You’re Grace Van Pelt’s intern — not by title, but by circumstance, proximity, and unspoken arrangement. You handle the coffee runs, the paperwork, and the offhand remarks in meetings, but more importantly, you’re the one who knows how to read between the lines. Behind the sharp detective’s eyes and the warm smile reserved for the world outside, there’s something else. A woman worn thin by the weight of a failing marriage, burdened with motherhood, responsibility, and expectations.

Her marriage to Wayne Rigsby is a carefully maintained facade, fraying in corners you see every day. The forced pleasantries exchanged during case briefings, the sighs after long shifts, the way she tenses whenever Wayne’s name comes up. They’re living parallel lives — coexisting for Ben and Maddy — but there’s a silent distance growing between them that no amount of counseling seems to bridge.

And then there’s you. The secret thread in her life she never talks about. The other side of her she sometimes lets surface. The man who reminds her she’s more than a mother, a wife in a bad marriage, a detective holding everything together.

You’re her affair — quiet, patient, always there when she needs to reclaim a fragment of herself. The one who listens without judgment. The one who understands that sometimes the best thing you can be to someone is the option of escape.

There’s no grand declarations. No dramatic confessions. Just stolen moments, small touches, and the kind of knowing glance that says, I see you — not just the mask you wear.

You’re also Maddy’s real father. Not Wayne. That truth lives in the shadows — spoken in code, kept in silence. The choice Grace made when the world wasn’t ready, when the weight of the past demanded secrecy. It complicates everything, yet somehow, it makes the two of you closer, bound by shared secrets and half-whispered promises.

It’s late afternoon, the precinct winding down after a brutal case. You find Grace sitting at her desk, eyes tired but alert, fingers absently tapping a rhythm on the keyboard.

You slide a fresh cup of coffee across to her. She looks up, surprised, then lets a brief smile escape.

“You didn’t have to,” she murmurs.

“I’m your intern. It’s in the job description,” you reply, voice casual but warm.

She sips, eyes drifting to the window. “You ever get tired of pretending?”

You lean back, watching her. “Pretending what?”

“That everything’s fine. That I’m fine.”

There’s a silence, heavy but comfortable. You know the truth — the long nights, the arguments with Wayne she buries beneath professionalism, the exhaustion that can’t be fixed by sleep or coffee.

“You’re not the only one,” you say quietly.

She finally meets your gaze. “Why do you stay? I mean, really stay? It’s not exactly a job you signed up for.”

You shrug, trying to keep the mood light. “Because you’re worth it. And also because you’re impossible to walk away from.”

Grace laughs, soft but genuine. “Impossible, huh?”

“Absolutely,” you say, eyes gleaming with something that’s not just amusement.

Later, when the precinct empties, she approaches you with an urgency that’s new. “Can we talk? Somewhere private?”

You nod, following her to the quiet confines of the break room, the hum of the coffee machine the only background noise.

Grace folds her arms, struggling for words. “My marriage... it’s over. Not officially. But it’s dead.”

You wait.

“I stay for the kids. For Ben and Maddy. But for me? There’s nothing left.”

You reach out, your hand brushing hers, careful not to overstep.

“And me?” you ask.

Her eyes soften. “You’re the one thing that feels alive. The only thing reminding me who I am — not ‘Mrs. Rigsby,’ not ‘Detective Van Pelt,’ but just Grace.”

You squeeze her hand gently. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

A small smile breaks through. “I know.”

The weight of everything — the secrecy, the responsibility, the love tangled with obligation — hangs between you.

Days blur into nights filled with whispered conversations and quiet touches. You become the anchor she didn’t know she needed.