stef's eyes are tired and sad. The striking blue is masked with pain, and it's a sight that's all too familiar.

Stef's eyes look like my eyes.

Stef's eyes look like…look like my mom's eyes.

And that sadness, that complete and utter brokenness, is something I had never ever wanted to see plague this beautiful family, not like how it did with mine.

"Are you ready to go inside?" Lena asks, breaking the focus I had on Stef, and causing us both to reel out of our daydreaming realms.

No! Can't you see what you're doing to Stef? Can't you see that she's different; can't you see what you're turning her into – turning the whole family into?

But something in me, one last stray little molecule of positivity still lingering in my bones, hushes the voice in my head and provokes me to say, "Yes."

Deep down, I know that fighting against Stef is only going to make her more tired and sad and exhausted – won't it just be easier to please her? I won't let myself ruin a perfectly functional family by driving the parent into a deep depression – I could never forgive myself.

Maybe it'll even get her out of this funk she's been in all morning.

And it's then when I decide that I am going to try to make Stef happy. That's all that matters to me. It shouldn't be too hard; I am quite the expert at false facades, if I do say so myself.

The difficult part will be separating what is real, and what is reality. I can't get too sucked in – it won't end well for anyone.

oOo

At first, I thought we'd brought home a different girl than the one we'd been experiencing at the hospital. Callie's shy smile was all too convincing, but it was the hug that gave her away.

Lena is settling her on the sofa now while I fill the coffee pot, desperately craving a caffeine rush to power me though the rest of the day.

It sounds awful, really, that I don't trust Callie's sudden closeness. It's great to see her opening up, to see her welcoming hugs and offering smiles, but if I know anything about Callie, it's that she's great at creating a false preface. She let us coddle her in the hospital, but she soon showed signs of shutting us out again the moment she found out she was coming home. That's why this is something I'm not falling for – last time I trusted her newfound chirpiness, it ended in her almost losing her life bleeding to death on the bathroom floor. I will not let her fool me again.

What I'm really desperate to know, however, is why now all of a sudden she is choosing to put this act on? Surely she wouldn't try to harm herself again…

I must talk to Lena about this. She'll know what to do.

Just as I'm pouring my freshly made brew into a mug, Lena enters the kitchen and heads straight for the fridge.

I take a gulp of the hot coffee, the steam tickling my nose as I bring the cup up to my face. "What you making?"

"I thought I'd bring Callie some soup from last night. Her throat is probably still sore from the breathing tube," Lena replies, going about pouring some of the cold liquid into a bowl to heat in the microwave.

I nod, recalling Callie's complaints a few days ago of an aching throat. I wish I'd thought to ask if it was feeling better. "Good idea. Do you think she's okay?"

Placing the plastic dish back in the fridge and carrying the bowl over to the microwave, Lena says, "I think so, yeah?"

I shake my head. "You don't think she's being a little…"

"A little what, Stef?" Lena sighs, hands on hips.

"I don't know…nice?" I prompt, causing her to scowl slightly.

"Are you implying that our daughter isn't nice? You're ridiculous, Stef. Give the poor girl a break – she just got out of hospital, for gods sake, and you're already grilling her!"

"Okay, okay!" I relent, raising my hands in defense. "Maybe that was the wrong word."

This is usually the point when Lena comes over to me and wraps her arms around my waist before peppering me with soft kisses and scolding me playfully for my wrong behavior. But today, Lena's arms remain firmly on her hips, and her voice raises instead of lowering to that whispery tone that she knows turns me on. "Then what do you mean, Stef? Because I don't get what you're trying to prove here being so damn cold with her! What was that last night? And this morning?"

"Oh come on! You saw how she was challenging me!"

"Yes, I know. But what happened to giving her the benefit of the doubt? Isn't that how we've raised all our kids? Besides, you were the one who was wrecking your brain with guilt about how you'd been too harsh on her yesterday, and then you walked in there today barely having a good word to say!"

The microwave lets out a shrill beep, and Lena moves quickly to silence it.

"We can't keep doing this, Lena. She has to know that she can't get rid of us just by throwing us a few glares and giving us sass."

"But we can't scare her into loving us. You and I both know that's the wrong approach, Stef!" She pulls a spoon from the drawer and places it in the bowl of soup, stirring it to cool the piping food. "And this…this attitude of yours. Don't you see that it's only reflecting onto her? Don't you see that it's confusing for her, to be covered in kisses and love one minute, and then given a cold shoulder the next?"

I hear what she's saying, I really do, and I know it is the truth. I don't know why I've been acting this way – in truth; I hadn't even noticed that I had. But now, looking back, I can see clearly what Lena is talking about, and I know it all stems from the one place; guilt.

"You're the parent, Stef. How you act reflects right back onto her. You have to have a good think about you're attitude, because right now, you're making it look like it's OK to act like an immature child in front of your own daughter."

"Lena…" I start, but she ignores me and begins to walk out of the room, carrying the bowl of soup with her.

I sit down at the breakfast nook, letting my head fall into my hands and sighing in defeat. I could try to deny Lena's words as much as I want, but we both know they are true.

I need to push my feelings of guilt aside and channel them into another means that is not resenting Callie. Not only to I owe the teen an apology, but also I owe it to her to find out what's going on inside her head. I won't let her close herself off again, and maybe, if I play my cards right, I can turn this new positive façade she's wearing into something more permanent.

oOo

I'm sitting on the couch awkwardly, gazing around the room and recalling each and every one of the significant memories that have occurred here. Even the not so pleasant ones, like Talya bringing up Liam, and eventually my confession to Stef and Lena…each of them hold a little pocket in my heart because throughout all of it, I'd always felt somewhat safe.

I let my eyes slip over the photos that adorn the coffee tables and corner shelves, feeling a mix of warmth and regret when I come across a small print of Jude and Mariana, each of them grinning widely and showing off their freshly painted blue nails.

That's all it really takes to remind me that this isn't permanent. Jude already looks like part of the family – if I didn't know him better, I wouldn't be surprised if he'd gone ahead and gotten himself adopted by the Fosters while I was away at Haven Falls. He fits in just fine without me – for all I know, I could be ruining his chances of getting his spot in this family.

I think about my mom, wondering what she would think of the train wreck I've become now. Not only have I caused Stef and Lena's family trouble by bringing all these problems into their lives – hell, I ruined their freaking wedding – but now, I'm holding Jude back from getting adopted. And that goes against every single promise I've ever made to her. Not only am I selfish, but I'm a liar, too. I spent all those awful nights in some of the worst foster homes clutching onto that little pocket photograph of my mom (one of the only tangible items I have left of her) assuring her that I had it all covered, that I wouldn't let her down; I'd take care of Jude, and I'd make sure no one ever hurt him.

For the most part, I fulfilled my promise, but that isn't enough to conceal the times where my priorities had slacked, just like when we'd been living with the Olmstead's, and in the home after where I became too weak to stand up to that bastard who liked to push Jude around for wearing nail polish.

It doesn't matter anymore, all the times I managed to save him, all the times I took the hits and the burns – no one every really seems to see that part. But it never seems to disappear quite as easily those times when I couldn't quiet get to him fast enough and he'd get hurt just because I had been foolish enough to take my eye off the ball. I was selfish. And that made me a liar – to myself, and my mom.

Before I can fall deeper into the bubbling cauldron that is harbouring my overwhelming downward spiral of tediously analytic thoughts, I pull myself up from the couch, doing my best to block out the slash of hot pain the shoots up my side. I grit my teeth, desperate to make it upstairs into the room I share with Mariana – the urge to see the picture, to hold it tight in my hands and smooth out the curled edges so I can look into my mother's eyes and tell her how truly sorry I am, is excruciating.

I manage to shuffle halfway across the room, having found that the quicker I cover the distance, the more bearable the pain becomes. It's like ripping off a Band-Aid; the sooner it's over and done with, the less it actually hurts at the time.

However, while ripping off a Band-Aid only ever left a mere stinging sensation behind, one that I recall Jude forever complaining about through many years of taking care of his bumps and scrapes, the aftershock of my so called logical decision to onslaught my aching body was proving to have a little more affect than that of the Band-Aid.

If you can barely reach the stairs without feeling like you've just run a hundred mile marathon, then how on earth are you planning to climb them?

I wince, the tormenting voice in my head cutting deeper than the physical pain itself. Somehow, I manage to push the doubts aside, and in desperate need to prove to myself that I can do this, I find my arms looping around the banister and begin to force my wobbly feet up the oak staircase.

I almost smile at my success rate, and it takes everything in me not to scoff at the lingering voice in the back in my mind pressurizing me to believe that I won't make it as I climb step after step with minimal interruption, leaving too little time for the pain to vibrate through my tender body. But, before I can cross the halfway path, I hear the soft padding of feet on the living room floor and I know it's only seconds before someone arrives at my side and hurries me back down onto the couch again.

Letting defeat overcome me, the only thing I have the energy left to hope for is that it's Lena who rounds that corner and not Stef – I don't know if I'm able to put up a false façade of happiness when my mind is so focused on keeping myself balanced.

Of course, the universe is against me yet again, and I catch a glimpse of Stef's blonde head from between the columns in the handrail. Before I know it, she's calling my name in bewilderment. "Callie?"

I bite my lip as I try to shift my weight from my right side to my left, and just as I think I've almost managed the draining task, my clutch on the handrail weakens and my butt hits the wooden step with a thud. "Fuck!" I hiss, as a choked whimper escapes my lips.

This time, the pain is a lot worse. When I'd fallen from the bed yesterday, I thought it couldn't get any sorer. Obviously, I was wrong. Getting beaten was one thing, but I knew from years of experience the marks left behind were always what caused the true pain. I don't know why I thought it would be any different this time.

"Callie!" Stef's voice is urgent now, and I know she's heard at least a little of my altercation with the stairs. As I sit, clutching my body in pain, I feel helpless. I can't run away, hell, I can't even climb the freaking stairs. But most of all, I can't shelter Stef from seeing me like this. I promised myself I would do better; I would make them see that I'm okay. But how can I do that when I can barely get to the other side of the room by myself?

Eventually, she appears at the foot of the stairs and her face immediately tightens as if she's in pain. "Oh, Sweets," she sighs, taking the stairs in twos to reach me.

I can barely look at her – both because I can't bare to see the disappointment etched onto her face, but also, with the pain radiating through my body, I'm afraid if I raise my head I'll be sick.

She perches beside me on the step where I'm sprawled out, tilting her body towards me and placing her hand on my trembling knee. "Come on, let's get you sat upright."

I hardly register her words until I feel her slide her hands under my armpits and she gently begins to hoist me up. I almost double over in pain and tears brim at my eyes as I let out a gasp, causing Stef to freeze with fright.

"Callie, are you okay? Is this hurting?" She queries, her voice wavering slightly.

"Just k-keep going!" I practically growl through gritted teeth, and Stef continues to pull me up, being especially mindful of my right arm, although it doesn't do much for the burning sensation that's beginning to lick at my newly patched up collar bone. Maybe I need to revise my earlier hypothesis about the band-aid being ripped off – the pain throughout the duration of this particular situation is almost enough to kill me.

Finally, Stef sits me down so I'm no longer hovering between two steps, and I let out a triumphant sigh. I can feel the beads of sweat rolling down my forehead, as I breathe heavily to try and subdue the constant ache inside my body.

Stef's hand finds a place on my knee again, as I hold my head in my hands to stop myself clawing at my shoulder. "What hurts, Baby?"

"Everything," I whisper, almost inaudible, but just seeing the look on her face makes me reel back in horror.

"Oh Callie. Oh baby," her voice cracks, and I want to hit myself for causing her this pain. I look into her eyes, and there it is again – such sadness and anguish.

You did this to her, Callie. You promised that you wouldn't make her feel like that anymore – you said you would make her happy, and this doesn't look like happy!

She lifts my head and cups my chin in her hands, and the look in her eyes falters slightly as she wipes away a stray tear that's dancing down my cheek using her thumb. The realization that I'm crying disgusts me, especially after all the mental stimulus I'd riddled myself up to carry out – this was not part of the plan!

But I can't help but feel slightly touched by the gesture – its something so motherly that almost evokes a smile to my face.

"What can I do for you?" She quizzes, grasping ahold of my free hand.

"Just…just hold me," I sigh, although I feel like kicking myself for allowing my needy inner-monologue to speak for me. "I-I don't want to fall again," I point out, waiting to see the disappointment cloud her features, but it doesn't come. Instead, she wraps her arms around me, pulling me gently towards her, as if creating a safety net with her arms. And it works. It makes me feel safe – both from tumbling down the stairs, and from the negative thoughts which swarm around my mind like a heard of angry hornets.

"How did this happen?" Stef asks after a minute or so of us sitting like this, and I feel myself involuntary stiffen at her questioning. Of course, I knew it was coming, but that didn't make it any easier.

"I…uhh, I needed the bathroom?" It's a pathetic excuse, but for some reason, I'm not ready to share the real reason why I was headed upstairs.

"Then why didn't you use the washroom downstairs?" she challenges, and I know there's no point in trying to continue the lie.

"I needed to get something from my room," I say, giving in to her interrogation, but while I'd hoped this would sustain her need for answers, it seems to have the opposite effect.

"You could have called for me or Lena, and we could have fetched it for you," Stef states, her tone nearing the no-nonsense one she'd whipped out yesterday evening, but clouded by something that's almost…worry?

"No, I couldn't have," I mumble, and the stiffen in Stef's posture makes me realize exactly how bad this sounds…how bad the whole situation looks.

"Callie…"

"No!" I quickly interject. "I wasn't going to do anything like that, I swear!" I'm frantic, desperate for her to believe me.

She looks at me skeptically, like she wants to believe me, but can't. "Then what did you need so bad that you couldn't call Lena or I to get for you?"

I swallow hard, cursing myself for digging this hole, because right now, I'd rather be buried in it. Sharing the real reason why I wanted to go upstairs makes me both uncomfortable and embarrassed, but most of all, scared. Sharing that picture of my mom is something I'd never ever imagined doing – it's something so personal that Jude seldom sees, never mind a foster parent.

"It's personal," I say, trying to find strength in my voice, but it wavers with nerves as I realize that my weak answers aren't getting past Stef.

"Callie…you know you can come to us, come to me, if you ever felt like you need to…hurt yourself, right?"

"Look," I begin, dragging my eyes up to meet Stef's, knowing that this is the only way to make her believe me. "there's a box with some of my- my mom's things in it in my duffle bag under the bed in my room. I just- I needed something from it."

Stef's face immediately softens, and her arms relax slightly around my body, although I can tell she's still a little suspicious by her laboured breathing.

"That's why I needed to go upstairs," I add, hoping she'll let it drop. "I wasn't going to hurt myself."

And it's the truth – ever since that night at Haven Falls, when those girls cornered my in the bathroom, I haven't felt like inflicting injury on myself. I just really need Stef to see that it's the truth.

"Okay," she nods, and I look up to her, hardly believing I'm hearing her right.

"Okay?"

I don't know why, but I feel a great depth of satisfaction that I've managed to convince Stef that I'm stable – a few hours ago, I would've probably let her think I wanted to hurt myself. It's obvious, not only to myself, that my caring what she thinks about me isn't part of this façade – its real. And for once, I can't bring myself to care.

oOo

After allowing Stef to help me up the rest of the stairs, we finally make it to the landing. I stare at all five doors, but when my eyes land on the bathroom door, they linger for long enough to allow my body to stiffen. Stef, clearly noticing the change in my domineer, blocks the bathroom door from my view and ushers me across the hall into Mariana and I's room.

The room hasn't changed at all, aside from the fact that the whole place is unusually neat and tidy – I can imagine Mariana groaning in complaint when asked to tidy it up just for my homecoming, and I can't help but feel a little guilty.

Stef walks me to the bed and I carefully set my body down, letting out an involuntary moan of pleasure as my butt hits the soft mattress. Stef chuckles, and I feel my face flush red with embarrassment, before remembering what I really came up here for.

I start to bend forward to look under the bed, but the sting in my side sends me right back up. Stef hovers over me with concern, and after I brush her off, reassuring her that I am quite alright for now, I tentatively ask, "Could you pass me my bag from under there?"

"Sure." She bends down easily and I'm almost jealous of how effortlessly she can fold her body as she retrieves my worn, blue duffle bag from under the bed. It's limp and mostly empty, and I watch as Stef's brow furrows in confusion, clearly expecting this 'box' I've been talking about to be something a little more substantial than the small, necklace holder I pull out of the inside pocket.

The velvet is worn and crumbly from being handled too often, but sometimes, if I really try, I can still smell her favourite perfume in the ancient fibres. The smell used to comfort me, and in those first few homes, it managed to sooth me to sleep. More recently, though, I'd only allow myself a small whiff of the fabric, terrified that I'd use all the smell up – if there even is smell anymore. Perhaps it is all just a fragment of my imagination.

It's been a good few months since I've brought the box out from under the bed and just the sight has me bringing it up to my nose. I inhale deeply, ignoring the protest from every ache in my body, and I'm rewarded with a faint whiff of that musky perfume I know so well. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Stef studying me, and I instantly drop the box from my face and rest it in my hands.

"Sometimes, I can still smell her," I explain quietly, and Stef raises her eyebrows slightly. "It's stupid – I know."

"Its not stupid at all, Callie," she smiles, reaching her hand out towards the box, which I instantly clutch closer to my torso.

"Please don't take it away from me!" I plead, panic setting in. "It's the only thing I have left of her."

Stef looks almost horrified at first, but her face softens immediately and she draws her hands away from the box. "Oh, no, sweets. I would never take that from you, okay? That is yours and no matter what, it will always remain yours."

I relax a little at her words, although I'm a little surprised. One time, when I was twelve and Jude was nine, the two of us were looking through some photo albums we'd taken from our home after our mom died. The foster mom saw the mess we'd made over her living room floor and took the albums – every single memory we had with our mom – from us and locked them in the attic. We were moved from that house before we had the chance to get the albums back, and ever since then, I've been extremely wary of who I share my personal possessions with.

"Callie, Sweets. Please look at me."

I raise my eyes from the spot on the bed I've been staring at to look at Stef.

"You know we love you, right?" she says, grasping my free hand in hers, as I bite my lip and nod my head yes. At the moment, I don't really know what to believe, but I remind myself that making sure Stef is happy is my priority right now, and I know agreeing with her will attain this desire.

"Lena will probably kill me for saying this, since she's the one with the degree in child psychology and all, but Callie, I'm terrified. I'm terrified that I'm not going to be able to look after you right, I'm scared that you're...I'm scared I'm not going to be able to help you properly."

I squint my eyes, confused as to why she's telling me this, but what she says next is something that I had definitely not anticipated.

"But me being scared is no excuse for how I've treated you the past few days. I've been childish and it's not okay, especially after all that you've been through."

"Stef-" I begin, ready to chasten her, to tell her that it's fine, but she cuts me short.

"No, Callie. I want to apologise to you. For not treating you with respect, and for…for failing my duties as a mother." Her voice cracks, and a lone tear begins a journey down her face. "I only wanted to apologise to your mom – your birth mom – for not protecting you when you needed me most. I didn't mean to try and take your box away from you," Stef explains, and I feel my face soften for once.

I see now what I didn't before. Stef feels a lot, and although she tries to conceal, much like me, the outcome isn't ever all that favourable.

I loosen my grip on the small, velvet box, tentatively placing it in her cupped hands. "For the record: you're a great mother, Stef. And I know that she- that she'd have loved you, if she were still here – my mom, I mean."

I can feel a lump in my throat as I speak, but a small, genuine smile soon replaces it as I see Stef's eyes light up at my gesture.

She studies the box, tracing the edges gently with her long fingers, before bringing it up to her nose, just as I had before, although I can't imagine she'd be able to detect the smell under all the years of smoke laden foster homes and damp, dusty shelves. "Can I?" she asks, raising her eyes to look at me.

I nod my head in approval, though as she goes to open the box, I suck in an anxious breath. Despite the fact that I know Stef won't take my mother's things from me, I still feel a little weary letting her see – never mind handle – them so soon.

She carefully undoes the clasp, and the lid pops up. I look down at my knees, a little embarrassed all of a sudden to see what she'll think of my pathetic collection that consists of my mom's gold coin necklace, which I'd worn almost religiously for the past six years besides the past few weeks I'd been away, and the little yearbook photo of my mother aged the same as I am now.

I hear Stef sigh, and I look up to see her eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

Something isn't right, I think to myself, as I stiffen. "What is it?" I question, panic lacing my voice.

Stef looks almost speechless as she turns the open box towards me. My stomach lurches, and I feel my eyes hands begin to tremble.

The box is empty. The photo and my mom's necklace are gone.

Hello! Thank you for reading and for all your wonderful reviews last chapter. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. (Again, sorry for the slow pace - let me know if you want to speed things up at all!)

A couple of you guys suggested a conversation between Callie and Stef, and I know this isn't exactly a proper sit down heart to heart, but I still don't feel like either of them are brave enough to admit what they are really feeling to each other yet. But don't worry, there will be plenty of those conversations to come.

Also, I know Callie's thoughts have been all over the place recently and super sporadic, but I felt it was necessary to show her like this, because I feel she (well, in my opinion) is a very complex person who relays on her mind for the most part of her decision process. Just a little note to clear things up, hehe.

As always, please leave a review and let me know what you want to see, and where you think this little cliffhanger is going to lead...:)

-K.