The last bell rang, and the classroom emptied in a tide of shuffling shoes and chatter. Michelle stayed at her desk, pretending to organize papers as the room quieted. But her eyes weren't on the attendance sheets or the scrawled assignments. They lingered instead on the empty chair near the back, the one Maria had sat in. She leaned back, exhaling through her nose, and let her thoughts slip.
For a moment, she was twenty again, standing in the dorm hallway of her college, phone pressed tight to her ear. The voice on the other end had been shaky, breaking under the weight of terrible news. Her parents. Gone. The Joker. Maria, her little sister, left behind in Gotham. And Michelle hadn't gone back.
She remembered sitting on the edge of her bed, staring at the wall while her then boyfriend whispered that funerals were a waste, that she should focus on her future instead. She remembered agreeing. And that had been the last straw, the final severed thread between her, and Maria.
Even before then, she had been cruel. She knew that. She had turned her frustration with their parents into sharp words, into cold silence. Maria had only wanted closeness, and Michelle had shoved her away. She had hated herself for it more times than she could count, crying herself to sleep in the dark. And yet, she had never gone back. Never tried.
Now, here Maria was, alive in front of her, yet not the same. The way she smiled today, polite but heavy, carried too much weight for a child her age. It was almost like she was pretending, wearing happiness like a mask.
Michelle pressed her palm to her forehead. The guilt was a constant throb, a wound that had never healed. And beneath it, something else stirred: resolve.
"I can't lose her again," she whispered to the empty room. The thought came unbidden but undeniable: 'Maybe I could adopt her. Give her a home. A family.'
Her stomach tightened at the idea. She was barely keeping herself steady as a teacher, but wasn't that better than leaving Maria to fend for herself in an orphanage? Better than watching her drift through life with that sad, practiced smile?
Michelle pushed away from the desk before she could second-guess herself. Her footsteps echoed down the hall as she made her way to the principal's office. The door creaked open, and the principal glanced up from behind a stack of files. "Michelle? Something wrong?"
Michelle's throat dried, but she forced the words out. "Could I… could I have Maria pulled out of class for a moment? There's something I need to speak with her about. Privately." The principal studied her for a beat too long, but finally nodded. "I'll allow it. Don't keep her long."
Michelle waited outside, hands twisting together, rehearsing words that all sounded wrong. Do you want me to take care of you? Do you want to come home with me? Every phrase either felt too heavy or too weak. By the time Maria rounded the corner, led by a hall monitor, Michelle's heart was pounding so loudly she thought it might give her away.
Maria blinked up at her, curiosity plain in her hazel eyes. "Big sister?" she asked softly, the title like a blade and balm all at once. Michelle crouched to meet her gaze, her breath catching. Up close, the resemblance was unbearable, the same eyes, the same small tilt of her head. For a second, Michelle nearly lost her nerve.
But then she remembered the phone call. The silence that followed. The years she had let slip away. She swallowed hard. Her voice trembled, but she forced it out.
"Maria… would you want me to adopt you?" The words hung there, fragile and heavy all at once. Michelle felt like she had just thrown her entire heart into the space between them, terrified of how it would land. To her relief—and heartbreak—it landed. Maria's hazel eyes went wide, brimming with tears. She choked on a sob before launching forward, clinging to Michelle as if afraid she might vanish if she let go.
"You promise you won't leave me?" The question came out ragged, desperate. It pierced Michelle's chest, each syllable a reminder of what she had abandoned.
That broke her. Michelle's arms closed around the girl, crushingly tight, as though sheer will could anchor her in place. Her own tears blurred her vision, dripping into Maria's hair as she whispered the only words she could manage.
"It's gonna be okay now. I swear. I swear. It's gonna be okay." She repeated it like a prayer, as though repetition could turn it true. For Michelle, it was absolution. A second chance she didn't deserve but would not waste.
For Maria or rather, for Yltharae, it was something else. Her thoughts swirled behind the child's trembling sobs, weighing every word, every desperate tremor in Michelle's voice. 'She believes herself genuine… and she may be. But promises are fragile things, like a caterpillar's transformation into a butterfly. They always change.'
Still, she let the sobs wrack her small frame, pressing her face deeper into Michelle's shoulder. And when she spoke again, her voice was a whisper muffled by tears, yet perfectly placed to break what was left of Michelle's defenses.
"…Please don't ever let me go." Michelle clutched her tighter. "Never." And in that fragile moment, in the quiet corridor outside the principal's office, the weight of broken years pressed down on both of them, one seeking redemption, the other silently judging if redemption could ever be real.
(Mini Timeskip)
Weeks later, the ink had dried, and the papers were signed. The world now recognized what Michelle had already promised in her heart: Maria was hers again.
The apartment wasn't glamorous—just a neat two-bedroom on the edge of downtown Metropolis, with secondhand furniture, warm sunlight through sheer curtains, and the constant hum of city life drifting through the open windows. Michelle wasn't rich, not by a long shot, but she was steady. A good job, a safe home, food on the table. Enough. More than enough.
Maria unpacked slowly in her new room, books stacked with almost ceremonial care, clothes folded with a precision that didn't quite belong to a child. Michelle hovered in the doorway, hands shoved in her pockets, watching with a soft, uncertain smile. "Feels strange, huh?" she asked lightly. "All this being… official."
Maria looked back at her. For a heartbeat, her hazel eyes were unreadable, thoughts flickering like shadows beneath the surface. Then she smiled, a small, bright curve of her lips that looked almost like forgiveness. "Yeah. Strange," she agreed.
Michelle stepped into the room and knelt beside her, pulling her into a hug without thinking. "Well… strange or not, you're home now. And I'm not letting go this time." Maria leaned into her, silent. And though her thoughts whispered of the fragility of promises, she allowed herself, just for this moment, to rest in the warmth of one.
—
A/N:
[REDACTED]