Chapter Text
Lisa hated night shifts in winter. She stood just inside the glass doors, sipping lukewarm coffee, eyes flicking to the clock. Half past eleven. Almost quiet enough to breathe.
Then it happened— Officer Mason rushed into the station.
“We’ve got two minors abandoned outside.”
Lisa was already moving before the sentence finished. Outside the main entrance, sat on the bench underneath the bus stop shelter. A boy and a girl. Twins, maybe. No jackets. Just jumpers over pyjamas. The girl was clutching a crumpled paper bag. The boy stared straight ahead, eyes unfocused.
Lisa crouched slowly. “Hi there,” she said softly. “My name’s Lisa. I’m a police officer, you're safe now. Are you hurt?”
No response. The girl tightened her grip on the bag. Lisa noticed the boy’s fingers trembling.
She clicked her radio. “Get me a blanket, and call Social Services. Now.”
As the twins were brought inside and wrapped in emergency blankets, Lisa stayed with them. She didn’t speak much—just sat near, letting them sense safety. Familiarity. She wasn’t just a police officer tonight. She was a mother.
Her phone buzzed. Carla.
She answered quietly, stepping to the hallway. “It’s happened,” she said.
“What’s happened?”
Lisa sighed. “Someone has left their children outside the station. Twins. Three, maybe or even four.”
There was a pause. “Do they have names?”
“No note. Nothing. Just… eyes like they’ve seen too much.”
Another pause, heavier this time. Then Carla said, “Bring them home.”
Lisa blinked. “Carla—are you sure?”
“We said we’d do this. We said if someone needed us…” Carla’s voice softened. “We have the space. And we have love. That’s likely more than they’ve had in a while.”
Lisa looked back at the children. The girl was whispering something to her brother, wrapping her tiny arms around his shoulders.
“Okay, I’ll speak to social services. We’re still registered as emergency foster carers, so—if it’s alright,” Lisa said softly, “I’ll bring them home. Even if it’s just for tonight.”
She ended the call and began pacing. Social services had said they’d arrive within the hour, but Lisa knew how stretched they were. The twins were safe for now, even if their little world had just fallen apart.
While she waited, she decided to try and learn their names. The little girl had seemed more open—she’d even whispered a quiet “thank you” when DC Green offered them a drink. The boy, on the other hand, had clung to his sister, barely looking up.
Lisa rummaged through her desk drawers until she found two lollipops—kept there for emergencies, and this felt like one. She crossed the room to where the twins sat huddled on the bench and gently lowered herself beside the girl.
“I found these in my drawer,” Lisa said with a warm smile, holding out the lollipops. “I’ve got a terrible sweet tooth, but today’s not a good day for treats—so I thought maybe you two might like them.”
The little girl reached out cautiously, accepting them. Then, with a tiny whisper, she turned to the boy. “Here, Max.”
Lisa’s heart softened. “Your brother’s name is Max? That’s a lovely name. What’s your name?”
“Mia,” she murmured.
“Mia. That’s beautiful.” Lisa paused, letting the moment settle. “I have a daughter—she was almost named Mia Hayley, but at the last minute we changed it to Elizabeth Hayley. She goes by Betsy.”
Mia gave a shy nod.
“Is Mia short for anything?” Lisa asked gently.
“Amelia-Rose,” Mia whispered.
“Amelia-Rose. That’s a really special name.” Lisa glanced at the boy. “What about Max? Is his name short for something?”
“No,” Mia said, wrapping an arm around her brother. “It’s just Max.”
Lisa smiled. “Well, Mia, I’m going to talk to my colleague for a little bit, and then we’ll figure out a place for you to stay, okay?”
Mia nodded again, just barely—but it was enough.
Twenty minutes—and one intense conversation with Social Services—later, it was decided: the twins could go home with Lisa, at least for now.
The hallway light buzzed faintly as Lisa turned the key in the front door, balancing a sleeping Max against her shoulder. Carla stood waiting in the doorway in her dressing gown, her hair up, her face tight with worry but calm in the way only teachers and mothers mastered.
Mia clung to Lisa’s coat, half-awake, her thumb in her mouth.
“They’re smaller than I imagined,” Carla whispered.
Lisa nodded and gently handed Max over to her. “Three, maybe,” she murmured. “Both malnourished. Quiet. Too quiet.”
Carla nodded and motioned for Lisa to follow. Betsy’s old toddler bed had been set up in the guest room earlier that year “just in case.” The “just in case” had arrived.
Together, they laid the twins down, gently pulling the blankets to their chins. Mia stirred once, blinked at Carla, then closed her eyes again. Carla reached out instinctively and brushed a curl from the girl’s forehead.
“They didn’t cry,” Lisa said as they stepped out and closed the door halfway. “Not once.”
“That’s not normal,” Carla replied. “Even scared kids cry.”
Lisa looked down. “I think they’re beyond scared.”
In the kitchen, they sat without speaking. The kettle clicked off. Carla made tea; Lisa didn’t drink hers.
“Love, you’ve been working a double,” Carla said, eyeing her wife. “You probably haven’t eaten anything decent since I made you breakfast—and before you say it, no, a greasy kebab doesn’t count as real food.”
“I know,” Lisa sighed. “But I promised Betsy pancakes, so I’ll just have some of those when I make them.” She hesitated, then added, “Speaking of Bets… how do you think she’ll take it?”
Carla took a slow sip of her tea. She didn’t answer right away, and Lisa knew her well enough to understand—when Carla was quiet, it meant she had a lot to say.
“I mean, it’s not going to be forever,” Lisa sighed. “I spoke to the social worker—they’re trying to track down family. Any family who might be able to take them, at least until they find their mother.”
Carla’s expression tightened. “And what if they don’t? What happens then?”
“They look for a permanent foster placement,” Lisa said quietly. “But those are few and far between. And honestly, most aren’t great. Too many people are in it for the wrong reasons… for the money, not the kids. It’s awful, but it’s the truth.”
She paused, then continued, more gently. “The social worker asked if we’d consider keeping them, just temporarily—until they figure out something more permanent. I told her I needed to talk to you first. Face to face.”
Carla didn’t hesitate. “We have the room, love. And no, it might not be forever—but while they’re here, we can make sure they feel safe. And loved.”
“What about…” Lisa began, her voice barely above a whisper.
Carla reached for her hand, gently but firmly. “Love, I think we need to accept that it just… might not be meant to be.”
She exhaled slowly, the weight of years sitting in her shoulders. “We’ve got two embryos left. So maybe we try—just once more. They’re there, ready. But after that… I can’t keep doing this. The miscarriages, the toll it’s taken on us—on our relationship, on Betsy. I want another baby, of course I do.”
Her voice broke slightly, but she pressed on.
“But we waited. We had Betsy, and then we put our careers first. And now… now I’m older. My body’s tired. It’s the oldest story there is, right? Waiting, hoping, and maybe missing the window.”
She looked Lisa in the eyes.
“I think we need to be honest—with each other and with ourselves. Maybe this dream… maybe it’s not meant to be.”
Lisa knew, deep down, that Carla loved her—but part of her resented her too.
Carla had wanted to try for another baby just a couple of years after Betsy was born. But Lisa had said it wasn’t the right time. Carla had just become a headteacher—something she’d worked tirelessly for—and Lisa was on the path to becoming a detective. They’d finally settled into a routine with Betsy. Life had felt manageable again. They were finding time for each other, for intimacy, even for themselves.
And Lisa hadn’t wanted to lose that.
She knew it was selfish, but the truth was: she hadn’t wanted a baby to disrupt the life they’d fought to rebuild.
Now, two years into trying, the toll was unmistakable. Each failed cycle chipped away at them. Three miscarriages—each one a little further along, each one building hope before tearing it away. With every week that passed, they’d allowed themselves to believe—until Carla started bleeding.
Lisa hated what came next. Hated how Carla shut her out, how she buried herself in work or lost hours researching fertility diets, supplements, holistic therapies—anything that might improve their odds.She hated seeing the woman she loved drowning in quiet desperation, and not knowing how to pull her back.
Each cycle that hadn't ended in a miscarriage,had ended the same way—a negative test—and the weight of it all was dragging them under. The emotional toll was crushing, and so was the financial one. They were slipping further into debt with every round, every medication, every procedure that promised hope and delivered heartbreak.
Lisa wanted to pull the plug. She wanted to say it out loud—that it was too much, that they couldn’t keep doing this. But she couldn’t. Because Carla still wanted it—desperately. She wanted to carry their child. And every failed test, every miscarriage, carved a little deeper into her sense of self. She took each one personally, as if her body was betraying her.
Lisa felt awful—helpless, guilty. It was her urging Carla through this: the endless injections, the invasive tests, the painful egg collections. She was the one asking her to keep going, even silently.
But now, all Lisa wanted was for it to stop. She wanted to scream, to beg Carla to see that it wasn’t working—that they were losing themselves to the grief. She needed Carla to admit defeat, to stop chasing something that was breaking them, and start focusing on the life they already had—the family they had built, the daughter who still needed them.
At 7:14, the thunder of socked feet on the stairs jolted Lisa from her thoughts—Betsy was awake.
Betsy paused in the doorway when she saw them.
“What happened?” she asked, eyes darting. “You’re not dressed for work.”
Lisa rubbed her temple. “Sweetheart, something happened at work last night.”
“Something bad?”
“Something… complicated,” Carla said gently. “Why don’t you come sit down? Mummy will make pancakes while I explain everything.”
“No, thank you. Just tell me,” Betsy replied.
Lisa’s stomach tightened. She knew this conversation wasn’t going to end well—she could feel the tension rising like a storm cloud. She braced for impact.
“There were two little children left outside the police station.”
“Alone?”
“Yes,” Lisa said. “And we brought them here, just for a while. Until the right place can be found.”
Betsy looked from one to the other. “You mean we’re fostering them?”
Lisa hesitated. “Yes. That’s what this is.”
Betsy’s face didn’t change, not at first. But then came the tight shoulders, the furrowed brow.
“Where are they sleeping?” Betsy asked.
“In the guest room.”
“That’s where my art desk is.”
“We moved it into the living room,” Carla said gently. “You can still use it.”
Betsy crossed her arms. “So I have to share my house with babies?”
“They’re not babies,” Lisa said. “And no one’s asking you to give anything up. Just to make room. For now.”
Betsy didn’t respond. She marched to the cupboard, yanked it open, and grabbed a cereal bowl. The door slammed shut with a loud thud. A moment later, the cutlery drawer clattered as she pulled it open and snatched a spoon.
“Are you sure you don’t want pancakes?” Lisa asked gently.
Still, no answer. Betsy reached for the cereal box on the counter, poured it into her bowl, and dropped into her seat at the table with a heavy sigh.
Carla gave Lisa a small shake of the head: Let her process.
Twenty minutes later, the twins woke up. Mia peeked into the kitchen first, holding Max’s hand. They stood like shadows in the doorway until Betsy noticed them.
She stared at them. Max stared back. Mia looked at Carla, then at Lisa.
“Hi,” Carla said, crouching. “Are you hungry?”
Max gave the tiniest nod.
Carla began making toast. Lisa got out plastic cups. Betsy watched it all happen like she’d been dropped into someone else’s story.
Then, without being asked, she took two napkins from the drawer and placed them beside the twins’ plates.
Carla smiled. Lisa caught her eye.
It wasn’t a beginning. Not yet. But it was something.