Vi doesn't believe in fairy tales. She never did. But if any story comes close, it's this one.

She met her partner between torn blankets and stale bread, in a Zaun shelter where the silence was heavier than the grime and hugs lasted shorter than hunger. Vi was all push and fury, blackened nails and a voice that only got louder to hide the tremble. But her partner... she was something else. An earthy calm. Like she carried in her eyes the quiet certainty that everything would be alright, even when it wasn't.

The first time her partner touched her shoulder, Vi didn't pull away. The second time, she did. The third... it was too late. They were in love.

They married young. Not out of impulse, but because they had always known they had nothing to prove. Vi didn't wear a dress. Never even considered it. She wore her cleanest vest, her mother's pendant (the only memory that didn't burn to the touch) and hands that shook more than they ever did in a fight.

Her partner cried. So did Vi, but only when they were alone.

"You've always been my home," she whispered that night, between cheap lavender sheets and the scent of old gunpowder. "It just took me a while to see it."

---

Ivy arrived without warning. Like all the best things.

A small girl, with messy braids, a quiet voice, and a gaze that dodged everything except shadows. Her partner met her at the shelter, helping with abandoned kids. Vi saw her once and knew.

"She's like me," Vi said. She didn't even think about what it meant. She just said it and it was true.

Adopting her was easy... Raising her wasn't.

Vi didn't know how to do that. She had never seen it up close. Her childhood didn't have mothers, just survivors.

But Ivy didn't ask for much. Just presence and kept promises. Someone who came back when they said they would.

And Vi... Vi learned. To warm the milk without burning it, to braid hair without tugging and to hum softly when the fever hit.

Ivy didn't need long to start copying her. She frowned the same. Walked the same. Yelled "Shit!" when something dropped.

And Vi (though she'd deny it) swelled with pride.

---

One night, between laughter and pints, Vander raised his with that thunder-soft voice of his: "So when are you having one of your own?"

Vi had Ivy in her arms. She laughed. Didn't think much of it.

"This one's mine, can't you tell? She even frowns like I do."

Everyone laughed. So did Vi. But that night, while washing dishes, she froze for a moment. Foam covered her knuckles. She thought about the question.

'Another kid? A real one?'

She forced herself to dismiss it. It wasn't the time. It wasn't her.

---

But time passed, and Ivy's drawings began to change.

She used to draw houses, clouds and monsters. Now, always two girls... One big and one smaller.

And one night, after her partner tucked her in, Ivy whispered something Vi heard through the cracked door: "Mom, do you think I'll ever have a real sister?"

Vi said nothing. Not that night and not the next. But she slept poorly, her chest tight.

Not from the idea, but from the fear that came with it.

Fear of not being enough. Fear that loving one more would mean letting something else slip and above all, fear of failing... Of failing that new life she already felt unworthy of.

---

It was her partner who said it first on a random morning. Cutting fruit for breakfast. No drama and no warning.

"I've been thinking," her partner said, peeling an apple. "Maybe... we could try."

Vi didn't answer, just clenched her jaw. Keep slicing bread with more force than needed. The knife screeched against the board.

There was too much in her head: Vander had stepped down, and the bar was now hers... She was negotiating with new Underworld suppliers, helping Powder with impossible ideas, fixing leaks, pretending everything was fine.

'A baby?'

But her partner looked at her and in her eyes was the one thing that always undid her: faith... Not in everything being fine, faith in her.

Vi wanted to say yes right then, just for that look. But she also thought of the nights she barely held it together. The exhaustion behind her smiles and the fear of losing control.

So she only said: "It'd be you, right? Carrying it."

Her partner nodded.

Vi pretended it was logic (her schedule was crazier, it made more sense), but the truth was... She was terrified of holding something so fragile. Her hands were made for fighting, not for cradling life.