Chapter Text
In Connecticut, in the mid to late 90s was Nancy Wheeler
Nancy Wheeler Grove woke up before sunrise.
The house was silent.
For a few moments she simply stared at the ceiling.
She had learned to enjoy those moments.
The few seconds between waking up and remembering.
Then she remembered.
The exhaustion.
The guilt.
The feeling that she was somehow failing everyone around her.
Nancy rolled over and looked at the clock.
5:12 A.M.
Beside her, Ben was asleep.
His arm was stretched across the empty space she'd occupied during the night.
Even asleep, he looked put together.
Perfect hair.
Perfect jawline.
Perfect life.
At least that was what everyone thought.
The truth was that Ben Grove had been raised with money, private schools, vacation homes, and every opportunity imaginable. He had never needed to worry about bills or scholarships or whether his family could afford something.
Yet somehow he hadn't become spoiled.
At least not in the way people expected.
He worked hard.
He was kind.
He loved their children.
And for reasons Nancy still didn't fully understand, he loved her.
She slipped out of bed.
Downstairs, the house creaked quietly.
Nancy found herself standing in front of the family bookshelf.
A framed photograph sat there.
Most people probably wouldn't notice it.
The picture was old.
Worn.
Faded.
A girl with wavy hair smiled at the camera.
Barbara Holland.....
Nancy picked up the frame.
years later and it still hurt.
The first person she'd ever lost.
The (one of) first person who had died because of the horrors hidden beneath Hawkins.
Everyone else had moved on.
Or maybe they just hid it better.
But Nancy still remembered every detail.
Barb's laugh.
The way she'd roll her eyes.
The way she'd always shown up.
No matter what.
A tear rolled down Nancy's cheek.
She wiped it away quickly.
Her daughter's name was Lina Barbara Grove.
Nobody had questioned the middle name.
Ben knew why.
He'd understood immediately.
Nancy remembered the day Lina was born.
Ben had been sitting beside her hospital bed.
"You already picked one, didn't you?" he'd asked softly.
Nancy had nodded.
"Barbara."
Ben had simply taken her hand.
"Then Barbara it is."
No arguments.
No questions.
Just acceptance.
Nancy set the photograph down.
She heard tiny footsteps behind her.
Turning around, she found Lina standing in the hallway.
Messy hair.
Sleepy eyes.
Pink pajamas.
"Mommy?"
Nancy quickly wiped her face.
"Hey, sweetheart."
Lina frowned.
Children always noticed more than adults thought.
"Were you crying?"
Nancy hesitated.
"A little."
"Why?"
Nancy looked toward Barb's photograph.
How was she supposed to explain grief to an eight-year-old?
"Because I miss someone."
Lina followed her gaze.
"The lady in the picture?"
Nancy nodded.
"Was she your friend?"
The question nearly broke her.
"She was my best friend."
Lina walked closer.
Nancy expected another question.
Instead, her daughter wrapped her arms around her waist.
Nancy froze.
Then hugged her back.
Tightly.
For months she'd felt trapped inside her own mind.
Ever since Jordan had been born, everything felt heavier.
The doctors called it postpartum depression.
Ben called it something they would get through together.
Nancy called it terrifying.
Because she loved her children more than anything.
Yet some mornings she woke up feeling empty.
Like there was a wall between herself and the world.
A wall she couldn't climb.
But right now, holding Lina in her arms, that wall felt just a little smaller.
"You know what?" Lina said.
"What?"
"I think your friend would like our family."
Nancy laughed through her tears.
"I think so too."
And for the first time in a long while, she almost believed it.