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It was nearly midnight.

The house was still.

The only sound was the soft hum of the fridge, the distant whisper of waves, and the suckle of Pualani feeding in my arms, gulping down Leilani’s breastmilk from one of the many bottles filling up the fridge.

We were curled in the big armchair by the window, just the two of us, lit by a lamp on the side table.

She was warm and heavy against my chest, her tiny fingers curling around mine like she already knew I was hers. Her little mouth worked the bottle with determination, cheeks pink, eyes closed.

“I got you,” I whispered to her, rocking slowly. “You’re okay. You’re home.”

At that moment, footsteps padded softly down the stairs, and in the dim light Rashida stepped into the room.

Instead of wearing her dressing gown, she was fully dressed, a hibiscus flower behind one ear.

And in one hand was her suitcase.

“Rashida?” I asked, my voice hushed but no less alarmed. “What’s going on? Why do you have a suitcase?”

“Because it’s time for me to go,” was her simple reply.

“What? You can’t.”

She smiled. “I can. And I’m going to do it the only way I know how. Quietly. Efficiently. No drama. No fuss.”

“But—” I blinked. “You’re family.”

“I know,” she said. “And I always will be. But my work here is done. There’s another train wreck of a family somewhere out there. And if I do half as good a job as I did here, I’ll be giving myself a standing ovation in the mirror and maybe a margarita.”

“But… but… weneedyou.”

She gave a small, tired smile. “Youdidneed me. But watching you now, I’m pretty sure you’ve got this.”

Pualani let out a little sigh against my chest and I felt a suspicious warmth on my shirt.

“Uh oh,” I muttered, lifting Pualani up and sniffing. “We have a code brown. Don’t go anywhere,” I told Rashida, standing quickly and clutching the baby to my chest like a bomb. “I’ll be right back.”

I dashed down the hall to change her, whispering soothing things, fumbling with wipes and buttons and holding my breath while Pualani giggled proudly.

It took maybe five minutes.

When I returned—

Rashida was gone.

The door was closed. The room was still. Only her hibiscus flower sat on the counter, and beside it, a single sticky note.

Keep being ridiculous.

You’re good at it.

–R

Slowly I sank back into the chair, holding Pualani against my chest again.

And I knew deep down Rashida was right.

Her job here was done.