DANG! So, this story is finally over. It's probably been my longest-running fic to date. Thanks everyone for sticking around! As usual, don't forget to review!

…

APRIL

I wake up with Jackson's face tucked into my neck, his skin smooth and cheeks freshly shaved. The absence of a beard has been somewhat of a trend for him during our 3-year stint in Paris, and I've grown used to the feeling. Sometimes, when the five o'clock shadow sneaks in, though, I find myself missing his facial hair. I know he'd grow it back if I asked. "Good morning, mon chéri," he says, his voice gravelly with sleep. "Today's the big day."

I take a deep, cleansing inhale with my eyes still closed, arms wound around the broad expanse of his shoulders. Warmth exudes from his body and the weight of it is pleasant, a way to call me to myself upon first waking up. "Morning," I say, tipping my head to the side as he continues to kiss me.

"How're you feeling?" he asks, moving to look into my eyes. His are bright and sparkling, as they've grown to be in the mornings. This is when he's at his best.

"Excited," I say, though even I can hear how the feeling isn't there.

"Hmm," he says, lowering to kiss me full on the mouth. I love it when he wakes me up with sweet affection; it's so nice when we have the time. And we'd keep going all morning if we could, but there's usually an interruption that occurs somewhere. "Nervous, too."

"What?" I say. "How do you know?"

"I can taste it," he says, pressing his lips to mine again for effect. "Mixed with your morning breath. It's nice."

"Stop it, you," I say, lightly smacking his bare chest.

He chuckles a little, low in his throat. "Really," he says. "I know because I know you. It's a big deal, today is. You've got every right to be nervous. I am, too."

"You are?" I say incredulously. "What for?"

"It's been a long time since we've been home," he says, eyes never leaving mine. "I'm worried about… well, maybe 'worried' isn't the word. I'm curious about what will be different. Concerned about what will be the same."

"Yeah," I say, letting my arms rest above my head. He uses this position to rest on the open plane of my chest, the heaviness of his skull solid between my breasts as he relaxes on top of me. I don't mind. It's a position we commonly find ourselves in, and one where I can hold him. As we lie here, I card my fingers through his springy curls and watch them bounce back into place. "I'm afraid things between my mother and sisters and me won't be the same as they were."

"Hmm."

"I promised we'd come back," I say, watching him rise and fall subtly as I breathe. "Before we left, I promised them."

"We are going back," he says.

"I meant sooner," I say. "And they meant sooner, too. It's been three-and-a-half years, minou." I shake my head and stroke the shell of his ear that's facing up. "They'll be upset with me, I know it."

"We did what we had to do," he says, taking my hand to link our fingers together. "We don't have to apologize for it. Our daughter is happy. We're happy and we have been for years. Being away allowed us to find a place we want to return to. They have to understand." He kisses the top of my hand and punctuates the thought with, "Ma souris."

I laugh a little, not loud enough to be heard but enough to jostle him. "Are we ready, though?" I ask, switching gears. "Are we ready to leave this?"

"We don't have to," he assures me, repeating the sentiment he's been saying over the past handful of months. "If you'd rather stay and work remotely, it can be done."

"I don't," I say solidly. "I want to be there. I want to go."

"JoJo won't know what think about the huge cars," he says, and I can't help my smile.

"She won't know what to think about a lot of things," I murmur. "It'll be a whole new world for her."

Joya is excited to go to 'America, America!' and has been talking about it nonstop since we broke the news a few weeks ago. She's FaceTimed with her aunts and grandma for her whole life, but has never met them in person. She's excited for all the different things the United States will offer, so much so that she's not too upset to leave her preschool or her friends. She's only three years old, so too much of a reaction can't be expected, but I almost wish she would've put up more of a fight.

I've gotten used to life here in Paris. It's comfortable and quiet, routinized and friendly. We've made a sanctuary that was never possible in the Avery mansion. This is a space that has grown to be ours, just ours, no pretense and no shoes to fill. Jackson has been selling his paintings and I've read more books over the course of these years than I was ever given the privilege to do in my old life. I like the person I've grown to become, and I have to remind myself that just because our location is changing doesn't mean that I have to change. I won't revert to who I was before, I'm not her any longer. I'm confident with my place and what I've created. It's time to head back to the States to let that persona give way to the world, to share that sureness with girls who need it as much as I did just years ago.

"I'm surprised she's not awake yet," he says.

"Don't jinx it," I reply. "She needs to rest."

"During the plane ride, she's your daughter."

I roll my eyes and hold his head to lift it, looking into his eyes once again. "You'd better hope she sleeps through it," I say.

"If she's anything like you - and we already know the answer to that -" he says, "she will."

He kisses me slow and we both inhale through our noses as he turns to press the front of his body against mine. "She never sleeps in," I say against his lips.

"Which is why I'm using it to our advantage," he says, palming my breast through my thin pajama top.

"What if she walks in?" I ask.

"Then she'll see you're no good at wrestling," he chuckles, lightly pinning both of my hands with our fingers intertwined.

"Mmm, okay," I say, keening as he kisses my neck - slow and with tongue.

When he pushes inside me, a melancholy feeling washes through my body paired with the euphoria I always feel when we're intimate. Through the open window on my side of the bed, four stories up, I can see the shops a few blocks away. I can hear people on the sidewalk below, running early-morning errands. I can hear the neighbor's baby, Celeste, crying as she usually does in the mornings. Even the breeze is familiar as it flows in and winds around us, encouraging the thought that this is the last time we'll have sex where it feels exactly how it does right now.

I don't let the thought stay but I don't let it go, either. I capture the way everything feels - from how Jackson fills me to the Parisian sun on my skin - and lock it inside my chest. I don't know if I'll ever need to unearth it, but it's there if the day ever comes when I do.

…

The weight of our daughter is pleasantly substantial as we ride in the private plane. Jackson is in the seat next to us, going over documents, and I'm watching him with my cheek resting atop her head. "You should try and sleep, ma souris," he says without looking up from the laptop.

"It's no use," I say, stroking Joya's perfectly plaited hair, tied with a pink silk ribbon at the end. Pink is her favorite color.

He lifts his eyes then and overlaps my hand on her outer hip, stroking my knuckles to ground me. "Anxious?" he asks. I nod. "For which portion?"

"Both," I say.

"You've practiced the speech for months," he says. "If there's anything you should rest easy about, it's that. You could say it in your sleep. Actually, I'm fairly certain that you have at one point."

I giggle softly and Joya's body moves in tandem. "I just want everyone to know how much this means to me," I say.

"They will," he promises. "There's no way they can't."

"I'm worried they'll judge me." He doesn't respond; instead, gives me the floor to continue. "The background of where you chose to put your money is sentimental," I say. "Your father. He was an artist and that's what he wanted for you, too. So, you're giving that chance to children who might not have had it before. That's wonderful. That's noble. But mine…"

"You're giving a chance to underprivileged girls with nowhere to go," he says. "If you can't see nobility in that, I'm not sure what to tell you."

"I'm so proud to give them a chance," I say. "A shelter. A home. A safe place, at the very least, with resources. But telling my story to so many people who view me a certain way…" I shake my head. "It's daunting. The board knows why I chose to create the foundation, but most of them at the event won't. What are they supposed to say when my speech is over?"

"That's for them to figure out," he says. "No one but you will say the right thing, that's guaranteed." He kisses my cheek. "You always do."

As the plane begins its descent, I haven't slept a wink and Joya is still unconscious. I kiss the top of her single braid and hug her tight, saying, "Wake up, ma petite." She stirs and makes a soft sound of wakefulness, then turns closer to my chest to pop her thumb in her mouth. "Sommes-nous en Amérique?" she asks in sleepy French.

Joya is fluent, and being so young, doesn't always realize which of the two languages she's speaking. When she was an infant and toddler, Jackson would speak French at home and teach both of us. She caught on much quicker than I did and given that her preschool only teaches in French, she's entirely bilingual. My accent is still bad and I'm not the greatest at speaking - writing is better - but understanding my daughter has always come naturally. "We are," I say. "We're about to land."

"Mes tantes? Ma grand-mère?" she questions, eyes bright now. She turns towards the window and sees Jackson, which makes her face erupt in a lovely smile. "Papa," she says, and crawls to him.

He kisses her hairline over and over until she's giggling, nestled against his neck like a little bird. "Bonjour, ma fifille," he says, swaying as he wraps his arms around her. "You slept for a long time."

"I sleep to America!" she says, thumb in her mouth again. With her head resting on Jackson's chest, she blinks those big, sapphire eyes at me. "Mama," she says. "Quand on verra tantes et grand-mère?"

"In English, JoJo," I say, pulling her hand away from her mouth so her thumb will come out.

Jackson gives me a look. He hates it when I take her thumb out, claiming it's cute and that it's a security blanket for her. When I tell him she's getting too old, he tells me that she's three. I come back with the argument - will it be cute when she's 12? And he says that yes, it probably will be, because she's our daughter and no one has ever created a cuter child than we did.

Almost as if on cue, she put it back in her mouth and looks up at Jackson, the one who always gives in. "En anglais, papa?" she asks in her sweetest voice. She likes speaking French. It comes naturally, being that she does all day at school. She usually switches gears when she comes home because that's what's easier for her parents - and English is just as easy for her. French has become comfortable, though. That's what she hears all around her; at school, the market, in the street where she lives - where she used to live. I can't help but wonder - now that we're moving back to the United States, will her accent go away? A pit grows in my stomach at the thought. I hope it doesn't.

"In English, ma mie," he says. "Your aunties and grandma don't know French. They'll want to to understand you."

"They can learn," she says excitedly. "I can teach them!"

"Maybe," I say. "But they'll want to talk to you in English first. They won't know what you're saying if you only speak French with them."

"Oh," she says. "Then I speak English to them."

"Yes," I say, touching her chin.

"Right when we get to America?" she asks.

"Not quite," I answer.

"Why?"

"We have somewhere else to go first," I say.

"J'ai sommeil," she says, yawning and resting against Jackson's chest, curling her body into a tiny ball. She's little, like me.

"I know," I say. "But you and Papa will sit in the audience. You can fall asleep if you want. Remember, Maman is going to deliver a speech to the organization I was telling you about."

"Oh, yeah," she says, blinking slow. "We get to listen, too?"

"Mm-hmm," I say.

"Are we gonna be good listeners for Maman?" Jackson asks, peering into Joya's face.

She smiles at him, eyes crinkling at the corners like his do. "Yes," she says happily. "And we'll clap and cheer and say 'yay!' Right?"

"Of course," he says. "That's what we're there for."

…

I've never seen the Blue Blanket building in person. I spent months discussing its architecture, months on the interior design, and months helping to hire needed staff, but being here in person is much different. With the money that Joya's presence gave us, that Catherine couldn't control, I created this. With the help of so many, the fruit of my hardship blossomed into something I can touch. "Wow," I say, pausing in front of the doors with Joya on my hip and Jackson at my side. "Here it is."

The sign tells us as much. Blue Blanket, with the inscription underneath: Your security. Your safety. Your home. "Let's go in," Jackson says, placing a hand on the small of my back to urge me forward.

I separate from them eventually, parting ways with a kiss for them both. Joya puckers her lips and I smooch her, then do as much of the same for my husband - a quick peck. "I should go," I say, still lingering.

"Don't worry," Jackson says. "Just speak from your heart like you always do."

I nod with a small smile, then head in the other direction. I get about halfway down the hall before I hear, "Maman! Maman!" and turn back to see Joya waving her arms while perched on Jackson's side. "Wait!" She quickly turns to her father and asks him something in a whisper, and he responds with a hand cupped around her ear. "Good luck, Maman!" she shouts eventually, having gotten a translation.

My face breaks into a huge grin. "Merci, ma mie," I call back, blowing her a kiss.

Plenty of people talk to me backstage, and plenty stay quiet with only their eyes on me. I know my presence has grown since I first became an Avery - I'm sure of myself now, confident anywhere. I assert myself and the aura I give off says as much, of that I'm certain. I'm no longer wary of my position in this world and I know who I am. My solemn attitude is surely intimidating for some, but it's what I need at the moment to keep me grounded. The socializing comes after, when the weight of a perfect speech is off my shoulders. Now, though, I need to prepare.

Though I spend a long time behind the curtain going over points I want to make, my stomach still flips inside out when I hear my name. "Now, for the woman of the hour. The face behind the name, the one who made all of this possible. Please welcome our founder, Mrs. April Avery."

I straighten up and smooth the nonexistent creases in my pantsuit, shaking my hair away from my shoulders as I smile demurely and step onto the stage in my black pumps. I take a deep breath and stand at the podium, scanning the sizable crowd laid before me. I spend a moment soaking this in, reveling in the fact that in reality, this should have never happened for me. But here I am, sharing my voice with the world, ready to make it happen for girls wearing the same shoes I once did.

"I'm not supposed to be standing here right now," I say, immediately breaking into the speech. I'm more comfortable up here than I anticipated. I'm not quite relaxed, but I'm not wired either. "Statistically, I shouldn't be," I continue. "I was born in the projects. I grew up there. My father died when I was young and I took care of my sisters while my mother and older sister worked to put food on the table. I didn't finish high school, and after I dropped out, I worked as a housekeeper alongside my mother. I didn't have any other opportunities because the lack of money and resources made sure of that. College wasn't an option. Scholarships would have been possible had I kept my grades up, but I didn't. My entire life changed on the night I delivered my stillborn son on the bathroom floor of that house in the projects and laid him to rest in a place he should never have gone. I was sixteen years old."

I let the words resonate not only with the audience but with myself, too. Though I've been to therapy, on some days, acceptance still feels worlds away. But on others, I hold my son's memory close and forgive myself for what I did. I had Jackson draw him and I now keep his image in a diary next to my bed. Joya carries his blanket as if she's holding his hand. I named him Simon.

"Although my experience was terrifying and isolating, as I grew older I knew I couldn't have been the only young girl to go through something like it," I say. "3 in 10 American teens will get pregnant each year. That's 750,000 pregnancies, and the leading reason as to why these young girls drop out of school. 50% of teen mothers don't graduate from high school, just like I didn't." I place my hands flat in front of me. "Every 98 seconds, someone in America is sexually assaulted. The hard truth is this: out there in the great big world, it isn't always safe. Home isn't always safe. Family isn't always safe. But here at Blue Blanket, we're determined to create a sanctuary for those who need it. We provide schooling that works around a teen mother's schedule, with free in-facility daycare. We provide counseling for victims of assault, and a safe place to stay if home is no longer an option. We provide step-by-step pregnancy education along with abortion and adoption support. We are your biggest advocates. We are everything teen girls feel they don't have. With a big-brother-big-sister ideology in place, we provide mentors for any young boy or girl involved in our program. At Blue Blanket, you will never be alone. There will always be a shoulder to cry on, a listening ear, and a hand to pull you up. We are your safety and security. We would love to be your home."

…

On the way to Lincoln Park and the house where my mother, Alice and Kimmie still live, we stop at the Art Institute to see a special exhibit. Chicago Public Schools held a contest through their newly funded art program and the winners are on display in the museum. Jackson beamed the whole way through, holding his prodigee on his shoulders as they picked their favorites. I stood back and watched them, marveling at the family I never could have imagined for myself.

It's dinnertime when we arrive in Lincoln Park, and my family is expecting us. My hands are clammy and my heart beats a thousand miles per hour, but Joya is riddled with excitement. "Almost there, almost there!" she sings, craning her neck to look out the window. "Right?'

"Right," I say quietly.

"Hey," Jackson says, reaching to take my hand. "Everything will be fine."

"Are you scared they won't know you anymore 'cause you been gone?" Joya asks, and although she means the question in a simpler manner than I take it, she hits it right on the head. The fact of the matter is that they don't know the woman I've turned into. They've seen brief snippets of her over FaceTime and through letters, but I've transformed into someone they might not recognize. I don't know what they'll think of the change; I'm a mother now. A wife. A founder and chair of the board. I've created something of the Avery name that was thrust upon me and spread around my privilege. Will they understand the life I lead?

"They'll know her," Jackson says. "You think just anybody has that crazy red hair?"

"Hey," I say, but inwardly I thank him for breaking the tension that I created.

When my mother answers the door, her face hasn't changed at all. I don't know why I expected that it might have; three years is the blink of an eye past a certain age. It was because my child has grown and changed so substantially that I expected everyone's lives to have altered drastically; when in reality, that is not the case. "Mom," I say, and the word itself is a sigh of relief.

"April," she says, and pulls me close in the same way she ever did. She holds the back of my head with one hand and I let all my tension go. She keeps me there for a long time. The minutes stop and everything else disappears - for a long moment, it's just me and my mother bursting with empathy and the thought that we no longer have to miss each other. When we finally part, she holds my face and thumbs away my tears. Her eyes are soft and her chin trembles, and I hiccup before attempting a smile. "Look at you," she says. "Just look at you. You're everything I knew you'd be." She beams, her face is shining when she says, "You are so beautiful."

"Mama," I say, my voice wet and clogged. "I'm sorry it's been so long. I'm so sorry."

"You're here now," she says, chin on my shoulder as she rubs my back. "That's what matters." Up until now, Joya has been standing with her arms around Jackson's legs, thumb in her mouth. When my mom releases me for a second time, she rests her eyes on my daughter. "Is that my little granddaughter?" she says.

Joya smiles around her thumb, eyes twinkling. "Grand-mère" she says.

Mom kneels and spreads her arms wide, and Joya runs into them at full speed, practically knocking her over in the process. After the commotion, I look up with a leftover smile on my face to find my two younger sisters standing there - Alice now 8, and Kimmie 11. They look worlds different in the way that I expected our mother to. Alice is no longer short and chubby-cheeked; instead, she's all angles and freckles. She wears glasses now with pink frames, and has adult teeth coming in. I've seen as much over FaceTime, but in person it's different. Kimmie cut her hair shoulder-length, and it makes her look so mature. Where are the little girls I left, the ones who would get splinters from the dining room table and snuggle next to me at night? It's clear those children have disappeared now. I left them in the past, along with the previous version of myself. I guess we all had to move on somehow, in our own ways.

"Hi," I say breathily, unsure of what to do with my hands. My sisters look at me as a united front, unsmiling with wariness laden in their eyes. Kimmie's focus darts to Joya, who's still caught up in Mom, then around to Jackson. Finally, she centers back on me, where Alice has stayed unwavering. "You two are so grown up," I say.

"You said it wouldn't be forever, and it was," Alice says, and her tone wobbles. She's trying not to cry, but I don't call attention to it. "It was three whole years. And eight months."

"And six days," Kimmie adds.

Alice crosses her arms and lets her eyes dart away. They're glistening. "You said it wouldn't be forever," she whimpers.

It's clear how much I hurt them. I knew how much it stung, each day, week, month, year that I stayed gone. For their whole lives, they had depended on me for everything and I took that away. But I am not their mother, and Mom is perfectly capable. She always has been, and with the extra money they're thriving. I didn't leave them in squalor; I would have never done something like that. "I had to go," I say. "And we had to stay once we left."

"We never even got to see her when she was a baby," Kimmie says, referencing Joya.

"I'm sorry," I say genuinely. "We did what we had to do. I know it's hard for you to understand, but we needed to find a place that was just our own. We needed to find a special sort of happiness, Jackson and I, in being married."

"You were happy with us," Alice insists.

"Or weren't you ever?" Kimmie follows up.

"No," I say firmly. "I was. With you two, always. But everything gets complicated when you have a baby." I turn to Joya and swipe hair out of her face and she giggles silently, hands by her mouth. She's tickled by the presence of her aunts. She's been dying to meet them. "She'd love to play with you now," I tell them, hoping to warm them up to her. "She's been talking about you for weeks."

"She has?" Kimmie says.

"You have?" Alice says, addressing her niece specifically.

"Go ahead," I say. With a smile still on her face, though, she shakes her head. Her curls bounce from the action. "What?" I say, but all she does is shake her head again. In an instant, I realize that this moment of excitement has forced her to forget the English greeting, and she took what I said to heart - that they don't understand French. So, I lean in and say, "Say 'hi, aunties.'"

Joya's smile grows even bigger, cheeks bulging so much that her eyes nearly disappear. "Hi, aunties," she says, and looks to me for approval. Of course, I give it to her.

Alice and Kimmie smile too. First at her, then me. "She has our dimples," Kimmie says, amused.

"I know," I say. "Jackson was the one who noticed it first, actually."

"Those Kepner genes sure are strong," he says, piping up for the first time. "Can I get a 'hello' around here? You guys used to love playing with me. Am I old news now?" They pause for a moment, then silently and simultaneously come to a decision as they throw their arms around his neck. Easily, he lifts them into the air and swings them around, one arm around each of their backs. "I missed you guys!" he bellows.

When he sets them down, Alice gets close to me and frames my face with her hands. I overlap her fingers with mine and stare into her eyes - the eyes that have always matched mine - and watch her thoughts whir. "Are you gonna leave us again?" she asks. "After this, are you going back to Paris?"

One corner of my lips pulls up as I'm given the perfect platform to tell her, and the rest of them, the news. "No," I say. "We're coming home."

…

That night, Jackson and I take the guest room and Joya bunks with her aunts. She's determined to teach them French, though they're only interested in silly phrases that include things to do with the bathroom. We heard them giggling long past lights out, but now the house is finally quiet and my husband and I are alone.

"You did amazing today," he says, taking off his watch to set on the nightstand.

"Don't put that there," I say over my shoulder as I take my necklace off. "You'll forget it. Put it by my toothbrush."

He chuckles to himself and drops a casual kiss to my bare shoulder as he brushes by me. "Yes, wife," he mutters, then comes back into the bedroom. "Did you hear me? You were amazing."

"I did do pretty well in my speech," I say, smirking.

"Yes, you did," he says, lying down. I join him soon after. "I'm so proud of you."

"Thank you."

"For everything," he says.

"Everything?"

"Mm-hmm. Everything you could imagine, I'm proud of you for it."

"That's a lot to carry."

"Good thing your shoulders are so strong," he says, kissing my outer arm. His eyes are sparkling with happiness as he winds an arm around me and pulls me close to rest on his chest.

"It's weird, being back," I say.

"In a negative way?"

"No, not at all," I respond. "Just… strange how things could stay so much the same while we changed. I don't know why, but I expected to come back to a whole new world. But it's really not new at all."

"No," he says, speaking against my hairline. "A lot of it is the same."

"It's hard to believe we're the same people as the couple who came to this house for the first time together," I say, smiling as I recount the memory. "Remember?"

"Yes," he says. "I haven't forgotten a single thing about us."

"Not a thing?"

"No," he says. "I remember the night we first slept in the same bed. I remember when you defended me to the press when I didn't deserve it. I remember the Maldives. I remember when you stood up to my mother. I remember seeing you in the wedding dress I selected and wondering what the hell I got myself into, marrying a redhead."

I giggle softly. "I guarantee, it was scarier for me seeing you for the first time."

I hear him smile as his heart pumps steadily under my ear. "You were never scared of me, though," he says. "That's one of the many great things about you."

"No, I wasn't," I say. "Even though you wanted me to be."

"Oh, I didn't," he says, chuckling. "But I made you love me. Didn't I?"

I scoff playfully. "You couldn't make me do anything. You still can't." I poke his stomach and smile widely. "You're lucky I love you."

Then, he takes the light moment and turns it serious. He holds my chin between his thumb and first finger and tips my face up, then lets our eyes linger on each other for a long time. Before he kisses me, he says, "I am. I really am."