Daughter of a Witch

It's in the Past

After the Maximoffs left, the house fell into a suffocating silence. Agatha stood near the front door, her arms crossed, her brow furrowed in thought. Rio hovered by the couch, her presence looming but quiet, while Y/n remained frozen. The whirlwind of emotions over discovering she had another mother and outside made the air in the room feel heavy and thick.

Y/n shifted awkwardly, her mind racing for some escape. "I... I'm going to go get my homework," she muttered, barely making eye contact with either of them. She needed a distraction-anything to keep her mind off what had just happened. She slipped out of the room and hurried upstairs, feeling the weight of their stares following her.

Agatha and Rio remained silent as Y/n's footsteps disappeared into the distance. Still, by the couch, Rio looked down at her hands, guilt, and regret flooding her. Agatha took a deep breath, her eyes not leaving the door Y/n had exited from.

"Agatha..." Rio's voice broke the silence, hesitant, unsure what to say. Agatha shook her head slightly, cutting off whatever Rio was about to say.

"Not now," Agatha said quietly, her voice steady but cold. "We'll talk later. Right now, we focus on Y/n."

Rio nodded, understanding that no matter how much she wanted to fix things immediately, Agatha's priority was-and always had been-their daughter.

A few minutes later, Y/n returned, her arms full of textbooks and notes. She walked straight into the kitchen without a word, setting her things on the table and pulling out a chair. She sat down, burying herself in her homework with an almost aggressive determination.

Agatha followed her into the kitchen, sensing her daughter's need for space but knowing they couldn't avoid the situation forever. She moved to the stove and began prepping dinner, the familiar rhythm of chopping vegetables and heating pots a welcome distraction. The scent of garlic and herbs soon filled the kitchen, creating a sense of normalcy despite the tension in the air.

The only sound in the room was the occasional clink of kitchen utensils and the soft scribbling of Y/n's pencil on paper.

Now and then, Y/n would break the silence with a question. "Mom, what's the formula for converting Celsius to Fahrenheit again?"

Without missing a beat in her cooking, Agatha replied, "Multiply the temperature by 9, divide by 5, then add 32."

"Right. Thanks," Y/n said, her voice quieter than usual. She scribbled the answer down, her eyes darting up to glance at Rio momentarily before returning to her notes.

Rio, who had remained by the door, watched the two of them. She watched the ease with which Agatha answered Y/n's questions and how Y/n instinctively turned to Agatha for guidance. She felt like an outsider, watching something she should have been a part of all along.

The sight of them together-mother and daughter-hit Rio harder than she expected. She had missed so much. Not just Y/n's childhood but all the little moments that built their bond. The homework questions, the quiet conversations, the shared dinners... It was all foreign to her now.

Agatha paused in her cooking, sensing the weight of Rio's gaze. She looked up, meeting Rio's eyes. At that moment, Agatha saw the pain and regret in Rio's expression. She knew what Rio was feeling because Agatha had thought it too-years of loss, missed opportunities, and the unspoken ache of a love still there, even if it was buried under layers of hurt.

Without saying a word, Agatha gave Rio a slight, almost imperceptible nod, inviting her into the kitchen. It wasn't forgiveness, not yet, but it was an opening. An acknowledgment that, despite everything, Rio was still a part of this.

Rio hesitated, unsure if she should step forward. But the invitation was there, and she couldn't longer resist the pull. She slowly moved toward the kitchen table and sat across from Y/n, careful not to intrude too much.