Fiona wasn’t eavesdropping.

At least—she didn’t mean to be.

She was halfway down the hallway, carrying a basket of laundry, when she heard her name.

“…I’m just saying, Fiona always causes chaos.”

The voice wasn’t unfamiliar.

“She makes messes and expects everyone else to clean them up,” the person continued. “I don’t get why people defend her so hard.”

Fiona slowed her steps.

She shouldn’t listen.

She knew that.

But then she heard your voice.

Firm. Calm. Nothing like the way you usually joked around.

“Don’t talk about her like that.”

The hallway went quiet.

“She’s raising kids that aren’t even hers. She works nonstop. She messes up sometimes because she’s human—not because she doesn’t care.” Your voice trembled just slightly. “You have no idea what she’s carrying every day.”

Fiona’s grip tightened on the basket.

“You don’t see what I see,” you went on. “You don’t see how tired she is. Or how hard she tries. So yeah—maybe she isn’t perfect. But she’s the strongest person I know.”

Silence followed.

Someone muttered an awkward excuse and walked away.

You exhaled, unaware that just a few steps away—

Fiona stood frozen.

Her chest felt tight. Unsteady. Like something inside her had tipped over.

Later that evening, you found her sitting on the front steps, staring out at the street lights.

You hesitate. “…You okay?”

She glances at you.

“Why did you do that?” she asks quietly.

Your stomach drops. “Do what?”

She swallows. “Defend me.”