an idea
Madelyne had to hand it to Jean: she made a good gift basket choice. The chocolate was exactly to her taste, the beauty products weren't half bad, and the basket could have it's place in the house somewhere. She was sure of that. But as much as she liked the quiet of the apartment, things still lingered from the confrontation from before. Jean had a point about the past being the past; and Madelyne still vehemently believed that nothing was that easy, for any of them. Nothing was going to change things, and the past was what was most accessible, that felt weird in this strange awful place.

It didn't make her loneliness any better, though, this apartment. It didn't make her not long for things she couldn't or didn't have. It didn't fix any grudges or anger.

And she knew, looking at the messages on her screen, that doing anything, going anywhere with her old "family" would fix that either. It would, at least, give her something to do. Neither she or Molly had anyone else, really. So where was the harm in showing up to a few events?

IN THE FENWICK'S HOUSE It was impossible not to share a mind and body with Molly and not know about her obssession with the Fenwicks. Madelyne had access to everything about the woman, and she had to give it to Molly for keeping her head low for so long and for the sheer, well, guts to go through with it all. The rest of her, however, standing in the house of the Fenwicks, hand wrapped around the glass of champagne, didn't necessarily see why.

Not the she couldn't see the innate hunger Molly had: she wanted a stable a family, she wanted a better lot in life, and for all intents and purposes, the Fenwicks were a dream. They seemed warm and normal and average. Almost uncomfortably so; Madelyne couldn't look at the family photos in the house without her own level of wistfulness or resentment. But she had actually experienced most of this: a family, a home, a baby, a wedding.

Molly hadn't, and though most of the time Madelyne preferred not to meddle, she'd come to the Fenwicks to both see what Molly desired so strongly she'd moved across the country just for a taste, and for Maddie to indulge in her own mischief.

Which had been achieved well enough. The look on Jean's face alone was priceless enough, and the icing on the cake had been her attempt to sell Maddie as a friend. That could keep her amused for ages.

That was different than this though, looking at the family portraits, the array of faces and memories through the house. Molly was peering out too, unwilling to do anything more than fluctuate in Maddie's head. Madelyne allowed her control: to linger on photos of a young Lainey with her parents and siblings, smiling at the camera, to pick up picture frames one by one, to run her fingers over the china and furniture.

I could have had all of this.

Madelyne allows her the thought, smiling at one of the younger children. Maybe you could have. Or it could have been worse. Or you couldn't have been born at all.

Molly's unease surfaces up, fingers twitching around the glass. Madelyne allows it, glacing towards the kitchen, able to see Brenda Fenwick laughing appreciateively at a joke from her other daughter, Meg. She can see the resemblance in them both, the ease and happiness there. An ease that she knows Molly and her mother don't have. Something Madelyne couldn't exactly wave away.

Will you call your mother?

Molly gives her no answer. Madelyne expected as much. She continues to make her way through the house, turning over the idea over in her head. Listening to the talk around her, of the holiday season, of giving. She'd protested to Jean that she'd let Molly live her own life. But some people needed a little.... push.