Jessica noticed before anyone else did.
Children always did.
Not because they understood more—
but because they *felt* more.
She sat at the dining table with her homework spread neatly in front of her, pencil clutched between her fingers, eyes darting up every few seconds toward the living room.
Her mother was there.
Physically.
But something about her movements had changed.
Hilary moved carefully now.
Like the world might shift under her feet without warning.
Jessica watched as her mother reached for the water glass on the table beside the couch.
Her hand hovered.
Paused.
Adjusted slightly to the left.
Then closed around it.
Success.
But the pause stayed with Jessica.
Mama used to grab things without thinking.
She didn't anymore.
Jessica bit her pencil.
Across the room, Gerard pretended not to watch.
He always pretended around Jessica.
Pretended everything was fine.
Pretended adults weren't scared.
But tonight, his shoulders were tense again.
Jessica knew that too.
She slid off her chair quietly and padded across the rug.
"Mama?" she asked softly.
Hilary turned toward the sound of her voice immediately.
"Yes, sweetheart?"
Jessica climbed onto the couch beside her, curling up close.
Hilary's arm wrapped around her automatically.
That part hadn't changed.
Jessica pressed her cheek against her mother's side, breathing in the familiar scent—vanilla soap, faint citrus, something warm and safe.
"Why do you move like that now?" Jessica asked.
Hilary stiffened.
Gerard's breath caught across the room.
Hilary didn't answer right away.
Jessica waited.
"I'm… being careful," Hilary said finally.
"With what?" Jessica asked.
"With the world."
Jessica frowned.
"That's silly," she said matter-of-factly. "The world should be careful with you."
Gerard let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
Hilary smiled faintly—but it didn't reach her eyes.
Jessica lifted her head, studying her mother's face closely.
"Mama," she said slowly, "do you still see me?"
Hilary's heart stuttered.
"Of course I do," she replied quickly.
Jessica tilted her head.
"Then why did you hesitate when I hugged you earlier?"
The question landed clean and sharp.
Children didn't soften blows.
They didn't know how.
Hilary swallowed.
"I just… didn't want to knock you over," she said.
Jessica stared at her.
That wasn't the answer.
She could hear it.
She slid off the couch and stood directly in front of Hilary.
"Close your eyes," Jessica said.
Hilary blinked.
"Why?"
"Just do it."
Hilary complied, closing her eyes slowly.
Jessica stepped closer.
"Now," she said, "who am I?"
Hilary smiled gently.
"You're my daughter."
"That's not what I asked."
Hilary's smile faltered.
Jessica took Hilary's hands and placed them on her own shoulders.
"Who am I *like this*?"
Hilary's fingers trembled slightly.
Small shoulders.
Soft fabric.
A faint strawberry scent from shampoo.
Her throat tightened.
"You're… Jessica," she said, voice wavering.
Jessica nodded.
"Good."
She moved Hilary's hands away and stepped back.
"Now open your eyes."
Hilary did.
Jessica stood there, arms crossed, watching her carefully.
Hilary hesitated.
Just a fraction of a second.
But Jessica saw it.
"Mama," Jessica said quietly, "you didn't know it was me right away."
Hilary broke.
Tears welled instantly, spilling over before she could stop them.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm trying. I promise I'm trying."
Jessica climbed onto her lap immediately, wrapping her arms around her neck.
"Don't cry," she said urgently. "I can fix it."
Hilary laughed weakly through tears.
"You can't fix everything, sweetheart."
"Yes I can," Jessica insisted. "I just need something red."
Gerard straightened.
"Red?" he repeated.
Jessica nodded firmly.
"Red is loud," she said. "Red doesn't hide."
She hopped down and ran off toward her room.
Hilary wiped her eyes, confused.
"What is she doing?" she asked.
Gerard shook his head.
"I have no idea."
Jessica returned moments later, holding a bundle of red ribbon she'd pulled from her craft box.
It was bright.
Unapologetic.
Impossible to ignore.
She climbed back onto the couch and began tying one end loosely around her own wrist.
"There," she said proudly.
Hilary stared.
"What is that?"
"A rule," Jessica said. "If you ever can't tell who I am, I'll wear red."
Hilary's breath hitched.
Jessica hopped down again and marched over to Gerard, tying another ribbon around his wrist.
"And Daddy too," she declared.
Gerard knelt to her height.
"Jess," he said gently, "you don't have to—"
"Yes I do," she interrupted. "Because Mama needs landmarks."
The word startled them both.
"Landmarks?" Hilary echoed.
Jessica nodded seriously.
"When I get lost at school, they tell us to find landmarks," she explained. "Big things you remember so you don't get scared."
She looked at her mother intently.
"We can be your landmarks."
Silence filled the room.
Hilary pressed a hand to her mouth, tears streaming freely now.
Gerard's eyes burned.
Jessica climbed back into Hilary's lap, wrapping the ribbon gently around Hilary's wrist too.
"So," Jessica continued, "red means family."
Hilary pulled her close, holding her tightly.
"You're so smart," she whispered.
Jessica shrugged.
"I just don't want you to be scared."
Hilary buried her face in Jessica's hair.
For the first time in days, something loosened inside her chest.
A system.
Simple.
Childish.
Perfect.
Red ribbon meant *mine*.
Gerard reached over, placing his hand over both of theirs.
"Thank you," he said softly.
Jessica grinned.
"See? Fixed."
Later that night, after Jessica fell asleep between them, Hilary lay awake again—but this time, something was different.
She lifted her wrist, fingers brushing the ribbon.
Red.
Rough at the edges.
Real.
A landmark.
She turned toward Gerard.
"Are you awake?" she asked.
"Yes."
"She saved me," Hilary whispered.
"She saved all of us," he replied.
She traced the ribbon on his wrist with her fingertips.
"If I lose everything else," she murmured, "I don't want to lose her."
"You won't," he said firmly.
She nodded.
For the first time, she believed it.
Outside, the city glittered—faceless and indifferent.
Inside the room, three people slept bound together by something simple and defiant.
A strip of red ribbon.
And somewhere, unseen, a pair of eyes watched the family photos uploaded quietly that night.
Bianca zoomed in on the red band around Hilary's wrist.
Interesting, she thought.
Systems could be learned.
And landmarks could be removed.