Work Text:
Joyce stared at her hands. They were covered in cookie dough, enough for the two of them for a week.
Joyce blinked back tears as she measured the cookies out.
Children weren't suppose to take those threats literally. They were supposed to go, come back, beg forgiveness, and eat cookies at the kitchen bench.
She put the trays in the oven.
All she wanted to do was hold out a hand and have her little girl back.
She wiped her hands clean and called Dawn down for dinner. At least there was nothing strange about her twelve year old yet.