After the two-and-a-bit weeks of trying to remain positive, Wednesday had more or less given up on that concept. The article had been the final straw, forcing her to retreat away from both her own determination and London, sending her with her tail between her legs back to the comfort of Holmes Chapel.

It wasn't that she was feeling sorry for herself. It was just that the reality of her and Harry's non-relationship had finally started to sink in. In an ironic way, it was sort of similar to the grief. After the first few weeks, which you spend in a catatonic state whilst trying to take each day as it comes, the loss smacks you square in the heart once reality hits. It grips you tighter as time goes on, as you learn to adjust to the new normal.

If those first few weeks were spent on autopilot, everything after was manually piloting a plummeting plane into the depths of hell. Whilst also having your eyes closed.

Sarah had messaged her about the article the day after it had dropped, saying that Harry was working to get it taken down. Saying that it just confirmed what they all had come to realise; Patrick was a special type of dickhead. She'd asked how she was and with a semi-knowing feeling that Sarah would relay her answer back to Harry, she'd replied that she was simply doing okay. Not the truth really, but it was 1.) enough to keep him from worrying and 2.) enough to mask the true pathetic nature of her current position.

And if the dejectedness of her situation wasn't enough, Harry releasing the Watermelon Sugar video had really added to the sulkiness of her mood. It was a good thing she wasn't checking her socials; hearing him on the radio and seeing it on the TV was more than enough torture. It didn't matter that she knew he'd filmed it at the start of the year, way before they were ever a thing. She still scowled anytime she saw someone in the video touch his skin, kiss his cheek.

Mostly because she was angry at herself for giving that right up.

In the days she'd spent at home since arriving back in Holmes Chapel, she'd pretty much managed to watch every episode of Love Island—disgracefully ironic, given her current predicament—and eat everything the cupboards had to offer. All whilst her mum had been encouraging her to go out and get some fresh air and Pongo had been giving her the puppy dog eyes. His special code for 'please take me for a walkies'.

She'd lost track of how many days she'd been at home, skulking around like a teenager who'd just been told that her celebrity crush had gotten into a relationship. But after a certain number of days, when she was laid across the sofa watching yet another episode of Deal or No Deal with a pack of cookies, her mum strolled into the living room and turned the TV off.

"Hey, I was watching that!" she said, words muffled by the cookie in her mouth.

"Well, you're not anymore," her Mum replied simply, shrugging her shoulders.

Wednesday huffed and crossed her arms. Childish? Yes. Justified? In her eyes, completely.

"I'm officially staging an intervention," her Mum stated as she stared down at her only child, covered in cookie crumbs.

"Mum, I'm watching TV, not shooting up heroin," she said, rolling her eyes as she swallowed down the confectionary.

Pongo walked into the room, planting his heavy butt by the side of the sofa so that Wednesday could lift her hand and scratch the top of his head.

"Maybe not. But sitting here on the sofa, day in, day out isn't going to make you feel any better. Look, the sun's out. Go for a walk with Pongo, get some fresh air into your system!"

Pongo immediately got up at the mention of a walk as Wednesday arched her body to look out through the window. It did look sunny, even a bit warm. It was approaching the end of May and summer was in full swing. To a person who wasn't currently engaging in a sorrow-session, it might have actually been inviting.

Her brain scrambled to find reasons not to go outside.

"It'll set my hay fever off."

Her mum shrugged again.

"Take an antihistamine."

Wednesday scowled, her mind thinking up another reason.

"I didn't bring any SPF. I might get sunburnt."

"I have some in the cupboard. Factor 30 too," her Mum replied with the corner of her lips lifted, like she was challenging the rebuttal of any more excuses.

Wednesday sighed, looking outside again.

"There's bees out there," she stated matter-of-factly. She really was pulling at threads now.

Her mum's eyebrows furrowed.

"Yes, and?"

Wednesday shrugged. "They might sting me. I could have a secret allergy to bee stings that I don't know about and I might just anger the wrong bee. And then if it stings me, I could go into anaphylactic shock. All of that trauma just for a walk out."

"You got stung by a bee when you were 8 and you were fine," her Mum replied with a sigh, holding the bridge of her nose in frustration.

"Yeah, but people develop allergies as they get older. Auntie Helen developed a shellfish allergy in her 30s, didn't she? The risk seems a bit too great to take."

"Stop being dramatic Ness, you don't have a bee allergy!" her mum said frustratedly, her face inching a shade closer to red. She composed herself, before looking down to her daughter who'd crossed her arms once again in indignation. "Look, I know the real reason you don't want to go outside is because it's scary stepping back out into a world that's hurt you. I get it love, I do. But holing yourself up on the sofa, and mindlessly watching TV won't actually solve anything. That's not living—it's just pretending."

Wednesday looked down to Pongo, who was watching the conversation with the expression of a dog who just wanted his two favourite people to return to being friendly. And also like he just wanted someone to take him for a walk.

She stubbornly bit her inner cheek, not saying anything because she knew her mum was right. There was no witty quip, no sarcastic rebuttal that could change her mum's mind from what they both knew was a fact. Staying inside and pretending everything was okay was a much easier, kinder option than stepping back out into the world that had flung so much pain her way. Cutting herself off, both online and physically, from the outside world was a way of shielding herself. Like the saying goes, out of sight—out of mind.

"You're back home Ness. You're safe. I'm not saying you need to go and stop off at every house down the street to say hello and announce you're here. But getting out of the house and doing something productive will only help to clear your mind up. Make everything seem a bit less hazy."

She looked out of the door, towards where the dining room was.

"It's what I do on the days I don't feel my best. When I'm missing your dad just that extra bit harder. And it works."

Wednesday felt her resolve soften as she saw the flash of pain across her mum's face, expertly hidden within a second. Maybe it was a trait with the Green women. Only allowing peeks into their suffering, never opening up the full extent for others to see. In that moment, she knew herself and her mum had more in common than she'd previously thought.

Sighing into the air, Wednesday swung her legs down from the sofa. Looking over to Pongo, who was watching her with an increasingly waggy tail, she forced a smile at him.

"What do you say Pongo? Is it walkies time?"

Her words sparked excited mayhem as Pongo bounded forwards towards her, rapidly jumping up at his approval.

She couldn't back out now. It would just be cruel.

Fifteen minutes later, after changing into more suitable walking clothes and making her appearance somewhat presentable to the world, she clipped Pongo's leash to his collar and opened the door to blinding sun. Her mum was right, it was lovely. Humidity graced her skin and she realised she didn't even need the hoodie she'd tied around her waist just in case—her t-shirt and gym leggings were more than enough.

Nervously, her gaze flicked down both ends of the street as Pongo tugged at the leash, ready to set off. There were a few people out in their front gardens, pruning hedges and mowing their grass, but no-one was paying attention. Swallowing back her nerves at stepping back out into the world, she heard her mum's voice call out just before she closed the door.

"Have fun! Get some sun."

Trailing down the path, she was fully enveloped in the heat of the summer day and as she blinked in the harsh rays, she was thankful she'd brought along a pair of sunnies. Placing them down over her eyes, she was grateful for the tiniest bit of extra protection. Almost like shielding her eyes shielded anyone from seeing her true, vulnerable nature.

Looking both ways, she wondered where to walk. The left led her towards the shops and centre. The right took her towards the open fields and woodlands; the only catch was that she had to pass Anne's first.

"Which way Pongo?" she asked, looking down to him.

Immediately, he tugged right.

"I should have known," she mumbled under her breath, walking along with his direction.

Wednesday noted that it wasn't just the physical aspect of going outside that was scary—it was the mental too. The whole walk itself seemed like a metaphor for something bigger. Like going outside was her mind opening the curtains they'd closed in order to let her recover. She'd had some time to herself, to feel everything she needed to feel and to be cared for by the people she loved; her mum and Pongo.

But now it was time for some self-care. It was time for her to step up and take some control back, even if she wouldn't admit to her mum that she'd been right. But the first step was always the hardest—pulling yourself from a hole got easier the more momentum you built. She was ready to dust off her mind, pull it out of hibernation.

Pongo pulled at the leash, excitement filling him at the prospect of being taken for a long walk in the summer breeze. As they rounded the corner, Wednesday's anxiety sensed Anne's house before she'd even spotted it. She hadn't visited whilst she'd been back; in fact, she was sure her Mum hadn't even mentioned it to her that she was home, knowing she needed some space. Walking past, she debated whether or not to knock and say hello, before ultimately deciding against it. She needed a day where she was more mentally ready. And possibly more intoxicated.

They walked in unison as Pongo calmed down, his tail consistently wagging against her leg as his tongue plopped out to the side. With every new path turned and new scenery chanced upon, her mind felt the clearest it had since she'd been back. Maybe it had something to do with the fresh smell of the trees, the butterflies bouncing around in all of their magnificent colour, or even the people on their own walks smiling as they walked past her. But it was both a figurative and literal breath of fresh air.

Suddenly, the confines of the house felt much more sinister. Especially when there was weather like this to enjoy and sights like the ones she'd seen countless times before to be seen.

Wednesday didn't keep track of how long they walked for—it could have been 30 minutes or 3 hours. She noticed that the sun had lowered a bit. It was no longer high in the sky but settling towards the west. The heat wasn't scorching anymore but had lowered to a comfortable warmth that felt like a blanket draped over her. Her calves felt the burn of exertion, but it was a comfortable burn that reminded her she was doing something other than laying across a sofa and eating enough chocolate to sink a ship.

As they turned a corner, she recognised the path in front of her all too well by the stone wall beside them. Her eyes caught onto the archway of the cemetery with a silent gaze. Somehow, the sun had made it seem less eery. Less like a place of loss and more like a place of remembrance. She looked down to Pongo, who looked back up at her like he was checking to see whether to turn back around or walk forward.

Taking a breath, she pulled his leash and smiled sadly down at him.

"Come on boy. Let's go see Dad."

Walking together, she noticed that Pongo automatically slowed down like he knew that they were entering a place of respect. Like he knew exactly where they were heading and the velocity of it.

She walked the path to the familiar birch tree, turning left along the headstones until she came to his. Fresh daffodils were sticking out of the potholder, and somehow it looked shinier, like someone had wiped it down. She wondered when in the last week, whilst she'd been strewn across the sofa wallowing in self-pity, that her mum had quietly come down to visit and pay her respects. It made her heart wrench with sadness.

"Hi Dad," she said, smiling weakly.

Planting herself down onto the dried grass in front of the headstone, Pongo followed her lead and sat down beside her. She grabbed a bottle of water and the small compact bowl from her backpack, filling it up for him to have a well-deserved drink. He gratefully took it, his tongue darting out into the water like he'd never needed something so much in his laugh, splashing it all across her.

She wiped herself down with a grossed-out expression before looking back to the headstone, leaning froward to adjust one of the flowers.

"I know I say this every time, but sorry I haven't visited in a while."

Wednesday looked around, seeing no-one else in the cemetery. It was a beautiful day—she couldn't blame people for choosing to spend it anywhere other than amongst the deceased.

"I don't even know where to begin on filling you in on my life," she sighed, leaning down onto her hand as if there was far too much to summarise since the last time she'd been, which was all the way back in the August before.

She tried to ignore the fact that the last time she'd sat there had been with Harry at her side. It was weird, to think about all that had taken place between then and now. It seemed like in the blink of an eye, her entire life had been moulded and reshaped like clay in so many different ways that she'd come out of it a completely different person. A constantly evolving sculpture being shaped by external factors beyond her control.

Wednesday ran through the list of events she could remember, talking animatedly in the way she always used to with him. She mentioned Daisy, the argument, the entire depressive month of January, Nanna, therapy, Malibu, Harry. And finally, she wrapped it up with the latest developments in her life. Media, scrutiny, breakups and hiding.

She took a long-winded breath as her fingers found Pongo's ears, scratching comfortingly.

"So yeah, that's about everything," she said, biting her lip as she looked down to the marble headstone.

The silence in return was deafening. Usually, when she used to relay big stories to her dad, he'd sit and give his two cents. No matter how insignificant it was in the grand scheme of things, he would always be on her side—engage in the conversation like it was the most interesting thing ever.

She remembered with a smile the time she'd ranted to him when she was younger over another girl in her football team getting picked for the captain position, when she was the one with most goals scored and had been on the team the longest. He'd listened with wide eyes, nodding in agreement and backing her up 100%, even if he knew it was childish drama.

"You're absolutely right Nessie. Those girls have got nothing on you. I reckon they've done it because they know you're the best and they don't want to make the other girls feel bad. Try to look at it that way—it's not overlooking you, it's protecting you from jealousy."

He'd always had a way of making her issues feel valid, no matter the velocity or depth of them. Maybe that was why she'd always chosen to open up to him instead of her mum—where her mum would disregard her complaints and bat them away as nonsense, her dad would listen. No matter how ridiculous in hindsight they were. He listened and more importantly, he believed her.

She wondered what he'd say to everything she'd mentioned today. The only framework to go by was his responses to previous conversations and even then, she could feel the memories of him in her mind become hazy around the edges. That tug of pain that he wasn't here to offer her any more words of wisdom kicked in, and for the first time since she'd been there, she felt the thickening of emotion in her throat. But it didn't materialise into anything further. Just a small acknowledgement from her body that she'd loved him deeply, and therefore she missed him deeply too.

"Do you...do you think I did the right thing?" she asked the headstone, furrowing her brows. "About Harry."

Silence.

She knew she wasn't getting a response, but it didn't stop the small shred of hope that maybe fate would allow the heavens to open and offer her a sign. Maybe her Dad would appear on a cloud, telling her to look to the stars. Full on Mufasa style.

Smiling at that particularly funny image, she rubbed her hand over her face and groaned. The only answers she would be getting were from within herself—only her entire brain felt like mush where Harry was concerned.

"I have no clue what is happening between us. Everything feels so final," she said, leaning back onto her hand. "We broke up so that I could work on myself. But then, what happens when I do that? What happens if I never do that? It's like this entire world of 'what if'. What if this, what if that."

To any person that might pass by, her animated self probably looked extremely crazy. But it was therapeutic, to let all of her worries flow out of her without any type of roadblock.

"I don't know where me and Harry stand now. Are we still friends? Will we still be colleagues? Am I allowed to message him? Do we sleep with other people now?" She winced at the thought of that last one, knowing that she couldn't even begin to imagine that for herself, let alone engage in it. Her stomach turned when she realised that Harry also had that freedom now too, not wanting to think about it. "Sorry, you probably don't want to hear your only daughter discuss the old baby making process."

Her mind was racing now as she looked to the blue sky, Pongo's head now comfortably rested in her lap as he looked out at the row of headstones.

"I'm so scared that that was it. That was all I got of him. A small piece to put away in my memories, filed away like a chapter of my life that's over now. And I'm scared that..." she looked up, nervously swallowing. "That it was the happiest time of my life. And that I'll never be that happy ever again."

Her fingers pulled at the blades of grass, ripping out chunks instead of ripping at her skin, which was a small victory in itself. Her mind felt heavy under the weight of that last sentence. All the endless questions were swarming around her brain like a whirlpool, going so fast she couldn't grab onto one and see it completely.

"I need to lay out my options so I can see them properly," she said firmly, looking down to the headstone.

Though she wasn't an organised person by nature, she could appreciate the structure of a good list. Sometimes, when her brain was just that bit too foggy, it helped to visualise or at least speak into existence the things she needed to achieve.

Silence filled the air. She took that as her cue to begin listing the options.