"At first, I noticed you every lunch. You eat a lot of fast food, lady," Oathran said fondly, recounting a story he had turned over in his mind many times. His eyes fixed on her, mockingly glared with a gentle, teasing glint.

"I don’t know where you worked. Perhaps it was nearby. But every time the workers heard your voice through the drive-through mic—" his lips twitched, "—they would cough to signal the other workers. Then everyone would shuffle into position, trying to steal a glance at you through the window."

"Huh?" Cecilia’s eyes widened.

W-why?

What had she done? Did she do something weird every time she ordered? Something embarrassing? Had AU!Cecilia was some kind of strange spectacle, a woman who drew stares?

"I was always at the grill, so I didn’t know what the commotion was about." Oathran shrugged, clearly amused. "Until one day, we were short-staffed. I had to be the one who handed over your order myself."

His pale eyes met hers, and the warmth in them deepened.

"That was when I understood why people had been talking about you."

Cecilia blinked rapidly, a flicker of horror crossing her features. "What—what had they been talking about me?"

Strangers were talking about her behind her back. The thought was nerve-wracking, even knowing it had happened to another version of herself in another universe.

"They called you the ’Holy Vampire Mother.’" Oathran answered.

Cecilia’s brain blue-screened.

What even—

"Because you are very pale," Oathran continued, his voice matter-of-fact, "seemingly allergic to sunlight, since you almost never show skin beyond your face. But your smile reminds people of their own mother’s smile. Or the Holy Mother’s warm smile at the church. Also—"

He paused, as though the next detail was particularly important.

"—you always put fifty dollars into the charity box every time you came by."

Cecilia stared at him.

Holy Vampire Mother... Pale, allergic to sunlight, a smile that reminded fast food workers of their mothers and the... the mother goddess statue, or something?

"Everyone had a crush on you." Oathran said seriously. "And I mean everyone. Including me. And sweet little Bertha, who is a 56 year old human lady who calls me grandpa."

Cecilia burst into a confused laugh. "What?!"

Oathran chuckled alongside her, his eyes full of mirth. "Alright. I need to get ready for my shift now," he tapped her forehead. "I’m sure you remember the rest. How could you forget reporting and arresting a manager of McKing at lunch, right?"

He turned and walked toward his room casually, already reaching for the hem of his shirt and preparing to shower and change into his uniform.

Eh?

Wait, wait, wait, wait.

Reporting and arresting a manager of a McKing? At lunch?!

That was huge lore! That was an entire saga compressed into a single, casual sentence! Please speak more, Oathran! Please elaborate! What manager? What crime? Why did she—how did she—what happened?!

But Oathran was already gone, the bathroom door clicking shut behind him and the sound of running water filling the apartment.

He had assumed, reasonably, from his perspective, that what he had told her was enough. After all, he had described everything from his own point of view, the part of the story Cecilia could not have known.

The rest was something she, or, well, AU!Cecilia had experienced herself. Something she should remember.

But Cecilia didn’t remember. Cecilia wanted everything.

Think, Cecilia, think.

Think!

She paced the living room, her bare feet padding softly against the floor. The arrest of a McKing manager? She needed information—

A lightbulb flickered on above her head.

She had another source.

After Oathran finished showering and emerged in his McKing uniform, he kissed her forehead and left for his shift. The door clicked shut behind him and the apartment fell quiet.

It was time for Cecilia to conduct her own investigation.

She ran back into her room—well, walked briskly, because the three men would somehow sense it if she ran and there would be a lecture about pregnancy safety and she didn’t have time for that, and pulled up her phone.

Her fingers moved quickly now after she had spent the past week learning to navigate a touch screen and was now almost comfortable with it. She scrolled through her contacts, found the name she was looking for, and pressed dial.

"Yes, Madam?" Thalia’s voice came through the speaker, crisp and immediately warm.

"Thalia, hi. Are you busy?"

"No, Madam. Do you need something? Ah, right," there was a rustling sound on the other end, the shuffling of papers, "we have all your belongings from the estate and from the lab. Where should we send them to?"

"Ah... I will send you an address later." Cecilia made a mental note to ask her men for the apartment’s mailing address. "Can I ask for some help first?"

"Anything for you, Madam. Please tell me." Thalia said, seemingly already waiting for an opportunity to be useful and was delighted to have received one.

Cecilia took a breath of relief. "Okay. So. Find me information about a reported and arrested manager working at a McKing around the area of my workplace. Oh, if you know which McKing I usually frequent at lunch, that is the one."

There was a pause on the other end, a solid two seconds of silence, during which Cecilia could practically hear Thalia’s brain shifting into investigative mode.

"Is there something about this manager, Madam? Do you want a full background check?"

"No. Just tell me about his... uh... umm... guar—police... report?" Cecilia stumbled over the word, her real-world vocabulary slipping through the cracks. Guard report. Police report. Same thing. Just different words.

But Thalia didn’t miss a beat. "Oh, okay, Madam. I will find them for you. Please expect my call before lunch!" She said excitedly.

"Thank you, Thalia. You are a lifesaver."

"No, Madam. I will do anything to help you. Okay. Talk to you later."

The connection severed. Cecilia squeezed her phone in both hands, her heart fluttering giddily knowing she was about to uncover a piece of her own past. She would soon find out the moment Oathran from this world had fallen for her and how their relationship had developed afterward.

But then—

The excitement dwindled. The flutter in her chest faded.

Why didn’t she just ask?

Why did she go this far, this elaborate investigation, this careful tiptoeing around the truth, instead of simply sitting her husbands down and telling them everything?

She could’ve tried her hardest to make them remember her. To remember the real world and the bonds they had forged.

Why was she keeping secrets from the three men she trusted most in any world?

Cecilia’s hand drifted to her stomach. Her palm rested against the gentle curve of her belly, still mostly flat, hiding the tiny egg that was growing inside her day by day. She stroked the fabric of her shirt in slow, absent circles.

As expected, she was scared.

"Baby..." she whispered. "What if Daddy won’t like you in the real world?"