✧

Constance stood at the kitchen sink, meticulously drying a dish with a small towel swung over her shoulder, her movements deliberate and focused. Joey's eyes wandered over to his grandchildren nestled in separate car seats, their innocent faces a stark contrast to the heavy atmosphere in the room.

"I don't mind watching them till after the service, Joseph," Constance offered, her voice gentle yet resolute.

"I know, but I can't impose on you like this, Constance," Joey replied, his voice tinged with exhaustion. It had only been a week since his daughter's tragic death.

Constance turned off the water and approached the table where the babies lay. "Oh, don't be silly. Looking after these little angels is no imposition whatsoever," she reassured him, her hand tenderly brushing over baby Michael's cheek. "And I wouldn't dream of burdening you with the care of newborn babies during this time of your... unspeakable tragedy."

"Thank you, but... everything's prepared for the move, and these babies need to get as far from here as possible," Joey explained, his gaze heavy with concern.

Constance met his eyes with a solemn expression. "Oh, I see."

"If I could just get their things..."

"Certainly, uh... though it is nearly their lunchtime. I know... why don't I feed them? They'll fall right asleep, and then you can come back in several hours."

"I can feed them. It's really no trouble at all."

"I'm here to get my grandchildren, Constance."

"Your grandchildren... of course. Let me just gather up his things." Constance glanced at him before retrieving premade bottles of formula from the fridge. "This formula has to be warmed up. All you have to do is run it under the hot water tap."

"I'll be fine."

"No, I don't believe you will. Nor will those children if you take them back into that house."

"Just give me their things."

Constance began to grow frustrated as Joey took the formula from her hands. "Dr. Bishop, hear me. There are forces in that house that mean to do these babies grave harm. We both know that it's true. The same forces that killed your sweet daughter. If that house can claim her spirit, what's going to happen to these sweet little babies?"

"The babies are going to be fine," Joey insisted, his resolve unwavering as he moved to grab both car seats.

"Oh, you are a fool!" Constance's voice rose in frustration. "After everything that you've seen... after everything that has happened, how can you still be so blind?"

✧

In the warm glow of the kitchen, Moira sat at the island while Ophelia meticulously folded the new baby clothes she had never had the chance to see her babies wear. The room seemed to hum with a bittersweet energy as they discussed Ophelia's adjustment to her new lack of existence.

"I wonder, how is your adjustment going?" Moira inquired, her voice carrying a hint of concern.

Ophelia released a heavy sigh, her movements slowing as she contemplated her response. "I don't know... seeing my Dad mostly. He's devastated."

"Yes, well, it's always the living that make it hard," Moira mused knowingly.

Suddenly, Joey entered the kitchen, two car seats in hand, startling Ophelia, who instinctively ducked behind the island.

"You don't need to run off, dear. He can't see you unless you want him to," Moira reminded her gently.

"Oh, yeah..." Ophelia chuckled to herself before rising back up, her gaze immediately drawn to her babies. Her heart swelled with a mix of love and sadness as she looked at Josiah and Michael, their innocent smiles seeming to reach out to her. Turning to Moira, Ophelia couldn't help but ask, "Can they see me?"

"Babies are incredibly susceptible to the supernatural," Moira explained softly.

With a tender smile, Ophelia placed a hand on each baby's cheek. "Mommy loves you two so much," she whispered before her attention was drawn to her father, who was heading toward the microwave to heat the bottles.

"Oh my god, Dad. Not the microwave," Ophelia muttered anxiously, relieved when Joey opted to use the sink instead, running the bottles under hot water.

"You're hovering, dear. It's a bad idea," Moira cautioned gently as Ophelia let out a frustrated sigh. "Do you want him to see you? Is that what's going on? Are you fighting the desire to appear?"

"No, I don't want him to see me because if he sees me, then he is going to want to stay here," Ophelia admitted, her voice tinged with sadness.

As Joey tended to the babies, Ophelia's eyes remained fixed on him, a mixture of love and sorrow in her gaze. "He has to leave this house."

"Then sit down and keep your distance. Remember the endgame. It's all going to work out," Moira reassured her.

"You're right," Ophelia nodded, moving to sit in a chair next to Moira, resting her chin in her hand as she contemplated the events that had unfolded.

"What of the fathers?" Moira inquired, her curiosity piqued.

Ophelia paused, her thoughts drifting to Elliot and Tate. "They're still in the doghouse, but I honestly can't stay mad at them. I don't know... with everything that has happened in their lives, I don't think it has anything to do with them. Like there's just some big fucked-up cosmic reason that everything has happened the way it has."

✧

Ophelia watched from the shadows as her father tenderly laid her babies down for their nap, a small smile tugging at her lips at the heartwarming scene. But her joy quickly turned to sorrow as she witnessed Joey break down in tears, his grief palpable as he moved away from the cribs and sank into a nearby chair, his shoulders shaking with sobs.

Unable to bear seeing her father in such pain, Ophelia made a split-second decision to reveal herself. She approached him quietly, her hand trembling slightly as she reached out to touch his shoulder. Joey looked up, his eyes widening in disbelief as he saw his daughter standing before him, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Hi Daddy," Ophelia whispered softly, her voice barely above a breath. Before she knew it, Joey had risen from his seat and enveloped her in a tight embrace, his tears soaking into her ethereal form.

"I knew you were here," Joey choked out between sobs, his hands trembling as he cupped her cheeks. "Why didn't you come to me?"

"It would just make it worse," Ophelia explained, her voice thick with emotion. "You need to get them out of here. It's not safe for them."

Joey shook his head, his grief-stricken expression pleading. "I can't leave you."

"You have to," Ophelia urged, gently placing her hands on his wrists. "I'll be okay."

"I can't," Joey whispered, his resolve crumbling.

"I would give anything to be able to go with you, to take care of my babies," Ophelia confessed, a tear slipping from her eye. "But I can't, and the best place for them to be is with you. If you love me, then you will take them, leave this house, and never come back." With those final words, Ophelia pulled her father into one last embrace, her voice barely above a whisper as she pleaded, "Please, Daddy."

And then, just like that, Ophelia was gone, leaving Joey alone with his grandchildren. He took a few deep breaths, steadying himself as he wiped away his tears and resolved to fulfill his daughter's final wish. With a heavy heart but newfound determination, Joey gathered the babies and prepared to leave the house behind, knowing that it was the only way to honor Ophelia's memory and keep her babies safe.

With both babies' car seats gripped tightly in his hands, Joey hurried through the house, his mind focused solely on getting his grandchildren to safety. But his urgent escape was abruptly halted when Hayden appeared on the stairs, blocking his path.

"Where are you going, Joey? You didn't think I'd just let you leave?" Hayden's voice dripped with menace, her eyes glinting with malice.

"Get out of my way, Hayden. I don't have time for your bullshit," Joey warned, his tone edged with frustration. But before he could make another move, he felt something coil around his throat, cutting off his words and causing him to drop the car seats. Despite the sudden attack, the babies remained undisturbed, still strapped securely in their seats.

✧

Ophelia stood by the stairs, her gaze fixed on the chandelier where her father's lifeless body hung. Tate and Elliot stood beside her, each holding a baby car seat protectively, ensuring the safety of the infants in their care. A heavy sigh escaped Ophelia's lips as she turned towards her father, who stood a few feet away, his expression filled with grief and disbelief as he beheld his own body.

"I'm going to make that bitch's afterlife a living hell," Ophelia declared, her arms crossed defiantly across her chest. Her eyes blazed with determination, fueled by the injustice and tragedy that had befallen her family.

✧

Halloween 2012

Ophelia found herself in Constance's home, cradling an 6-month-old Michael in her arms as she paced the room. It had been a while since she had last seen her babies, and the anticipation of the reunion couldn't come soon enough. Across the room, Tate sat on the ground, his back against a dresser, while Elliot gently rocked a sleeping Josiah in a rocking chair.

"Would you like to hold him, Tate?" Ophelia inquired, her gaze shifting towards Tate with a hopeful expression.

Tate met her gaze for a moment, his eyes flickering towards his son, but ultimately he shook his head. Ophelia's heart sank at the rejection, exchanging a worried glance with Elliot.

Just then, Constance entered the room, leaning against the door frame with a gentle sigh. "I do hate to intrude on your family time, but it's well past their bedtime."

"It's alright," Ophelia managed a strained smile, though the thought of parting from her babies for another year weighed heavily on her heart. With tender care, she lowered Michael into his crib, planting a loving kiss on his forehead before gently laying him down.

Elliot rose from the rocking chair, joining Ophelia's side as they bid farewell to Josiah. Ophelia brushed a few stray brunette curls from his face, pressing a kiss to his rosy cheek before Elliot carefully placed him in his crib.

✧

2015

Constance's abrupt entrance into the Murder House sent a wave of tension through the air, immediately capturing Ophelia's attention. Concern etched across her features as she rushed to meet Constance's frantic gaze.

"What's wrong? Are they alright?" Ophelia's voice trembled with worry as she addressed Constance, her eyes darting between the twins standing beside her.

As Constance turned to face her, Ophelia's anxiety heightened, sensing the gravity of the situation. She knelt down to the level of her children, enveloping them in a protective embrace as they called out for their mother.

With a mix of fear and confusion, Ophelia looked back up at Constance, her heart sinking at the sight of blood stains on her children's clothes.

"What happened, Constance?" Ophelia's voice was tinged with urgency and disbelief as she tried to make sense of the distressing scene.

Constance's recounting of the events sent a chill down Ophelia's spine. The revelation that Michael had killed the babysitter made her blood run cold, her gaze shifting to the young boy who stared back at her innocently.

"He... he did what?" Ophelia's voice faltered.

"He slit her throat..." Constance's words hung heavy in the air, her hand pressed against her chest in an attempt to steady herself. "And Josiah... he did something. I don't know how but he touched her and brought her back."

✧

2016

Ophelia's heart skipped a beat as Constance and two men approached her, a cigarette dangling from her hand. She straightened up, wiping her hands on her jeans as she watched them draw nearer. Her breath caught in her throat as the two young men rushed towards her, their eager voices calling out.

"Mommy!"

The force of their embrace nearly knocked her over, but Ophelia steadied herself, her eyes wide with disbelief as she looked at them. Her mind raced, trying to process the sight before her. There was no mistaking it—the brunette with curls reminiscent of Elliot and the same shade of eyes was Josiah, but aged to look like a teenager. Beside him stood the blonde boy, his piercing blue eyes and features mirroring her own.

"What...?" Ophelia's voice was barely a whisper, her gaze flickering between the two young men as she struggled to comprehend what she was seeing.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she reached out to touch them, her fingers trembling with emotion. These were her sons, grown before her eyes and seemingly overnight.

✧

Ophelia stood beside Constance's spirit, their presence unnoticed by the grieving Michael and tearful Josiah. The living room was heavy with sorrow, the air thick with the weight of loss.

"I couldn't do it anymore," Constance confessed, her voice filled with resignation as she glanced at Ophelia.

Ophelia's heart ached as she looked at Constance, understanding the burden the older woman had carried for so long. "I know," she murmured softly, reaching out to take Constance's hand in hers. Despite their differences, Ophelia felt a sense of gratitude towards Constance for caring for her sons in her absence.

Her gaze drifted towards Michael, who wept over his grandmother's lifeless form. A pang of sorrow pierced Ophelia's heart as she watched him, knowing the darkness that lurked within him. She had seen glimpses of his violent tendencies, and as he grew older, it became harder to ignore. She loved him fiercely, but she couldn't deny the truth—he was becoming more dangerous with each passing day.

As Josiah stood nearby, tears glistening in his eyes, Ophelia felt a surge of protectiveness towards him. He was the gentle soul, the one who had always tried to do what was right. She couldn't bear to see him suffer, couldn't bear to see him hurt by his brother's actions.

✧

Ophelia stood at the threshold of Michael's room, her heart heavy with the weight of her impending actions. She watched him sleep, his innocent face masking the darkness that lurked within him. With each breath he took, she felt the weight of the world pressing down on her shoulders.

She had hoped and prayed for a different outcome, for a way to save her son from the darkness that consumed him. But as she stood there, knife in hand, she knew that there was no other choice. She had to protect humanity from what Michael was destined to become.

In the quiet of the room, memories flooded her mind—the sessions with his grandfather, the rejection from his father, the influence of the Satanists. She had tried to guide him, to teach him right from wrong, but it seemed that darkness had already claimed him.

Tears blurred her vision as she leaned closer to him, her touch gentle as she brushed his hair away from his face. Her words were choked with emotion as she whispered to him, expressing her love and sorrow.

But before she could carry out her desperate act, she was thrown to the ground by a sudden burst of flames. The pain seared through her body as she cried out, disoriented and bewildered. Through the haze, she saw Tate emerge, knocking her out of harm's way.

As the flames dissipated, Ophelia's eyes frantically searched the room, but Michael was gone. Fear and despair gripped her heart as she realized that she had lost him to the darkness, that her efforts to save him had failed. And in that moment of despair, she knew that the battle was far from over.

Tate's hands trembled slightly as he held Ophelia's cheeks, his concern evident in his eyes. "I've got you, Opie. Are you hurt?"

Ophelia shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks as she struggled to process what had just happened. Her heart clenched as she turned to Elliot. "Where's Josiah?"

Elliot's expression mirrored Ophelia's pain as he spoke, his voice heavy with sorrow. "He went with Michael."

✧

2018

Ophelia sat perched on the couch in the living room, the pages of her book flipping idly between her fingers. The familiar words offered her little solace as she delved into its worn pages for what felt like the millionth time. Her senses heightened as the front door creaked open, pulling her attention away from the mundane repetition of her reading.

A surge of curiosity coursed through her veins, urging her to investigate the source of the disturbance. With measured steps, Ophelia rose from the comfort of the couch, abandoning her book momentarily as she ventured out into the hallway. There, bathed in the soft glow of the overhead light, stood Michael and Josiah, their figures exuding an air of maturity that seemed to have surpassed their years in the short time since she had last seen them.

Beside her sons stood two women, their crimson hair cascading like molten strands of blood down their shoulders. Ophelia's breath caught in her throat as she beheld the unexpected sight, a mixture of awe and trepidation swirling within her chest.

"Hi, Mom," Michael's voice cut through the tension.

✧ 

A/N: And that's a wrap folks! Ah I'm actually super sad but yay I finally finished this story. If any of you are interested in seeing how Ophelia, Elliot, and Tate's story ends feel free to check out my story Forsaken :) They'll be having an appearance at the end and I promise it'll be a heartwarming one. 

Thanks to everyone who read this story and bared with me while I finished it <3